by Dawn Atkins
Ramón came out of the kitchen to help them, and before long the place looked like a silo had exploded in the yard, and Jasper had begun bolting the pieces together.
As Max had predicted, Lacey's waitress costume was dusty and streaked gray from metal shavings. Her arms ached and she was drenched in sweat. She'd long ago ditched the sandals for more practical shoes.
"I need you to sign here … and pay," the truck driver said, handing her a clipboard.
She looked at the price and had to restrain a gasp. If this was cheap, she'd hate to see how much the preassembled version would have cost. This would take a big bite out of her renovation budget.
She went into the café to write the check and when she handed it to the driver, she felt Max's eyes on her.
"Steep?" he asked when the truck had driven away.
"Triple what I expected," she said on a sigh. "It doesn't matter, though. I've never seen Jasper so happy." They both watched Jasper gleefully welding away, with Ramón's lethargic assistance. "This is his heart's desire – to have a space to work and a place for his art. At least I won't have to worry about him getting heatstroke working in the sun on the big stuff. That makes it worth every penny." She tried to smile. Then she called out to Jasper and Ramón, "Take a break. I'll go get some iced tea."
"I'll help," Max said and walked with her to the café. She felt good with him at her side. She'd managed not to do anything the least bit aggressive so far and their fingers had tangled a couple of times as they helped unload the sheet metal – using a ramp and hand truck at Max's suggestion. On the other hand, sweat and dust had surely masked whatever sex appeal she had.
In the kitchen, she took ajar of iced tea from the walk-in refrigerator.
"I'll get the glasses," Max said.
"You just sit. You've already done too much. You worked all morning at the ranch and then helped us." She filled four tall tumblers with ice and placed them on a tray with the pitcher of tea. "I really appreciate what you did out there," she said as she worked. "If you hadn't figured out the placement of the hut, we'd have had sheet metal strung from one end of the property to the other." She filled two of the glasses and handed him one. Their fingers linked, their eyes met. "You were pretty fast with the figures," she said softly.
"I'm good with math. No big thing," he said equally softly, then took a long swallow of tea.
A cowboy, a car mechanic and good at math. Max was a regular Renaissance man. And that gave her a brilliant idea… "Would you be my handyman?"
"What?" Max choked on his tea and banged the glass on the table.
"I just lost the guy I hired and I desperately need help. Could they spare you at the ranch for a while? I'd try to match your wages. What do you think?"
She thought it was the perfect solution to both her problems. Max would undoubtedly be a great handyman – look how well he handled the hut unloading. Plus, working together – rubbing shoulders … and elbows … and who knew what else – would surely lead to nature taking its course.
"Oh, no. I don't think so," Max said, shaking his head a little too fiercely. "I mean, Buck's shorthanded."
"Oh. That's too bad." He seemed relieved to have an excuse. Did he think she'd be a terrible boss? Feeling glum, she drank her tea.
"Maybe this isn't a good time to do the renovation," Max said. "I mean, if money's tight and you can't hire anyone."
"It's a perfect time… It's the only time, really." She set her jaw. "I'll make it work somehow."
He held her gaze, testing her somehow. It was strange the way Max kept worrying about the café makeover. "If things don't work, there's no shame in changing plans," he said.
What was going on here? He'd tried to discourage her the night before, too. Did her doubts show that much? "The budget's a little tight, but I'll just cut back on promotion and some of the amenities. And I'll be able to hire someone, I'm sure. I have to make this happen. Now."
His eyes held hers, dark and intense. Then he surprised her by reaching out a hand to touch her face.
"Looks like you got a little dirt…" he said, slowly brushing his fingers across her cheekbone. Very slowly. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"You're always cleaning me up. The least I can do is return the favor." He smiled. "Your skin's so soft," he said, almost as if he couldn't help himself. Was that desire she saw in his dark eyes?
