Shifting by Bethany Wiggins Read Free Book Online

and stared at the vehicle. When he stepped from the SUV, my stomach dropped into my hips. Shash and Duke went ballistic. I grabbed both dogs’ collars and started dragging them toward the barn before they had the chance to attack.
    Footsteps thudded on the ground behind me.
    â€œMaggie Mae.”
    I stopped and peered over my shoulder. The dogs growled and struggled against me, nearly yanking me off my feet to get at Bridger O’Connell. He held his hand out and stared at the dogs. “ Beh-gha ,” he said, his voice deep and quiet. Shash and Duke whimpered and sat. “Um … hi,” Bridger said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his fashionably worn jeans and looking at me. Duke’s tail thumped on the dirt.
    â€œWhat did you say to them?” I asked, looking between Bridger and the calm dogs.
    â€œI told them that was enough. And they listened.”
    â€œEnough? In what language?”
    Bridger smiled. “Navajo.” He scanned the dirt I’d been working. “You’re tilling a garden?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWant some help?”
    I looked at his leather shoes, his expensive jeans, and short-sleeve button-up shirt. Without a word he turned from me and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a white V-neck T-shirt beneath. Just above the neckline of his shirt, a necklace hung on a leather strap against his golden chest—a glossy black claw of some sort, mounted in silver, with a turquoise stone embedded in it.
    Bridger tossed his button-up shirt onto the hood of his SUV, walked to my upright shovel, and dug it into the ground, flipping the dirt over on itself. Leave it to Bridger O’Connell to make me feel underdressed to do gardening—even if he was wearing a plain T-shirt.
    Shash broke away from me and wagged his way over to Bridger. Bridger grinned and scratched the dog’s ears, then dug the shovel back into the hard earth. I watched him work for a full minute, absolutely shocked that he was seriously going to help me dig, before going to the shed on the side of Mrs. Carpenter’s house for a second shovel.
    We tilled the garden side by side, the dogs our silent companions. I stole glances at Bridger when he wasn’t looking, watching the way his broad shoulders moved and his biceps flexed as he lifted and turned shovels full of dirt.
    More than once, I caught him staring at me, too.
    With Bridger’s help it didn’t take long to till the entire garden. When the last scoop of dirt was turned, Bridger and I leaned on our shovels and stared at each other. When neither of us said a word, Bridger took the shovel from my hands and carried it to the shed. I dragged the dogs to the barn and locked them in.
    We met back at the edge of the tilled earth and Bridger wiped a hand over his brow. I stared at him for a long, awkward moment, wondering why he was here.
    â€œThat was hard work. I’m thirsty,” he said.
    Yeah, I could take a hint. “You want something to drink?”
    â€œThat would be nice.”
    I nodded and walked to the house. On the front porch, Bridger and I removed our dusty shoes.
    â€œDo you want juice or …,” I asked as I stepped into the house. I stopped walking and turned. Bridger stood framed in the doorway, watching me. “Do you want a drink or not?”
    â€œYou didn’t invite me in,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
    â€œCome in,” I said.
    â€œThanks. Can I get a glass of water?”
    I filled two glasses with ice and tap water and sat down at the dining room table. Bridger sat in the chair beside me and our knees bumped.
    â€œSo, why are you here? Do you need to see Mrs. Carpenter? Or do you typically drive around on Saturday looking for gardens to till with girls you hardly know?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to you, Maggie Mae, so I called your house. Mrs. Carpenter answered and said if I had something to say to you, I could come over and say it while I helped you