Frank ambled over and flopped against her, and she held onto him, the steady rhythm of his breathing the only thing anchoring her.
“Oh, God, Bryce,” she whispered into the silence. “What have you done?”
CHAPTER THREE
“I appreciate you taking over the project.” Trevor shielded his eyes from the bright Colorado sun as he watched his framing crew secure the beams around the perimeter of the structure. It was a clear morning, most of the snow from last week’s spring storm having melted off after a weekend of unseasonably warm temperatures. The catchphrase he’d heard when they moved to Colorado a year ago, “If you don’t like the weather in Colorado, wait five minutes,” continued to hold true. “I’ll still be available and checking in a couple of times a week but . . .”
Dale Rogers, the foreman at Kincaid Homes, nodded. Dale had been his first hire when Trevor moved to the area over a year ago. Using his reputation in sustainable homebuilding and most of his savings, Trevor had started his own company to leverage the exploding Colorado housing market. “The house over at Eagle Tree is in the final stages. It’s not a problem for me to transfer most of the day-to-day supervision to Brad so I can focus here.” He shifted, scuffed his work boot against the dirt of the construction site. “Mind if I ask if everything’s ok with you?”
How did Trevor explain the last two days of his life? How everything he’d worked for during the past thirteen years was turning on its head to smack him upside his? After another stilted phone conversation, he and Sam had agreed to a tentative schedule for Grace spending time with her. For his own sanity, he should keep his distance, and she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help with her summer camp.
But it was just as obvious she needed it, and working at Bryce Hollow was the best way he could surreptitiously keep tabs on his daughter and the woman she was so determined to know. He had a feeling trying to force Sam to accept his help was going to send him into an early grave. He ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble making him realize he hadn’t shaved this morning. Christ, he was in bad shape.
“It’s fine,” he lied. “A friend I grew up with has a property near here and needs some help with damage from last week’s storm. I’m not sure how much time I’ll need to repair and rebuild, so it’s better if I’m not managing this site.”
“Are you taking a crew with you?” Dale asked. “Is it residential or commercial?”
Trevor shrugged. “It’s personal, so I’m going to handle it myself.”
Dale nodded. “Ok, then.”
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to the other guys. It’s close enough that I can get back and forth if needed. I don’t want a lot of questions because . . .”
“Because it’s personal,” Dale supplied then laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sorry,” Dale said with a shake of his head. “But it’s strange to hear you play the ‘personal’ card. I didn’t think you had a personal life outside of Grace. When was the last time you looked at a woman?”
Trevor had done a lot of looking Saturday night. Given that Sam Carlton had been as famous for being a model as for her extracurricular activities, Trevor thought he’d done a pretty good job of ignoring her existence for the past decade. He’d gotten good at avoiding the magazine racks in the grocery checkout line and, other than ESPN, watched very little television.
He’d assumed she was still traveling the world or living in New York City, which was where she’d been based when Bryce had died. Of course he hadn’t forgotten her beauty, but even the times he’d caught a glimpse of her in an advertisement or on the cover of a tabloid, it had seemed different. She’d looked glamorous, made up, and so wholly unlike the girl he’d once loved that it had been easy to forget the effect she had on him. But up close in the intimacy of her cozy house, all those memories came flooding back.
Everything in his life had gone to hell after Sam left, and he wanted to blame her for all of it. But he could no longer ignore the fact that it wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, she’d hurt him. But her twin sister had been the one to truly change the course of his life. Even so, it made his whole body twitchy thinking that Sam would once again be a part of his world.
“I’ve been on dates,” he said, pulling out his phone and checking his messages.
“Name one woman.”
He opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. “What makes you think this is about a woman anyway? I’m running a business and raising a teenage girl,” he said, knowing he sounded pissier than he had a right to. “I’ll get to the other stuff when there’s time . . .”
“You ignore any woman who shows interest in you, and plenty of them have. I’ve seen it.” Dale barked out another laugh. “You’d better make time or your junk is going to shrivel up and fall off.”
“You don’t need to worry about my junk,” Trevor ground out. “I’d think you have enough to keep you busy since you and Beth are determined to breed your own football squad. How’s she doing?”
“Hanging in there,” Dale said with a nod. “The boys are making her crazy, but she’s so damn happy about having a girl that nothing can ruin her good mood.”
“I hope you drown in a river of pink ruffles.” Trevor smiled for the first time in days. Dale’s wife, Beth, was six months pregnant with their fourth child, the first girl after three boys born within five years.
“Whatever it takes,” Dale agreed.
That was a good mantra for Trevor right now. He was going to do whatever it took to keep his daughter both happy and safe. There was no chance he was losing her or allowing Sam to be more a part of her life than he had to. He still wasn’t convinced that him working at Sam’s summer camp was the smartest move, but at least it would keep him close.
Just not too close that he’d forget she wasn’t for him. His mind might be certain of that, but his body had other ideas.
He left Dale at the job site and headed toward Bryce Hollow Camp, which was only about twenty minutes from where he and Grace lived. Colorado spanned over a hundred thousand square miles and somehow he’d ended up practically neighbors with the one woman he never expected to see again.
