by Jennie Jones
She pushed from the ground and stood, then bent to knock the earth off her knees.
“You’ll need to rake the entire area after you’ve finished collecting that rubble,” he called. “I’m not hauling any more rafters over these scattered stones. I need flat ground or it isn’t happening.”
Oh, shut up. “I am actually the boss,” she said in an irritated whisper. The rafters were neatly stacked inside the hall of the hacienda. They’d been covered in waterproofing for decades and Davie had said they looked usable. All Saul the bully had to do was cart them outside again. So in effect, the dirty-contractor was only doing half a roof-renovation job. He should stop with the complaints.
She lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and groaned at the weight. Goodbye nicely manicured nails. Goodbye soft and gentle hands. So long decency, and long hot showers.
Saul sighed, stepped back from the single bed in his room, and ran an eye over his stuff laid out on the asymmetrical-patterned quilt. He’d turned his backpack inside out and still no sat phone. He’d checked the pickup and he’d walked around the hacienda while Molly did whatever she was doing in the kitchen. No sat phone. He must have lost it between Hopeless and here.
The room wasn’t small; it was large, airy and bright, with not one but two sets of glass-paned doors that led to a front courtyard. His single bed was another matter. At six-two, he was too tall for it. His feet would hang over the end. But instead of worrying about that now, he grabbed his wash kit off a blackened oak dresser and left the room.
“It’s cold, and it’s got your name on it!”
He came to a halt and frowned at Molly who had an over-wide grin on her face. She had an opened bottle of beer in one hand, the other directed at him.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the beer. He could do with it. Dirty work out there. Dust and dirt clung to his jeans and T-shirt, and stuck to his skin. He drank long and deep. Nectar.
“What’s amusing you?” he asked, tipping the bottle toward her mile-wide smile.
“I thought it would be cool if we did something different for dinner. Like toast sandwiches on the barbeque.” She rubbed her stomach. “Mmm. Yum. Cheese, ham, tomatoes.”
Saul frowned and tilted his head. “Sandwiches?”
“Or how about pancakes?”
“For breakfast, yes.” For lunch even. But not for dinner. “Haven’t we got anything else?—Oh, hell.” He looked away.
“The thing is, right...”
He held up his hand to stop her while he concentrated on getting his good humor back.
“Because you arrived so suddenly,” she carried on, “and because I was distracted by your amazing charm, I forgot to pick up the ready-meals Momma makes. So all we’ve got tonight is bread and some stuff to go on it.”
“Ready-meals? You mean your mother cooks for you?” She had to be joking. She couldn’t make her own meals?
She lifted her shoulders. “I can cook, I just forget to sometimes.”
He looked into her eyes and the overly bright gleam in them. Her cheeks and forehead were smeared with dirt. The baseball cap she’d tucked her curls into was no longer white. He ran an eye down her slim body. She looked like the Raggedy-Ann doll his sister had clung to for ten years. She was covered in dust and grime. Her apricot shorts had more of a frayed edge than before.
Remorse filtered through him. He’d pushed her hard this afternoon. He’d maybe knocked the stuffing out of her.
“So what time do you want to eat?” she asked. “I could knock yours up while you’re in the shower. I presume you’re heading for the bathroom now?”
Saul looked at the bathroom door then dragged his eyeballs off the thought of hot water washing the dust off his body and back onto the weary and bedraggled hacienda owner. “You go first,” he said. “Just don’t take all night.”
She gasped, then bounced across the tiled floor toward the bathroom. “I won’t! And thanks for understanding about not having dinner prepared. I’ll be ready for you tomorrow.”
Yeah, right. He’d already accepted the fact he was going to be head roof maker and head chef.
“I’m timing you!” he called as she ran across the tiles like a forest sprite.
She turned and gave him the finger.
He smiled as she slammed the bathroom door. Then tried to not imagine her in the shower.
