To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  They wanted to conquer her, bend her until she fit the shape of their egos. And when she refused to budge or soften, they moved on to more yielding women. Maybe that was why she attracted them in the first place. She was a challenge they thought they could overcome, a game they wanted to win. They hadn’t appreciated her, just the way she provoked their testosterone to new heights. So, when they went, she let them.

  The trick, she decided, had to be finding a man with flaws, who’d have to accept hers in return.

  Gavin had anger issues. Maybe instead of leaving her, he’d simply blow his stack. She had a defense against anger, but it was hard to argue with a man’s back.

  Neve’s long gaze met Duke’s and, for an instant, she wished it were him. He took some of her crap, a sample here and there, but not all of it. He even managed to incite her guilt a few times, which wasn’t easy, because most people deserved what she dished out. In another life, a man like Duke would be the one she chased. He’d be the one she wouldn’t let get away.

  “Here’s the deal,” she finally said, snapping out of her daydream. “You help me get close to Gavin, in an obviously figurative way, given we’re a hundred miles from Little Rock, and I’ll keep the dogs locked up tight. You know me, Duke. I can be playfully mean or a real bitch, but there’s not much gray area in between. Like a dial with only two settings.”

  He harrumphed. “You were perfectly nice to Yosemite yesterday.”

  She wagged a finger and smiled coyly. “Not nice. I was flirting, which may also be a degree of my personality. Mean, very mean, and sexually aggressive. However, I don’t mind admitting it’s a lot of work to be a bitch, and I don’t have that kind of time for you. Seducing Gavin and renovating his cabin—a double entendre I intend to abuse at every opportunity—are my priorities. You help me, I’ll be my version of nice.”

  A sly grin hitched up one corner of his mouth. “So, you’ll flirt with me?”

  She cocked her head to one side in a show of pity and frowned. “I wouldn’t waste my precious ammo on a cause that degree of lost, sweetheart. Besides, I’ll need it to schmooze Yosemite. He and his cowhands came in awfully handy yesterday, and that’s the sort of friendship a discerning woman fosters. No, flirting is out of the question. My intent is more along the lines of softening the blows. Take it or leave it, because it’s all I can offer.”

  “Sold.” The blatant relief on his face was nearly enough to hurt feelings she didn’t know she had.

  She gave him a flat smile. “Good. Now, my little puppet, tell me about Gavin’s special requirement.”

  “Okay, but then you have to tell me about these cat-fighting ghosts. Also, if you yell at me, the deal is off.”

  “The deal is off if you keep stalling. Shut up and tell me.”

  “You realize I can’t do both of those things.”

  She inhaled deeply. “Why do you want me to kill you? I swear, you’re begging for it.”

  He released a defeated sigh. “Gavin wants everything we add to the cabin constructed from reclaimed wood, with the obvious exception of any glass or tile surfaces. Any walls we put up, cabinetry we build, or flooring we add. Basically, outside of staining or sealing the planks already in use, there’s little we can alter.”

  Neve summoned every last ounce of patience she had to keep herself from flinging the sketchpad across the trailer. “That’s fan-fucking-tastic. Would he also like a hollow log for a toilet?” She narrowed her gaze at Duke accusingly. “Now I understand your refusal to sign on for this. It’s twice the job I was led to believe.”

  He raised his index finger like a shield. “Hold on a minute. It’s true, Gavin enlightened me some time ago about his desire to use reclaimed wood, but I had no notion as to the state of the cabin. I expected to have more to work with, same as you.”

  Reclaimed wood, huh? Slowly, the corners of her mouth turned up until she blasted Duke with her full smile. “You wouldn’t believe it, but a certain rancher invited me to come a-callin’ should I need anything. I bet his ranch is chock-full of old barns and decrepit storage sheds he’d let us dismantle for the right price—a price far cheaper than what a lumberyard would ask. This reclaimed wood fad is all the rage right now, and the law of economics means the price rises with demand.”

  Duke regarded her with a tilt to his head and a queer light in his eyes. “A fine place to start with Gavin might be that smile right there.” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “We need to work on your potty-mouth, though. Gavin’s a clean dude, inside and out.”

