Bold

by Mackenzie McKade

  He wouldn’t bet against a saucy creature like Tabatha once she had her sights set on someone.

  Harold clunked his glass on the table and rose slowly, his joints aching in the process. He wasn’t as spry anymore, but neither were his friends. Age was catching up with them.

  “Going somewhere?” Errol sat up straight, slicking a palm over the thinning hair plastered across the top of his shiny head.

  “Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors or win bets. I think I’ll be raising the sail a foot and see if I’ll get ten feet of wind with these two.” He winked. “Time for me to stir up a storm.”

  “You ol’ salty dog.” Errol pushed to his feet. “I won’t be allowing you to get the best of me. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeves too.”

  Byron leaned back in his chair, a huge satisfying grin on his face. “Good luck, ye scurvy beasts.”

  Casually, Harold wandered toward his prey. He overheard Devon, Tabatha’s brother, chastising her wild nature, and Harold inwardly smiled. The lassie had never heeded her brother’s words before. What made him think she would start now?

  “So I see you met our secret weapon,” Harold said, joining them.

  “Secret weapon?” A hint of wariness slipped into Reece’s voice.

  “Tabatha has agreed to work with you on designing the remaining two booths.”

  Her mouth curved, Reece’s fell, and Devon started laughing, which earned him a scowl from his sister.

  “I’ve got this under control.” Reece finished the last of his beer and grabbed his gloves from his back pocket.

  “Last night you didn’t appear so confident.” Harold eyed the young man’s apparent nervousness, deciding that it was a good thing. “So, what do you have in mind for the psychic’s and the tarot card reader’s booths?”

  “Well, I thought…um…I was thinking—”

  Harold turned away from the babbling idiot. “Tabatha, tell these lads what ye have in mind.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “For the psychic’s booth I was thinking of long, draping curtains making up the exterior of the tent.” Her voice pitched with enthusiasm. “Multicolor scarves and pillows, flowing lengths of necklaces, pearls, jewels and golden trinkets skewed about. Soft lighting. A small knee-high table in the middle.” She took a quick breath before continuing. “For the tarot card reader I envisioned a small cottage with stairs and a functional porch where the readings would be conducted. Wind chimes, mystic crystals, and flowers—”

  “Exactly how did you figure on financing these outrageous ideas? The Council has little to no money to spend on such extravagant daydreams.”

  Tabby flinched at Reece’s steely outburst. But she regrouped quickly, turning her stubborn glare on him. “The cottage would be a shell used for physical appearance only. The structure could be built from used plywood and studs, and the porch of two by fours or sixes.” She looked around at the building materials cast aside.

  “I have a door and a couple of extra windows you could use,” Harold added.

  “With a thin coat of stucco, paint and some special touches, the cottage will be enthralling,” she finished.

  “And how do you plan to come up with the material for panels and fake jewels for this so-called sultan’s tent?” Reece demanded to know.

  Devon sneered. “Magic?”

  Tabatha puffed up like a peacock with anger. Before she could retaliate, Harold took control of the situation. “The high school has offered their discarded theater curtains. There are also unused costumes that pillows could be made of.”

  “As far as the strings of necklaces and jewels, the dollar store and craft stores sell them for a minimal cost. I’ll even absorb the cost,” Tabatha grumbled through clinched teeth. “All you have to do is the structure and electricity. I’ll do the rest.”

  “Our pretty lassie is sure to wrestle the stucco and paint donations from some of our locals with her feminine charms.” Harold preened when his comment coerced an abrupt response from Reece.

  “She won’t need to use her charms. I can get the materials—at no cost.”

  “Then it’s a go?” Harold asked.

  Through of veil of frustration, Reece nodded his acceptance.

  “Great.” Harold dug into his pocket. “Devon, here’s a key to the vacant storefront I own down the street of the Seafarer. You’ll find the door and windows in the back room. Then you all can start with the cottage tomorrow.” Harold turned, hiding his pleasure as he strolled off.

  Tomorrow would certainly be interesting.

  Chapter Two

  Morning came way too early. The sun barely peeked over the white-crested waves of the Atlantic, while fiery ribbons of orange and yellow stretched across the dusky horizon. A light fog circled her ankles like crawling snakes weaving in and out. Even the coach lights aligning the streets remained lit, casting a blue hue over the sleepy town.

  Tabby yawned, wondering why the hell she had stayed at the Seaside Pub, Hauk’s bar, until after midnight. Of course, she knew the answer. One stubborn-assed man had suggested she call it a night after refusing to dance with her. Not that there weren’t plenty of men offering to partner her. With the influx of tourists and locals, Hauk’s place had been packed for a Tuesday night.

  She was still stewing over Reece’s rejection when she missed a broken stone in the road. The pothole caught the heel of one of her knee-high boots and she stumbled.

  A peel of laughter greeted her. “Too early for you, sis?”

  Glancing over a steaming cup of coffee, Reece muttered, “Perhaps you shouldn’t have stayed out so late.”

  Well, crap. If the day began like this, it was sure to get worse in a hurry.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” So she wasn’t at her best in the mornings. “Any coffee left?”

