The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  She was working on the second list, one she would take to the hardware store, when someone tapped on the cracked glass of the shop door.

  She studied the spare man in workman’s clothes as she approached. Dark hair, well cut, a smooth, handsome face with an easy, crooked smile. Sunglasses hid his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not open,” she said as she opened the door.

  “Looks like you could use a carpenter.” He tapped his finger at the crack again. “And a glass man. How’s it going, Tory?” He took off his sunglasses, revealing dark, intense eyes, and a tiny hook-shaped scar just under the right one. “Dwight Frazier.”

  “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Few inches taller, several pounds lighter than the last time you saw me. Thought I should come by, welcome you as mayor, and shift hats to see if there’s anything Frazier Construction can do for you. Mind if I come in a minute?”

  “Oh, sure.” She stepped back. “Nothing much to see just now.”

  “It’s a good space.”

  He moved well, she noted. Not at all like the awkward, chubby boy he’d been. The braces were gone, and so was the ruthless buzz cut his father had insisted on.

  He looked fit, and he looked prosperous. No, she thought. She wouldn’t have recognized him.

  “It’s a solid building,” he continued, “with a strong foundation. And the roof’s sound.” He turned back, flashing the smile that had helped his orthodontist buy a cabin cruiser. “I should know, we put it on two years back.”

  “Then I’ll know who to come after if it leaks.”

  He laughed and hooked his sunglasses in the collar of his T-shirt. “Frazier builds to last. You’re going to want counters, shelves, displays.”

  “Yes, I was just measuring.”

  “I can send you a good carpenter, at a fair rate.”

  It was smart, and again political, to use local labor. If, she thought, local labor met her budget. “Well, your idea of a fair rate and mine might not connect.”

  His grin was lightning and full of charm. “Tell you what. Let me get some things out of my truck. You can tell me what you’ve got in mind, and I’ll give you an estimate. We’ll see if we can make them connect.”

  He was aware she was measuring him, even as he measured her walls. He was used to it. As a boy, his father had measured him, and had forever found him just short of the mark.

  Dwight Frazier, ex-marine, avid hunter, town councilman, and founder of Frazier Construction, had high standards for the fruit of his loins. His disappointment when that fruit had turned out undersized and soft had been keen.

  Young Dwight Junior had never been allowed to forget it.

  The truth was, Dwight mused, as he scribbled numbers on his clipboard, he had been short of the mark. Short, fat, clumsy, he’d been a prime candidate for jokes and sneers, and his father’s tight-lipped disappointment.

  Worse, he’d had a brain. As a boy, there was no more deadly combination than a pudgy body, clumsy feet, and a sharp brain. He’d been the darling of his teachers, which meant he might as well have painted a kick-my-ass sign on his back.

  His mother had struggled to make up for it the best way she knew how. By shoving food in his face. There was nothing like a box of Ho Ho’s, in his dear mama’s thinking, to make all right with the world again.

  His salvation had been Cade and Wade. Why they’d befriended him had never made full sense to Dwight. Class had been part of it. They had come from three of the town’s most prominent families. For that he had been, and continued to be, grateful.

  Perhaps there was, still, a tiny splinter of resentment in his gut over the whims of fate that had made those two tall, handsome, and agile, while he’d been plump, plain, and awkward. But he’d made up for it. In spades.

  “I started running when I was fourteen.” He said it casually as he drew out his measuring tape again.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re wondering.” He crouched, noted on his pad again. “Got sick of being the fat kid and decided to do something about it. Took off twelve pounds of blubber in a couple of months. First few times I ran, I did it at night when no one could see me. I got sick as three dogs. Stopped eating the cupcakes and candy bars and chips my mother packed in my lunch every day. Thought I’d starve to death.”

  He rose, flashed his grin again. “First year of high school I started going out to the track at night, running there. I was still overweight, still slow, but I didn’t puke up dinner anymore. Seems that Coach Heister used to come out there at night, too, in his Chevy sedan in the company of another man’s wife. I won’t mention who, as the lady remains married and is the proud grandmother of three now. Hold this end for me, sugar.”

  Fascinated, Tory took the end of the measuring tape as Dwight walked backward to span the projected counter area.

  “Now, it so happened that on one of our mutual visits to the Progress High School track, I got an eyeful of the coach and the future grandmother of three. It was, you can imagine, a rather awkward moment for all parties involved.”

  “To say the least.”

  “And the least said, the better, which is what Coach suggested to me as he clamped his hands around my throat. I had to agree. However, being a fair man, or perhaps just a suspicious one, he offered me a token in return. If I continued to train, and could take off another ten pounds, he’d give me a place on the track team come spring. This was our tacit agreement, that I would forget the incident and that he would refrain from killing me and burying my body in a shallow grave.”

  “Seemed to work for everyone.”

  “Sure worked for me. I took off the weight, and shocked everyone, including myself, by not only making the team but blowing the competition to hell in the fifty- and hundred-yard dashes. I was a hell of a sprinter, it turned out. I won the All Star trophy three years running, and the love of pretty Lissy Harlowe.”

  She warmed to him, one outsider to another. “That’s a nice story.”

