I turn my head over my shoulder, shooting him a look.
One other thing.
He smirks.
Noah nudges my arm. “Let me show you the paints.”
I follow him.
Hours later, Noah and I work away in the shop, our empty dinner bowls of Jake’s chili sitting on the cement floor. The wind howls outside the bay door, but the wood-burning stove crackles in the background, and I don’t even need a coat out here.
Although, I’m wearing two pairs of cozy socks inside my slipper clogs as I putter around in my jeans and Noah’s flannel.
Pushing up my sleeves, I dip the rag in the turpentine and bring it up, slopping it across the top of the chest and scrubbing off the remnants of the finish.
“Doing okay?” Noah asks.
I look up, seeing him digging in a coffee can, the nuts and bolts inside jingling.
“Yeah.”
“What’s the sudden interest in furniture rehab?”
I laugh under my breath, sloshing the rag into the can again. “Maybe it’s an excuse to be where you guys are,” I tease. “All of us working together.”
His white teeth peek out as his smile spreads.
“Or maybe I just don’t want to be left alone inside with your brother’s wrath,” I mumble.
I’d had to wash my hair after the oatmeal this morning. Kaleb helped with the bikes sometimes, but I caught on very early that Jake didn’t make the same demands of him that he did with Noah. Probably because he couldn’t push Kaleb around and didn’t want to risk pushing him too far.
Sometimes Kaleb helped here in the shop. And sometimes he took care of the animals, chopped wood, repaired various equipment around the property, hunted, played with the dogs, or shut himself up in his room. He didn’t stick to only things he wanted to do, but it usually had to be things where he could be left alone. I knew that much.
I continue, my two low pigtails bobbing against my chest as I rub the wood down to its natural color.
Maybe it’s an excuse to be where you guys are.
I might not have been joking about that. College brochures and course catalogs sit on the kitchen table right now, because as soon as I sat down earlier with my laptop to try to go online to fill out applications, I suddenly needed air. Every university takes me away from here.
“It’s not personal, you know?” Noah says.
I look up at him.
“Kaleb,” he clarifies.
I drop my eyes, focusing back on my work. I find that hard to believe. Does he spit in most people’s hair? Noah doesn’t know everything.
Tossing the cloth back in the can, I walk to the basin and wash my hands. Noah crouches down to lie on his back, sliding under the bike again.
“Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” he asks.
“If he wants to tell me.”
I actually am interested, but my pride won’t allow me to show it.
I whip my hands, flinging the excess water before turning off the faucet.
“He’s like our father.” Noah twists a wrench, looking up at his work. “They don’t trust women. Until you, anyway.”