  She gave Duke her most savage smile. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I can teach him to appreciate a little grit.”

  * * * *

  The leafy canopy of white oaks, loblolly pines, and towering catalpas kept the summer sun at bay as the morning marched toward midday.

  Neve clutched her sketchbook to her chest, pencil tucked behind one ear, and meandered down the overgrown path toward the cabin. Duke might have an excuse to spend the day lying around, but she had a crew to put to work. Vince Taggart and his team had already abandoned their trailer for the worksite, and Neve chafed at being late.

  Beels Cabin. She liked her name better, but the story intrigued her. Timothy Hux struck her as the friendly sort, a real howdy-neighbor kind of guy—a screaming red flag in her book. She hadn’t missed the slightly calculating gleam in his studious hazel eyes. She knew men well enough to recognize it hadn’t been the appreciative observation of a man attracted to a good-looking woman. He’d analyzed more than her snug-fitting Levi’s.

  Neve determined to get a read on the mysterious rancher’s motives for poking around the cabin. Maybe if she behaved and treated everyone, especially Duke, with the utmost civility instead of the usual fun nicknames she liked to bestow, Providence would bless her with a visit from the friendly Mr. Hux and spare her the hike to Lady Killer Ranch with a self-awarded dinner invitation.

  Though, in fairness, a few miles’ hike through pristine Ozark wilderness hardly seemed like any kind of punishment. And Darcy the Pit, happily snoozing at Duke’s side back at the trailer, would love nothing more.

  Behind her and off to the left, twigs snapped and bushes rustled.

  Neve stilled. An image of Yosemite popped into her head. Was this going to turn into a thing, this sneaking up on her from the cover of the forest?

  Darcy the Pit’s squirming light brown body shot from the busy undergrowth of the tree line, tongue lolling from her wide, smiling mouth, and her whip-like tail wagging in furious joy. She head-butted Neve’s shins and licked her hands like she didn’t know which she wanted to do more. Lick or head-butt? Head-butt or lick?

  Affection unfurled in Neve’s chest like a flower coming to bloom in a foreign landscape. Sometimes she believed she was as heartless as people said she was. But she had one in there, thumping away, and Darcy the Pit proved it for her time and time again, even when she doubted herself. No one with a heart could withstand Darcy the Pit’s blinding, infectious joy.

  If only men loved the way pit bulls did. Neve rubbed the short fur on Darcy the Pit’s barreled chest. “Mommy’s sweet girl, yes, you are! Yes, you are.”

  Darcy the Pit soaked it in, and in a pure burst of unbridled canine jubilance, rocketed down the path toward the cabin. Probably questing for prime fetch material. She’d return with a branch twice the width of her head and whine when Neve refused to toss it for her.

  “Be reasonable,” she called after her. Couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe one day the lively pit bull would heed her warnings.

  The cabin came into view after another five minutes’ hike. Such a gorgeous backdrop for a ramshackle pile of dusty old logs well past their prime. Neve pushed away the fear of failure and focused on the task at hand.

  No crewman. So, where had Vince and his team disappeared to? She hadn’t checked the vehicles. Possibly they’d gone to town for supplies. If Vince was half as good as his reputation, he’d have already made a cursory inspection of th
e cabin, much as she and Duke had done, and compiled a list of necessities to get started.

  She stopped next to the steps Duke had launched himself from yesterday morning. They were splintered, a gaping maw of pointed, jagged teeth. She didn’t need the ominous symbolism to keep her from attempting to enter the cabin. No, siree. She’d let Vince stabilize the place first.

  She squatted next to one of the oak pillars acting as foundation pieces for a closer gander at the rigged job. From a top-notch city-slicker point of view, it scared the hell out of her. But way out here and eighty years ago, the four pedestals of the toughest wood around would’ve been an ingenious solution to the issue of a firm foundation on loose soil.

  Maybe I need to get a little rustic. Something to consider. No sense approaching a cabin like she might a high-rise condominium in downtown Little Rock. Forget steel and poured concrete; use the resources at hand.