  “Happy endings. I think I can help you get your own here in your shop. Why don’t I buy you lunch and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I don’t—” She broke off as the door opened behind her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re hiring this two-bit hustler.” Wade strolled in, swung an arm around Tory’s shoulder. “Thank God I got here in time.”

  “This puppy doctor here doesn’t know a damn thing about building. Go give a poodle an enema, Wade. I’m about to take your pretty cousin, and my potential client, to lunch.”

  “Then I’ll just have to come along and protect her interests.”

  “I need shelves more than I need a sandwich.”

  “I’ll see you get both.” Dwight winked at her. “Come on, sugar, and bring this dead weight along with you.”

  She took thirty minutes, and enjoyed herself more than she’d expected. It was a pleasure to see the adult friendship between Dwight and Wade that had its roots in the boys she remembered.

  It made her miss Hope.

  It was easy enough for a woman who was rarely comfortable around men to relax when one was her cousin and the other tidily married. So tidily, Dwight was showing off pictures of his son before the sandwiches were served. Tory would have made the appropriate and expected noises in any case, but the truth was the little boy was seriously adorable, with Lissy’s pretty face and Dwight’s snapping eyes.

  And, she decided, as she headed off to do errands, it had been constructive as well as easy. Not only did Dwight understand what she wanted, but he improved on her basic layout, and the estimate slipped comfortably into her budget. Or did after she wheedled, refused, questioned, and pushed. And, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, he promised the work would be done before the middle of May.

  Satisfied, she went out and bought a bed.

  She really meant to pick up just the mattress and box spring. Years of frugality had never permitted her to impulse buy. And it was rare, very rare, for her to experience the deep-seated desire to o
wn something.

  The minute she saw it, she was hooked.

  She walked away from it twice, and back again. The price wasn’t out of line, but she didn’t need a lovely, classic iron bed with slim, smooth posts to frame both head and foot of the mattress. Yes, it was practical, but it wasn’t necessary.

  A sturdy bed frame, and a good solid mattress set, that was all she required. All she was going to do was sleep in it, for goodness sake.

  She argued with herself even as she pulled out her credit card, as she drove to the loading dock, as she drove home. Then she was too busy hauling and cursing and tugging to waste time arguing.

  Standing between rows of newly cultivated cotton, Cade watched her struggle for ten minutes. Then he did some cursing of his own, marched to his truck, and drove down to her lane.

  He didn’t slam the door after he climbed out, but he wanted to.

  “You forgot your magic bracelets.”

  She was out of breath, some stray wisps of hair had escaped her braid and were plastered to her face, but she had the huge and heavy box halfway up the porch steps. She straightened, tried not to pant. “What?”

  “You can’t be Wonder Woman without your magic bracelets. I’ll get this end.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “Stop being an ass, and get the door.”

  She stomped over, yanked the door open. “Are you always here?”

  He took off his sunglasses, tossed them aside. It was a habit that cost him a pair on the average of two a month. “You see that field over there? It’s mine. Now, move aside while I get this up there. What the hell kind of bed is this?”

  “Iron,” she said with some satisfaction, when she noted he had to put his back into it.

  “Figures. We need to angle it up through the door.”

  “I knew that.” She planted her feet, crouched, and took the weight of her end. There was a lot of muttering, a great deal of finessing, and a scraped knuckle on her end, but they got it through. She continued to walk backward, forced to trust him as he directed her right or left, until they muscled it into the bedroom.

  “Thank you.” Her arms felt like rubber. “I can manage from here.”

  “Got any tools?”

  “Of course I have tools.”

  “Good. Get them. It’ll save me from going for mine. Might as well set this up before we bring the rest in.”

  In one irritable gesture, she pushed her sweaty hair back. “I can do it.”

  “And you’re almost contrary enough for me to let you. I am trapped by my superior breeding.” He took her hand, examined the broken skin, and kissed it lightly before she could snatch it free. “You can put something on that while I do this.”

  She considered insulting him, ordering him out, even kicking him out, and decided every option was a waste of time. She got the tools.

  He admired the seriously efficient black toolbox. “Aren’t you just prepared for everything?”

  “You probably don’t know pliers from a wrench.”

  Obviously amused, he pulled out a pair of needle-nose pliers. “Scissors, right?”

  When the breath she huffed out ended on a laugh, he got to work on the heavy-duty staples plugged into the box. “Go put something on that knuckle.”

  “It’s all right.”

  He didn’t bother to look at her, or change the tone of his voice, but there was the light and tempered steel of command. “Put something on it. Then why don’t you go fix us something cold to drink?”

  “Look, Cade, I’m not the little woman.”

  He glanced up now, measured her with one cool look. “You’re little, and you’re a woman. And I’ve got the scissors.”

  “I don’t suppose my suggesting just where you might shove those pliers would wipe that smile off your face.”

  “I don’t suppose telling you you’re sexy when you’re frazzled would convince you to christen this bed with me once we set it up?”

  “Jesus” was all she said as she strode out of the room.

