by V. K. Sykes
“It needs some updating for sure, but that place has great bones.”
“Great old bones, Lily. And old bones break easily.”
Her friend eyed her doubtfully, then reluctantly nodded. “Well, if you really do need Ryan, all I can say is please be careful, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine—as long as I give Mr. Stud Muffin a very wide berth.”
Chapter 3
Ryan parked his cart next to Morgan’s pickup and took a good look at Golden Sunset, the first in a long time. Man, the place did need work. For starters, the mailbox listed over, there was a missing baluster on the wraparound porch, and the weather vane atop the gabled roof looked as if the next nor’easter would rip it clean off and send the metal rooster winging across the yard. So far, three jobs had presented themselves before he’d even started a close inspection of the old Victorian house with its attached annex.
No wonder Morgan had been so vague about the extent of the problems. He had a feeling there’d be a hell of a long list of work to be done by the time they’d finished going through the place.
At least the paint job looked pretty good. The coastal Maine climate hadn’t yet weathered the eggshell-white siding or the hunter-green gingerbread trim. Ryan said a silent prayer of thanks to Cal Merrifield for keeping that part up, at least, because he sure didn’t want to have to paint the old barn from stem to stern. He sucked at painting, probably because he’d always found it to be fiddly, slow, and boring. Give him a nail gun or a drill and he was good to go, but a paintbrush—no thanks.
Morgan emerged from the annex as he grabbed his duffel off the cart’s cargo carrier. “What time did you say you were going to be here?” she said with a teasing smile.
Ryan glanced at his watch. It was eight forty, quite a bit later than his original ETA. “I figured I should give you a bit of extra time. Didn’t want to barge in while you might still be getting breakfast on the table for your guests.”
He’d been awake since six. As if his brain had been hardwired at birth with a built-in wake-up call, his eyes popped open every morning at that hour, rain or shine, no matter whether he was tucked in at his dad’s house in Seashell Bay or grabbing some brief shut-eye in a wadi in Helmand Province. He’d used the extra time this morning to go for an even longer run than usual and had ended up completing a full circuit of the winding road that traced the circumference of the island. Then he’d had a quick cup of coffee with his dad, who delayed his normal castoff so he could spend time with his son. Though Ryan had never wanted to be a lobster boat captain, he’d always admired his father’s dedication to the challenging and sometimes dangerous life on the water. Kevin Butler was the most decent man he’d ever known, and Ryan was happy he’d be spending more time with him this summer.
“We’ve only got two couples, and they’re early risers,” Morgan said. “Everything’s already cleaned up and put away.”
Leaning against the doorframe, she looked so damn beautiful that Ryan’s pulse rate doubled. Her red-and-white-striped top displayed a nice amount of cleavage, and her white capris hugged her trim figure, showcasing curves that never failed to draw his eye. Her blond hair looked like sunshine. Morgan might be in a world of trouble, but you’d never know it from looking at her.
He rolled his eyes in mock aggravation. “Damn. I guess that means I’m out of luck for breakfast.”
A small notebook in her hand, Morgan sashayed across the gravel drive to meet him, her sweet smile holding more than a hint of mischief. “Oh, maybe we can rustle you up something. Granola and yogurt? Herbal tea, perhaps?”
He hoped she was kidding but decided not to push it. “On second thought, maybe we should start right in on the inspection.”
“I’m in your hands. Do you want to start outside or inside?”
Babe, I’d like to have you in my hands, all right. Ryan tossed his duffel up onto the porch. “Might as well start out here, I guess. I’ve already noticed a few things—the mailbox, the weather vane, and that missing baluster over there.” He pointed to the side of the porch.
“Baluster? I just call it a post,” Morgan said, “but I must bow to your obvious male wisdom.” She followed her wiseass comment up with a flourishing mock bow that gave him an even nicer view of her breasts. Then she tapped her notebook. “And those three items are already on my project list, by the way. I’m afraid it grows almost daily.”