  Her gaze traveled from the oak pedestals to the splintering steps and back again. She rose from her crouched position with a cocky grin to do Casanova proud. “Well, hot damn. Why am I always alone when these magical bursts of genius strike?” She whipped the pencil from behind her ear and drew a rough outline of what she had in mind. A simple fix. Hopefully, Vince would agree. If not, she’d help him see the light—by shoving it down his throat if need be. With a smile, of course.

  Darcy the Pit whined, rushed to Neve’s feet, sniffed furiously, and disappeared around the rear of the cabin. Another whine compelled Neve to follow.

  Around the back of the cabin, Neve’s lip turned up at the distance between the building and where the grass flourished into bushes and eventually thick clusters of trees. “Not much of a backyard, huh, girl?”

  Darcy the Pit’s attention focused elsewhere, specifically on the hole she’d begun digging next to the northwestern oak stump elevating the cabin.

  Neve shouted, forgetting in an instant her own rule of using the dog’s full name in her haste to issue the command. “Darcy, no!” Neve rushed toward her, shooing her from the shallow pit. “You’ll bring this house of sticks down on your head. Quit. Shoo.” She shoved the dog away and hunkered to block her access to the hole. “Go on. I mean it, shoo! Don’t you know anything about loadbearing tree stumps, dummy?” Neve started to scoop dirt back into the dip until her fingers brushed something hard. A rock, probably.

  Darcy the Pit whined again, shuffled her paws, and glared intently at where Neve had her hands in the dirt.

  Maybe not. Neve huffed, rolled her eyes, and started to dig, carefully, muttering under her breath. “I can’t believe I’m digging a hole for my dog. If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is. It’s not healthy, this relationship of ours. Don’t think for a minute Duke would do this for you, because he wouldn’t. You remember that the next time you go showering him with your sloppy dog kisses. Despite his gnarled beard, he’s kind of foppish. I’m a little fuzzy on what foppish means, but it’s not flattering.” Her nail scraped against a hard surface. “Okay, girl. I found something.”

  She kept going until she removed enough rich brown soil to see the grains of wood on the item buried. Perhaps a box or plank of wood long forgotten. Neve continued digging around where her fingers found the edge, and she scooped enough to reveal the rectangular wooden shape, no more than seven inches long and five across. Definitely a small box. “My, my. You’ve got one hell of a sniffer, mutt.”

  Darcy the Pit pushed her huge head past Neve’s arm to stick her snout in the hole and snort.

  Several minutes and two chipped nails later, Neve had it. She pulled the small wooden box, no more than three inches in depth, from the moist earth and brushed away clumps of clinging soil. She weighed the strange thing in her palm—hefty for such a small container. Could be solid, but the way the weight seemed to shift made her doubtful.

  It had been buried with the intent to keep it hidden and unopened, judging by the strange metal contraption serving as a locking mechanism.

  A cluster of oddly shaped metal protrusions were affixed to the spot where the lid met the container. She turned it in her hands. It almost looked like the small treasure chest of a particularly devious pirate. Small holes in between the metal spires of the lock might serve as a keyhole, but what kind of key would fit such an odd latch?

  A funky one. Or a nonexistent one. The hardware comprising the hinge had to be internal. No breaking in that way. Her battering-ram instincts rallied her to take an axe in hand or light the thing on fire, but something—something precious, if the hellacious lock meant anything—resided within, and she didn’t want to make the discovery at the cost of destroying it.

  She sat back, winced at an acorn jabbing into her right butt cheek, and considered what she had.

  Timothy Hux had some serious history in these hills. He might know something about where the chest came from, or why someone would go through the trouble of burying it beneath the cabin.

  He said his great-grandfather built the place for Florrie soon after marrying his great-granny Lulu. If Ben Hux married in his mid-twenties, which for the sake of the era Neve would assume was likely, the cabin might be seventy years old or more.

  If only she’d picked up better vibes from Yosemite. Given the peculiar and violent history surrounding his family and Gavin’s cabin, Neve decided against involving the rancher. Best to keep family out of it. Besides, given possession laws, the chest and whatever it contained belonged to Gavin. She’d show her unique find to Duke, and together they’d figure out how to reveal its secrets.

