To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  He grinned and ran a hand through his glossy black locks. “Old enough.”

  Neve didn’t explode, although Duke hadn’t dismissed it as a possibility. Instead, she let her gaze move up and down Jake, sizing him up, much as he’d done to her seconds ago. “Old enough to own a car? A house?”

  He must’ve mistaken Neve’s scrutiny for returned interest, because her questions seemed to put him off. The young man shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable and glancing at his crew as if for support. “Yeah, I got bills. What’s your point?”

  “The point is you can’t pay them if I fire you. If you have a car payment to make each month, a mortgage, or a family counting on you to feed them, my advice would be to keep them firmly in mind every time you open your mouth to speak to me or to anyone else here. You’ll give respect before you get it. Or turn around, head back the way you came, and quit wasting my fucking time, okay, cool guy?”

  Impatient, demanding, belittling, and absolutely right.

  Duke welled up with pride. Not that Neve wouldn’t punch him if he said so, but he admired her paunch. At the same time, was this why she had such a hard time in her personal life? What worked in the field to command respect and admiration didn’t necessarily jive in the more delicate arenas of society.

  She needs someone who respects her.

  And like that, Duke understood.

  Not a man here had the balls to stand up to Neve or speak a word against her. They valued her expertise, respected her grit, admired her leadership—but they didn’t want to go home to it. They wanted malleable things, women waiting with a hot meal and a back rub. Neve would never be the quintessential little woman. But she wasn’t the problem—the douchebags she chose to date were. If someone in her field knew her, worked besides her, saw her as both the natural leader she was and a woman, someone—

  Like me. Shit.

  He hadn’t expected the train of thought to take him there, but yeah, he supposed he’d seen a few sides others hadn’t. Her love for Darcy the Pit, her determination, even her ability to compromise and stay focused on the task at hand, despite her disappointment with Gavin.

  Like a chastised child, Jake swallowed and nodded.

  Neve cut off any response Jake might’ve conjured with an effective dive into the matter at hand. “Now that we’re speaking as one professional to another, let me try again. I’m not concerned about a heat source. The fireplace is in working condition.” She sniffed. “I won’t get into what it took to make that happen, but it’s worth mentioning worse things than bats can take up residence in an old chimney.”

  Duke frowned at the memory of the massive spider nest.

  “Anyway, if all we have are solar panels, turning the lights on is going to be a real bitch come winter. Give me an inexpensive and effective secondary power source.”

  Jake bobbed his head in a complete accordance. “Uh, well, we’re pretty far out. I’m not sure about the local energy company, but generators are pretty reliable.”

  Duke took a chance on drawing attention to himself. “Actually, there’s a ranch down the road. I don’t recall power lines, but how realistic is it Tim runs the place on full-time generators?”

  Jake turned into a professional before their very eyes. He cleared his throat, his confidence obviously shaken by Neve’s pointed rebuke, but Duke had to give the kid credit for bouncing back. “Probably not a gasoline-powered generator. They’re loud and pricey. Propane is a much better option, but there’s still the cost of refilling the tank.” He shrugged apologetically. “And a propane company probably won’t come out this far. It’s something you’d have to do yourself.”

  Neve chewed her lip and stroked her chin. Duke idly wondered if she’d picked up the habit from him. “Propane it is, then. The cost should be low, considering the size of the cabin and the solar panels working most of the time. The cabin will have large appliances. I’m talking refrigerator and—” She paused abruptly, peered at Duke. “Other things. Next week, we’re putting in the spray-foam insulation, and Duke here will be building the log profile boarding to serve as a secondary wall. I understand each wall has to have an outlet, but I wouldn’t mind a few extras scattered around. Please get with Kay—she’s my assistant—and Finn, the resident carpenter, for schematics of the kitchen cabinetry. Specifically, I want an outlet behind the fridge, and at least two others for countertop appliances. I’ve also marked where I want my overhead fixtures. They’re odd, but I’ve got my reasons. I’ll meet you inside in five. Feel free to inspect the roof for the panels.”

  Jake looked Neve in the eyes and seemed to consider her for the first time. He gave her a half-cocked grin that made Duke want to punch him. “You’re thorough.”

