Reagan’s brow furrowed as a series of muffled, rhythmic whumps echoed from the back side of her house. What in the world was going on? It sounded like someone was taking a sledgehammer to the ground. A giant one.
When her house actually shook, she let out a squeak and ran to the door. She yanked it half open before she remembered she was naked and bolted back to her closet for a pair of jeans shorts and a tank top. She dragged both on, then dashed out of the room and down the stairs.
She came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairwell. Bright sunlight poured through the front corner of her living room. Not through the window like normal. Through the ceiling, which was…missing. At least several feet of the area that didn’t support the one-room half story above.
Her mouth fell open. The house shuddered again, and a clump of drywall broke loose from the topmost corner of her front wall, just beneath the gaping hole in the roof. Not trusting she wasn’t still dreaming, she backed out of the room into the kitchen, then spun on her heel and bolted out the back patio door.
Only to run smack-dab into David Yardsley. He gave her a crooked grin, tapped the brim of his ball cap, and said, “Sorry to disturb you, Reagan.”
Um. Yeah. Where the hell was Alex?
Her gaze darted around her patio, and she counted two additional townspeople, totaling four sons and one daughter of the local veterans tinkering around with her house. The man and woman in the yard drove neon orange-painted garden stakes into the ground between the two beautiful old oaks. Right where she’d planned to put the greenhouse. Was that Chance standing near the far tree?
She blinked twice to clear the rest of the sleep from her vision, then frowned again. Yes, Chance was standing there. Alex stood beside him as Chance pointed to different areas of her lawn.
“Alex?” she asked.
A shout rang out from the side of her house, and no sooner had her voice died off than the engine to some sort of large machinery fired up. Her heart picked up speed as a growing sense of panic spread over her. Alex said he’d made arrangements for what was necessary. She’d pictured a roof that didn’t leak, a restored porch, and maybe some new paint. She never would have agreed to this sort of extra extravagance.
She marched across the patio, through the lawn, and came up behind both men. “Excuse me, gentlemen?”
Chance and Alex spun as if a firecracker had exploded behind them.
“Morning, Reagan,” Chance quipped, his grin broad and wide and full of mischief. He shot an uncomfortable-looking Alex a wink, then backed a good three feet away. “I’ll be back. Checking on my coffee.”
Reagan eyed Alex warily. “What’s going on?”
He stubbed a boot-clad toe into the ground with a hesitant smile. “I didn’t mean for them to wake you up. I told them to stay quiet.”
Something about his sheepish look made him even more adorable, and she had trouble hanging on to her annoyance. She managed to shake her head and train her voice into a flat tone. “Um. Not the problem. Somehow I think this defies necessary repairs.”
“Well, you see…” He moved closer and clasped both her hands, turning her a half step so she faced the staked-out area in the grass. He looped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “It was time to hire someone who knew what the hell they were doing.”
She arched an eyebrow. Don’t blow up. He’s trying to be helpful. “Alex,” she started calmly, “there’s a hole in my house. A big hole. And the walls are shaking. And what does the house have to do with this?” She gestured at the orange-tipped stakes.
He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable.
Alarms rang in her head. Her gaze narrowed on him with suspicion. “What is it?”
He heaved a hard breath. “It’s a bit more complicated than I intended. I wanted the porch fixed, the roof redone, and your window replaced. But when I consulted Don—”
“Don?”
“Yeah, I talked with the members of the VFW. They all agreed it was time to help you out.”
Help her out? After the way they’d avoided her since Drew’s death? Alex had swayed the prominent members of the town in her favor. Holy cow. The man really could work miracles.
“One thing led to another, and we got to talking about your greenhouse…”
Greenhouse? Reagan blinked at the staked-out spot on the ground as her mind connected the dots. Chance. Alex. Greenhouse. She’d told Chance and Desi her dream in detail. Chance had to have told Alex. Alex was making it happen. Holy shit! He was building her a greenhouse. But…why?
“You’re taking this better than I expected.” He cocked his head and studied her.
Aware she’d missed the rest of what he’d said, she blinked again. “Huh?”
“The house, the front wall—I expected a bit more reaction.”
“Wait. What about the house?” She shook off her stunned elation over the greenhouse and glanced back at her home.
Alex cleared his throat. “The whole front wall has to come off.”
“Say what?” she squeaked. Visions of her entire living room exposed to the elements flashed through her mind. She couldn’t afford that kind of repair job. Certainly not this year. “Why?” she demanded. “No.” She shook her head violently. “No, you’ve got to make them stop.”