Their gaze held for a long minute … the tension mounted… Max leaned toward her, tilted his face… Omigod! He was going to kiss her. At last. She closed her eyes and waited, trembling a little. She wasn't drunk this time, so she would feel every iota of contact. She couldn't wait. His warm breath brushed her face, smelling of iced tea and mint and something manly – the tobacco, probably. She leaned in…
"I'll do it," Max said abruptly.
Do what? Ravish her right here in the kitchen? Her eyes flew open in delighted anticipation.
"I'll be your handyman."
"You'll what?"
"Buck can probably spare me in the afternoons."
"Oh. Well. That's great." The good news almost made up for the fact that he wasn't going to toss her onto the stainless steel worktable and go at it. Now she would have a competent handyman and maybe, just maybe, something more. "Okay then. Give me a little bit to get cleaned up, then I'll walk you through the café to show you what I plan. This will be perfect."
Perfect. Right. Max couldn't believe the words that had just popped out of his mouth. He was just supposed to talk her out of her plan, not be her handyman. God. That sounded like something from a porn flick. Oooh, baby, is that a hammer in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Even worse, he knew slightly less about being a handyman than he did about wrangling. His experience on the construction site at No Place Like Home had consisted of doing what he was told – hammer this, caulk that, hold this in place. What was he getting himself into?
It didn't matter. Lacey needed help, and he'd been powerless under the spell of those green eyes. If she'd asked him to hang upside down from the stove hood and screech like a monkey, he'd have asked, howler or spider?
Oh, well. This would give him a chance to get a look at her … his gaze strayed to those soft green eyes, then dropped to her chest … budget. Yeah, he needed to look at that. So, what the hell… He'd just think duct tape.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
The only thing Lacey could think as she watched Max enter the diner an hour later was cleans up nice. He looked so good in jeans and a denim shirt, his face fresh-shaven, his Stetson hat at that sexy angle. He had that great cowboy swagger that made him look built to ride horses. Those tight jeans didn't hurt the effect, either.
She'd gone for an innocent, but sexy look herself, choosing a silk spaghetti-strapped blouse with denim shorts. Max's gaze zipped up and down, like he was trying not to stare, but couldn't help himself. Perfect.
"Let me introduce you to the new Wonder Coffeehouse," she said with a sweep of her arm. "I'll tell you my ideas and you give me your feedback on the logistics."
She tried to walk next to him as she led him to the storage area, but he hung back, acting like a nun had hung a yardstick between them at a dance. It was weird. She could only conclude that her Zena-Sex-Queen behavior the night before had really turned him off … though there had been a definite mutual-lust vibe when he'd touched her face over the iced tea.
She forgot about that, though, as she began to show Max her dream. In the emptied-out storage room she pointed out where the stage would go and the bar, then led him to the kitchen to talk about the new sink, worktables and dishwasher.
Over the next half hour, though, her enthusiasm faded and her irritation rose as Max gave her nothing but "yeah, buts." As in, "Yeah, but a second sink means more plumbing. Yeah, but the fire marshal won't like that many tables. Yeah, but your wiring is too old to accommodate more appliances."
When he wasn't giving her "yeah, buts" he wa
s making cash register noises about everything. He claimed he was just trying to save her money, but all the taking and head-shaking bummed her out. Eeyore goes construction.
They finished up in the Amazatorium. "I'd like to spruce this place up a bit," she said, "but it's Jasper's touchstone, so I guess I'm stuck with a two-headed bobcat and the world's largest tumbleweed."
"But that's what's cool about the place," Max said – the first encouraging comment he'd made so far. "In fact, the whole place is great the way it is. Maybe you could just improve the food, redo the highway sign and call it renovated."
She stopped and faced him, her hands on her hips, her throat tight with frustration. "I'm sure you're trying to be helpful, Max, but I wish you'd trust my judgment a little. I've studied restaurants, remember? I know what I'm doing."
"Sure, sure. It's just that when you figure the costs for new restaurant equipment, plus the cost of labor—"
"Please. You're starting to sound like an accountant."