He drove down the winding dirt driveway to where a row of cabins sat nestled within a copse of Douglas firs. There was something vaguely familiar about the setting, even beyond the view of the rocky peak towering behind the crystal-clear alpine lake. The constant presence of the massive Rocky Mountains was one of the things he loved most about Colorado.
A black Land Rover was parked near the largest cabin. Trevor pulled in next to it and walked slowly up the gravel path. The front door was open, so he let himself in, only to be greeted by a loud bark and the pounding of canine feet on the hardwood floor.
This time Trevor was ready for Frank’s greeting and shifted so that the dog ran into his thigh instead of any other body parts. Immediately, the big animal sank to the ground and exposed his belly for rubbing.
“Kind of a slut, aren’t you?” Trevor asked as he bent to pet the dog. He waited a few moments, expecting Sam to appear, but the cabin remained quiet. “Where is she, buddy?” The answer came in the form of an unholy clattering from deep inside the building.
Frank flipped back to his feet, whining softly.
“Let’s check it out,” Trevor told him then called out, “Hello?”
When there was no answer, he followed the sound through the cabin. The dining hall had several wide-plank pine tables situated in its center and an oversized buffet at one end. The room had an incredible view of the lake shimmering from a hundred feet behind the cabin, and the enormous fireplace and hearth on the far wall gave the setting a cozy, mountain feel. As he moved toward the kitchen, he could see the outcome of the storm’s damage. There was a distinct breeze blowing in through a hole in the ceiling at least five feet in diameter, and the limbs of the top half of a pine tree covered the counters, island, and floor.
He moved into the doorway between the dining hall and the ki
tchen and stopped. Sam was standing at the far end of the kitchen, trying to lift a bulky metal cabinet from the floor. She’d wedged herself underneath it, clearly intending to lever it upright but her shoes were slipping on the tile floor, and the front edge of the cabinet was tottering precariously. The whole thing looked like it was going to crush her under its mass, and Trevor rushed forward to grab the other side.
His muscles screamed as he gripped the edges and used his body weight to heft the massive piece of furniture. Sam let out a little yip as his fingers slipped, but he managed to get the cabinet back against the wall. Around them pots, pans, strainers, and other kitchen accessories littered the floor.
Sam’s eyes widened as her gaze crashed into his. She ripped a pair of earbuds from her ears and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by to save you from killing yourself,” he said, wheezing a little from either the effort or the scare—he couldn’t tell which. The tinny sound of country music came from the earbuds she held in her hand.
“I had it under control.” She pulled an iPhone from her pocket, hit a button to turn off the music, then placed the device on the stainless-steel counter behind her.
“Like hell you did,” he muttered, and her eyes narrowed.
“I’ve been on my own for a lot of years, Trevor. I manage just fine without help.”
He surveyed the mess of pots and pans then glanced at where pine needles littered the floor. “Obviously.”
“Not a lot I can do about a storm knocking a tree into the cabin.” She lifted a hand to push her hair out of her face and he saw the splotch of red on the back of her arm.
“You’re hurt.” Instinctively he took her arm, holding her steady when she tried to shrug him off.
“I must have scraped it on the edge of the cabinet.” She lifted her arm and tried to see the injury, but couldn’t because of the angle of the cut. “It’s nothing.”
“Where’s the first aid kit?”
She wrenched her arm away and reached for a dry rag on the counter, then pressed it to her arm. “It’s nothing,” she insisted but winced.
“That nothing is a deep cut which is going to drip blood all over the floor if you don’t bandage it. Where’s the first aid kit?”
She looked at him a long moment and then nodded. “In the cabinet next to the sink. I can get it.”
“Sit down,” he said, pointing to a stool at the far end of the kitchen island.
“You were always too bossy,” she muttered, but lowered herself to the seat.
“And you never listened,” he shot back. He pulled out the red vinyl bag from the cabinet, wet a paper towel, and returned to her.
“I can handle it,” she insisted, reaching for the kit. Their fingers brushed and she pulled away.
“Do you have to argue about everything?” He set the kit on the counter, opened it to look for the supplies he needed. He glanced up to find her studying him.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “With you I need to argue about everything.”
He felt one side of his mouth curve because he understood her answer. Anger was the least complicated of the emotions he felt toward Sam, annoyance the most straightforward. It was slightly gratifying to know he wasn’t the only one affected, but it didn’t change the fact that she was dangerous to him. Those other emotions were there, just below the surface, murky and intriguing. They beckoned to him like a siren’s song, whispering of a desire and devotion he’d left behind long ago.
He swallowed his emotions and made his voice casual. “Let’s take a short time-out so I can patch you up, then we’ll get back to it.” She gave a small laugh and nodded. He put his hands on her shoulders to turn her to a more accessible angle and heard her breath hitch. The energy between them swirled and shifted, and he was once again caught in the black hole of his unwanted attraction to her.
