Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  “Wait, what? What does high school have to do with it? Who’s ‘she?’ You? I didn’t say Russell lied. I meant, you weren’t there. You weren’t working with them.”

  She hauled herself back under control. Not all the way, because that was impossible, but closer. “No. I came home from Portland after Russ got hurt, and I took over for a while. Until he was back on his feet, I thought it would be. Able to retire on that disability. And that’s when I found out that he’d gotten behind on the mortgage, too, when I opened the letter from the bank. And I couldn’t help with that if I had to pay my own rent, especially not in Portland. I couldn’t just leave him here to… I don’t even know what. What would he have done? Where would he have gone? And you can say he hadn’t saved enough. You can say whatever rich people say who have no idea what it’s like.”

  Blake was still just standing there frowning at her. “So you stayed. You moved back in and stayed. What did you do for work in Portland?”

  She took a couple more breaths and tried to dial it back. When you raged, the other person stopped listening. The louder you talked, the less they could hear. She knew that, but it was so hard. “Same thing as here. I painted. I worked with Russ during the summers in high school and learned how, and after that, I moved. I didn’t want to stay in town, because… because I didn’t. I’ve got an eye for… for color. I moved where there was more money and more big old houses that people like to paint more creatively, where they’d pay more for what I did. And then, after my brother died…” She had to stop again.

  “Riley,” Blake said. The green in his eyes was showing now, his gaze as direct as it had been in Russell’s bedroom, but the way she felt under that gaze was completely different.

  “I stayed a while.” The words came out too jerky. “And then I left again.”

  “Until he got hurt.”

  “That’s it.”

  Blake wasn’t looking at her now. He had a thumb hooked in his waistband and was gazing into the distance. Toward where, Dakota saw with a quick glance, Karen McCallister was still watering, probably drowning her plants.

  “Right,” he said. “I’ll check it out on Monday.”

  Dakota sighed. What was the point in this? So she’d said it. How had it helped? Losing her temper felt strong at the time, but it always felt weak later. The self-controlled one—that was the one who won, who came out looking strongest, and that sure hadn’t been her. “Nothing to check out. Russell’s right. OSHA investigated. The case is closed. He’s getting his workers’ comp, and even you can’t make anything else happen.”

  “If it’s my responsibility,” Blake said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll check it out.”

  Her anger had drained away, and now, she just felt tired. The hours of work on her glass, her swim, what Russell had said… it was all trying to swamp her. And she didn’t want to hope anymore if nothing was going to happen. She was right about one thing. There had been an investigation, and the case was closed. “Don’t tell Russell whatever it is you’re thinking. Don’t make him hope that …”

  “I don’t think Russell gets his hopes up. I think that’s you.”

  She laughed, a ragged sound. “Could be.”

  “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s Wild Horse. It’s not even dark.” Not far off, though, with dusk closing around them.

  “Well, yeah, I do. My truck’s there.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  They walked back in silence for a couple blocks, and Dakota tried not to notice how sore her feet were getting. Finally, Blake said, “You’ve got maybe another week at the resort, right?”

  “Four days. We’ll be done by the end of the day Thursday. A day ahead of schedule, because we’re going to earn that bonus. The difference is, we won’t cut corners to do it.”

  “How about after that?”

  “What, you want me to drag out all the details of my pitiful life for you?” Seemed she wasn’t done with emotion after all.

  “No. I want an answer to my question. I have a reason for asking.”

  Calm down. “We have a job lined up painting that empty block of storefronts next to the Heart of the Lake. The wine bar.” Then she remembered that she’d seen him there. When he’d been out with Beth Schaefer. Another rich person. “And then a couple of houses.”

  “Doesn’t sound like that’s going to keep a crew busy all summer.”

  “No. Thanks for pointing that out.”

  “Want to paint my house?”

  “What?”

  “I bought this house on the lake. It’s all right, but the colors inside are funky as hell. Somebody’s going to have to paint it. How about you?”

  “Uh…” She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to take his money. “I’d have to talk to Evan.”

  Blake jerked his head toward the house, where Evan’s van still stood at the curb. “No time like the present.”

  Why are you doing this? Blake asked himself. He was a decisive guy, but he was an analytical one, too. His former career had required lightning-quick judgments, and so did his present one. He was good at that by nature, and he’d gotten better with practice.

  His decisions might be quick, but when he analyzed them afterwards, he could always figure out the path he’d taken to arrive at them, even if the neurons had fired too fast to follow at the time. So what was the reason for this decision?

  There were a couple of possibilities. He decided to stick with “helping somebody else out at no cost to himself.” Sounded good. Noble, even, when he didn’t even know the full circumstances yet, whether Russell’s accident had been any more than unfortunate, and one thing he didn’t do was leap to conclusions.

  Besides, his house did need painting. He wasn’t the world’s fussiest man, but he’d have gotten around to it sooner or later. M & O were doing a good job at the resort, and it sounded like they had the time. There you go—two reasons. He had a need, and he’d found the answer. Bingo.

