The Biggest Risk (The Whisper Lake Series Book 3)

by Anna Argent

  He knelt down and riffled through the box briefly. Everything in here was a memento from the past. He could already see the photos framed and on display, right next to the newspaper article about the new discovery of the cave on the edge of town.

  "Thanks for saving this stuff. I love it."

  "Me too. These old houses are such a treasure chest. Just wait until you start finding things inside the walls. I found a bag of coins once, along with a loaded pistol. I told myself all kinds of stories about why those might have been stashed there."

  He sat back on his heels. "How many projects like this have you done?"

  "Like this? None. This is a big job. I've done smaller stuff, like bathrooms and decorative accents. And I didn't do anything structural—I was more focused on the aesthetics."

  "My family owns a construction company, and all of us kids started working there when we were young. I'm not worried about the structure or the systems."

  "What are you worried about?"

  "Keeping the original character. Doing justice by a home that's seen more life than I ever will."

  "At least you didn't take one look at her and decide the only tool you needed was a bulldozer. Or a match."

  He grinned. "I suppose it's still an option."

  He picked up the old wooden duck decoy. "Too bad this is in such rough shape. My grandad collects these."

  She wiped the dust away with the hem of her T-shirt. "It's not beyond hope. Leave it with me and let me see what I can do with it."

  He stared at her for a long second, wondering if she was for real, or if she was just blowing smoke. Only one way to find out.

  "The duck is yours. As for the rest of the Yellow Rose, let's see what we're working with."

  The inspection took hours. Hanna was right with him the whole time, holding the ladder and pointing out things he hadn't noticed. By the time they were done, he'd gone through every room and closet, from the shingles on the roof to the dirt floor in the cellar.

  "Well?" she asked, handing him a bottle of water from her little white cooler. "What do you think?"

  He took a long, cold drink, then flipped through the dozens of pages on his legal pad, refreshing his memory on the big-ticket items.

  "New furnace, water heater, wiring, plumbing and ductwork. But I already knew that. The roof, siding and landscaping are already in the budget, too."

  "Anything we found that's not in the budget?"

  "I'm going to need to get a better look at the crack in the foundation. I'll probably have to jack up one corner where it settled. The plaster is in worse shape than it was when I walked through before the sale, thanks to the drunken kids who slammed holes into it."

  "You're going to make a bunch of holes for wiring and plumbing, anyway."

  "I was hoping to minimize the damage, but I guess that's spilled milk. I'll find places to shave a few bucks here and there."

  "What's your plan for the bathrooms?"

  "I know a place to buy reproduction tubs, sinks and tile. They won't be original, but they should work."

  "I think you can re-glaze the tub and sink in the upstairs bath, rather than replace it. I did that once and it turned out great. The other two aren't period pieces, but I know a place in Cincinnati and another in Detroit that sell antique fixtures pulled out of old houses, if that's what you want."

  "It's what my client wants. All original wherever possible."

  "But with air conditioning," she said with a grin.

  "The woman may be an eccentric artist, but she's not an idiot. She wants all the comforts, but tucked out of sight."

  Hanna drank, her throat working as she swallowed the cold water.

  Nate tried not to stare, but failed. Even her neck was sexy.

  Hands off, he reminded himself. Eyes, too, or the hands will surely follow.

  She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "All the original bathrooms have the same tile. I bet you could steal some from one of them to replace the cracked ones in the other two. That way you'd only have to find new tiles for the smallest bath and the one added in the seventies."

  It was more work than simply scraping the old tile away and laying new, but he wasn't in this for simplicity. It was a labor of love.

  "I bet I can save most of the floors, too. The wood in the two apartment kitchens upstairs is beyond repair, but I can patch what's bad with new boards. Once I sand and stain the whole thing, no one will be able to tell what was old and what was new."

  She looked away, as if afraid to meet his gaze. "What are your plans for that mantle?"

  "You mean the elaborately carved thing of beauty that someone painted over?"

  She nodded. "There are four layers of paint. I checked."

  "Want another project?" he asked, knowing that was what she was angling for. She'd said she had some experience with it, but what he saw in her eyes now was more than that. It was excitement. Passion.

  If only she looked at him like that, he'd have his mouth back on hers and her curvy body pressed against a cracked wall again within seconds.

  The memory of that kiss fluttered through him, speeding his pulse and making his cock twitch beneath his shorts.

  "I won't be here long enough to finish it," she said. "I need to be clear about that. I don't want you thinking I can get it done that fast. But I could start. Or take it with me when I go and return it when it's done—if you trust me enough, that is. Those roses were so beautiful. And that scrollwork…I've never seen any better. Whoever painted over it should be charged with a felony."

  He chuckled. "I don't think felony painting is a thing, but I'll ask my cousin next time I see him."

  "Your cousin the sheriff? The one who thinks I'm mentally unstable?"

  "Don't worry. I'll straighten him out before he meets you. Which reminds me, what are you doing next Sunday afternoon?"

  "Are you asking me out again? I thought I was clear that we can't date. Or anything else," she said, apparently thinking about their kiss if the blush stealing across her cheeks was any indication.

