by Lucy Score
She nodded briskly.
The list was getting longer and longer, and at this point, I wanted to say yes to everything just to see what this girl could do.
She didn’t look like any handyman I knew. Granted, it was a sexist observation and entirely unlike me. Despite wearing a tool belt and a headlamp, Scarlett looked more like an elementary school art teacher than a heavy-lifting blue-collar business owner. She was still unsettlingly gorgeous.
I was used to beautiful women. My father had been a U.S. Senator, and we’d spent most of our lives between Annapolis and Washington, D.C., before he retired into consulting. Everyone there was flawless, at least on the outside. Scarlett, by contrast, rolled up in a pick-up truck with dirt on her chin and sawdust and mud on the knees of her jeans. Her very nicely fitting jeans.
She looked like she belonged on a poster on a teenage boy’s wall in those sexy jeans and fitted Henley. I’d never considered tool belts to be sexy, but on Scarlett’s swaying hips, I was willing to reconsider my stance.
“All right,” Scarlett said, tucking the contractor pencil back in her belt. “I’m gonna run the numbers for you so you have an accurate quote, but I can give you an estimate right now.”
She named a figure that didn’t make me light-headed. “That’s with the friends and family discount for Granny Louisa,” she said, making another note in her notebook.
I peered over her shoulder at it. She had the handwriting of a three-year-old trying to figure out whether they were right- or left-handed.
“You can think about it and let me know,” she said, ripping off a corner of the paper and handing it over.
“Let’s do it,” I decided. I wanted to see if she could do it all just as much as I wanted to give my grandmother and Estelle a “thank you” for letting me stay.
“All right,” Scarlett said. “I can start on the deck tomorrow and fit in some of the smaller projects here and there. I’ve got a roof job and some dry-walling this week, but after I’ll have a bit more time.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
If she was surprised by my agreement, she didn’t let on. “Awesome. Listen, while I’m here. I’m gonna check your roof. I did some patches last year, and I wanna make sure there aren’t any new loose shingles.”
I looked up. The roof was three stories above ground. The first floor was a garage and walk-out basement.
“Okaaaay.” I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea of anyone crawling around that high up off the ground.
“You don’t have to go up,” she said, patting my arm like I was a scared kid. “I got this.”
She hustled over to her pick-up and pulled the extension ladder off of the rack. Whistling, she held it over her head and hauled it up around to the front of the house. I jogged after her.
“Want me to carry that?” I offered.
She shot me an amused look. “I think I can handle an aluminum ladder.”
She propped it against the front of the house and extended it all the way up. At least from this elevation it was only two stories up, but still. She placed a booted foot on the first rung and rocked the ladder until it dug into the flowerbed.
Scarlett scrambled halfway up the ladder before I reached out to hold it. “Are you sure you should be doing this?” I called after her.
She hung one-handed at the top and laughed. “Don’t worry, Dev. I don’t expect you to get up here with me.”
It wasn’t that I was afraid of heights. They’d never bothered me before. It was that, right now, everything terrified me. The unknown, hell, the known. Being away from work, my home, away from Annapolis. The only thing that was worse than being away from it was the idea of going back. I’d become risk adverse to the point where leaving the house felt like a monumental task. I’d been in Bootleg for three days and still hadn’t ventured any farther than across the property line to Scarlett’s party.
I squinted up in time to see Scarlett swing her leg onto the roof and disappear. The skies seemed bluer today, the sun sharper. And that hollow feeling in my gut, the one that had taken up residence when I’d discovered my wife of three years reviewing our prenup at the breakfast table, didn’t feel quite as empty. The last of the daffodils fluttered against my shins in the breeze.
“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath. I could climb a damn ladder and sit on a fucking roof. I still had my balls. Johanna hadn’t gotten those in the divorce.
I climbed. Sure, maybe my fingers ached from the tight grip on the rungs. And maybe my knees shook a little bit. But when I crested the lip of the roof, when I very carefully stepped onto the shingled expanse, I took a deep breath, and it was the first one in months that didn’t feel like it was choking me.
“You made it.” Scarlett grinned at me from her position on the peak where she was examining the chimney.
“I did.” I looked to the lake, an even better view here than in the house. It stretched on, a shimmering expanse that beckoned the gaze and held it. The trees, green with new leaves, shivered in the breeze. The wind felt stronger up here. I wondered if it was strong enough to move the clouds that had anchored themselves above me.
“Patches held up, and I’m not seeing anything new that you need to worry about,” Scarlett announced standing up and bopping toward me as if she were on flat ground.
“Good.”
“Not bad, right?” she said, staring out over the waters.
“Not bad,” I repeated.
She took a bracing breath, filling her lungs with spring sunshine. “I love this time of year. Everything comes back to life.”
God, I hoped it was true.
We both heard it. The rattle of metal, and I turned to watch in horror as the ladder listed to the side and disappeared.
“Ah, fuck,” Scarlett swore and jogged to the edge of the roof.
I scrambled after her and grabbed the back of her belt when she peered over the edge. “Jesus, Scarlett, can you maybe not plunge off my grandmother’s roof?”