“Sweetheart.” He set both hands on her shoulders again, turned her to face him, and dipped his head until his gaze was level with hers. “It has to. The studs cracked under the strain of the tree. You put a new roof on, in four, five years, you’re going to have major structural damage as the house settles. That’s why your window is broken. The entire exterior wall up to the support for the half story is bowed out.”
Reagan let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t afford that.” And the greenhouse—it was like looking at her dream and having to turn away. She certainly didn’t have the money to build something extra when it would take everything she had to pay off the massive repairs already under way. “Why didn’t you consult me?”
“Because I don’t want you worrying.” He set two fingers under her chin and tipped her head up. “Don’s donated a lot of the materials. Everyone volunteered. What we can’t do—and there are a couple things that require outside contractors—I’ve got it covered.”
“You…have it…covered?” Dumbfounded, she could only stare. Colton’s residents volunteered to help rebuild her home. The whole scene was too surreal. If she pinched herself, she was certain she’d realize she was dreaming.
“Yep, and there’s not going to be any fuss for you to deal with, either.” A touch of self-satisfied pride crept into his voice as his mouth curved with a smile. “We’re going to go see some gorillas and big cats. And giraffes. They assure me the repairs to the house will be finished by the time we get back. You can consult with Don before we go and tell him exactly what you want with the greenhouse. He said they might be able to have it finished as well, depending on how many men he can round up.”
Reagan’s thoughts spun at a dizzying rate. Gorillas. Greenhouse. House repairs. Volunteers from Colton. Alex was doing all this for her. She’d get to design her own greenhouse. Holy cow Africa! But why? Why was he doing all this? It was far more than necessary. She didn’t want to be indebted to him, even if they had reached some sort of agreement about their relationship last night. Come to think of it—had they reached an agreement?
“Reagan?” he asked, concerned.
“Um.”
“Shit,” he muttered and massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “You’re pissed. I—”
Pulling herself together, she pressed two fingers to his mouth to cut off the direction his thoughts were taking. “No. It’s not that.” She looked back at the house, then the quartered-off area, then back at Alex. Chewing on her lower lip for a minute, she debated what to say. But the only thing that kept pounding through her mind was why. What did this all mean? Did it mean anything at all?
“Why?” she finally blurted.
<
br /> “Why?” he echoed, like he couldn’t believe she didn’t understand. Then his eyes widened, and color crept into his cheeks. “I forgot that part, didn’t I?” He cleared his throat again and gathered both her hands once more, holding them loosely between them. “I guess I got a little nervous and left out the most important thing. I love you, Reagan.”
A gasp slid from her lips. Before she could fully recover, Alex tipped his head to the side, studying her, the light in his eyes tender and affectionate.
“And you love me, too.”
Tears clouded her vision. Alex McCray loved her. Love. Her throat entirely too narrow to push sound through, she nodded, vigorously.
Chuckling softly, he took a step back, and still holding on to her hands, sank to one knee. His words were softer when he spoke, the emotion reflecting in his eyes so warm and bright it made her heart skip several beats.
“I will give you everything I have, everything I am, if you will give me your heart for eternity. Let me take care of you the way you should be, let me love you the way you deserve.” He paused, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Grow old with me, Reagan. Marry me.”
Too overcome by emotion to breathe, much less hold herself upright, she sank to her knees with him, nodding so hard she was certain her head would jostle loose.
Alex wrapped her in his arms, feathered a kiss against her hair. He held her tight, his heart thumping steadily against her breast. She clung to him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks as her fingers roamed reverently over the words on his dagger tattoo. He had his answers; she’d made it plain what she wanted. But he’d gone to such lengths that he deserved the spoken promise.
She couldn’t manage anything beyond a broken whisper. “I love you, too, Alex.” She sniffled, pulling back to give him a watery smile. “And yes. I’ll marry you. Just tell me when.”
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About the Author
National Bestselling Author Tori St. Claire grew up writing. Hobby quickly turned into passion when she discovered the world of romance as a teen. Poems and short stories gave way to full-length novels with sexy heroes and heroines. She wrote her first romance novel at seventeen. While that manuscript gathered dust beneath the bed, she established herself as Claire Ashgrove, an award-winning paranormal and urban fantasy author, and also as Sophia Garrett, historical romance author. Her writing, however, skirted a fine line between hot and steamy, and motivated by authors she admired, she made the leap into sexier stories where the intimate relationship forges unbreakable ties.
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