From the look on his face, it was as though she'd just accused him of being an ax murderer. "Oh, no. I'm not that," he said. Strange. "I'm just remembering what happened to my friend who owned a restaurant. He got in over his head and—"
"I'm not getting in over my head, okay? It's nice you're so concerned, and, believe me, I have some worries, but I'm on top of them. I don't need two people worrying about it." She blew out a breath. "I'll handle the budget, you handle the building and we'll be fine."
"Okay," he said with a shrug that said: It's your funeral. She wondered briefly whether it had been a mistake to hire him. No, she was sure he'd do a good job. She had good hiring instincts and Max was a multitalented guy.
"Let's go over to my place and I'll fix us something to eat. We can make a supplies list so you can hit the Home Depot store tomorrow. And I promise you can be really, really thrifty."
Once at her trailer, Max hesitated at the threshold, but she urged him inside, then left him on the sofa with a pad and a calculator, while she went into the kitchen to rustle up a meal. There wasn't much in the fridge. She opened a bag-o-salad and slapped a couple of diet frozen dinners into the microwave, then carried out a bottle of beer for Max and a white wine spritzer for herself to prove she wasn't going to get plastered and attack him again.
Max sat straight up on the couch, like a first date on his best behavior with the girl's parents, the pad on his lap.
"Dinner will be ready in a flash," she said and sat next to him. "What have we got so far?" She leaned in to see what he'd written. She was close enough to see the muscle in his neck and catch the musk of his skin mingling with his aftershave – spicy and masculine.
His strong fingers stilled on the pencil. "I thought we'd start small," he said, turning to catch her gaze. Their eyes locked. The familiar tension rose.
"Sounds good," she whispered, unable to keep from sounding sexy. Her heart began to pound.
"And then gradually grow," he said in a similar tone. She tried not to check his lap to see what else might be growing. Instead, she kept her eyes on his face. His lips were perfect – strong, but sensuous. She remembered how right they'd felt the night before. "D-d-do you think that's enough, um…" she licked suddenly dry lips and pointed a trembling finger at one item he'd written, "wallboard."
"Plenty," he whispered.
She remembered how his fingers had dug into her ribs last night. He'd been trying to restrain himself, she'd known, even through her alcohol haze. She couldn't help imagining what it would be like if he let go, did what he wanted. Right here. Right now.
"That's good then," she said, lust making her woozy.
Max's eyes closed for a second. He had to be feeling the same charge she was. He opened his eyes and looked straight at her. "I need to see…" he said slowly. His gaze lasered from her eyes to her mouth.
"You need to see…?" she repeated.
"Your…" His gaze circled her breasts, then moved lower.
"My…?" She swallowed hard.
He cleared his throat. "Budget," he finished firmly. "I need to see your budget."
"My what?" She woke from her seductive haze. "Oh. My budget. Sure." Damn. The man was made of stone. She blew out a frustrated breath and went to fetch the folder with her calculations and research. Stone, steel, ice. He was hard in every way except the one she wanted.
She marched over to him and dropped the folder in his lap. "There. My budget. Demographics. Research. Profit-loss projections. Everything." She plopped onto the far end of the sofa and crossed her arms. He wouldn't have a due what that all meant – he was a cowboy, not a businessman – but maybe it would finally convince him she had everything under control.
Max flipped through the folder, poring over the pages like he actually understood them. He referred back and forth from one to another, wrote things down, made "hmm" noises like a doctor with a puzzling diagnosis.
All the while, her anger grew at his assumption she was screwing up. Just like Wade, he believed the worst about her. Max had no reason whatsoever to doubt her. Unless he was picking up on her own doubts… She hated that thought, so she sat there feeling steam rise around her while Max flipped the pages.
Finally, he closed the folder and looked up at her. "This is good," he said.
"Of course it's good. I've been trying to tell you that for hours. I'm not an idiot. Of course I have concerns. The budget's tight, I'll have to cut corners. I'm not oblivious to the risks. But I know this will work." She couldn't hide her anger.
