by Pam Crooks
“I got it,” she said, a little too quickly, definitely more defensively, though she made no move to pick up the stupid thing. It was, after all, heavy.
“Need some help?”
“No.” She grabbed for her composure, like marbles scattered on a tabletop, and remembered to be gracious. “Thank you, though.”
Time ticked while they sized each other up, gauging the mood. The last time they spoke, they weren’t on the best of terms.
A thousand times over, Ava regretted that.
Leather creaked, and Beau swung one faded jeans-clad leg over the horse’s back. He dismounted with hardly a sound, displaying the ease of someone who’d been getting on and off a horse since the day he was born.
Which, most likely, Beau had.
The horse snuffled and kicked the dirt. A beautiful animal, with hide the color of rich caramel. Black mane and tail. And big. Bigger than she was.
Score one more for Beau on the Big scoreboard.
Her gaze swung back to him. He was watching her, his gray eyes slightly narrowed, unfathomable.
“What brings you out here?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless, so affected by him.
“An apology.”
She blinked. Did he intend to demand one of her? “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, that.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I came out here to tell you I’m sorry.”
He moved closer and scooped the ladder out of her nerveless grasp as if the ladder were made from toothpicks instead of 300-pound capacity, heavy-duty aluminum. Setting it easily on its end, he held onto one rung and kept the tall monstrosity in place.
He regarded her. “I behaved like an ass the other day. You didn’t deserve me crabbin’ at you.”
She shrugged. “I’m over it. And I do understand how you feel about the resort. Really, I do.”
Above his bandanna—this one navy blue and looking like it came fresh out of the laundry basket—his Adam’s apple moved just a bit, as if he had to hold in all kinds of words he wanted to say.
His effort stirred something warm and gooey inside her, giving her a sudden longing to untie his bandanna and see the strong column of his throat. Mostly, she wanted to move closer, slide her arms around his big shoulders, and feel his body against hers.
She, of course, could do none of those silly things. What a mistake that would be.
His Stetson-covered head swiveled toward the construction area. “A lot got done while I was gone.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got a great crew. Hard workers. All of them are good at what they do.”
“It shows.” He nodded. His shadowed gray gaze moved back onto her. “You’ve gotten tan.”
“Sometimes I forget to reapply sunscreen.”
“Tan looks good on you. Real good.” The timbre of his voice lowered, all sexy-like. “A few more freckles on your nose, too.”
“That’s what my mirror said.” Was there nothing this cowboy missed?
He tapped a lean finger on the bill of her baseball cap. “You need a better hat, Ava. Keep the sun off you better.”
“One like yours, I assume?” She shrugged.
She was the only one out here who didn’t wear a Stetson of some sort, but she treasured the baseball cap as one of the few things Erin had given her.
Ava intended to wear it until it fell apart at the seams. “I won’t be here long enough to need one.”
Once the words were out, the air between them shifted. Cooled, like she’d said something she shouldn’t.
Beau’s expression shuttered. He stepped back, bettered his one-handed grip on the ladder rung. “Where do you want this?”
“Over here. The other side of the house. I want to measure the roof before the sun gets too hot.” She moved in that direction.
A pickup pulled up in front of the foreman’s trailer, and Roger emerged. He strode to the door, fishing what was probably a key out of his hip pocket.
Beau slid a sharp whistle through his teeth, getting her foreman’s attention.
“Can you find me another ladder?” he called out.
Roger waved acknowledgment and changed direction.
Ava frowned. “Why do you need one?”
“I’m going to help you.”
“Help me do what?”
“Measure.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“Easier with two people, don’t you think?” he asked, making sure the ladder was sturdy against the stone building, in the spot she’d indicated.
“Well, yes, but—”
“What? Don’t want my help?”
“I never said that, but I don’t mind telling you I’m completely confused on this change of attitude of yours, Beau Paxton.”
He chuckled, and the manly sound wound through her blood and into her heart, like warm honey drizzled over toast. This cowboy definitely needed to chuckle more often.
By the time she scurried up the rungs, Roger appeared and propped the second ladder next to hers. He chatted briefly with Beau before leaving again. Next thing she knew, Beau was beside her.
His scrutiny took in the view before him, sweeping from one side of the roof line to the other, taking in the cracked and curling edges of the weathered covering. “Been years since I’ve been up here.”
“Really?” Her gaze latched onto him. “Why would you?”
“My brothers and I used to come out and fix things up if they were deteriorating too badly. Shore up sagging walls and foundations, stuff like that.”
She never expected it of him, but her mouth softened. “They call that arrested decay.”
“Yeah, read that term somewhere.” He grinned back. “How old do you figure these shingles are?”
“I’d say they’re original. A hundred years old, at least.”
“Impressive they lasted this long.”
“Your great-grandfather spared no expense. These were probably top of the line for his time.” She pulled a screwdriver from her tool belt and pried up one edge of a strip, working her way across to the end. In light of their age, the shingles came up in no time. “They all need to be replaced, of course, but I hope to replicate the original style. Asphalt shingles, slate-surfaced, deep red. Shouldn’t be hard to find something similar.”