Ryan liked that she seemed so upbeat this morning. When they talked on the boat yesterday, he’d found it hard to see her so weighed down by her troubles. That wasn’t the girl he was used to. She always looked put together and gorgeous, but when she had that lively sparkle in her blue eyes, Morgan Merrifield was damn near irresistible.
But when she opened the notebook and he caught a glimpse of the long list she’d prepared, Ryan had to steel his features not to show his concern.
“Lead the way.” He pulled a small, spiral-bound notebook out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts and a stub of a pencil from behind his ear. “I’ll make some notes on the materials I’ll need.”
Morgan eyed the pencil, worn smooth and round at the tip. “I guess that outfit you work for doesn’t pay too well. I could get you a real pencil if you like. Or maybe even a pen?” she asked. “So far, I have to say your tools aren’t too impressive, Butler.”
He laughed. Yeah, that was the Morgan he’d always known—smart, funny, and always ready to rub a little forty-grit sandpaper over his ass.
“Just wait till I bring out the big guns,” he said as she led him along a well-tended flagstone walkway bordered by a row of flowering plants in weed-free beds. The only plants he could identify by name were the hostas. “Then you won’t be laughing.”
Her eyebrows lifted a bit, but then she turned and pointed at the corner of the house. “Well, Mr. Secret Agent Man, the next item on my exterior list is that loose drainpipe. Think you can handle that assignment?”
“Easy.” Ryan made a note in his book. The brackets, some of them bent, had given way and created a gap between the siding and the drainpipe. “I’ll replace all the brackets. Otherwise, a strong wind might rip the pipe right off.”
“And that would be bad,” Morgan said.
“Especially if it whacked somebody in the head as it came down.”
She exhaled a sigh, and some of the fun went out of her. “That’s all I’d need—a lawsuit.”
Ryan gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Look, I’ll take care of that and anything else that could give you grief.”
She startled slightly at his touch. “Um, thanks. Let’s go around back so you can see what else we’ve got.”
He pondered her interesting reaction as they headed under a vine-covered trellis that led to the expansive rear yard. It sloped gradually toward the rocky shoreline where the B&B’s dock jutted out into a shallow cove off the Atlantic. “What does your sister think about me staying here?”
He and Sabrina barely knew each other. They’d been two years apart in school and probably hadn’t exchanged more than a couple of dozen words back then. Mostly he remembered Morgan’s pretty little sister as a shy, awkward girl who would sometimes lash out big-time when some jackass kid flipped her switch with too much teasing.
“She’s really grateful that you’re going to help us out with the work,” Morgan said in a neutral voice. She stopped as they reached a big concrete patio nestled in an angle formed by the big main house and the smaller annex. Four sets of white metal tables and chairs, each with an open, green umbrella that matched the house trim, formed a loose circle.
Ryan raised his brows. “And?”
She gave a little shrug. “Almost anything new or different makes her a little nervous, Ryan. You know that. We’ll just have to see how it goes, okay?”
“No problem.”
He’d been doing a visual check of the roof as they talked. The asphalt shingles were a disaster. In a few areas, pieces had ripped off. On a section of the roof above the corner of the pa
tio, a horizontal strip of plywood sheeting had become visible.
“Okay, that’s a serious problem,” he said, pointing up. “You need to get the entire roof reshingled as soon as you can afford it, but that section needs to be fixed fast unless you want your guests taking unscheduled baths in rainwater.”
Morgan craned back to look. “That’s the first item on my checklist. Those shingles blew off in a thunderstorm two days ago. And wouldn’t you know it, some water leaked down through the attic onto the ceiling of one of the guest bedrooms.”
“How much water?”
“Enough that the ceiling will have to be patched and repainted.”
“Was there damage in the attic too?”
“Just a wet floor, and we only use the attic for storage. Anyway, I told you there was a lot to be done around here. I could keep you busy most of the summer.” She dropped her gaze down at her sandal-covered feet. “Naturally, I won’t ask that of you.”
