by Sara Daniel
More important than learning the ins and outs of the construction business was the fact that she needed the paycheck. She had more to clean and repair than she had money in her wallet. She’d sold everything of value to pay off the student loans from her business degree—the one that was supposed to make people take her seriously.
Veronica shivered. Nobody did, and she’d given up everything she could fall back on. Now she had to prove she was strong enough to do manual labor and work at the poverty line. Before she could prove it to Matt, her grandfather, and her parents, she had to prove it to herself.
…
“So you mend fences and remodel convenience stores. What else do you do?”
“A little bit of everything.” Matt gulped his morning coffee and focused on the road. He didn’t want to start a conversation. He’d already discovered yesterday afternoon that Veronica was charming and witty. It would be too easy to enjoy her company and want to impress her. The entire scenario would end with him falling far short of her expectations.
“You’re a handyman.” Veronica’s tone implied the designation fell below construction worker on the social scale. She flipped open her book to a section titled Fences, Posts, and Gates.
“Yeah, pretty much.” It wasn’t the complete truth. He did plenty of handyman jobs, but he also ran a full-service construction firm. He enjoyed taking on big jobs, as long as he could preserve the reputation his brother had built for small-town personal service and keep himself on the front lines of the labor force. No amount of money was worth chaining himself to a desk, buried in paperwork. But there was no use explaining that to someone with her pedigree.
“How long will this job take?”
“About an hour.” Probably longer with her distracting his focus and standing in his way. “Then I’ll go back to the convenience store.” He swerved around the massive pothole on the right side of the street, then turned into a driveway.
Veronica braced her hand on the dash and looked out the side window at the bumpy road. “Is that hole another project on the day’s agenda?”
“Construction companies from bigger towns come in to do road projects.” He bounced up the driveway and stopped at his favorite house in the whole county. It was an old-style farmhouse with peeling paint, old-fashioned shutters, and a drooping wraparound porch. Some day he was going to turn it into a beauty.
“Oh my gosh. This place is gorgeous. If you painted the house white and the shutters bright blue, it would look amazing. Oh, and you could put some big antique rocking chairs on the porch once you fix that up. Wow,” she said, looking on in awe, “there is amazing potential here. What are we starting with?”
“The gate,” he reminded her. He got out of the truck and walked around to open the tailgate, unsettled that she was so in tune with the way he coveted replacing those rotting floorboards, restoring the whole house and making it beautiful.
Veronica met him at the back of the truck. He grudgingly gave her points for not sitting in the vehicle waiting for him to open the passenger door. “Right. The gate.” She shot another wistful look across the yard. “Is fixing up the rest of the house too big a project for your company, too?”
The insinuation smarted, although moments ago he’d wanted her to think his business was nothing short of pathetic. “Too much for the owner. Mrs. Parker’s doing as much as she can afford right now.”
Speaking of Mrs. Parker, he’d forgotten to return that darn library book again. He wasn’t even sure where it was in his house. “When she’s ready, she’ll give me the green light to fix up the porch and paint the place.” He liked the idea of blue shutters even better than his original plan for brown.
“And you’re making a living off this business?” Veronica looked incredulous.
“Enough for me.” Not enough to pay back Ron and regain complete ownership of his company. Not nearly enough to satisfy a high-class woman.
But Veronica was still focused on the building. “Wow. She must really love this house to live here in the condition it’s in now.”
“She hates it,” Matt muttered. Knowing that made him want to fix it up even more and give it the love it deserved. He pulled out his tool belt, hammer, and some two-by-fours to use as temporary braces. “Grab two L brackets.”
Veronica reluctantly looked away from the building, but she didn’t glance at the materials in the truck. Instead, she opened her book to the index in the back. “There’s nothing in here by that name. What are L brackets?”
“Steel angle. They look like the letter L.”
“Wait, maybe they are in here.” She flipped the pages and squinted at a picture. “Are they the same as butt joints or angle irons?” She looked up at him and grinned. “Butt joints, really? I’m pretty sure I have two butt joints, but I’m not going to build a gate with them.”
He laughed, despite her having no intuition about construction at all. “You don’t need to know every vocabulary word to know how to do it.”
“Listen to this.” She had her head buried in the book again. “’Resquare a sagging gate with a turnbuckle and wire.’ Is that what you were going to do? Is a turnbuckle the same as the L-thingy?”
Still grinning with amusement, Matt ignored the question and grabbed the supplies he wanted. He didn’t need to explain the process—she was never going to fix a gate in her life. She’d hit her limit within a few minutes or hours, and he could go back to getting his work done in peace. Unfortunately, working without her humor, sunny disposition, and wide, hopeful gaze didn’t hold nearly as much appeal as it had yesterday.
Although the day was early, the weather was unusually warm. Matt shoved a baseball hat on his head to give himself a bit of shade. Veronica sauntered around the truck in her skinny jeans, fussing with her pink bandana.
He walked ahead of her so he wouldn’t act on the sudden and bizarre urge to slide his fingers through her hair. By the time she joined him, he’d removed the lopsided wooden gate from its hinges.