  She left him alone. She could hear the clatter, and the occasional oath, as she hauled in groceries, put them away, brewed tea. He had long hands, she mused. Elegant pianist’s fingers that contrasted with the hard, calloused palms. She was sure he knew how to plant and tend and harvest. He’d been raised to do so. But everyday chores? No, that was a different matter.

  Since she didn’t expect he’d put together a single bed frame in his own privileged life, she imagined she’d walk in on complete chaos. And she was determined to give him plenty of time to make a mess of things.

  She hooked up her new kitchen phone, put away her new dishcloths, and lazily sliced lemons for the tea. Satisfied he’d had enough time to mortify himself, she poured two glasses over ice and strolled into the bedroom with them.

  He was just turning the last bolt.

  Her eyes lit up, and the quick little sound she made was one of sheer, feminine delight. “Oh! It’s wonderful. It’s really wonderful. I knew it would be.” Without thinking, she shoved the glasses into his hands so she could run hers over the iron.

  His first reaction was amusement, then a cool satisfaction. Just as he started to sip the tea, she stepped into the center of the frame, and ran her fingertips up the iron rungs.

  And his reaction turned to sheer lust, so basic, so strong, he took one deliberate step in retreat. He could imagine, perfectly, wrapping her fingers around those posts, holding them there as he thrust into her. One hard, long stroke after another while those long-lidded witch eyes of hers went to smoke.

  “It’s sturdy.” She gave the headboard a little shake, and his stomach pitched and knotted.

  “Damn well better be.”

  “You did a good job, and I was rude. Thank you, and I’m sorry.”

  “You’re welcome and forget it.” He handed her the glass, then reached up to tug the chain of the ceiling fan. “It’s warm in here.” He wanted to bite that spot just under her left ear where her jaw began its curve.

  Because his voice was clipped, she suffered another pang of guilt. “I really was rude, Cade. I’m not very good with people.”

  “Not good with people? And you’re going to open a shop where you’ll deal with them every day?”

  “That’s customers,” she said. “I’m very good with customers. I’m positively gracious with customers.”

  “So …” He moved in until he stood just on the other side of the frame. “If I buy something from you, you’ll be friendly.”

  She didn’t have to read his thoughts when she could read his eyes. “Not that friendly.” Nimbly, she sidestepped him and moved out of the room.

  “I could be a very good customer.”

  “You’re trying to frazzle me again.”

  “I am frazzling you again. Tory.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Stop that,” he said mildly when she stiffened. He set his glass on the floor, then turned her to face him. “There, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

  He had gentle hands. It had been a long time, a very long time, since she’d felt a gentle touch from a man. “I’m not interested in flirtations.”

  “I am, but we can compromise for now. Let’s try to be friends.”

  “I’m not a good friend.”

  “I am. Now, why don’t we get the rest of your bed in here so you can get a decent night’s sleep tonight.”

  She let him get nearly to the door. She’d told herself she wouldn’t speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone, until she was ready. Until she was strong and she was sure. But it was bubbling up inside her.

  “Cade. You never asked. Not then, not now. You’ve never once asked how I knew.” Her palms went damp as he turned, so she clutched them to her elbows. “You’ve never asked how I knew where to find her. How I knew what had happened.”

  “I didn’t have to ask.”

  Her words rushed out now, popping like overwound springs. “Some people think I was with her, even though I said I wasn’t. That I ran away and left h
er. That I just left her—”

  “That’s not what I think.”

  “And the ones who believed me, believed that I saw the way I said I did, they stepped back from me, kept their children away from me. They stopped looking me in the eye.”

  “I looked you in the eye, Tory. Then and now.”

  She had to take a breath to settle herself. “Why? If you can believe I have that inside me, why didn’t you step back? Why are you coming around here now? Do you expect me to tell you the future? Because I can’t. Or give you some stock tips? Because I won’t.”

  Her face was flushed, he noted, her eyes dark and alive with ripe and ready emotions. One of those emotions, one that prickled through the surface of all the others, was anger.

  He wouldn’t play to it, or to what he believed were her expectations. “I prefer living each day as it comes, thanks all the same. And I’ve got a broker to take care of my portfolio. Did it ever occur to you that I’m coming around here now because I like the look of you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you are the first and only female without vanity I’ve had occasion to meet. Wouldn’t hurt to get yourself some. Now …” He cocked his head. “Do you want to get this mattress in here, or astound and amaze me by telling me what I had for lunch this afternoon?”

  Her mouth opened as he walked out the door. Had he actually made a joke about it? People made fun of her, or rolled their eyes. Or backed cautiously away. Some came begging for her to solve all their problems and unhappiness. But no one, in her experience, made a casual joke.

  She rolled the tension out of her shoulders, then walked outside to help him carry in the mattress.

  They worked in silence now, her stewing, and his mind elsewhere. When the bed was in place, Cade polished off his tea, took the glass into the kitchen, then headed out.

  “You should be able to handle it from here. I’m a bit behind schedule.”

  Oh no you don’t, she thought, and rushed after him. “I appreciate the help. I really do.” Whether it was impulse or annoyance, she followed it and wrapped her fingers around his arm until he stopped and glanced down.