“Let’s see what else needs to be done,” he said. “Then we’ll take it from there, one step at a time.”
She gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re more than welcome to stay here all summer whether you’re still working or not.” Then she shook her head, as if remembering something. “But I would need to kick you out for a week at the beginning of August because we’ve got a wedding party coming in. They need all the rooms. It’s the only time all summer that the place is fully booked, so it’s really important.”
Ryan had a vision of his leisurely summer plans evaporating like morning fog on the bay. Sharing a house with Morgan, her sister, and a slew of guests was not going to cut it for long. “I’ll definitely be out of your hair way before then. I should be able to find a place to rent soon enough.”
“Don’t count on it, pal.” She took his arm and gently pulled him with her as she started across the patio. “Let’s finish up out here so we can get you a real breakfast—I was just yanking your chain about granola and tea.” She ran her gaze over his body. “A hardworking man of your size needs a healthy dose of protein to start his day, right?”
Ryan swore he heard a catch in her throat after she conducted her little physical check. Maybe that brief flash of fire they’d ignited at the social last summer was ready to flare up again given half a chance.
He smiled. “Morgan, you have no idea how big my appetite can be.”
Ryan followed her up the porch stairs and into the center hallway. If Morgan didn’t miss her guess, his gaze was probably glued to her butt. A few minutes ago, that same gaze had made a slow perusal of her entire body, which had sent the blood rushing from her head directly to points south. He was clearly appreciating her outfit. Or more likely, what he imagined was underneath it.
Then again, she’d made a little more effort today, unlike her usual and decidedly more casual early morning routine. Her top was kind of tight and showcased her cleavage without being trashy, while her capris were a snug fit. A little understated makeup had been in order too. She kept telling herself that she was simply making up for her sweaty, harassed, and rumpled appearance on the boat yesterday. After all, she didn’t want Ryan to think she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown or anything.
Ha, ha. Nice try, Merrifield.
Besides, how could she object to him giving her a few once-overs when she’d been doing exactly the same thing to him? When he got out of the golf cart, it had hit her all over again that Ryan was truly a prime piece of rampant masculinity—more so every time she saw him. His soft, form-fitting Red Sox T-shirt and cargo shorts displayed a fabulous expanse of carved, tanned muscle, enough to make her start mentally fanning herself. Add in ruggedly handsome features and a dark, mysterious gaze, and everything about him screamed hot, powerful male, a guy who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it.
And it looked like he might just want to take her.
Morgan knew her self-control was in for a very rocky time. Keep him busy all summer? Yeah, her suddenly filthy mind could pull up about a thousand ways to do that—some of them probably illegal and all of them insanely stupid, at least when it came to protecting herself from hurt.
But she knew the wild ride would be worth it.
Almost.
Passing the parlor and dining room on the left and the sitting room/library on the right, she led Ryan back to the junction between the house and the annex. Only when she reached the door to the kitchen did she realize he’d stopped and crouched, carefully inspecting an electrical outlet. He made a note, then rose and strode down the hall to join her.
“Morgan, just how old is the wiring in here?”
Her lovely Ryan fantasies crumbled under the onslaught of reality. “All I know is that everything passed inspection when Dad bought it.”
“Getting through a home inspection doesn’t necessarily mean that much, and that was years ago anyway,” he said in a somber voice. “If the rest of the house is like this, you need to fully upgrade as soon as possible.”
Morgan stifled a pathetic whimper. “That would cost a fortune.”
“It would cost a lot more if the place went up in smoke.”
Crap. She couldn’t possibly afford new wiring now, but she’d build it into her already awful calculations of what she’d have to spend at some point to keep her increasingly bloated whale afloat.
After a quick nod of acknowledgment, she headed into the kitchen, where her sister was working at the center island, cutting up vegetables for a country-style soup. Ever deliberate, Sabrina would probably take a good half hour or more to work her way through the carrots, beans, onions, turnips, butternut squash, and celery. Though Morgan always offered to help, her sister tended to push her away more often than not. Cooking was one of the few things Sabrina felt comfortable doing, and it gave her a much-needed measure of pride.