“I’ve been climbing on rooftops since I was twelve years old,” she said, rolling her eyes at my concern.
“And how many have you fallen off of?” I asked.
“Six or seven.” She shrugged, unconcerned.
I towed her away from the edge for my own peace of mind. “We’re trapped. We’re stuck up here.” I could feel the panic rising in me, and I hated it. I hated myself. The anxiety that had reared its ugly and inconvenient head when I found out my whole life was a sham rushed back, socking me in the chest with the force of a fist.
“Sit your ass down,” Scarlett said, her voice stern. She pushed me down, and I dug my heels into the shingles and tried not to think about how high up we were. She sank down in front of me and stared hard until I met her gaze. “We’re gonna be just fine. I’ve got my phone in my pocket. Okay?”
She was talking me down. I hated the fact that it was necessary.
I nodded. She squeezed my knees through my jeans. The contact helped.
“Heights bother you?” she asked, her accent softening her words.
I shook my head and closed my eyes. “Life bothers me.”
She cupped my face, and I opened my eyes. Her clear gray eyes—so close to sterling—were inches from me. Her lips, soft and pink, hovered just out of reach. “You, Devlin McCallister, are gonna be just fine.”
It sounded like a promise. Or maybe it was a threat. I didn’t care. I clung to the words like a lifeline in a storm.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Well, let’s see how this relationship progresses, and we’ll see if there’s anything else you can hold me to.” She gave me an exaggerated wink, and I felt my lips quirk.
Scarlett ruffled my hair like I was a kid. “I’m gonna call my brother. He’ll get us back on the ground quicker than gravity.”
She didn’t leave my side but sat down hip-to-hip with me.
“Gibs, what are you doing?”
I couldn’t hear his response, but I imagined it
was something snarky.
“Good, then you have time to help your favorite sister out. I’m up on Granny Louisa’s roof—”
She stopped and frowned. “I did not fall off this one… No. I don’t need an ambulance… Jesus, Gibs, chill out. The ladder fell. Dev and I are stuck on the roof, and I’m getting hungry.”
She listened, rolling her eyes heavenward.
“Thank yooooou,” she sang before disconnecting. “He knows it’s an emergency when hunger is involved. He’ll be here in ten.”
5
Scarlett
Gibson gave me the growly once over when my boots hit the ground. “I didn’t fall off of anything. I swear,” I sighed, punching him in the arm. He smelled like sawdust and stain.
Devlin climbed down after me. He looked considerably less green around the gills once his feet were on solid ground.
“Thanks for the rescue,” Devlin said to Gibson.
My brother, being a rude bastard, grunted. I kicked him in the ankle. “Ow! god damn it, Scarlett!” He gave me a shove and I laughed.
“I apologize for my brother being a crabby bastard, Dev. I interrupted him while he was workin’. He likes that about as much as when I interrupt him sleepin’.”
Gibson sighed. “It’s fine. I was done staining anyway.”
“Gibson here makes the finest cabinets this side of the state,” I told Devlin. “I’ve been after your granny to let him have a crack at her kitchen. I think I’m wearin’ her down.”
“You need anything else?” Gibson asked.
“You’re free to go,” I said grandly, dismissing him.
He started to walk away, grumbling about what an epic pain in his ass I was, but only made it a few paces. “Here.” He pulled a candy bar out of his back pocket and tossed it to me.
Say what you want about Gibson Bodine, but my brother has a heart of gold. It’s just under a whole bunch of thorns. And maybe some gargoyles and fire-breathing dragons. But it’s there, and it’s a whole lot bigger than anyone else knows.
“Thanks, Gibs,” I said, unwrapping the chocolate. Without another word, he jumped in his truck and left. At least he didn’t do a burnout in Granny Louisa’s driveway. He wasn’t a total Neanderthal.
“Let’s go get some lunch,” I said to Dev.
“Lunch?” he repeated.
“You know, the meal between breakfast and supper?”
“I know what lunch is.”
“I’m thinking Moonshine if you want to go.”
“You drink your lunch?”
“It’s a diner, smarty pants. Best open-face turkey sandwich I’ve ever had.” He still looked a little pale for my liking. I wasn’t about to leave a man in the midst of a crisis alone. And there was nothing Whit’s food couldn’t fix.
He didn’t look convinced.
“How many visitors you had today?” I asked, playing the ace up my sleeve.
“Counting you and your brother? Four.”
I nodded. “They’re curious about you. If you show your face in town, you won’t be the broody stranger. They won’t feel the need to come ringin’ your doorbell and handin’ you baked goods if you leave the house every once in a while.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You’re saying if I go into town, they’ll leave me alone?”
“Not entirely. But you won’t be getting near as many strangers on your doorstep.”
“I don’t know, Scarlett. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Man’s gotta eat. C’mon. I’ll buy.” I hooked my arm through his and gave him no choice.
The poor guy didn’t put up a fuss when I shoved him into the passenger seat of my pick-up. I’d seen that look before. That shell-shocked panic. Once, when we were younger and much, much dumber, the four of us were messing around on the ice. Jameson had fallen through. His eyes had the same stunned look as the ice gave way under his feet. We’d pulled him out as a sopping wet human chain. And then lay there on the ice shivering and laughing and half-crying. It’s what we did when one of us was in trouble. From the looks of it, Devlin didn’t have much of a human chain behind him.