Molly checked the towel she’d turbaned her hair in to make sure it was secure. There’d been no time to dry her hair. But how she’d loved her six-minute shower!
“You should have said you could cook like this,” she told him as she reached for more bread. “I might have made it eighteen percent after all.”
“It’s just eggs.”
Yes, but with chopped ham and tomatoes. And the toasted bread had melted cheese all over it, drizzled on the top, and running off the crusts. He’d make some poor woman a dandy husband one day.
They were in the kitchen hacienda, a blue-tinged mood coming from the temporary fluorescent lighting and the stretched canvas above.
“Don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry,” she said, and meant it. Hard labor did that. Especially when the guy who thought he was the boss was a bully. “If I’m allowed time off in the morning,” she said with a sarcastic edge, “I’ll go into town and get the ready-meals. You won’t be disappointed. Momma makes Mexican, Texan, and even a bit of French.” She kissed her fingers.
He hadn’t spoken much. Molly still had more on her plate than he had on his, because he was wolfing his meal while Molly filled the conversation gaps.
“Sorry there’s no TV.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.”
She put her fork down and reached for her bottle of beer. He really was a pain in the backside. He could at least attempt to make polite conversation. “Presume you’re a sports fan?”
“Baseball, mainly. Although right now, I’d be happy to kick my feet up and watch grass grow.”
“No chance of that happening fast in Texas!” She laughed, but it faded when she got no response from Mr. Talkative. Not even a smile.
Molly chewed and then swallowed her cheesy toasted bread. “How long ago did you land in Texas again?”
“Longer than I’m staying in Hopeless.”
Touchy subject? She didn’t push him. “I take Momma into Amarillo occasionally to see a movie,” she said instead. “We saw Catch the Guy a couple of months ago.”
“Chick flick,” he said. “Saw the start, but not the end, thankfully.”
“I hate that term,” Molly said, banging her beer bottle down. “You mean it was a romantic story about life, with comedy and a bit of an edge thrown in. Why were you watching it?”
“I was with my date.”
“Your girlfriend?” she asked, doing her best to picture the bully’s girlfriend.
What was his type? Sweet? Sensual? He probably demanded both.
“No, my date.”
“What’s the difference?”
Molly checked him out while he deferred his answer and drank his beer. He hadn’t shaved, but he looked like a clean and shiny hunk of man-beef, and somehow still dirty-masculine. It was a little disconcerting, him being so powerfully good-looking. He didn’t have to put any effort into it.
“A date doesn’t expect it to last a lifetime,” he said.
So misery-guts didn’t do long-term. Or short-term, by the sound of things. Four hours max, maybe. “I think they should start calling death and destruction movies that are geared for men—dick flicks.”
He laughed so hard Molly nearly choked on the smile that rose from inside her in response to the sound of his deep, hearty, all-masculine laughter.
He glanced at her from beneath his eyebrows. “I take a slightly different connotation on that.”
“So you’re homophobic?” Got him. A negative characteristic to concentrate on instead of how dirty he was even when he was scrubbed and cleaned up.
“Not at all,” he said. “My younger br
other’s gay. He’s a top guy.”
“Oh,” she said, deflated. “That’s nice.” Dirty and decent.
She was losing hope of ever finding a positive negative about him.
Chapter Six
“Just popping out for a walk,” Molly said as she sauntered through the long living room of the lodge house, ignoring Saul, who was sitting on her leather sofa with his feet propped on a crate, flicking through the house renovation magazines that were stacked on Molly’s great-grandmother’s coffee table.
“In the dead of night?” he asked.
“Won’t be long. Don’t wait up.”
“I don’t intend to.”
Molly made for the door. She still hadn’t had time to dry her hair properly, not if she wanted to see Alice and still get to bed before midnight, but she’d tucked it all beneath her mocha hat because she didn’t want to get a chill.
“Take a flashlight,” he called.
“It’s a full moon.”
“So you’re off to do a naked dance in the wilderness?”
