Your Hand in Mine: A Heartwood Novel

by Brea Viragh

  “Don’t look at me,” I immediately began. “This is not my fault.”

  “No, I can see. Although I think it’s somehow related to you.”

  I whirled on him. “Haven’t you insulted me enough for one day? How can you possibly think this is related to me?”

  Fenton’ eyes were wild, in a direct contrast to the calm stillness of his other features. “Maybe you failed to pick up on the silent threats we both received the other day, but I didn’t. I think you can figure out exactly who did this, and why. Think about it.”

  I didn’t like the way he was talking to me. Even less the fact that we were having this conversation on top of what we’d already been forced to discuss. None of it good.

  This was turning out to be a worse weekend than I’d thought.

  Then it clicked in my mind. Someone with enough connections to not only find a load of bricks, but haul it to the B&B. Someone with a crappy temperament and the means to execute.

  “Owen,” I snarled. “I wouldn’t put it past the snake.”

  With trembling fingers, I drew my cell phone out of my purse and began to furiously scroll through my list of contacts.

  Fenton’s hand on mine stopped me for one reason. I hadn’t expected him to touch me.

  “Let me look into it a little bit,” he said quietly. The stupidly attractive voice of reason whose nearness was enough to make my knees turn to mush. “Don’t fly off at the handle yet. This could be someone who has a grudge against me. Or—” he cut off on a groan. “Just let me handle this.”

  “Sure, handle this like you handle everything else,” I snapped. My teeth ground together as I shoved my phone into my purse again. “When it blows up in your face—which it will—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I wasn’t waiting to listen to the rest of it. I broke the contact and urged my feet toward the car. It was time for me to get away from the scene of the crime, I knew. Fast.

  “Why would being reasonable instead of confronting him head on blow up in my face?” Fenton called out with an incredulous laugh.

  “Because assholes like Owen only respond to one thing,” I replied loudly. “Intimidation.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You ever had a buttery nipple?”

  I turned to Bud and stared him down, one eyebrow raised. They were always trying to get me to rise to the bait, I knew, making lewd jokes and off-color comments in the hopes I would lose it and act offended. I never gave them the satisfaction.

  “If you mean the drink, then yes. If you mean actual butter on my actual nipple, then it’s none of your business. Some things a girl needs to keep to herself.” I pondered the situation. The very odd situation where I sat on top of a picnic table surrounded by five sweaty guys who smelled worse than my niece during puberty after soccer practice. No, she wasn’t quite that bad. But the smells were similar.

  The men were weathered in their own ways but sharing a similar aesthetic. Bud, our crew foreman, was a rough-and-tumble man with a circular bald patch on the top of his head, where the hair had migrated south to his nostrils and mustache. He wore a habitual baseball cap in shades of yellow to cover the spot. Today he was sans cigar, which most days hung from the right side of his mouth.

  Of the four main men on the crew, Bud was the oldest, topping the charts at sixty-five. Ray, his brother, was a scant four years younger. Harv and the other boys were small-town Americana in blue jean overalls and sweat-stained undershirts.

  I adored them for their grit, their guileless charm, and their dirty mouths. No one could pop off a joke like the boys. And when it came to putting in a full day of work, they were the best.

  “The four of us are going out tonight to get some drinks.” Bud wiped a hand over his brow then grabbed a plastic bottle of soda and took a long swig. “Then Ray reminded me that we’ve never had the chance to officially welcome you to the crew. It’s been over a month. You’re one of us now. It’s about time we had a night on the town.”

  “Officially welcome me,” I said, testing the words. “Which would, I’m guessing, involve a buttery nipple in some form. Probably a bunch of drunk men and a wheelbarrow to get you out to the cars?”

  Harv slapped a hand down on his knee. “I knew I liked you! Don’t worry about the wheelbarrow, sweetheart, we got it covered. Not our first time out. What do you say? Feel like going down to the Tooth? If you don’t mind being seen with us dirtbags.”