  “No.” Devon smirked. “Should have gotten here sooner.”

  Ohhhkay. She saw what was going on here. The fact that she wasn’t needed during this phase of building hadn’t escaped her. But if they thought she was falling for their scheme to make it rough on her so she’d quit, they’d better think twice.

  She squared her shoulders and smiled, an action she didn’t quite feel up to at the butt-crack of dawn. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Well, since it was your idea to use scrap lumber from around here,” Devon’s shifty gaze darted toward Reece and then back at her, “we thought maybe you could pull the old nails out of that stack of plywood over there.”

  Pulling nails—she could do that.

  Turning toward the large pile of wood, she paused. Hmmm. The nails didn’t look all that old. Surely they wouldn’t have— Nah, even Reece and Devon wouldn’t go to all the trouble of hammering nails in just so she could extract them, especially since they were working against time. She pinched her lips together, wondering where to start.

  “Here. You might need this.”

  She pivoted, running right into Reece. Her startled gaze caressed up his broad chest, swept past his obstinate chin to settle on hazel eyes, more blue than green. A sharp inhale pulled the fresh scent of shaving lotion and cologne, a woodsy aromatic fragrance, deep into her lungs.

  “Do you know how to use a hammer?”

  “Hammer?” He smelled so good she couldn’t help moving closer. When his offensive remark finally struck home, she placed her palms on her hips and her eyes widened. “Uh. Yes.” But her irritation didn’t last long.

  There had always been a magnetic attraction when it came to Reece, a need to be near him, even in childhood. When she had fallen in love with him, she couldn’t quite place a finger on. Yet as his voice and body changed, so had her sexual awareness. Now, all he had to do was look her way and desire sprang to life, raising havoc with her hormones and libido. Like now, with each shallow breath she inhaled, her nipples were sensitive peaks rasping against her T-shirt. But the icing on the cake was the incredible warmth spreading through her veins. Not to mention the moisture building between her thighs.


  He grinned down at her as if he could read her mind as well as her heart, and she had the good sense to blush.

  “Did you want to see the blueprints before we begin?”

  She blinked, hoping her expression wasn’t one of a lovesick puppy. “Blueprints?”

  “You know, those paper things containing technical drawings that document an architectural design.”

  Fighting a grin that tugged at the corner of her lips, she hissed, “Smartass.” One of the things she loved the most about him was he could always make her laugh. “I know what blueprints are. I just didn’t know you had any for this project.”

  “I didn’t until last night.”

  So that’s why he left Hauk’s so early. “Sure. I’d love to see them.” The man was meticulous, something else she loved about him.

  From his back jeans pocket he extracted a set of plans and placed them atop the plywood. Plucking a tape measure off his utility belt, he placed the weight on one edge of the vellum, spreading it out before laying the hammer on the other end to keep the paper from rolling.

  “Is this what you were thinking?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Chills raced across her arms beneath the light hoodie she wore as she stared at the exterior of a late medieval Tudor cottage with a steep gable roof and a porch. She turned the page, admiring the different views, skimming over the simple floor plan. “Reece, this is exactly how I imagined it. How could you have known?”

  His eyes darkened. “I know how you think.”

  Taken aback, she cocked her head. “No you don’t.” He couldn’t possibly or she would be in utter embarrassment every time she was around him.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped away from her. “You’re a romantic—a daydreamer, Tabby.” He pressed the hammer into her palm, her fingers curling around the cool metal. For a moment he just stared at her, then eased farther away. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Oh, she needed something all right. His body pressed tight to hers for a start. But instead of speaking her deepest, darkest desires, she said, “Wait! The thatch roof. It’s just the right touch, but where are we going to get the materials?” It was the little details in a project that made it come to life. There was nothing like taking a white-walled empty room and transforming it into something magical.

  “About a week ago I saw some thatch lying around the Talismans’ yard. Evidently Mrs. Talisman purchased it before speaking to her husband. After hearing what a fire hazard the material is, she agreed to tile for their new gazebo. They donated the roofing to the festival.”

  “Thank you, Reece.”

  He nudged her chin up with a single finger. For a moment she thought he would lean down and kiss her. Instead, he released her and took a step backward, before saying, “You’re welcome.”

  As he turned and walked away, she allowed herself the freedom to really appreciate his physique, especially his sexy tight butt. Reece looked yummy in low-slung jeans. His long legs, firm thighs, and that perfect ass warmed her all over, made her pulse race. What would it feel like beneath her hands?

  The racy thought vanished when her brother hollered her name. He frowned, approaching on determined footsteps.

  “Dammit, Tabs, you have to stop looking at Reece like that. He doesn’t think of you in that way. You’re like a sister to him.”

  Ouch. That stung. But the truth was, no matter what Devon thought, she and Reece were not siblings.

  She tore her eyes from Devon, choosing to ignore him. Instead, she placed the claw of the hammer beneath the head of a bent nail and pulled down on the handle, wrenching the nail out. Metal against wood screeched, raking across her nerves as much as her brother’s words.

  “Tabs?”

  “I’m busy here.” She focused on the next silver disc protruding from the plywood.

