To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  Kay scoured it with hungry eyes.

  Neve continued, “There are no excuses to fall behind, and I expect the items with your initials next to them completed by day’s end. If it’s not done, you’re not done. Your job overall is to keep up the momentum—which I will graciously spur before I leave—prevent snags and iron out wrinkles. As you see on the list there, I’ve assigned the cabin’s cabinetry design to you. They happen to be one of my weak spots. Finn Welk is our master carpenter, and you’ll turn your designs over to him after I’ve approved. Vince Taggart is our general contractor. See him about blueprints for the cabin so you know your specs. You have limited space to work with, especially since I shortened a wall to make space for a set of French doors. Be creative but smart when designing the corners. No blocked utensil drawers or wasted space. The main location trailer is where my office is located. Feel free to make use of it. First thing tomorrow, I want a rough draft, and make sure Finn is in the loop and on standby. Your plans are useless if he’s busy with another project.”

  Kay exhaled, though Neve didn’t recall her taking in a single breath, and gazed up at Neve, the unmistakable gleam of awe shining. “Abso-freaking-lutely! Dream come true! Oh, man, I can’t wait. I’m so on top of this.”

  Holy hell. She’d given Tinker Bell too much fairy dust. “Mellow. Remember? I have to go now.” She turned heel to seek out Vince.

  “Right, mellow. Got it. I’m just going to shadow you until you leave.”

  “Um…yeah, okay. Don’t get underfoot.” Why not? She’d catch up quicker on their progress if she trailed along. And for whatever strange, unaccountable reason, Neve liked Kay.

  Inside the cabin, men scrambled with tape measures and laser levelers to ensure accuracy. Vince stood in the gaping hole where the French doors would be installed and frowned.

  She’d yet to instruct him on what to do for the back steps. She intended to remedy that today while she had Duke well away from the cabin. She called to Vince, waving for his attention, and bobbed her head toward the exit.

  He nodded and jumped down to the ground outside.

  Kay hot on her heels, Neve followed and brushed off her hands. It was significantly quieter outside the cabin, despite their proximity to it.

  “How are we looking, Vince?”

  Nothing seemed to put the man at ease like delivering a progress report.

  He shuffled his booted feet and spit. Then he angled a slightly embarrassed glance at Kay, but she smiled benignly. Not her first job, then. Excellent. “Exactly how we ought to. Three of my men are already at the ranch disassembling the old hayloft. There are flatbed trailers to haul the wood down the road, but I can’t seem to come up with an easy way to get the lumber down to the cabin.”

  “Duke will have a solution within the hour,” Neve assured him.

  Doubtful, he shifted his greasy, dirty hat. “Well, that’s good, I suppose.”

  “I’m going into town today, so hit me, Vince. Give me everything you got.”

  He blew out a puff of air and straightened his shoulders. “We’re measuring for the new walls now. Personally, I’d recommend we begin constructing built-in furnishings like cabinetry and such. We don’t want to be waiting for that stuff once the insulation and secondary walls go up. We’ll want them pre-made, pre-sanded, and varnished and waiting in the wings for a quick install. We’ve got both the plumber and the electrician coming in a few days, early next week. That’d be Andrew Bale and Jake Lansky. I know Lansky. Worked with him a few times. He’s going to push the idea of solar panels, and I think with how the cabin sits in an opening it might be worth it, but he’ll need to install a secondary power source—maybe a small generator—for winter. Finally, I’d like to know how you want the back steps done. Same as the front, or you got something else up your sleeve?”

  Neve cast a surreptitious glance at Darcy the Pit while she sniffed around the oak pedestal. The same place she’d sniffed out the strange box. Her heart fell when the dog crouched and peed. If there was anything else buried, Darcy would’ve given some sign of interest.