  I shoved a thumb over my shoulder. “Boss man coming?” It was Thursday. Almost five full days since the hotel. Somehow, I’d managed to refrain from being alone in a room with him, keeping myself busy with papers and contracts. He stuck to the outside of the building and left me in peace.

  I was itching to talk to him again but couldn’t quite make my mind and lips obey. It didn’t mean I wanted him watching me drink with the boys.

  “Said it’s his night to work,” Ray answered. “He’ll probably be the one pouring drinks for us. What? You afraid to get dirty around the boss?”

  Oh, boy, he didn’t know the half of it. I ducked to let my hair hide the fire crawling up my neck.

  “A chance for me to hang out with the guys.” Hands rubbing together, I continued. “Just wait. You don’t know what you’re getting yourselves into. You won’t be able to keep up with me.”

  “Keep up with you?” Ray asked. His eyes got wide and made the ends of his caterpillar-brows bristle. “You don’t know the professionals you’re dealing with, missy! Where’s a slight thing like you going to put all that booze, anyway?”

  “You guys think you are professionals? Give me a break.” I stared around at the half-circle of men, leaning on the newly installed porch rails in various states of relaxation. We were done for the day, stopping the clock at five after putting in a rough few hours. The sun had been a killer all day, bringing temperatures up to core melting ninety-five degrees and peeling the skin off of backs. Even inside, in my office with a little fan in the window, I’d felt the squeeze.

  At five, it was still hot, but at least the angle of the sun meant we had a little bit of a break.

  I watched Harv wipe a sweat rag across his head before replacing it in his pocket. The rest of the men Fenton hired had taken off as soon as they punched out.

  “I think I’m dealing with a couple of homebodies who know how to swing a hammer and that’s about it,” I continued, teasing them, knowing I would get a rise.

  They leered at me in unison, and at once I was struck by their similarity to the Three Stooges of old. One with a neat circular spot without hair on the top of his head, the other with two large puffs of hair above his ears. They were a hard group of nuts to crack but somehow, I’d managed to slip through their defenses.

  “I think she’s scared.” Ray elbowed Bud in the side. “She’s gonna be left crying for her momma after this and no one is going to come to her rescue. She knows she can’t hang with the big dogs.”

  Bud chuckled.

  “Big dogs or little pups? I’m still not sure.”

  “She can stay and finish up her work. Lord knows she doesn’t do half of what we do around here, guys,” Bud commented. He turned his gaze to the sky like he was trying to memorize the horizon.

  Ooh, he was a stinker.

  “I’m still practicing standing around and looking like I’m busy, like you. Maybe you have a few pointers for me.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, the fabric of my capris sticking to my legs from the sticky heat of June.

  Bud got another elbow in his side at the comment, along with a belly-busting guffaw out of Harv. “Look busy? Toots, come on. We run the show. You sit in an office. There’s no contest.”

  “Boss man lets you do whatever you want. You wear those short skirts.” Ray was trying to be cute. “You can get away with anything.”

  My face soured. If only it worked that way. So far my short skirts were having little effect on the boss man. Well, some days they made him run like hell in the opposite direction. A man who suddenly rememb
ered he had a world to save.

  “I’ve caught you looking.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “Don’t pretend you aren’t fascinated by my wardrobe.”

  “So, you coming with us tonight? Or not?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I answered, resolve strengthening.

  This would be a test, I knew, to see how well I could adjust to being out in public without giving into the temptation to talk to Fenton. We managed at work. Speaking in monosyllables and getting the job done out of sight of the other.

  I refused to let my weakness compromise my work ethic. Score one for Shari.

  Outside of the job site, it was another story. I hadn’t been alone with him since the car ride back. Not that we would be alone at the Tooth, but he would be bartending. Watching me. The blame was something I wasn’t used to, and it churned my inside into sour milk. I blamed myself for not being strong enough to resist. For jumping into my pattern yet again when I least wanted to. I blamed Fenton for jumping ahead when he knew it would change nothing, and for not being strong enough to let me go.

