"We need gloves," declared Bill, turning into the village hardware store parking lot. "I want your hands with all their fingers in working order."
Faith laughed and jabbed his arm. "You're so fussy, Holder." Feeling the same way about his. Aloud, she said, "I think you just want to look at all the tools. This is like a toy store to you, isn't it?"
"A little. I'd rather play with you, but my body can only take so much. I have to do something while I recuperate."
As they entered Sawyer's Hardware, Faith felt surprisingly nervous. Mr. Sawyer had been her father's best friend and, at 75 years old, he still ran the cash register, Monday through Friday.
"Well hello, Faith." Mr. Sawyer's splotchy face lit up with a large Polident smile. "So nice to see you," he said, coming around the counter to embrace her.
"Hi, Mr. Sawyer." Faith hugged him gently, "How are you and Mrs. Sawyer doing?"
"Oh, we're as ornery as ever."
They spent a few moments catching up on family news, Faith ever mindful of Bill standing patiently behind her.
Mr. Sawyer looked over the top of his spectacles, and asked, "Now who's this young fella ya brought with you?" extending his hand in greeting.
Bill shook hands. "Hi Mr. Sawyer. I'm Bill... Bill Holder, a friend from Rochester. Faith needed some help, so I'm here to lend a hand for a while."
"Aren't you the guy everyone was whispering about in church on Sunday?" He asked, leaning closer to focus. "Pastor Tom should thank you. That's the first sermon in months everyone was awake enough to hear." Laughing, he stepped back and folded his arms.
"Yup, that was me alright," confirmed Bill. "So much for blending in."
"Well, in a small town like Woodhaven, even a stray dog is news," said Mr. Sawyer in a warning tone, and then changed the subject. "So, what do you need today, Faith?"
"We're cutting up a tree, knocked down by the snow. And Bill thought we should buy some work gloves."
"Smart thinking."
Another customer entered and Mr. Sawyer moved away to greet him, while pointing, "Down aisle three, you'll find some good leather Wells Lamonts."
As they strolled down the cavernous aisle, Faith turned to witness a grim expression distorting Bill's face. Guessing his thoughts, she said, "So, if you're the stray dog in town, I must be the bitch in heat."
She stopped suddenly, and caused a collision with the tailgater. Turning and wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, "Don't worry, Holder, he's an old friend of the family and just concerned people will gossip about me. I'm used to it." After a quick hug, she released him and continued walking to the glove display.
"Well, I'm not." Picking up a pair of coarse leather gloves, Bill jammed his hand in and flexed his fingers.
His annoyance tickled her. The pleasure of being part of a couple again, even an illicit one, was exciting, and she liked that other people might see them together. "They're all jealous, Holder. When they see me with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger, they all want to be me." Finding a smaller pair of the same style glove, she slipped in her hand and smacked Bill a leathery high-five.
His fingers slipped between hers and he gripped them tight, while wrapping his free arm around her back. Bill pulled her close, saying, "Then let's give them something to talk about," and risked kissing her, right there, amongst the safety equipment.
Initially grinning against his lips, she soon understood his seriousness and returned the buss with a zealous intensity -- pressing closer, urgent and needful.
The rattle of someone pulling out a length of chain at the other end of the aisle broke their concentration and they resumed normal relations.
"Well now... these should work fine," said Bill, holding up his gloved hand, while it's mate dangled on the connecting plastic tether. "The grip seemed very secure. Thanks for testing it with me, Faith."
"My pleasure," she answered, hot and bothered.
Hand in hand, Bill led Faith to the register and paid.
As they left, Mr. Sawyer cautioned, "You two be careful now. I don't want to hear about anyone getting hurt."
Faith wondered if there was a double meaning in the comment.
Bill answered, "We'll be careful, Sir. I won't let anything happen to Faith."
The promise sent an unexpected tingle through her scalp and ears, continuing down her spine, until she shivered. Placing her arm around his waist, he reciprocated by resting his around her shoulders. They smiled at one another, pulling close, walking together like they were practicing for a three-legged race. Sliding in from the driver's side, Faith sat next to Bill, gladly flaunting her affection for all who'd bear witness. The truck was warm. They drove home with the windows down, letting the fresh spring air wash over them. Bill laid his arm along the seatback, driving casually.
Resting her hand on his thigh, Faith nestled against his shoulder, as her mind wandered back to her earlier visit with Bob Engles. She had planned on telling Bob the land wasn't really for sale, to ease his mind. But when she stood outside the Town Supervisor's office, about to knock, she heard him say, "That bitch cannot sell the land to anyone but me. If I don't own it soon, I'm screwed."
"What can you do about it?" asked a voice she recognized as Butch.