  She answered with a sly grin. “You have no idea.”

  Duke felt his lip curl. Jesus, is she flirting with this kid? Maybe, maybe not. But while Jake might take the comment as coy, he’d find out Neve meant it pretty damn literally if so much as a single wire was out of place.

  She turned to Duke, hitched her chin toward the tree line, and continued in the same commanding tone once they had some semblance of privacy. “My tiles arrive at the hardware store early tomorrow morning. I want you to take Kay with you.”

  Duke scratched his head. He liked Kay. Cute, if a little intense. “Uh, sure. Is it my weekend?”

  Neve surprised him by smiling. “We’d never produce a child that goddamn perky. But seriously, there’s this thing happening between Kay and Finn. Normally, I don’t give a shit, but we’re pushing here. I mean, plumbing lines and the wiring of the cabin have to be complete by the end of the week. If we don’t get the insulation and boarding done at the end of week five, we’ll officially fall behind schedule for the first time. Their flirting is adorable, but I need Finn to finish the custom cabinets instead of moon at Kay. Later this week, I can set her to work varnishing completed pieces before they’re installed, and he’ll be busy hand-carving my baseboards.”

  Duke understood. A lover’s quarrel, or even quick, clandestine meetings between two critical sets of hands, could effectively delay production. “Got it. Hey, speaking of those reclaimed slats, where in the hell did they all go? There’s plenty for the secondary walls, but—”

  “Then that’s all you need to worry about,” she cut in sweetly.

  He’d known it. She definitely had something up her sleeve, something she was desperate to keep from him. However, he knew something else, too…pushing Neve was never a good idea, and with a cabin this small, he’d eventually stumble onto her secret.

  * * * *

  Kay annoyed him so endearingly, Duke didn’t have it in him to hold her personality against her. God, she was tiny. Despite his little custody joke about his weekend, but he was pretty sure no less than a few people assumed Kay was his grown daughter. Didn’t do a damn thing for his ego. The numbers didn’t add up, but he’d look like a crazy person if he explained to every stranger they passed on the street there were only eleven years between him and his young companion.

  Tiles and a last-minute order of pizza retrieved, he and Kay were ready to head back to the cabin before they’d passed a full hour in town.

  Kay sat in the passenger side with her perpetual smile, hot pizzas in her lap and a steady string of nonsense pouring forth from her gullet like a waterfall. “My parents can’t believe it, but they should. I mean, they’re who taught me anything can be achieved through hard work and perseverance. Besides, they—hey, look at that!”

  Duke snapped his head toward Kay, her sudden exclamation filling him with instant anxiety. He relaxed when he followed the line of her pointing finger to a ramshackle single-story home practically buried beneath a yard full of junk.

  “Let’s check it out!” Kay already had the pizza boxes shifted from her lap to the seat between them.

  Duke peered at the dilapidated house. Faded, peeling, pale yellow paint, white trim, and a side door hanging crooked from its hinges. He couldn’t fa
thom a reason for stopping, but he slowed as they passed. “What for? It’s just an old house.”

  “Don’t you see the sign, silly? It’s a shop. See there.” She pointed again, this time at the picket fence, probably white at one time, with great pieces either missing or broken.

  Sure enough, a hand-painted sign hung off a remaining chunk of fence.

  “Thrift House. Huh. So, all this junk is for sale?” He was all about some secondhand shopping, but this…he came to a stop when Kay’s intent interest showed no sign of waning. She had her seat belt undone and the door open before he set the gears to park.

  “Fine,” he said to the empty truck cab. “Keep an open mind, Duke.” He joined Kay in the yard.

  With abandon, she dug and plucked through stacks of boxes and heaps of random household items. Neve might make more of it, picking through the trash in search of treasure, but he had no clue what she’d find appealing or worthwhile. The crystal chandeliers she’d picked up at the flea market last week had thrown him for a loop. He wasn’t about to make any assumptions, but Kay probably had a keen idea of Neve’s final vision for the cabin.

  He stood idly, eyeballing the yard and the wares carelessly, when his gaze landed on a set of French doors. Duke started.