  Devon shadowed her for a little longer before he gave up, pivoting and walking away. When his footsteps disappeared, she paused.

  Could her brother be right? Maybe Reece would never consider her as more than the little tomboy who used to follow him around. But maybe in time he would. That small sliver of hope was what she held on to as she settled in and got busy. One thing she’d learned early in life, anything worth having was worth working for.

  Reece McGrath was definitely worth the time and effort.

  After two hours, she had a nice pile of crooked and twisted nails, several splinters and scraped knuckles, and an assortment of blisters starting to rise. Stretching her aching back, she stood up and flexed her fingers, working out the cramps. It had been a long time since she had done anything physical like this. The last couple of years she’d spent in a classroom. As much as she cherished her desired career, school wasn’t for her. She had been homesick. When she heard Reece had returned from Las Vegas after being on a jobsite for six months, the decision to quit school had been easy.

  “Dammit, Tabby.”

  So caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t seen Reece approach. He grabbed her hands, staring at her injured fingers, and then he flipped them over, palms up, frowning harder at the redness and swelling. “Why didn’t you stop before now?”

  Oh God. If she leaned forward the slightest bit, their bodies would be touching, hips to hips, chest to chest, and mouth to mouth.

  What would his kiss taste like?

  After several long seconds staring at his lips, she started to feel like an idiot standing in near silence while savoring the heat of his large hands cradling her smaller ones. A flutter in her stomach finally urged her to breathe and respond.

  “Because that’s what you and Devon want.” Shock registered on his face when she replied honestly. Why hadn’t she said something cleverer?

  A rough rumble percolated in his throat. The masculine growl was so sexy she felt it stroke across her skin, raising goose bumps. Then “brat” spilled from his mouth, shattering the moment.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let him know how his derogatory comment had affected her.

  “Why do you have to be so stubborn? You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work. You should be—”

  “Barefoot and pregnant? In the kitchen whipping up breakfast for my man?” she snipped. The fact that he thought of her in this vein set her hackles rising, pushing back her disappointment.

  Reece must have recognized her agitation, because he grumbled, “Now don’t get your panties in a twist. I just meant you shouldn’t— A woman shouldn’t have to do hard labor. Look at your delicate hands.”

  Woman? Delicate? Is that how he really saw her?

  Years ago he hadn’t expressed concern when she had helped him and Devon build a tree house in that big oak tree in their backyard. Her questioning gaze touched his. He looked as if he would say more. Instead, he quickly released her as if her touch suddenly scorched him, leaving her feeling like a loose end whipping in the salty breeze that swept across her heated face.

  “They’ll be fine.” Her voice trembled. Reaching for the hammer, she was surprised when he grabbed it out of her grasp.

  “No you don’t. There are plenty of things you can do to help without being here.”

  “Like what? Or is this another trick to get rid of me?” She could have died when her wounded pride bled through her taut words.

  “Color choices. Put that education you have to work. Joe from the hardware store is donating the paint for this project. We should be done with the structure and deck by noon. I’ve scheduled the drywall for one. It will need to cure overnight, but in the meantime we can paint the trim pieces and the deck around three. Everything can be assembled tomorrow and the structure painted.”

  “Do you really think we can finish both projects in two and a half days?”

  “Absolutely. The cottage will take today and most of tomorrow. Later tomorrow we can start working on your sultan’s tent structure and finishing everything Friday morning.”

  We. He said we, which meant he included her.

  “That will leave you Thursday evenin
g and early Friday to complete the actual tent and the frills you have planned. Will you be able to complete what you need to in that time?”

  “Yes.” Happiness bubbled up inside her. “I’ve already enlisted several women to start on the panels and pillows tomorrow. I also asked Josie and Vic to hit all the stores today for jewelry and golden trinkets. We’re hoping most of the items will be donated.”

  “Make sure they stop by Mom’s,” he suggested. “She has several Manzanita shrubs shipped over from her sister in California. Years ago Dad painted the damn things black and Mom draped the leafless branches with cheap necklaces and stuff. Since he passed, she retired them to the garage. Maybe she’d give them to you to use for your sultan’s tent.”

  With the mention of his parents, she thought back to those horrible days when his father was sick with stomach cancer. She and Devon had been there when Hannah, Reece’s mother, had told him his father was gone. So distraught, Reece had run from the room. He hadn’t known she had followed him to the tree house. She was about to join him when she heard him release a bloodcurdling scream, his cry cutting her bone deep. Instead of going to him, she had leaned against the base of the tree and silently wept for him—for his loss.

  After that Reece had changed. He grew up way too fast.

  Brody had taken being the man of the house to heart while Reece had focused on his education, graduating high school a year early and attending summer school. He had been pushing to succeed ever since.

  “I’ll contact your mother after I finish this last piece of plywood.” She snatched the hammer from his hand, jammed the claw head beneath a nail and jerked.

  It had been Devon’s idea to put Tabby to work pulling nails, but Reece had known she was made of tougher stuff than sugar and spice. There was no doubt in his mind she would be by their side for as long as it took. Nothing had changed from childhood, except that she had grown into a delectable woman who haunted his dreams.