  "It's not a date. I just thought you could come to my granddad's birthday party and eat some of the best smoked meat on the face of the planet."

  "I'll be gone by then."

  "And if you're not?" he prodded.

  "I will be."

  "Then you won't mind agreeing to come with me, seeing as how you won't be here."

  "You're relentless, you know?"

  He bobbed his eyebrows. "I do. It's part of my charm."

  "Where I'm from, we don't call that charm," she said, but her grin softened the insult.

  "Does that mean you'll go?"

  "If it gets you to stop asking, then yes. I'll go to your grandfather's birthday party."

  He rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Now, how about lunch? The Thursday special at Dockside is chicken pot pie. Gemma makes them, and they are out of this world."

  "Gemma, heir to the muffin empire?"

  "That's the one."

  "I'll admit I'm tired of peanut butter sandwiches, and intrigued by the idea of what the muffin princess could do with a pot pie." Hanna's mouth twisted in thought. "I'll agree to lunch, but only if you let me pay. I've earned enough money to cover lunch for two, assuming my boss cuts me a check."

  "I think he can do that." Nate had no intention of letting her pay, but if that's what it took to get her to eat with him, he'd call it a white lie and feel not even one twinge of guilt.

  They washed off the worst of the dirt and cobwebs in the garage apartment. The space was dark and cramped, and positively screamed 1970s. Thick, matted, orange shag carpet blanketed the space, broken up only by garish avocado green linoleum in the kitchen. The walls were covered in fake, dark walnut paneling, and the ceilings were so low they were nearly claustrophobic.

  The idea of Hanna sleeping in such shabby surroundings bothered him, but he bit his tongue to hold back his offer to let her stay at his bright, comfortable home. Not only was it inappropriate for him to ask
his employee to sleep in his house, he knew instinctively that she'd reject the offer.

  At least she wasn't sleeping in her truck. He'd count that as a win and move on.

  She'd cleaned the place up a bit, dusting and wiping down the counters and cabinets in the kitchen. When she'd had the time to do that, he wasn't sure, but the more he was around her, the more he respected the sheer amount of work she was able to accomplish. He knew from years of hiring and firing how rare a trait that was.

  "Are you comfortable here?" he finally asked, unable to keep that hopefully innocuous question contained.

  "Sure. It's great. Running water, a real bed, a working refrigerator for cold drinks, a clean shower—now that I evicted the dead bugs I found there. Everything works, and it's blissfully quiet at night. Not to mention, there's nothing quite as decadent as not having to put on shoes to use the bathroom in the middle of the night."

  That such simple things—things he took for granted—could please her broke Nate's heart a little. Most people would be bitching that there was no TV, or that they'd had to clean up bugs, or that the front door stuck every time it was shut all the way. But not Hanna.

  How bad had her life been before this that basic comforts seemed like a big deal?

  He swallowed a lump in his throat and did his best to keep all signs of sympathy from his expression. He didn't want her to think he pitied her and drive a wedge between them now that she'd finally started to relax around him.

  No more worrying about him killing her in her sleep and playing with her entrails.

  "Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?"

  "For the mantle I'll need some paint stripper and a few other basic tools."

  "I'm not talking about the mantle, though I will pick up what you need and drop it off. I'm talking about you, personally. Is there anything you don't have that you need?"

  She gave him a sweet smile. Her face was freshly scrubbed pink, and her eyelashes stuck together with drops of water. "Do you like to take care of everyone, or just random women you find on the side of the road?"

  He shrugged. "Grace men are raised to be providers. It's in our blood."

  "You should bottle that up and sell it to all the boys masquerading as men, playing video games in their mama's basements until they're thirty."

  "Ouch. Sounds like someone got burned."

  She smiled, but something haunted her pretty gray eyes. "Third degree. What about you? Do you get tired of people always taking from you?"

  He paused, considering.

  Hanna laughed. "You've never even stopped to think about it, have you? You just go on playing hero, too busy to worry about whether or not you should be bothered by all the users."

  "I don't see it like that," he said.

  She propped her curvy hip against the refrigerator and studied him. "How do you see it?"

  "It's my job to take care of people—to fix problems."

  "Some problems can't be fixed." She paused, her smile fading. "Some people can't be fixed. You should save yourself a lot of trouble and stick to fixing old houses."

  "You sound like the voice of experience."

  "Miles of it." She nodded once, clearly ending the conversation. "How about lunch?"

  Nate wanted to ask her more about her miles of experience and third-degree burns, but decided not to push it. She'd agreed to have lunch with him, and for now, that was enough.

  They rode to town together in silence, with him occasionally pointing out an interesting bit of history here and there. Old buildings, a mill that no longer functioned, but the wheel still turned in the stream, a tree that had the initials of every town mayor for the last hundred years carved in it. He showed her which road to avoid in a rain and which ones to avoid completely.

  "Lots of meth out here," he said. "Folks set up campers and trailers out in the woods to cook the stuff, knowing how hard it is to find them. Lots of isolated land with no one keeping an eye on things. Makes some of the residents a bit twitchy of trespassers."