  Well, at least now she could move ahead with her secret construction plans. “Actually, Vince, I do have something in mind. First, allow me to introduce Kay Bing, my new assistant, courtesy of our ever-thoughtful sovereign. She’s me while I’m gone today, and don’t let anyone treat her otherwise. She’s also responsible for those cabinets you want so bad, so make sure you give her whatever she needs—specs, blueprints, one of your guys to help her, you name it. The first thing I want when the lumber arrives from the ranch is an accurate inventory taken. Nothing goes to waste. There won’t be a pile of slats hidden beyond the tree line when the cabin is complete. Whether to make shelves or patio furniture, everything gets used. Hell, we’ve got a master carpenter on site. Let’s use him. Those cabinets won’t keep him busy forever.” She lowered her voice, put one hand on Vince’s shoulder, the other on Kay’s, and brought them in close for a huddle. “One final item. A secret.”

  “Oh, a secret! I love secrets.” Kay grinned like a lunatic and squeezed her hands into little fists.

  Neve ignored her for the sake of time. Duke might be coming down the path that very minute. “This isn’t in your plans, Vince, but I trust you can do the math. You’re going to build me a deck. A large one, at least five feet deep. Duke is not to know about it. I don’t need his approval but I also don’t have time to argue with him over it.”

  Vince once again readjusted his dirty ball cap. He leaned slightly away, like he wasn’t sure about Neve’s discreet plans, but a gleam in his shrewd gaze gave away his approval. “Can I ask why we’re putting on a back deck instead of a front deck?”

  “You can ask, but there’s no point in sharing until it’s confirmed we have enough of the reclaimed slats from Lady Killer Ranch to pull it off. Which you ought to know by this evening after you’ve taken the inventory, right?”

  A small smile full of respect snuck across Vince’s face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded and gave the small backyard another quick appraisal, blessing the lack of trees. Come fall, the deck should remain mostly free of fallen leaves, making maintenance less of a chore. It would also provide a nice sunny spot amid the shade.

  She grinned back and patted them each on the shoulder. “I’m out of here. Good luck, you two. As in, don’t let me down.” She turned to walk around the cabin back toward the trailer up the hill.

  “Hey!” Kay’s panicked voice called after her with no small amount of nervousness.

  Neve liked that. Nerves were good. They’d make the girl think, make her use her head, and keep her from becoming overly confident.

  “What’re you going to do?”

  Neve turned around but kept walking, moving backward and hoping she didn’t stumble over a wayward tree root. She held out her arms and made a cursory inspection of herself, from ripped jeans and dirty work boots to the faded T-shirt a size too big. “You think I’m going into town looking like this?”

  * * * *

  “I can’t believe you’re going into town looking like that.”

  Neve shook her head. The stylish gay male stereotype had failed Duke spectacularly.

  A tic in the side of his jaw sprang to life. “I told you, I spilled orange juice down my shirt front. I had this on underneath and more pressing concerns than grabbing another shirt from my bag.”

  Despite the monumental task she’d charged him with, he hadn’t done a damn thing besides anxiously tug on his beard until Vince’s guys returned from their first trip to the ranch on four-wheelers hitched with flatbeds. Tim Hux, inexplicably shady and unnervingly thoughtful, had foreseen their transportation dilemma and provided the solution out of the kindness of his little ranching heart.

  She hadn’t given Duke an answer he liked this morning, but at least he was smart enough to keep his grudge against Yosemite to himself. Gift horses and all that.

  “You had no pressing concerns. Yosemite
did your job for you.” She shouldn’t needle him. She really shouldn’t. But then how else to entertain herself during the thirty miles of sprawling, winding, indecisive mountain road at the crawling pace of forty miles an hour?

  Tedious in average circumstances, towing the storage trailer behind them meant exercising more caution than usual. As nice as the scenery was, it didn’t quite entertain her like Duke struggling to figure out his fashion faux pas.

  He refused to look at her.

  She didn’t mind. He wore his long hair braided down his back and his beard braided down his chin. A pair of stylish aviator shades made for a ridiculously sexy profile she could hardly stop staring at.

  “Why don’t you quit acting like a jerk and explain what’s wrong with a plain white tank top?”