“Prop this up somewhere.” He held the bulky structure out to her, but she had her book under her arm and was still messing with the silly bandana. Instead of dropping everything to take it, she brushed her toe over the deep gouge in the earth that the gate’s lopsidedness had created. “What caused it to sag this much?”
He set the gate out of the way himself. “You can look it up in your book later; the cause doesn’t matter. You need to pay attention to how to fix it right so it doesn’t start sagging again tomorrow. Lean against this post to push it back in position, and then I’ll secure it.”
“The solution would make more sense if I understood the cause,” Veronica murmured, but she leaned against the post like he’d instructed.
Matt pounded the braces in place, his hammer doing an excellent job of silencing the conversation. It was not nearly as effective at blocking out her warmth and soft curves beckoning him, as he worked inches away from her lithe body. She, meanwhile, was so absorbed in the pages of her book that she seemed oblivious to both him and the noise.
He returned to the truck for the level and longer nails and, most importantly, to give himself space. When he came back, Veronica was still pushing against the post that no longer needed her support, while reading her instruction manual. His body hummed with awareness as he worked around her.
Finally, she closed the book and looked at him. “I should do the work while you tell me what I need to do for each step,” she said. “Like most people, I learn faster and more completely by doing than by watching and listening.”
He doubted her plans for after she left his company required any skills he could teach her. Then again, if he gave her the chance to touch the gate and get a splinter, maybe she’d decide her thirty-day trial wasn’t worth it. He could get his focus back on completing jobs and bringing in new business. He had employees and bills to pay.
He handed over the hammer and the level, momentarily sidetracked as a breeze blew the scent of her exotic perfume—orchids, maybe, or mangos
or…bleach?—to his nostrils. “Pound in the L brackets. Make sure they’re straight.”
Veronica accepted only the level, leaving him to hold the hammer. She took an inordinate amount of time making sure the brackets were lined up and the bubble in the level was perfectly positioned inside the lines. He gave her points for precision, even though patiently watching someone do the work he could do faster and better made him crazy.
Finally, she returned the level and took the hammer. She swung at the nail and…
She smashed her thumb against the post.
“Oh!” She gasped and her eyes filled with tears as the nail and bracket clattered to the ground. Instead of falling with them or turning to him, she bent and picked up the pieces. She took the level back out of his hand and started to repeat the process of positioning the bracket again.
Matt stared at her, trying to understand what had happened. She’d smashed her thumb, and now she was going to continue working without complaining? The pain had to be excruciating. Didn’t this woman have a nasty side? Kimberly certainly had unleashed hers the first—and only—time she’d allowed herself close enough to physical labor to get a tiny scratch. At the very least, Veronica had the perfect opportunity to suck a little sympathy from him.
She silently traded the level for the hammer. This time she was more cautious with the tool, making contact with the nail using small, tentative strokes.
“You’re not even denting the post,” Matt pointed out.
She handed the hammer to him. “I think you should—”
She’d been so stoic earlier that he forced himself to swallow his smug “I told you so.” He reached to take the hammer. She released it and crumpled to the ground.
“That’s a delayed reaction if I ever saw one.” And a little overdramatic as far as sympathy bids went. Matt looked down at her. She wasn’t clutching her thumb. She was just…there.
He knelt beside her and placed his finger on the smooth, warm skin of her neck. Her pulse was steady. She’d just gone for an over-the-top attempt at sympathy.
Her eyes flickered open and settled on him. She started to sit up and immediately tucked her head in a fetal position. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled and weak. “I can hammer it. Give me a minute.”
Okay, maybe this wasn’t a sympathy bid at all. Maybe she really had fainted. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m going to finish hammering.” She looked pale but was alert and insisting she was well enough to work.
He picked up the jug of water he’d brought with him, uncapped it, and levered her slowly into a sitting position, trying not to think about how intimately his hand was splayed up her back, his fingertips touching her spine. “Drink this.”
She took a small sip and handed it to him. “Thanks.”
He pushed it back to her. “Drink it like you mean it.” He watched her throat work as she tipped her head to swallow, exposing flawless, pale skin. He managed to get half the contents in her before she returned the thermos, rewarding him with a little color in her cheeks.
He reached under her knees and around her back, lifting her up.
“What are you doing?” Her panicked voice was right against his ear.
He’d been platonically assisting an injured person. But her demand made him all too aware of their physical closeness. “Checking out your butt joints. What do you think?” he said with a laugh. “I’m carrying you to the truck, okay? I’m not making a move on you.”
“Is there such a thing as thumb joints? That’s where I could really use the attention.” Veronica looped an arm around his shoulders and rested her head on his chest. He tucked his chin against the top of her head so he could lift the truck’s passenger door handle.
His lungs filled with the strangely alluring scent of sodium hypochlorite and expensive perfume. He set her in the seat. If she’d stayed here to begin with, maybe he’d be able to concentrate on her thumb joint, instead of the other body parts he had no business touching but his fingers suddenly itched to explore. “Do you do this often?”