I gave him the twenty-cent tour through town. “And those are the hot springs. They keep the lake nice and toasty and draw tourists like crazy. We’ve got a couple of spas on this end of town. And that’s The Lookout.” I pointed to the bar on the hill. “Did your gran tell you anything about the history of Bootleg?”
“She did not,” Devlin said. He scrubbed his palms over his jeans. His nerves were still evident, but at least he was progressing to full sentences.
“Well, Bootleg Springs was the most prosperous town in West Virginia during Prohibition.”
“Ah, hence the name,” Devlin said, catching my drift.
“My great-granddad Jedidiah Bodine was the first to set up a still, and his moonshine became infamous. Soon, the rest of the town was brewing, and every Thursday night, they’d load up boats with liquor. A watch was always stationed up at The Lookout. They’d cross the lake into Maryland where they’d hand off the hooch, and it was distributed to D.C. and Baltimore.”
Devlin made a non-committal noise, but I kept up my incessant chatter as I cruised down Main Street and pointed out more places of interest. The spot where Jedediah led the police on a merry car chase that resulted in the blowing up of his still. That event was still celebrated annually with an enthusiastic reenactment complete with pyrotechnics.
I eased to the curb half a block down from the diner. Moonshine took up the entire first floor of a three-story brick building. The whole block smelled like bacon and home fries. Leftover olfactory souvenirs from the breakfast crowd.
I led Devlin inside and slid into my favorite booth at the back of the diner. From this vantage point, I could see all the comings and goings of my neighbors.
Devlin eyed the greasy menu on the table with skepticism. I, on the other hand, didn’t need to look at mine. I always get the same thing.
“Well, hi there, Scarlett,” Clarabell the head waitress and proprietress of Moonshine said, plucking the pencil out of her brassy red beehive. She and her husband, Whitfield the short order cook, had been serving up plates of goodness for twenty-plus years now. “How y’all doing?”
“We’re doin’ just fine, Clarabell,” I said, ignoring the fact that Devlin had just had a rooftop freakout. “Thank you for the pepperoni rolls last week. That was real thoughtful of you.”
“You’re so welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed ‘em. Now, what can I get for you today?”
“I’ll have the open-faced turkey and a Pepsi,” I said, sliding the menu to the edge of the table.
Devlin looked up from the menu, indecision written all over his handsome face. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said.
Clarabell gave him her trademark crooked smile and picked up the menus. “Sorry about your daddy, Scarlett,” she said before bustling off behind the counter.
It was a strange reality check, knowing that a week ago I’d been sitting in this very booth across from my father, trying to sober him up with coffee and home fries.
“My grandmother told me about your father,” Devlin began. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice gruff. I hadn’t had time to get used to the idea of life without him. Every morning, my first thought was how hard it would be to wake Dad up and get him ready for work if he was in any shape to accompany me. It was still my first thought, but now it was followed with the realization that it was no longer necessary. I remembered in exacting, painful detail walking into his bedroom and finding him cold.
It was a hell of a way to start every morning since. But if I kept busy enough, I could run from it until I could stand to face it alone. “It wasn’t much of a surprise,” I confessed. “Seemed like it was only a matter of time.”
I didn’t want to tarnish my daddy’s memory any further by rehashing all the ways he failed my family. Not to a man who’d never meet him.
“I’m sorry.” Devlin said it simply authenti
cally sweetly.
“Thanks,” I said and changed the subject. “How you feelin’?”
Clarabell returned with our drinks and a wink. Devlin toyed with the straw she left for him.
“I feel like I owe you an explanation,” he said.
I watched his face. Even though his brow was marred by a frown, he wasn’t hard on the eyes. He had that square jaw thing going for him. And stubble. I was a sucker for a manly five o’clock shadow. His eyes were coffee brown and troubled. His hair was a cross between light brown and blond and currently only styled by the nervous fingers he shoved through it.
“You don’t owe me anything until I’ve done the work,” I said. If he wanted to keep this relationship strictly professional, that was an option. Though I admitted I’d be the teensiest bit disappointed.
“I’ve been going through something lately,” he said. “Nothing like losing a parent, though.”
“Let’s not play my pain is worse than yours,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze before picking up my soda. “Pain is pain.”
He grimaced. “I was married. Technically still am for a few weeks at least.”
“Divorce or plotting her murder?” I asked lightly.
The corner of his lips curved up. “I’ll let you know.”
“What happened?”
“I was under the misconception that we were partners. I thought we were building something, following the same path. I didn’t realize her path involved fucking someone else.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry, that sounded harsh,” he winced.
“Did you know him?” Growing up in Bootleg gave all residents a leg up on interrogations. We knew how to pump the unsuspecting for details regardless of whether or not it was our business.
Devlin gave a sigh, weighing his words carefully. “You know, I think I might have known him better than I knew her. I worked with him. We were both legislators in the Maryland House of Delegates.”
“Were?” I pressed.
“We’re out of session right now, and I am on a leave of absence to get my shit together.”