She tossed the loosened strip to the ground, delved into another pocket of the tool belt for her tape measure.
“Reckon the old man would be proud his house is getting a second chance,” Beau said, his tone thoughtful. “Even if it’s as a restaurant.”
She glanced over at him. Did he actually say something positive about this project?
“I think so, too,” she said with a small smile. “Here.” She unspooled the metal ribbon and slid the end tab toward him. “Take that to the edge of the roof, would you? And don’t fall off the ladder with your reaching.”
“If I trusted these rafters, I’d crawl on top. Used to climb like a monkey in my younger days.” He leaned sideways and stretched to do as she asked. “Don’t know why you thought you could do this yourself.”
“I’ve done it many times. That’s why they put that little hole in the tab, you know, so a nail can hold the tape in place if you’re working alone. Easy-peasy.” Ava withdrew her tablet from the biggest pocket of her tool belt. “I just need rough calculations, anyway.”
Together, they manipulated the tape at numerous angles, sliding it this way and that until the entire surface of the roof had been measured. Each time, Ava entered the dimensions into the tablet’s calculator. Finally, she retracted the device and dropped it back into her tool belt pocket.
“Need help with anything else?” Beau asked.
Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, multiplying length by width. “No, thanks. I’ll be done in a sec.”
“I’ll head on down, then,” he said, starting the descent.
Once she figured the square footage and approximate number of shingle bundles she’d need, she went down, too, and found Beau hunkered next to a c
lump of overgrown bushes, studying something that intrigued him.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, picking up the tossed-down shingle.
“That kid has been here.” Rising, he pulled a black T-shirt out of a plastic grocery bag and held the garment up by the shoulders. “Look familiar?”
Seeing the heavy metal band artwork on the front, she stilled. “The teenager who stole my purse?”
“That’s right. Donnie Templeton.”
“Gosh.” She didn’t know what to think. “What else is in the bag?”
Beau held it open, and she peeked inside.
“Two empty water bottles and some granola bar wrappers,” he said. “Cellophane and a label from a store-bought sandwich.”
“At least he kept his trash together,” she said.
“So he wouldn’t get caught.” As usual, Beau was much less forgiving.
“Worst case scenario, he’s camping out here. Like some kind of a summer adventure or something.” She shrugged. “Not a huge deal.”
“The kid is seventeen and has a father and brother to live with. He has no business being out here.”
“Maybe he ran away. Got into a fight with them or something.”
“Ava.” Beau exhaled a sharp breath. “He can’t be hiding out on the ranch. There’s nothing for him. Anything can happen, and my family could be liable.” He crammed the T-shirt back into the bag. “You notice any tools missing?”
“No. Roger would have told me. We’re sticklers about locking up at night.”
But her mind taunted her with the consequences of theft. The monetary loss would be painful, but informing Ginny would be worse. Money was tight for the Paxton family.
“Locks can be broken,” Beau said. “Tools can be hocked for cash.”
“I know.” She bit her lip. Every contractor’s worry.
“You locking up your cabin at night?”
Somber, she nodded. “Always.”
“Check your cash lately?”
“No.” She’d hidden the envelope under the shelf paper, under her dinner plates, in the one and only kitchen cupboard she had. She would’ve noticed if someone had been rummaging, wouldn’t she? “But I’ll check as soon as I get home tonight.”
“Do that.”
“If it’s any consolation, we haven’t seen anything suspicious. There’ve been dozens of men out here, every day, all day. They would’ve told me.”
“Look around you, Ava,” Beau said, his tone clipped, impatient. “The Blackstone is a huge place with a million places to hide in. Hell, Donnie and his brother could be watching us right now, and we’d never know.”
The hair on the back of her neck rose. “You’re creeping me out, Beau.”
“Yeah, well, you need to understand the risks.”
Holding the sack in his fist, he moved past her to return to his horse, grazing on the patchy grass with the lazy enjoyment of an animal that had nothing else to do with his time.
She hurried after Beau. She didn’t want him to leave like this—all worked up and thinking the worst could happen. Maybe it was the Special Forces in him, making him think like a soldier who had seen the worst in an enemy.
“I understand,” she said. “I mean, I do now, since you’ve pointed the risks out to me. I’ll be fine. We all will. Nothing is going to happen.”
He swung toward her. “I don’t want you out here alone. It’s too dangerous.”
She halted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You got cell phone coverage out here?”
“Yes.” She pointed to a tower, newly installed and working like a champ. “We couldn’t function without our phones.”
“Well, there’s that, at least.”
He took the reins, reached for the saddle horn and lifted a foot into the stirrup.
“Beau.” She curled a hand around his forearm before he could swing up. If she had more time, she’d be wooed by all the muscle in that small section of limb. “Wait.”
He brought his boot back to the ground. His expression shifted from grim to something that said, “Yeah, I’ll wait for you.”
“Call your deputy. What’s his name? Nash. I’m sure he’ll know how to handle this,” she said quietly.