  Neve held the treasure out to Darcy the Pit. “It’s your prize, after all.”

  Head tilted, she sniffed, took a lap around Neve, sniffed again, and padded away, curiosity appeased.

  “That’s my girl,” Neve praised, making the dog’s tail go from zero to sixty. “Sniff ’em and leave ’em.” She stood, stretched her stiff knees, and brushed the dirt from her jeans. She whistled for Darcy the Pit and rounded the side of the cabin. The items in her hands almost flew from her grasp when she collided into something large and solid.

  Vince Taggart made an oomph as she rammed into his chest. They both stumbled back from the unexpected impact.

  Agitation and guilt jolted through Neve. “Damn it, Vince. Don’t you know better than to sneak up on people?” She fumbled with the box in her hand, balancing it against the sketchpad tucked beneath her arm.

  “What you got there?” A stubby finger aimed at the box. His other hand came up to adjust the filthy baseball cap perched on a head of thick, steely-gray hair. Inquisitive green eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing. Just my box of…stuff. Like, rocks and stuff I collect for, uh…design ideas. Inspiration from nature sort of crap.”

  “Why’s it covered in dirt? You’re also covered in dirt.”

  Curious old fart. She cradled the mysterious box protectively against her chest with the same arm she used to pin her sketchpad to her side. The other arm she snaked around Vince’s shoulders as she led him toward the front of the cabin and away from the disturbed patch of dirt behind her. “Nature is dirty, Vince, and sometimes one must dig for inspiration. Literally. Now, I’m glad you popped up because we have some things to discuss.” She dropped her conspiratorial air and reclaimed her arm as they approached the broken, splintered steps leading up to the open front door.

  Vince adjusted his hat again, pushing it up only to tug it back down to exactly the same spot. “Oh, you ain’t lying. Where to start is the real question. The inspection is complete, and the list is a mile long.”

  Neve pointed at the busted stairs. “I say we start right here. See how the cabin sits on those oak stumps? We’re going to borrow and use a similar approach with the new steps.”

  The older man rolled his shoulders and spit, something he probably imagined she’d find undignified and offensive. “I believe building stairs falls under my expertise.”

  “Certainly,” she agreed. Then she spit, too. The wad landed inches from Vince’s. �
�But telling you how to make them look falls under mine.” No reason to harp on. She cocked her chin toward the cabin. “I love a good loophole, don’t you? Gavin wants all-natural, so we’ll give it to him. This new staircase of his is going to be a real statement piece in more ways than one.” She smiled thinly and pointed at a pile of busted floor slats Vince’s team had removed from the cabin’s interior during their inspection. “Those loose pieces, where’d they come from?”

  Vince shrugged. “Stacked in a corner of the cabin. Leftovers from construction, maybe? The place has been vacant for decades.”

  “The last owner tried to spruce the place up a bit before falling into debt and selling it. I noticed the slats during my walkthrough with Duke, and they’re not the same makeup as the cabin. Newer stuff. I’m betting from when the plumbing was updated. Either way, great news for us. Those slats will form the bones for our new stairs. We’re going to use a series of logs laid over the top horizontally to form the actual steps. In front, though, we’ll insert small logs vertically. They’ll look—”

  “Like they’re supporting the steps. Almost like organ pipes in three rising rows.” He chewed in the inside of his cheeks as his shrewd eyes lit up. “Huh,” he grunted. “Neat idea.”

  She didn’t bother to be offended by the wonder coloring his voice. Eyes squinted in study, fingers rubbing the gray gristle of his unshaved chin…professionally, she had Vince Taggart’s attention. His respect would follow.

  “Get a few of your men on it. I want it constructed as a single structure we’ll dig and set with a concrete base. What’s your take on the foundation? For authenticity’s sake, I’m in favor of keeping the pedestals.”

  “I agree, once we add a little fortification. They’re sturdy, natural, and already here.” He smacked his lips in a satisfied manner and leaned back on his heels, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “The stairs are the easy part. The place is primed for plumbing, but the job isn’t complete. A plumber can tell us more, but it’s going to be a larger project than I’d anticipated.”