  Neve adamantly went against having anything white in the cabin. No white appliances, no white tile, no white sinks, or even dishes. Everything should either match the wood grain or compliment it to invoke and stress the outdoor element.

  But these doors were white.

  White and utterly perfect.

  The panes of glass were set in a standard crosshatch pattern, but not in the usual horizontal and vertical alignment. Rather, they were set at an angle, diamond-shaped, and slightly larger than was typical.

  To his trained eye, the glass was original—thin and old. He’d rather die than replace it. Maybe this was what Neve had experienced when she found the chandeliers, because suddenly Duke couldn’t imagine any other set of doors in the cabin. The white would offset the pattern against the honey-colored wood. He beckoned Kay with a wave.

  Her arms were full of stuff. She had a couple of leather bound books, a handmade clay jar, two brass candlestick holders, a plaque so filthy he couldn’t discern the design if there was one, and a small decorative kerosene lamp. She navigated the twists and turns of the random merchandise piled haphazardly across the yard. It seemed like the lackadaisical attempt by the owner to showcase his wares. And the product of years of hoarding. Likely story, the owner woke up one day, painted a sign, and stuck it on his fence to excuse the mess and maybe clear out some of his hoard.

  Kay stopped next to Duke, blinking expectantly.

  Duke ran his hand across the faded white paint of the French doors. A fresh coat, a little glass cleaner, and they’d be good as new. “Neve has this thing against white, but these doors…am I wrong? Am I crazy? I think they’d work.”

  Kay set her armload down in the grass. She didn’t try to appease Duke or answer out of blind loyalty for Neve’s vision. She looked the doors over, front and back, studied the grain and tested the glass panes with quick raps. Then she stood back and smiled appreciatively. “What a find! The design, even the color, is…well, it’s like Neve’s chandeliers. They’re going to work, even if you can’t exactly put your finger on the why and the how. Even if they shouldn’t work. It takes real genius to spot it. The glass panes will be difficult to replace since they’re original, but they’re all in one piece and sturdy, far as I can tell. A few loose ones at the bottom”—she shrugged—“but that’s an easy fix. Good eye, Duke!”

  As if he hadn’t designed houses the better part of a decade. “Thanks, Kay.” Then again, Kay’s approval was a nice balm against Neve’s ever-present demand for perfection.

  A black man, probably in his forties, ambled to the threshold when they approached the side door of the house to make an offer. His yellowed teeth and slight limp didn’t speak well of his health. Nor did his greeting, or lack thereof, speak well of his regard toward them.

  Kay didn’t appear to notice. She made her purchase with a big smile. “There’s the weirdest metal doohickey over there. I have no idea what use we’d have for it, but it’s neat-looking.”

  With an eye toward a return trip in the future to dig a little deeper, Duke introduced himself to the proprietor. “I’m Duke Kennicot. This is Kay Bing. We’ll probably be back since we’re doing some work in the area. You’ve got some, uh, great stuff here.” A lot of junk, too, but the French doors were a real find.

  A rheumy eye glared at him through the old screen door that squealed with each small move. The man didn’t come outside to make the transaction but stayed behind the protective barrier of the door. Possibly agoraphobic. Finally, he reached out to take their money. His hand quickly disappeared back inside. “Krandall Beels.”

  Duke blinked. Interesting. “Beels? The cabin we’re renovating up the hill is supposedly known around here as Beels Cabin. Any relation?”

  A small shrug accompanied Krandall’s obvious disinterest. “Supposed to have been my great-granny’s or some such. Mebbe further on back than that, but I ain’t got no family now, so’s don’t matter, anyhow. Y’all have a nice day.”

  Duke shrugged, thanked him for the fair price, and walked with Kay back to the truck. “That’s interesting. Florrie’s descendant living right down the highway from the cabin. Florrie was Ben’s mistress. I wonder…” Duke suddenly recalled whom he was talking to.

  Kay’s eyes were bright with interest, and she probably wouldn’t hesitate to gab to Finn anything Duke said.

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Small town, that’s all. Come on, I bet they’re missing us by now.”

  Kay expressed her doubt. “Fewer chiefs and all that. I bet things are running as smooth as butter without us.”