  Neve groaned. “It’s not a tank top, Duke. It’s a wife-beater.” She tugged on one of the straps. She enjoyed the improved view of his toned shoulders but not enough to excuse the shirt. “There are two subcultures who can get away with wearing plain white wife-beaters in public. The first are pot-bellied men in trailer parks who do, in fact, beat their wives. Think spitting tobacco and mustard stains, red suspenders optional.”

  Duke’s nose scrunched up. “Your visuals go for broke.”

  “The second group are saggy-pants gangsters. Complicated finger configurations, gaudy gold chains, a concealed weapon or two. Noting the pattern yet?”

  “I told you, it’s an undershirt. What if I told you only supermodels, porn stars, and super-hot chicks should wear five-inch stilettos?”

  Neve shrugged and wriggled her toes in the purple peep-toe heels. “I guess I’d ask what the hell you know about any of those things. But seriously, I’m not going anywhere with you like that. You’re too old and not enough of a douchebag to pull it off, nor do you fit the acceptable criteria.”

  He sighed, the helpless sigh of a man too tired and worn down to even manage exasperation. The sigh of a man who knows he’s lost. She adored it.

  “Fine, Neve. To appease the fashion gods you worship, I’ll buy a shirt to wear over it. Happy?”

  “Oh, I’m never happy. But at least I won’t be embarrassed.”

  Red Hill did its moniker justice. Or would in the fall, at any rate. Red oaks smothered the city. Clustered tightly together in the dip of the valley, even the mountains rising up and bursting into their own cacophony of autumn color would be no competition against the oaks in the height of their season—a bright starburst of marvelous vermilion.

  The city planner deserved a raise.

  Duke pulled up to a local shop selling everything from frozen yogurt in ten different flavors to brightly colored T-shirts. He unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m buying a shirt. No, I won’t get you frozen yogurt, but I will ask where the flea market is while I’m inside.”

  She huffed. “Fine. I only eat real ice cream, anyway. And yes, I have a vague idea of the highway where they hold it, but specific directions would be lovely. Almost as lovely as the choices you have.” She hitched her chin toward the front window of the small shop.

  A display of three T-shirts strung like paper cutouts in lime green, pale orange, and a tie-dye. Duke grunted. “I’ve always told myself I need more color in my life.”

  Alone in the vehicle, Neve stretched in the roomy cab of the pickup. She loved her little Honda Rebel, but there was something to be said for a truck that growled like a bear every time Duke pressed the gas pedal.

  She flipped down the visor and inspected her reflection. She hadn’t done much to improve herself besides a bit of blush to wake up the rest of her face. Renovations always did a number on her complexion. Days spent in high-gear—every item addressed, no task forgotten—and nights consumed with poring over blueprints and design palettes weren’t exactly noted beauty regiments. Few understood the immense amount of work that went into harmonizing a space. The greatest, most expensive rug in the world was nothing but a pricey disaster if the color or pattern clashed with the wallpaper. Every element—furniture style and placement, hardware finish, wall décor, even the kitchen utensils—required a certain conformity to blend into a cohesive body of comfort and style.

  A familiar chirp interrupted her thoughts. She’d heard the noise somewhere before…

  She glanced down at the cup holders between the seats and spied the culprit. Duke had left his cell phone behind. She grinned and picked it up. Who didn’t love a good secretary?

  An out-of-state area code. Family, perhaps. She pressed the green button and did her best emulation of Duke’s secretary at his office, the one who made horrendous coffee and had given Neve dark looks from beneath her false eyelashes. “Mr. Kennicot’s line. How may I assist you?”

  Total silence met her greeting. Well, not total silence, as breath rasped over the line.

  Eyebrows hitched, Neve cooed, “Hello.”

  “I’m sorry,” a woman replied. She didn’t sound sorry. More like annoyed. “Since when does Duke have a secretary answer his private number?”

  Neve made her reply extra sweet. “Since now.”

  A laden, unhappy sigh made clear the woman’s displeasure. “I’ll call him when he can be bothered to answer himself.”