“I intend to.”
“One more thing.” She touched her tongue to her lower lip. Sometimes, sorry just didn’t come easily. “You rode out here to apologize to me. Well, I need to apologize to you. I dished out as much as you did that day. We were both frustrated.”
His gray eyes smoldered. “Let’s go out to supper.”
She blinked. “Us?”
“There’s a place in town. The Greasy Bull. Shandi serves up the best burgers in Texas.”
Ava had been dumbfounded before, but never like this. She couldn’t make her lips move to save her sorry soul.
“I’ll pick you up at five,” he said, evidently taking her attack of speechlessness as a positive.
He pushed his boot into the stirrup again and climbed up, settling his weight in the saddle; he bettered his grip on the reins, then cantered away.
She stared at his retreating back. Did what she thought happened really did happen?
“You all right, Ava?” Roger asked, sounding far away, except he’d walked right up to her.
She turned to him. “I’m not sure.”
“Something goin’ on with Beau?”
“Yes.” The urge to shout rose up inside her. She cleared her throat to contain it. “I’ve got a hot date with him tonight.”
Chapter Seven
Ava was ready by 4:30.
She gave herself permission to quit early after Roger insisted on it, claiming it would do her good to go out and have some fun for a change. It was Saturday night, after all, and it’d been an extremely productive week.
He didn’t have to tell her twice.
She took her time in the shower, washing her hair and slathering on her favorite lotion. She fussed with her makeup. Repainted her toes. Finally, she slipped into the nicest dress she brought with her—a sleeveless sheath in a bright floral print—slid her feet into flip-flops with a little bling on the straps and wished she’d done a little more shopping before she came to Texas.
Well, it wasn’t like anyone in Paxton Springs had ever seen a single stitch of her wardrobe. As far as they knew, her dress was new and she had dozens more like it in her apartment back in New York, like Lucienne did.
Far from it. Ava only ever bought just what she needed. She knew how to make one dress go a long way, and she never indulged in trends. A few basic pieces of what her mother used to call “good costume jewelry” helped her accessorize, and that was it.
No one ever accused her of being overdressed, that was for sure.
She just wanted to look nice for Beau.
Remembering his concern about her money, she headed for her kitchen cupboard. The shelf paper showed no sign of being disturbed; her dinner plates appeared untouched. All the money in her stash was still there. He’d be relieved to learn no one had broken into her little home away from home.
She frowned.
Home? That was a thought she had to quash. Immediately. This cabin was not her home, nor would it ever be. Temporary quarters, that’s all it was. A place to eat and sleep when she wasn’t on the jobsite.
But after a long day of work, the peace and simplicity from these four walls provided such comfort, her spirits lifted and her tiredness vanished whenever she walked through the door.
With nothing else to do but wait for Beau to arrive, she carried one of the wooden chairs from the dinette set out to the porch, something she’d done every night. Sitting outside in the evening quiet, she’d eat her supper in the cooling air and listen to the cows mooing in the distance. No honking or squealing brakes like in New York, no factory smells, no crowds—only pure Blackstone Ranch country as far as she could see.
Addicting.
She couldn’t be addicted.
Once her part in building the resort was accompli
shed, she’d have to go back to the city and resume her old life, as if she’d never left.
She didn’t want to think of that now.
Not tonight.
Not with Beau on his way.
The front-end grill of a red Ford pickup appeared on the road, and her pulse leapt with a jolt of nervousness. He pulled up and cut the ignition, opened the door, and got out. Coming around the truck—which had nary a splatter of mud or a coating of dust and gleamed from its washing—he halted in front of her.
It warmed her heart, that truck washing.
“You’re early,” she said softly.
His dark blue Levi’s looked crisp and new, and his short-sleeve, black-and-white checkered western shirt fit his shoulders as if it were custom made. He’d traded his fawn-colored Stetson for a black one, and even his boots shined.
A curl of female appreciation wound through Ava’s belly. This man was one hot cowboy.
“Learned to be early in the military. Being late is considered a form of AWOL,” he said. “Guess the habit stuck.”
His gaze drifted over her, slow and appreciative, as if he were hungry for the sight of her. From the top of her head, over her breasts, down her legs, and right past the bling on her flip-flops.
“You look real pretty tonight, Ava.”
The curling inside her spiked into overdrive. Guys complimented women every day. She’d been given that look and told the same thing a time or two over the years.
But with Beau, it was different.
The rough drawl nearly set her skin on fire, set the tone for the night ahead, and she hadn’t even left the porch yet.
*
Beau reached over and adjusted the truck’s air conditioning.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Ava said. “The cool air feels good. It’s been hot all week, hasn’t it?”
Hell. She wouldn’t know his body’s escalating heat index had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with her. Ava Howell was a knockout—smart and talented and squeaky-clean sexy. She made being a man’s idea of the perfect woman appear so effortless, he doubted she even realized it.
He kept his attention on the highway, one hand relaxed on the steering wheel. He’d made this drive into town so many times, he could do it in a dead sleep. Which kept his thinking 100 percent on her.