“You wish,” she said, turning and giving him a saccharine smile.
His smile appeared, reaching his eyes. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing you dance naked in the wild.”
The stirring of sensuality that swirled in her stomach was so unexpected, her eyes almost retracted in their sockets.
“Cake knife,” she said. “Remember what that’s for?”
She turned from the sound of his low laughter, let herself out, closed the door, and headed down the driveway. Did he find her attractive? It sent a odd, silvery-sweet shiver down her spine.
“He was probably joking,” she murmured, then glanced over her shoulder at the shadows behind her.
“It’s me,” she called as she walked through a thick clump of willow trees twenty minutes later. She always called, and Alice never answered because Alice always knew it was Molly. But Molly felt it only polite to announce herself.
She settled herself by the pit fire. “He’s here,” she said. “The stranger.”
“I know.”
“He’s a pain in the ass.”
Alice chuckled.
“And his equipment is in Lubbock.”
“Not all of it.”
“He’s strong though,” Molly continued. “He’s going to put the roof on—well, he says he’ll stay long enough to do that. He might change his mind now. I forgot to get the ready-meals from Momma this morning.”
“Distracted, were you?”
“You’re telling me.” Molly picked up a stick and poked the embers, deciding to say nothing about the thoughts she’d been having about Saul’s equipment—and she didn’t mean his building gear. “There’s something going on but I can’t work out what. It’s like it’s in my grasp but out of my reach. If you know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean,” Alice said. “Take your time and let it come to you.”
“I don’t mean chanelling. I don’t have any mysticness.”
Neither did she want it. So much bad had happened in the past few years. Why would she want to know for sure that more was on its way?
Alice paused. She didn’t move, but Molly knew the stillness. When it surrounded her grandmother it felt like the air had been whipped to flat.
“He’s watching you,” Alice said, her voice as soft as a dry leaf falling from a branch.
Molly gasped. “He followed me here? I didn’t hear a thing behind me.” She’d looked over her shoulder a dozen times, imagining something, but hadn’t seen anything. Not even a coyote.
“He’s watching out for you, not stalking you. Thought you might get yourself into some trouble.”
Molly hugged her knees, but strangely, her heart warmed at the thought of Saul looking out for her. “Can he hear us?”
Alice shook her head. “Too far back, but he can see us.”
“I haven’t told him about you yet. I don’t know how he’ll take it.”
“Why don’t you let him make up his own mind?”
Molly grunted.
“Getting on well?” Alice asked in an amused tone.
“We hate each other.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re a bit of a pain in the ass, too.”
“I inherited that attribute,” Molly said loftily. “It’s in my genes.”
It earned her another chuckle.
“Ask him about the time he left Colorado,” Alice said.
“Why?”
“Just ask.”
That was an odd request, but Molly didn’t push for more information. Alice never told anyone what was about to hit them. She said the person needed to figure it out for themselves and Molly was sure her grandmother enjoyed herself when she offered cryptic, mysterious messages. But she tucked away the reminder to ask him.
“Marie will be over to see me tomorrow.”
Molly didn’t question it. Momma had either made up her mind to visit Alice, or she would do so tomorrow. “Is it the developers?”
Alice nodded, and Molly released a lengthy sigh. “We’re having a lot of trouble with men, aren’t we?”
“Not so much from your stranger.”
“Not yet. And I thought he wasn’t mine.”
“So, do you think he’s dangerous?” Alice asked.
Molly shook her head. There was definitely something not right about him, but she didn’t feel frightened of him. “I’d better get going,” she said. “Got a big day tomorrow, if he sticks around.”
“Make your way home without looking back,” Alice said. “Don’t let him know you know he’s there.”
A tremor ran through her, like the brush of a bird’s wing on bare skin. She wasn’t sure any man, apart from Davie, had looked out for her welfare before now. “Why can’t I let him know that I know he’s there?”