  * * * *

  The sudden clamor outside punched through the quiet bubble inside the trailer like a shotgun blast.

  Neve scrambled from her desk, where she’d been making a final order for the large appliances, hurried down the steps of her trailer, and pushed Darcy the Pit back inside when she saw the source of the commotion.

  Too many people coming too fast and too loud up the road from the cabin. They rushed onto the gravel road quickly, with steely determined faces, their attention centered on a group of five or so men moving together in a huddle. They went slower than the rest of the workmen, who hovered like stirred-up bees around a bear.

  Neve went straight to the center of the chaos.

  Two of Vince’s crew members held him up between them, his arms locked around each of their shoulders. Another man struggled to keep pace slightly ahead of them, bent over and holding up Vince’s left leg at the knee while Vince hopped along on his one good foot, leaning heavily on the men around him.

  Neve’s heart constricted. The foot the crewman held off the ground was a mass of blood—too much for Neve to tell the severity of the injury at a glance.

  Questions raced through her mind. Vince headed the deck project. Had he tripped over the wood saw? Someone put a drill through his ankle? She’d seen plenty of injuries on job sites, but the sight of so much blood made her dizzy.

  In the distance, a four-wheeler roared, drawing closer.

  Tim? Had someone called the rancher for help? But how? Probably the walkie-talkie channel Hux had provided in case they needed to get in touch or had another incident like Duke crashing from the broken stairs.

  She didn’t use the walkie-talkies, but Vince and his team did. He must’ve had someone make the call, knowing they didn’t have time for the long journey into Red Hill. Nor did their first aid kits have the supplies for an injury such as this.

  Duke and Kay pulled into the parking area, gravel crunching and dirt hurling up from the tires as they came to a jerky stop. Duke vaulted from the truck and rushed toward Vince and his entourage.

  “What the hell happened?” His shout rose over the confusion of
voices.

  Someone answered, but Neve didn’t catch the explanation.

  Duke took over for the man on Vince’s left, taking on more weight and easing the burden for the man on Vince’s other side.

  The four-wheeler finally came into sight. Neve recognized the driver as Miles, Tim’s brother. He wasted no time. He stood upright as he arrowed through the parked vehicles and multiple location trailers at a speed that made Neve’s skin prickle. He towed an empty flatbed that bounced violently on the gravel. He’d have to go much slower on the way back to the ranch. He parked a few yards from the group of men, shouting and waving frantically. “Two of you on the flatbed with Vince. Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  Duke made sure he was one of them. He shooed away several of Vince’s guys who attempted to join them. He and one of the workmen held Vince steady on the flatbed. The old man’s face pulled taut with pain, but his eyes fluttered like he’d soon pass out.

  Neve didn’t interfere. Duke dove into the chaos without hesitation. Easy enough to forget he could run this whole operation blindfolded, that he was a leader, and an act-first kind of man. Yet, he could. He could’ve had easy command of this whole group, and Vince’s guys giving way to Duke’s authority without question only proved it.

  She’d only be in the way if she jumped in. Instead, she’d hold down the job site.

  Chaos reigned. Someone had to take control of Vince’s team before every one of them tried to trail the four-wheeler back to Lady Killer Ranch. They moved restlessly, some pacing, some scratching their heads and worrying their hands. She didn’t dare leave them idle.

  Shaky with adrenaline, she advanced on the group. She ran across Kay, chewing her thumbnail like it was dinner. A concerned frown wrinkled her forehead. Without a word, Neve motioned for her to follow, which she did, seemingly relieved to have a purpose to march toward.

  With Kay at her side, she addressed the men. “You two.” She pointed at the closest pair. “Get that storage trailer unhitched from Vince’s truck. I’m driving it to the ranch, and I’ll bring back a progress report for all of you. Tim has people at his ranch who will know what to do, and it shouldn’t take them long to discover the extent of his injury. In the meantime, you all have something better to do than rubberneck. Whatever you were working on when the accident occurred, finish it. Vince set up a standing spotlight this morning, obviously intending to work past sunset. Let’s go!” she shouted angrily when they didn’t move.