  Dakota didn’t say anything else, just walked up the sidewalk and went into the house. He knew her feet were hurting, but she didn’t show it. She knew a thing or two about pride. A thing or two about loyalty, too. And if those were qualities he admired—well, that was good, because that meant this wasn’t about those other qualities she’d showed him. The passion and the temper, and a will that could stand up to his own. The set of her shoulders, the tigress-stalk that had set his heart pounding when she’d been walking out on him, then giving him a piece of her considerable mind. Not to mention when she’d jumped up from that curb with a powerful flash of thigh and turned on him like a wild thing.

  She was full of fire, all right. But fire got you burned.

  Inside the house, Russell was in his easy chair, and Evan was sitting on the couch watching the game with him.

  Evan didn’t look overjoyed to see Blake. He didn’t look disgusted, either. Evan had “impassive” down pat. He picked up a plastic grocery bag from the floor beside him, held it out, and said, “I put your shirt in a bag.”

  Message received. Now go home.

  Blake could play the body-language game too, though. He stood still, hooked a thumb in his waistband, and said, “I’d like to hire your company to paint my house on the lake as soon as you’re done out at the resort.”

  Evan glanced at Dakota, then said, “We’ve got another job.”

  Blake said, “I know you do. You’ve got a crew, too. I want my job done now, and I’m willing to pay to move it to the head of the line.” He knew why Evan wanted to turn the job down. The same reason Blake wanted to hire them. Dakota.

  Evan locked eyes with Blake for a good ten seconds until Dakota sighed and said, “No need to do the staredown, Evan. We already talked about Dad.”

  “Not that I asked you to,” Russell said. He reached for the remote and muted the game. “Leave me out of it. We don’t need charity,” he told
Blake. “If that’s what you’re offering, forget it.”

  “I’m not offering charity. I’m offering a job. And in my experience, figuring out how you can get the job done is a better technique than turning the job down, if you’re looking to make money.”

  “Right,” Evan said. “I’ll do your house. Dakota can do Main Street and then start on the Lake Street house. Danny’s the only guy still available,” he told Dakota. “Least I think he still is. He can help you.”

  “Nope,” Blake said. “She’s the one who’s good at color, right? Well, I want color. Besides, I find you hostile.”

  “That’s because,” Evan said, “I am hostile. But I don’t like lots of people I paint for.”

  “You find Evan hostile?” Dakota demanded. “Did you hear a word I said?”

  “Yeah. But like I said, I want color.”

  “If I don’t have a helper, it’s going to take a while.”

  “As I mentioned,” Blake said, “turning down work probably isn’t something you want to include in your business plan. Yeah, it’s going to take a while. The house is five thousand square feet. Something like that, anyway. Big monster. I want it done in time for the resort’s grand opening on the Fourth of July, because I’ll be here for that, and I might have company.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “That’s only a little more than a month away. I might be able to do it, though, if I have some help from Evan eventually. Is it furnished?”

  “Yep. Bought it that way. Not saying it’s beautifully furnished, but it’s furnished.”

  “So you just walked into a new town,” she said, “and bought a five-thousand-square-foot house for one person, on the lake, with furniture.”

  “It has a good view. And like you said, I can afford it. Which I’m telling you, even though I should be saying that I’m stretched right now so I can bargain you down.”

  “Somebody told me not to bargain.” Her eyes weren’t stormy anymore, and how could she look that sassy-good in those librarian glasses and not a speck of makeup? Dark, winged eyebrows, perfect golden skin, and killer bone structure, that was how, not to mention all that personality. “Somebody told me to say that was the price, and that he could go on and find someone else to do it if he didn’t want to pay it. Plus—rush job. I think that’s, oh, fifteen percent tacked on.”

  He rubbed a thumb along the side of his jaw and gave her a rueful smile. “Now how did I know that would come back to bite me?”

  “You’re probably very bright,” she said sweetly.

  He had to laugh. “Well, that’s true, darlin’, but you aren’t so bad yourself. Right, then. You’re done with the resort on Thursday. I’ll see you out at my place on Friday morning at eight. I can tell you my color ideas, and you can tell me I’m wrong. And then you can tell me how much it’ll cost, and I can tell you I’ll be getting other estimates, and you can say ‘fine’ and know I won’t.”

  “If you do business like that,” Russell said, “you’re a damn fool.”

  “I never do business like that,” Blake said. “But then, a man’s entitled to a little extravagance now and then. Twelve-twenty-one Arrowhead Drive,” he told Dakota. “Eight o’clock Friday. See you then. Catch you later, Russell. I’ll be in and out over the next couple weeks, but when I’ve got time to get out on the lake, I’ll get in touch. I’d appreciate your guide service again if you want to sell it to me. Got to get a salmon of my own at some point here if I’m not going to hang my head in shame.”

  “You can buy the boat,” Russell said. “You can buy all that fancy equipment, too. But you can’t buy the salmon, and you can’t buy Dakota.”

  “Somehow,” Blake said, “I already figured that out. But then, as she pointed out, I’m a bright guy.”

  Except, he thought as he climbed back into the Explorer, that she’d never given him a price for his eagle. He didn’t have that, and he didn’t have his iris. Those ruffled petals, that dark, secret center…

  He wanted that iris.