“Because he’s figuring you out as much as you’re figuring him out.” Alice shook her denim, calf-length skirt, grit and earth falling from its soft folds. “There’s one more thing.”
Some sort of premonition swept over Molly’s body in a goose-bumping prickliness. “What?”
“Forget about the ring.”
Molly cringed. She’d thought Jason loved her but what woman bought her own engagement ring?
“You should never have bought it in the first place,” Alice said. “You know why, too. But it’s your lie...”
Alice let her words hang in the air and Molly pictured the ring she’d thrown at Jason and the new girl after discovering them in one of the unoccupied motel rooms. She ignored Alice’s last words, still unwilling to recognize the lie within her for what it was. It was such a complicated issue to clarify. Had she been right? Or wrong?
“Forget about the ring,” Alice said again. “Don’t push him about it.”
“It’s worth five thousand dollars.” What sort of woman would she be if she let him get away with duping her and holding on to her money? “I’m going to get it.”
“Well, then, Molly Mackillop, you’ve got trouble coming.” Alice looked at the fire as the flames died down to low, smoky curls. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Saul stood in the shadows at the rear of the lodge house, watching Molly head inside. He’d turned his bedroom light off and closed the door, so she’d figure he’d gone to bed.
He fingered the key he’d pinched for the door at the rear of the lodge that would lead him inside later, through the rooms that hadn’t yet been renovated. But first, he wanted to check out the place she’d been, and see if he could figure out why the old woman lived on her own in such a remote place.
He walked back the way he’d come, down the driveway, and onto the road that led into town. About a mile or so down, he turned left onto a road with no name. At least, that was what the signpost said. No Name Road. Five minutes later, the road narrowed and forked. He paused. One track had been cleared, gravel and dirt pushed to either side to make a decent pathway. A sign told him, A. Mackillop. No Appointments Necessary.
Saul took the lesser used t
rack and ducked beneath willow branches until he reached the point where the track widened, the sandy surface ensuring he had no trouble keeping himself silent.
He came to a stop among another clump of willows, about fifty yards from the pit fire, which was burning, the flames low but bright.
She was there. She must have stayed after Molly had left. She was supple enough to sit cross-legged on the ground. She wore a fringed suede jacket and a long denim skirt, the folds reaching to her calves.
The fire flared suddenly, long and bright, like a rod of molten steel. A log must have shifted. There wasn’t even a slight breeze tonight.
“You can come on over,” she called without looking around. “I don’t bite.”
Saul grinned and left the shadows.
“What gave me away?” he asked as he reached the sheltered fire pit.
She nodded at the ground. “Don’t stand on ceremony. Sit. Did she get home safely?”
“She did.”
“So you thought you’d pop back to check me out.”
“I thought you’d be in bed. I only planned on taking a look around. You’re Molly’s grandmother.” He extended his hand. “Good to meet you. I apologize for sneaking around your property.” He hadn’t realized she’d even known he was there. He must have given himself away.
“Don’t. You were doing it to protect Molly.”
“Not really.” He didn’t want the old girl to think he had a thing about her granddaughter. “I was doing it to snoop.”
She laughed. “Whatever fills your tank.”
She hadn’t taken his hand so he hunched down to warm his hands by the fire. “You live out here? A bit remote, isn’t it?”
“For a woman my age?” she asked. “Start using your sense, Saul Solomon.” Her eyes held a twinkle but Saul didn’t have time to wonder why. “You already know that my daughter, Marie, lives on her own and does just fine, and that my granddaughter lives on her own, under harsher circumstances than me. What does that tell you?”
“That I need to remember my sense.” Saul allowed a smile to play on his mouth.
It’d be hard to pull the wool over this one’s eyes. She had olive-green eyes. Molly’s were lighter, sometimes like a slice of flint if she was riled. Marie had green eyes, too. Three engaging women with mesmerizing green eyes. There was a warning there, somewhere.