Derick (Delta Forces #3) - Elizabeth Lennox Page 0,6

“Stop it!” she muttered. Just because she’d finally found a man that she was interested in, that was no reason to put herself back in danger.

Standing up, she poured the rest of her coffee down the drain and looked around. “What to do now,” she whispered, resting her hands on her hips. “Probably getting dressed would be the best idea,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Walking up the stairs, she padded barefoot to the room where she’d set up the air mattress and sleeping bag. No dresser. Instead, Carrie simply stacked her clothes against the wall. It was a bit desolate of an existence, she thought. “But I’m safe,” she said as she pulled on a pair of jeans and another baggy tee shirt, then pulled her hair back. Looking in the bathroom mirror, she cringed. “Time to dye again.” The strawberry blond roots were coming through.

Instead of worrying about that, she plopped a baseball cap onto her head and went in search of her work boots.

That’s when she saw her neighbor. Derick. His name echoed in her mind.

He was dressed this morning, she noticed with disappointment. And he had a determined look to his handsome, rough features. His black hair was a bit mussed, but that only made him look sexier. More rugged.

Parts of her body that Carrie had thought were long dead suddenly perked up again. “Down girl,” she muttered to herself. “Not for you.”

Why not?

Carrie was so startled by that question that her mind whirled. Shaking her head, she turned away from the image of her handsome, sexy neighbor taking a shovel from his shed, then disappearing into the garden to do…something. Carrie had never really grown anything other than grass, so she wasn’t sure what one needed to do to a garden. Weed it? But why would a shovel be required? Weren’t weeds small? Wouldn’t a shovel dig up more than just weeds?

Fascinated by all of the possibilities, she inched towards the window. He seemed to be touching each of the plants as he walked by, almost caressing them.

Would he touch her with the same gentleness? Would he caress her with…!

“Stop it!” she groaned, pressing her forehead against the wood window frame, her fingers clenching the wood to stop herself from…what? What would she do?

She peeked out the window again, her mouth watering when Derick reached down to touch a tomato that was ripening on the vine, holding the small fruit in his hands, examining it. His touch was gentle and tender. Careful not to hurt the ripening fruit.

“Stop it!” she whispered vehemently, wrapping her arms around her body as if she could somehow ward off the temptation of his gentle touch.

Instead of stopping, Derick stood up and took the shovel, disappearing behind the tall corn stalks. For a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief. Then a sharp stab of disappointment hit her and she groaned. “You’re being ridiculous!” Stomping into the bathroom, she grabbed her toothbrush.

“I should help him.” Carrie heard the words, felt them hanging in the air, anticipation thick. But she didn’t move, terrified suddenly of…? She grabbed the toothpaste and brushed her teeth, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of her thoughts.

And yet, she couldn’t seem to get it out of her mind. What was she afraid of? That he’d beat her? That he’d reject her offer of help?

“Damn it!” she whispered, and made a decision. She turned on her booted foot and headed out the door. “It’s the right thing to do!”

She yanked open the back door and forced herself down the steps, moving across her brown lawn to his green one.

“Good morning,” Carrie called out.

Derick appeared from behind the corn stalks, as if he’d been waiting for her. For a long moment, he didn’t say a word. They stood on opposite sides of his garden, staring at each other. Sizing each other up? She wasn’t sure, but for some reason, it felt…nice to have a male look at her.

“You helped me yesterday,” she announced, feeling a little off balance with the weight of his dark eyes on her. “I came to repay the favor.”

He continued to watch her and she felt a bit silly. Her baggy jeans and huge tee shirt hung on her narrow frame. He probably thought she was a vagabond. She wore cast-off clothes, drove a clunker of a pickup truck, and had bought a beat-up old house.

“You don’t have to look at me that way,” she told him, trying to hide her reaction.