“Sweetie, say hello to Ryan,” Morgan said with an encouraging smile.
Her sister wore a white chef’s apron that covered her from her chest almost down to her knees. Underneath was a blue T-shirt, faded jeans, and black Converse running shoes with purple trim.
“Hi, Ryan,” Sabrina said without looking up.
He extended his hand across the island countertop. “It’s really good to see you again, Sabrina.”
Sabrina wiped her right hand on her apron. Morgan had little doubt her sister’s palm was damp since all through breakfast she’d been as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. After some hesitation, during which Ryan patiently waited, Sabrina extended her hand for a tentative shake. Thank God he’d remembered Sabrina’s aversion to hugging—hugging men anyway—and hadn’t tried to embrace her.
“Uh, thanks for helping us out,” Sabrina said.
“Those are great shoes,” he said, glancing at her feet. “That purple trim is totally cool.”
Sabrina looked down, then managed a shy grin. “Thanks.”
Morgan started to relax a little now that the ice had been broken. She crossed the kitchen and reached down into a cupboard for an iron skillet. “Bacon, sausage, and eggs okay, Ryan? How do you like your eggs?”
Ryan moved around the island to stand next to Sabrina. “Any way is fine.”
“Coming right up.” Morgan grabbed her pink apron from a hook on the back of the pantry door.
“Sabrina, how about I give you a hand with those veggies?” Ryan said.
Sabrina glanced over at Morgan, looking uncertain.
“If he insists, I say we put the man to work,” Morgan said.
Sabrina extracted a wide-bladed knife from a butcher block on the counter and handed it to Ryan, who carefully ran his thumb along the edge. Then she reached down and pulled out another cutting board. “Would you mind doing the onions? They burn my eyes something fierce.”
Ryan grabbed the pair of big red onions. “When you cut into an onion, it releases a gas that combines with the water in your eyes to form an acid. People have come up with a lot of ideas to avoid burning tears. I’ve only found a couple of things that help though.”<
br />
Morgan stared at him. He was the last guy on Earth she thought would be talking about cooking tricks.
“Like what?” Sabrina asked as she sidled a little closer to him. “I’ve tried cutting them under water, but it felt stupid and awkward.”
“Well, I start by keeping the onions good and cold.” Then he started to chop with fast, precise strokes. Morgan and Sabrina exchanged startled glances.
“The key is to have a really sharp knife,” he went on, still chopping, “and get it done as fast as possible. Without lopping off the ends of your fingers, of course.”
Other than a few professionals she’d watched on the Food Network, Morgan had never seen anybody slice and dice as fast as Ryan. He polished off the pair of onions in what seemed like a dozen heartbeats.
“Wow,” Morgan said, “maybe you should take over the cooking around here, and Sabrina and I should do the repairs.”
Sabrina’s eyes were practically bugging out at the sight of the neat pile of onions. “Wow, I’ll say.”
Ryan laughed. “Just because I’m good with a knife doesn’t mean I’m a good cook. I’ll leave that part up to you experts.”
Morgan wasn’t buying it. He was probably a damn good cook, just like he seemed to be good at everything else. And he’d handled Sabrina, skittish at the best of times, like a real pro. It reminded her again how little she knew about the grown-up Ryan Butler, mystery man par excellence.
She could only hope he stayed around long enough for her to find out who he truly was.
Chapter 4
Morgan sidled up behind Sabrina, who was stirring the soup after she tossed in another pinch of sea salt. Ryan had headed for Portland to pull together the materials he needed to start on the shingle repair. The ballpark estimate he’d given Morgan on that seemingly small job had been substantially more than the rough calculation she’d made that morning. It was because she hadn’t taken into account the fact that he’d need to rent a lot of construction gear, including safety equipment. Still the cost was going to be a whole lot less than her earlier estimate of what it would cost to have a professional roofer do the repair.