Max's face softened. "Look, Lacey. I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I just don't want you to make a mistake."
"I won't. I can't afford to. Too much is riding on this for me. You don't know what's at stake."
"Then tell me, Lacey. Tell me what's at stake." His eyes held her gently, but with intensity, telling her he really wanted to know. Part of her knew that was odd. They were virtual strangers, after all, and even if they ended up in bed together, they wouldn't get to the "tell me about your childhood" part of a relationship. This was to be a ships-passing-in-the-night thing. But since the moment they'd met, Lacey had had the strange feeling that Max understood her, as if he already knew a lot about her, almost knew what she was going to say before she said it.
So she told him. She was too upset not to. She told him about Wade being a father to her after their parents died, and how he didn't trust her, and how she'd always deferred to him until now, when she wanted to earn his respect more than anything.
"If you know you're good, why do you care what Wade thinks?"
"Because I want to be part of our family's company. And I want to make a difference that matters. I want to show Wade I'm capable of doing something on my own. I don't want Wade to give me a job. I want to earn it. I want him to see I'd be wasted in the marketing department designing coupons. I want him to realize I have a bigger contribution to make."
Max was silent, pondering her words. "So this is a real big deal then."
"It's my dream, Max. You probably don't understand because you're already living your dream. But this one's mine."
He looked at her a long time, as if he had a decision to make, as if something vital hung in the balance. Then, holding her gaze in his, he said. "Okay, I'll help you."
She laughed a little. "You already said you'd work for me. Don't take it so seriously. It's not like your career's at stake or anything. It's just a job."
"Right."
"You're my handyman, remember?"
"Your handyman. Right."
"I'm the one whose career's at stake." She almost couldn't laugh.
* * *
"Are you trying to tell me I should let her do it?" Wade asked when Max reached him the next day.
"Yes. That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," Max said on a sigh. "She's slightly undercapitalized and her marketing plan's weak – the property's off the beaten track – but with a boost, it could take off." He explained what he'd gleaned from the papers he'd studied.
"B
outique properties are not in our strategic plan," Wade said. "I was going to close the café when Jasper retired."
"Didn't you tell me once that you thought Wellington ought to diversify?" Max decided to focus on the business side of things to appeal to Wade, though it was really Lacey he was worried about.
Lacey Wellington had whammed him again, Max had realized while heading back to the ranch after eating half-frozen chicken l'orange and wilted lettuce, his jeans tight from spending two hours in close proximity to all that woman. She hit him like two boilermakers in thirty seconds – wham, bam and he was putty in her hands.
First, he'd agreed to be her handyman – a job he was clueless about – and now he was trying to convince Wade to let Lacey renovate the café. Luckily, her plan looked really good, because he knew he'd have helped her anyway, after the way she'd talked about it, her face bright with excitement and hope, eager to get started … and a little scared. His heart had squeezed into a fist seeing how much this meant to her. So, here he was talking to Wade.
"She'll be really disappointed if I shut her down," Wade said, surprising Max with his attention to Lacey's feelings.
"It would break her heart."
"Can't you talk her out of it?"
"I've spent hours trying. Finally, I offered to be her handyman so I had an excuse to look at her plans." No point in throwing in that he'd only blurted the offer just to keep from kissing her. "And I was damned impressed. From a business standpoint, that is." The personal standpoint was a whole new ballgame.
"It could be an interesting experiment. If the numbers look all right…" Wade paused and Max held his breath. "Oh, hell, get me copies of what she's doing and I'll look it over. If it seems workable, I won't interfere."
Relief and pleasure washed through Max. Great. Now he wouldn't be responsible for breaking Lacey's heart. Even better, he'd just discharged his duty to Wade. He could resign the ridiculous handyman job he told Lacey he'd take – find her a substitute, maybe – finish out the blasted ranching job and then head back to Tucson, bloodied, bruised and barbed-wire scraped, but with his honor still intact, since he'd refrained from sleeping with Lacey.