"I'm gonna need your help."
The phone rang and Bob answered it. He must have dismissed Butch, because she heard him get up and shuffle towards the door. Hurriedly, Faith moved away and acted like she'd just arrived as he exited the office.
"Hiya, Faith," Butch said, louder than necessary. "Do you want me to come back yet?"
After overhearing their conversation, she'd changed her mind about telling the truth. "I'm selling the place, Butch. You'll have to talk to the new owner."
"Oh yeah? Damn, that's too bad. I'd really enjoy working for you again. The job was just getting interesting."
Her face burned with anger. Faith resisted slapping him; instead she acted meek and looked away. "Talk to Bill Holder. Maybe he can use a hand."
Butch made a point of brushing against her when he walked by, and for the first time she was afraid. Not only afraid of him, but also of an expanding plot involving people she used to trust.
Faith jumped when gentle fingers caressed her cheek, and Bill said, "Hey Babe, you're turning blue again."
Watching his concerned eyes flash to the road and back, she decided, 'Bill should know what happened. Love shares all things, not just the good things.'
Taking hold of his hand and lightly kissing the palm, Faith answered, "I know who's been working to get me out of town." After a momentary pause, she continued, "It's Bob Engles. He called yesterday and was angry because he heard I was selling the land to someone else. I went to his office today, to talk about it, and I overheard him telling Butch that if he didn't get my land soon he was screwed."
Faith Released Bill's hand and he began stroking her hair.
"When I talked to Bob, he had no idea that I heard what he'd said to Butch, and acted friendly and apologetic for the way he spoke to me on the phone. I don't know what I should do now."
Bill hugged her shoulders. "We don't do anything. I'd say it's up to him. Hopefully he's all talk. If his time is running out, the crisis may pass and take care of itself."
"Why do you think he wants my land?"
"Engles? He's the guy who owns the land adjacent to yours, right?"
"Yes."
"He's probably made a deal with some developer that's dependant on a certain number of acres and he needs to own your plot to reach the requirement. There must be a deadline. And if he doesn't meet it, the proposal goes to someone else. Usually these land developers have time constraints based on available financing. And from the way Bob's acting, I'd say he's in debt up to his eyeballs."
Snuggling against his side, Faith curled her legs up onto the seat and closed her eyes, praying the crisis would pass very soon.
The remainder of the trip was silent, until they arrived home and busied themselves with logging preparations. When Bill started the chainsaw, Faith was reminded how much they frightened her. Just one mistake could cost a limb or a life.
When she loaded a first aid kit into the truck, Bill smiled. "Hope for the best and prepare for the worst?"
"You got it, Sweetie," she answered, patting his butt on her way to fetch the wheelbarrow.
After lunch, they headed off to work. Hershey sat in the cab with them, her head sticking out the passenger window, eyes squinting, ears flapping and nose snuffling.
The plan was simple -- Bill would cut and Faith would load the firewood onto the truck and help with the pry bar when necessary. The sky was cloudless and, as the sun passed its zenith, the direct rays were hot. Parking the truck as close as possible to the downed wires, they piled tools into the wheelbarrow and rolled down to the jobsite, enjoying the day and each other's company. Hershey romped around them, sniffing and searching for who knows what. After a preliminary inspection, the McCullough was fired up and hard labor began.
First, Bill cut down the remainder of the tree trunk. Next, the branches were pruned off and Faith piled the dead brush for kindling, hopefully to be used for a bonfire during camp-time this summer.
While she waited for more cuttings, Faith had the chance to watch Bill work. He'd stripped to a tee shirt and his sweat glistened on his arms and face. The damp fabric accentuated his physique, as the exertion made it cling. At first, she felt admiration watching him, similar to how she had felt as a little girl watching her father in the workshop. But soon there were singularly adult thoughts, as she remembered how gentle those powerful muscles could be while loving her.
'The grace of the human body is amazing to witness in all its variations,' she concluded.
Biceps and triceps bulged in the effort of controlling the spinning chain, as it ripped through the dense maple. The new gloves looked ruggedly masculine, knotted into fists around the red handles. Wood chips spit off and stuck to his arms and legs. The concentration made his facial muscles clench, defining his jaw and cheeks.
She thought, 'I should get my camera and save some of this for posterity.'
The noise was deafening and when he stopped to adjust his stance her ears were ringing.
"Faith, bring the bar over and wedge it under this log. The saw's getting pinched."
Jamming it under, near the partial cut, she used another log as a fulcrum and pushed down on the bar with all her weight. "How's that, Paul?"
"Great, thanks Babe," he said, his eyes smiling at her through fogged safety glasses, before revving the chainsaw again.