“Smash my thumb? I shut it in a door once. But this is my first time with a hammer.” Her full pink lips were inches from his.
“Faint,” he clarified, disentangling her arm from his shoulders and stepping back.
“Oh.” Embarrassment gave her face more color. “Only once. I volunteered for Habitat for Humanity in the middle of July—crazy hot and humid. It was the first day, and they had us report to the site at some absurd hour, so I didn’t have time for breakfast. I guess I kind of collapsed or something; I’m a little fuzzy on the details. All I know is they wouldn’t let me touch the power tools after that. So I did paperwork, hit up vendors for donations, and coordinated charity events.”
She had a history of passing out on the job. That definitely required documentation. And was exactly why he needed to return his focus to his employer responsibilities. “When was the last time you’ve eaten? I’m guessing you skipped breakfast?”
“Not on purpose. By the time I got my trailer clean enough that I could sleep in it, both the grocery store and that little diner on the corner were closed. I’d left my doughnuts outside, and some critter found them before I did. But I’m fine, Matt. Let me get back to work, please.”
“Not on your life. Do you know how much my workman’s comp insurance goes up when I have an on-the-job injury?” But as guilty as she was for not taking care of herself, he deserved just as much blame. He knew the state of her trailer made it impossible for her to cook anything, and he’d heard what the townspeople had done to her at the grocery store. She hadn’t stepped inside Pauline’s Diner, which, considering the gossip there, was probably a smart choice. And Barney likely would have sent her out of the convenience store with something completely inedible.
Clearly, she hadn’t eaten since she arrived in Kortville yesterday. But he’d been too busy complaining about her being two minutes late for work and slowing him down on the job to notice. No wonder she’d passed out. Setting her up to fail was one thing—he would never purposefully endanger the health of anyone.
Matt was ashamed to realize he’d already done so. He slammed the passenger door, closed the tailgate, and settled into the driver’s seat.
“Where are you taking me?”
Her suspicion was well founded. He’d already proven he couldn’t be trusted to take care of her. “To get some food. And ice for your thumb.”
She was cradling it in her other hand; he bet it was throbbing and giving her a splitting headache. Her inability to swing a hammer, however, had nothing to do with her state of nutrition. She had no business working construction if she couldn’t drive a single nail into place.
“You left your tools behind,” she noted as he backed out of the driveway. “We didn’t finish hanging the gate, and I really wanted to meet the owner of that house.”
“I’ll come back and finish up. The job’s almost done.”
“So I’m your top priority.” She leaned her forehead against the window. “That’s so sweet.”
His chest tightened, but he kept his voice impassive. “You have a warped idea of top priority if you think someone who makes you beat yourself up with tools and then pass out is sweet.”
She lifted her head enough to smile weakly at him. “Matt Shaw, you are without a doubt the sweetest boss I’ve ever had.”
His fingers twitched. He clenched the steering wheel, but it was a poor substitute for the skin he longed to touch. “You’re only saying that because I haven’t fired you yet.”
Chapter Three
Her head was pounding nearly as hard as her thumb. Veronica kept her eyes closed, wishing she could shrivel and fade away. So she needed to remember to eat in the morning. So she wasn’t cut out for construction. She had her wits. She had an MBA, for goodness sake! She could make it in the world.
The truck stopped moving, and Veronica looked out the windshield. They were stopped in front of another house, this one
nearly as small as her trailer but much better maintained, the grass perhaps a day or two overdue for a mowing. “What are we doing here?”
“Getting breakfast. Can you walk?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Her cheeks heated. Matt had cradled her in his arms as he’d carried her to the vehicle. If he’d given her a minute, she could have walked. But instead, he’d proven his theory of how helpless she was and given her a taste of how good it felt to be helpless in his big, strong arms.
She was pathetic, finally claiming her pride and independence only to toss it aside less than twenty-four hours later, the second she stumbled upon a cute guy. She got out of the pickup and walked under her own power, but Matt hovered inches from her, ready to catch her if she so much as stumbled while she made her way to the front door. “Whose house is this?”
“Mine.” He unlocked the door and held it open for her.
She made no move to step over the threshold. She wasn’t going to depend on him to take care of her. She could take care of herself. “Take me to my trailer, please. I’ll find something to eat.”
“I saw what your refrigerator was stocked with. How do you feel about omelets?”
“Too much work. How about a piece of toast?” Okay, she’d eat here. He was right about the lack of anything edible in her trailer. A little food, and she’d be able to think more clearly. She had to convince him she had something to offer as an employee so he wouldn’t want to fire her.
She stepped inside. Matt closed the door behind her and headed through the small entry into the living room. She followed him through the open floor plan to the kitchen. She was wrong. The house looked small from the outside, but it was at least twice the size of her trailer.
He pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for her to sit. Then he set an ice pack, a towel, and a glass of orange juice in front of her. “How’s the thumb? Are you going to lose the fingernail?”
“Lose my nail?” She sank into the offered chair, feeling woozy again. Her thumb was red and puffy, but the ice felt heavenly.