A piece of hair slipped from her ponytail and fell over his hand. The weight of it was so whisper-light he barely felt it, but the sight of that shiny, golden tendril against his tanned skin made his body tighten. Memories of another time battered against his mind, and he forcibly pushed them away.
He released his grip on her and picked up the paper towel, dabbing it at the cut. “It’s deep but small.”
Sam glanced at him over her shoulder. “That’s what she said,” she drawled. When he snorted and shook his head, she shrugged. “Time-out, right? I can make a joke during a time-out.”
He smiled despite himself. Her cheeky sense of humor had always made him laugh, which was almost as dangerous as wanting her. Sam had been not only his first love, but also his best friend, and he realized it would be far too easy to fall back into their easy rapport.
He dotted her arm with antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit and pressed an adhesive bandage over the cut. It was no easy feat to ignore the feel of her skin and the scent of citrus and spice that drifted up from her hair. It was different from how she’d smelled years ago, and he had the ridiculous urge to press his nose to the hollow of her throat and see if the smell of her skin was unchanged.
“Time-out’s over.” He zipped shut the first aid kit and stepped away from her, tossing the bandage scraps into the trash can on the other side of the kitchen. A little distance between them was a good thing.
“Great,” she answered, hopping off the stool. “I wouldn’t want to lose sight of how much I hate you for keeping Grace from me.” She bent to pick up the items that had fallen off the cabinet when it toppled over.
Yes, he thought, he’d deal with hate. Since he couldn’t seem to muster that particular emotion for this woman, he’d have to rely on hers to keep them both safe.
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t give a damn what you think of me.”
A hard wind kicked up for a moment, blowing in through the exposed ceiling. A sprinkling of wet pine needles landed on the kitchen floor, and Sam cursed under her breath. “As you might have noticed, I’ve got my hands full. I need to get the mess in here cleaned up and reattach the tarp to the roof. I took it off this morning when the insurance adjuster was out. Grace texted that she gets out of school at three. Why are you here this morning?”
“I’m here to help,” he answered, stepping closer to examine the gaping hole in the roof.
“I don’t need help,” she snapped. “It’s under control.”
A bird flew into the room and winged around the perimeter before zooming back out.
“Really?” He pointed to the branches drooping across the front of the refrigerator. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s a tree in your kitchen.”
She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Here I thought that breeze was from a window I left open.”
A chuckle bounced out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Did you find a contractor?”
She bit down on her lip and . . . damn . . . that full mouth of hers, as sassy as it could be, had always gotten to him. He ignored his reaction and took a step closer. “It’s not a trick question, Sam.”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “My contractor’s son took over the business, and I met with him over the weekend but . . .”
He waited, shifting slightly closer when she crossed her arms over her chest. Not much unsettled Sam.
“He knows who I am,” she said after a moment.
“I’d imagine people recognize you all the time. So what?” She might dress down, but there was no hiding Sam. Not only was she close to six feet tall, but her long hair and perfect bone structure were etched into the brains of people around the world. He knew she’d dated a string of famous men in her twenties and had the reputation in the tabloids as quite the party girl. An article about her engagement to some eyeliner-wearing rock star had led him to redouble his efforts to ignore her existence. It had just been too damn hard to be reminded of how much she’d hurt him. “Do you honestly expect people to not know who you are?”
Sam worried her bottom lip between her teeth again,
a nervous habit from childhood that she hadn’t been able to break. “Of course not,” she told him, turning to put the pots and pans back into the cabinet. “But sometimes men mistake what I did and what they think they know about me for who I am now.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Trevor trying to work that one out. Of course he wouldn’t get it. For all his surliness, Trevor Kincaid was a stand-up guy. “I don’t understand,” he said after a moment. “It’s not like you were a stripper.”
She barked out a laugh. “To some people, modeling lingerie and swimsuits equates to the same thing. And with the gossip surrounding my personal life, men seem to think—”
He was at her side in an instant, whirling her around to face him. “Did this guy put a hand on you? Did he hurt you?”
The intensity of his gaze both shocked and soothed her. “No, nothing happened.” She shrugged. “But I’ve learned to trust my instincts when it comes to men.” That wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t trust her instincts at all, so she stayed clear of men.
Trevor let out a vicious litany of curses before meeting her gaze again. “I’d like to string him up by the balls,” he said before rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Creative use of language,” she whispered, trying not to be affected by his defense of her and the sound of his beard scraping against his fingers. But inside she was cheering.
She’d spent so long cultivating the image that she didn’t need support that most people believed it. To hear him angry on her behalf loosened the tight knot inside her chest. “I’ll find someone else. There’s a guy coming tomorrow morning to take care of the trees. I can ask for recommendations—”
“I’ve cleared my calendar for the next few weeks,” he interrupted, pulling out his phone and punching in a text. “I’ll have my roofers here on Wednesday morning.” He lifted the phone and snapped a few pictures of the kitchen. “Are you just replacing what was damaged? If you’re open to it, I have some ideas that will make the space more functional and give it a modern feel.”
Tell Me Again Page 3