  The old white pickup rattled around another curve on the tree-lined road. Dakota only realized she’d missed the house when she overshot it, despite the fact that she’d been watching for it. She saw 1225 on a low, discreetly carved wooden sign beside a driveway, hit the brakes, pulled in, turned the truck around, and went back to find Blake’s place.

  She could see why she’d missed the turn for 1221. It was just this side of the sharp curve, and there was no sign here, no indication that the narrow blacktopped drive disappearing into the cedars went anywhere special even once you were on it. You knew the real estate was expensive when you couldn’t see the houses.

  She rounded the final bend of the driveway, and there it was. A pile, but a good-looking one. All wood, glass, and stone, the house rising two stories on the uphill side, and certainly three stories on the other, where it overlooked the water, built to make the most of the view. She’d bet you couldn’t see another house from here, either. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could buy privacy.

  She got out of the truck and headed for the front door. There was no reason to be intimidated. She was here to do a job, not to be Blake Orbison’s buddy. She’d painted more than one big lake house. This was no different.

  The door opened as she approached, and there he was, leaning against the doorjamb with a thumb in his belt loop, studying her like he was too cool for school. Black T-shirt and worn Wranglers, like that day on the shore.

  His feet were bare, though. He had good feet. Strong, with high arches and long toes. Big.

  “Morning,” he said, and she realized why she could now inventory the charms of his feet. Because that was where she’d been looking.

  “Morning,” she said, pretending she’d been momentarily checking out the… flooring. To better protect them from paint splatters, perhaps. Not to mention pretending that she hadn’t been up since six this morning figuring out what to wear.

  Normally, it would have been jeans and a T-shirt, exactly like him. Customers didn’t respond well to “feminine” when it came to their home-maintenance tasks. That, she’d long since discovered, made them discount M & O’s expertise and ask her to discount her price. But she hadn’t been able to stand the idea of showing up looking like that today, and never mind why. There was still that water-weed tail to get over. That was why. She needed to make a polished impression, especially if she were going to charge him extra. And she was going to charge him extra.

  She’d tried on four dresses before she’d realized how that looked. “For Pete’s sake,” she’d muttered as she’d yanked a red dress over her head and tossed it on the bed, “it’s not a friggin’ date. He’s not taking you to the senior prom. You’re the painter.”

  She’d ended up with a pair of dark jeans, a green scoop-necked cotton top with an embroidered yoke, and cowboy boots, and had put her hair up in a knot. A little bit polished, but not like she was trying too hard. She’d worn some makeup, but she’d also worn her glasses. All so she could give an annoying ex-quarterback a painting estimate and talk about possible colors. She must be losing her mind.

  “Still digging the glasses,” that quarterback said now. He was looking at her face. He didn’t have to check out her feet, and he hadn’t checked out the rest of her, either, at least not too obviously. Of course he hadn’t, because that wasn’t what this was about, and anyway, she wasn’t all that, and she knew it. And he wasn’t a total jerk.

  “Still not asking you,” she answered.

  He laughed. “Well, darlin’, you got me there. Come on in and talk color to me.” He held the door for her.

  “Did we have a talk about not calling me ‘darlin’?’ she asked, stepping inside.

  “Nope. We had a talk about not calling you ‘sweetheart.’ But I’ll do my best to remember both of ’em. Could be tough.”

  She would have answered that, but she’d lost the plot a little. “Nice view.”

  He smiled, slow and sweet. “It’s good, huh. Want to come see?”


  She followed him out to the wall of windows, and beyond, to the deck that hung out over the floor below. It was an enormous semicircle stretching the width of living room, dining room, and more, furnished with two chaises and a full dining set, plus a fairly enormous hot tub in one corner behind a screen of bamboo, but that wasn’t what she was looking at.

  “Why I bought the house,” he said, leaning back against the rail and gazing not out at the lake, but at the walls of glass and wood. “This deck, and the look of the thing.”

  “Angles and straight lines balanced by this curving line,” she agreed, following his example and taking in the view of the house. “It’s pleasing, and the proportions work, and they work with their surroundings, too. Symmetry, simplicity, the Golden Ratio, all of that. Big houses can be a challenge that way, to keep them looking harmonious and not clunky, but whoever designed this one did it well. ”

  “Now, see,” he said, “that’s why I need you. I just saw the look of it. You told me why.”

  She tried not to let herself be affected by that. “Walk me through it, if you don’t mind, so I can see what needs doing and make some calculations.”

  “You trying to keep me on track?” There was his hint of a smile again.

  “Could be.”

  “Come on, then.” He still sounded amused, but he was listening. And he wasn’t calling her ‘darlin’.’ Which was good.

  When she stepped back into the living room and really took it in, she drew in a breath and said, “Well, I wouldn’t say this color.”

  “I know,” he said. “I keep thinking I’m in the hospital, and I’ve spent enough time in those. Who paints their living room green? Who buys this furniture?

  “Whoever you bought this from, clearly. Congratulations for being able to look past the hideousness, I guess. They obviously thought they were matching the stone.”