  "So, I shouldn't go for a stroll through the woods, then," she said.

  "Not unless you know where you're going and which people are of the shoot first, question second variety."

  "Good to know."

  They pulled into the parking lot at Dockside, and had to circle twice to find a spot.

  "Wow. Chicken pot pie day is a big deal."

  Nate chuckled. "It's always like this at lunch. Not many choices available, and since the café shut down, the pickings are even slimmer."

  "What happened to the café?"

  "The owner went a little wackadoodle and poisoned some of her customers."

  Hanna nodded knowingly. "That does tend to be bad for business."

  "The locals will forgive her eventually, but not until she proves she can stay on her meds."

  "I'm surprised they will forgive her at all."

  "She does make a mean cup of coffee."

  "Mean enough to overlook a little food poisoning?"

  He lifted a brow as he grinned at her. "You've never tried Wanda's coffee."

  Hanna shook her head, but she was smiling. "Sounds like Wanda isn't the only one in this town who's nuts."

  Chapter Eleven

  Hanna hadn't laughed this much in months. Maybe longer.

  She enjoyed his company over lunch, and during their quick stop at the hardware store for supplies. Everyone greeted him by name, which seemed both odd and sweet to her. Very small town. On the drive back out to the house, he informed her it was known around the area as the Yellow Rose.

  She liked that. It was both cheerful and distinguished enough for a house with so much rich history. The instant he'd told her that, she could already picture the Victorian painted in yellow and white, with pops of blue and lavender—just like an Easter egg.

  "I have this thing tonight," he said. "I'd really like it if you'd come with me."

  "A date?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in question.

  He chuckled, and his deep voice washed over her like a warm caress. "Nothing so intimate as that. It's bingo night at the rec center, and I am in charge of calling the numbers. It can get a little wild, and I could really use the help if you're not busy."

  "Bingo? Wild?"

  "Our residents take their bingo seriously. Come with me tonight and you'll see what I mean."

  Hanna knew she should say no, but she couldn't. Not when he'd dangled wild bingo out there for her to witness. How could she go the rest of her life and not see a spectacle like that?

  "Okay," she said. "I'm in. As long as it's not a date."

  "Sweetheart, if we go on a date, you'll know it," he said, shooting a warm, potent smile in her direction.

  His confidence made her tingle all the way down to her toes. That sexy grin made her belly clench around an empty ache. His thick forearm rested on the console between them, so close she would barely have to move to touch his tanned skin.

  Lunch and laughter had been a potent aphrodisiac, loosening her resolve to keep her hands to herself. No touching, no dating, no sex.

  Hanna shivered, and it had nothing to do with the soft sweep of the summer breeze coming in through the open windows to slide over the bare nape of her neck.

  She needed to get laid.

  It had been way too long since she'd had sex, and her body was making its needs known. Like any other hunger or thirst, the longer she went without, the more desperate she'd get.

  If this kept up, she was going to have to get herself off just to keep her lips to herself.

  "Bingo it is," she told him, but her voice wobbled precariously on the words.

  He glanced at her as he drove up the cracked driveway toward the Yellow Rose. Concern flickered across his face, but as soon as his gaze hit her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing grin.

  She wasn't hiding anything—at least not from him. A man like Nate would have seen sexual need on a woman's face enough times to know it on sight.

  His grin widened as he stop
ped the truck in front of the little garage apartment. "I'll pick you up at four. They serve dinner at the rec center, so come hungry."

  Hanna slipped out of the truck, feeling the damp glide of her panties across her slick mound. "I don't think that will be a problem."

  ***

  She wanted him.

  That was the thought that lightened Nate's stride and straightened his spine as he went about the rest of his day. A quick stop by the motel he owned told him all was well there. The rooms were all clean and ready to receive tonight's guests. The supplies he'd ordered had come in, and nothing had been broken or stolen the night before.

  His next stop was at the lumber yard where he went over his order for supplies to start repairs on the Yellow Rose. He'd been working with Bill for years, so the job went faster than he'd expected. There was still time to run by his house, shower, shave and change before he went back out to pick up Hanna.

  Not that this was a date or anything, he reminded himself with a grin.

  Let her think what she wanted. As long as he got to spend time with her, she could call tonight a church revival for all he cared.

  He needed to kiss her again. He knew it wasn't smart to get involved with a woman who was just passing through, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her while she was here. Sex between consenting adults. Nothing heavy, nothing serious, no strings or promises. Just fucking.

  Besides, if that look on her face when he'd dropped her off was any indication, it had been as long for her as it had for him.

  He showered and dressed casually, wearing lightweight clothes. Tonight's festivities attracted more retirees than younger folks, so the rec center's thermostat would be set high to make all the little old people comfortable.

  Nate's blood was already running hot enough, thanks to Hanna and that sexy body of hers.

  His cock jerked to life at the thought of her mouth on his, her body pinned to the wall, kissing him back like she'd die without his breath in her lungs.

  Maybe the lightweight shorts weren't such a good idea after all. Still, the idea of jeans was unbearable, so he was just going to have to keep his cock in check. It was bad form to scandalize the elderly with his public boner.