  Before Neve could issue another sarcastic response, the call dropped. She burned with intense curiosity, at least until Duke exited the shop sporting a Hawaiian button-up shirt. Neve forgot the call completely and covered her mouth with her hand. What the…

  He climbed inside and started the engine without a word. His guileless smile spoke volumes, however, and he had the nerve to wink as he pulled away from the curb. “You were right. This is much better. It says, ‘I’m on vacation.’ Pure irony, since I’m not. Not even a working vacation, or I’d be having more fun.”

  Neve fingered a wide sleeve. Loud, but still better than the weird man tank. “You like this better than the tie-dye?” Seriously, not a lick of fashion sense.

  At least half his mouth managed a self-deprecating smile. “The T-shirts in the window are child sizes. This is what fit. More importantly, I have directions to the flea market.” He checked the rearview mirror before merging into a turn lane. His cell phone buzzed, and with no small amount of irony, he handed it to Neve, his eyes firm on the road. “I’m driving. You want to get that for me?”

  Praying it wasn’t the same rude lady with the 912 area code, Neve took the phone and smiled at Gavin’s name on the screen. Finally. “Hi, Gavin! Neve here.”

  “Oh…oh, hey, Neve. How are you? I thought I dialed Duke.”

  Did she imagine the deflated tone of his voice, the edge of disappointment? Not likely, since he seemed to make little effort to hide it.

  She adopted a more formal attitude. Maybe she’d been too familiar. “I’m well, sir, thank you. Duke is driving at the moment. I’m more than able to provide you with a progress report on the cabin.”

  “Actually, I wished to discuss a private matter with Duke.”

  “Ah.” The wind fled from her sails.

  The way Gavin had injected a longing note in Duke’s name…

  A spark went off inside her brain like flint striking steel. Here she was, the person in charge of Gavin’s precious cabin, and yet he didn’t want anything to do with her. She considered the facts. Why exactly was Duke, a specialist in pre–Civil War era revivals, working on such a project if not but for Gavin’s adamant insistence he do so?

  Enlightenment blossomed, and the whole world seemed to open up for Neve, silent but magnificent, like fireworks in the vacuum of space. She’d taken this job for the sake of getting close to Gavin.

  And Gavin had hired Duke with a similar agenda.

  She wanted to deny the obvious, as far-fetched as it seemed, but the notion had the undeniable reek of truth about it. Neve flopped her head against the headrest and put a cork in the massive groan threatening to tear from her body. What a waste of her time, her energy, her extended olive branch to Duke—all for nothing. No soul mate waited
at the end of this long, difficult renovation. Just another item on her résumé. Well, great. Just fucking great.

  In it for nothing, but in too deep to walk away. She cared. This mattered. She wanted Gavin’s stupid cabin to come through the process new and wonderful and to be everything Gavin wanted, despite how she longed to shred his body into tiny pieces and thread him into the drapes. She’d been so sure after witnessing that temper of his.

  Women were constantly complaining how men were such assholes. Well, here Neve was actively searching with nary a one in sight. She didn’t want a sweetheart or a nice guy she’d annihilate in a matter of weeks. But had she been in the market for one, she’d be swarmed by jerks on all side, naturally, because life was the biggest jackass of them all.

  And poor, clueless Duke. His boss was in love with him, and he had no idea.

  Did she illuminate the circumstances?

  She had rough hands for such a delicate matter and no actual proof, only a hell of a hunch. Hell, maybe Duke reciprocated the feelings. They were grown men. They could work it out on their own terms.

  That decided, she put on her work face and let Gavin off the hook. “We’re in town on a shopping trip today, but if you call tomorrow, I’m certain Duke will be available.”

  Gavin thanked her without bothering to shadow his deflation. He didn’t ask a single question about the cabin or what purchases Neve intended to make.

  Proof, if I needed it. She ended the call and shook her head in disbelief as she gazed out the windshield. “Life never ceases to amaze me. It’s a steady stream of curveballs and left hooks.”

  Duke made quick work of a surprised glance in her direction. “Pretty deep for a ten-second conversation. What did he want, the answers to the universe?”