  I knew there wasn’t one party who deserved all the blame. Still, I was going out of my mind thinking about it. Over and over. Wondering what I should have done differently, then yelling, knowing I wouldn’t change a thing.

  There was also the issue with Owen. There had been no more surprises for us at the job site. Either he’d found a way to communicate whatever he had to communicate with his brick message—which I had to pay for out of pocket, although I wasn’t returning the bricks—or he’d moved on to someone or something else. I was hoping for the second one, although I knew better than to hold my breath. I drew the line at crossing my fingers.

  Once I got in the car and called it quits for the day, I went home and called in the big guns. There was no way I was prepared to go into this alone. I needed serious backup to get my head in the right space.

  Thus, Essie and her squadron of lady friends. Who were more than happy to oblige.

  It was one of the benefits of small-town living on a Thursday night. There was nothing much going on.

  “I need help,” I told them all, pulling the door open the moment Essie knocked. There were two more women behind her, one with sunny blond hair and the other with long waves of chestnut brown down to the middle of her back. They peered around her and into the entry hall.

  “I called the best backup I knew. You sounded serious on the phone.” Essie pointed over her shoulder and adjusted the bag she carried. No doubt preferring to bring her own makeup and accessories. “You remember Leda and Nell?”

  “I’ve seen their faces before. Hi, ladies, come on in, make yourselves comfortable. My house is your house. For the night, anyway, don’t plan on moving in.”

  The other two women smiled at me before piling into my foyer. “Thanks.”

  They trailed behind me down the hall into my bedroom where I pointed at the mess on my floor. “Somewhere in there is the perfect outfit but I haven’t found it yet.” Hands on my hips, I stared, wondering why I hadn’t thought to call them before I emptied my closet. The hangers were empty and rocking back and forth on the rods. I’d grabbed whatever I could before realizing I needed help.

  “I’ve tried on seven thousand outfits and none of them make me look better than a million bucks. I need to be stellar tonight. Knock-a-man’s-pants-off-just-by-looking-at-him stellar.”

  The smaller one—Nell, I thought, although I could have been mistaken—rubbed her hands together. “Girl, your wardrobe…yes. Just yes.” She bent to finger a hot pink mini skirt made of shimmering fabric. “You have more confidence than anyone I’ve seen, wearing these gorgeous skirts. Now, what are we working with?”

  A rare smile lit Essie’s eye. She leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. “Is this about the guy?” Her lips quirked. “Your boss? You haven’t told me the whole story, which makes me think you did something really bad. You would have been on the phone texting me throughout your weekend.”

  “Yes,” I agreed with a sigh. “And it’s the first time I’ll be seeing him outside of work since we slept together and he called it a mistake.”

  The multilayered gasp of indigence was more than I could ask for. My heart lifted and I wondered why I hadn’t had a group of girls over to my house for a “night” in the last five years. What had I been worried about? The collective commiseration was an instant mood boost.

  Leda settled cross-legged next to the pile of clothes on my floor and stared at it like she was making a supreme effort to see toward whatever was hidden in the middle. Her blond hair, cut short and shaggy to her shoulders, made her look younger than her years, although I knew her to be older than the lot of us. A salmon-colored tank top accentuated her curves and was dotted with random spots of flour.

  Essie must have had the whip out, meaning they’d both come from the bakery.

  I filled everyone in on the details. The sordid details and my frustration at the situation.

  “It’s good you haven’t blasted him about it. You’re keeping your cool!” Nell insisted, holding out her tiny hand for a high-five. I happily reached over and obliged. “The first rule of dating is to not make yourself too available. Which puts you in a unique position. You work for the dude. I think you’re doing a great job of handling this. Better than I would have done. God, dating is rough sometimes.”

  “What do you remember about dating?” Leda quipped. “You’re married.”

  Nell stared down at the simple gold band on her left hand. “So are you, you bitch.”

  The two women shared a friendly glare before bursting into peals of laughter. Essie shot me a tired smile and shrugged. “There’s no helping them. When they get together, it’s like a tornado. The insults fly.”

  “She needs an outfit that’s going to make a statement, something that will make him regret all the hurtful things he said to her and have him begging on his knees.” Leda picked up a shirt and scrutinized the fit before tossing it back into the heap.

  “If he’s smart, he’ll be begging,” Nell added. She shook her head and gold loops at her ears jingled. “Men are assholes. More than likely he’ll scratch his head and wonder what she’s doing out rather than focus on working.”

  “Not all men are assholes,” Essie tried to interject. More than likely she was thinking of her boyfriend Isaac and trying to defend his honor.

  “No, they are,” Nell insisted.

  “What about your husband?” Leda asked.

  “He has his moments, trust me. They always do. It’s all a matter of what you’re willing to put up with. I mean, I have to live knowing my husband once made out with my brother.” She suppressed a shudder. “A story for another day, let me tell you.”

  I had to smile at the back and forth. It was nice, I decided, hearing them bicker and squabble and sooth any sting with a well-placed laugh. Nicer still that they were willing to take the time out of their lives and schedules to help me make Fenton suffer. I mean, help me pick out the perfect outfit.

  Without knowing me or my history. Without knowing the crucial aspects of the story I’d churned over the last few days.

  I think I was well on the way to turning my brain into butter.

  “Fenton is a smart guy,” I told them, staring around at the circle of faces. “Just not about relationships. He needs help. He seems to think there is something about his family situation keeping him in a bad place when it comes to women. I want to show him he can have it all. With the right woman.” I pointed to my chest. “Me.”

  Nell grinned wickedly and held up a lacy thong and matching bra. “This kind of help?”

  I pointed to her. “I like the way you think.”

  The next couple of hours were filled with laughter and insults to males in general and went by quicker than I could have imagined. When I walked out of the house on my way to The Tooth, I was dressed in a slinky blue dress that bordered on indecent and made me feel better than my goal of a million dollars.
A small jacket thrown over the top and a pair of sandals completed the look, with enough color to capture attention and enough casual elements—the shoes—to make it appear like I’d thrown it on without thinking.

  Yeah, right!

  I definitely didn’t want to look like I was trying as hard as I was.

  The tingling sensation in my stomach was doing a hell of a job on my concentration, however. It was frustrating. I’d worked with Fenton the entire week, shouldering through duties with the barest minimum required words between us and it sucked, plain and simple. I was curious to see him working behind the bar tonight. To see how he would react to my presence there, if at all.

  In the parking lot, I threw my car keys in my jacket pocket and walked outside.

  The men were waiting for me at the front door, hovering there like a group of near-geriatric hooligans looking for trouble. I swear, in his heyday, Ray must have been a rabble-rouser, with his hair slicked back on his head, cigarette dangling from his lips.

  At least they’d gone home this afternoon and taken a shower to get the stink and grime of the day off. It was the only time since our first meeting that I’d seen any of them wearing something beyond work clothes. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they took their next-to-Sunday-best out of the closet for this occasion.

  It would make my victory that much sweeter.

  “I like this,” I told them with a saucy grin, stopping to stare. “Escorts for me. What did I possibly do to deserve this attention?”

  “Ain’t nothing,” Bud replied.

  “Sure, it ain’t. Now, gentleman, are we going inside or are we going to stand here all night looking pretty?”

  They whooped at my question and Ray held the door open for me. A blast of cool air jettisoned out from the inside along with the smell of stale alcohol and peanuts. It was a typical southern bar complete with sticky linoleum floor and worn out fluorescent lighting. That way you couldn’t see what you were drinking or who you left with. A good move on the owner’s part, I’d always thought.

  Tonight, I wished there was a spotlight on me while I walked in. Maybe a theme song and a fan to give me the full model treatment.