“Just a private word with you.” She puffed out her cheeks in a forceful exhale. No sense dwelling. She had more important things to focus on. “The flea market is supposed to be a multi-county affair. People come from all over the place to trade here, so we should have plenty to go through. This far off the beaten path, we’re bound to come across a few hidden gems. Personally, I’d never come out this far to shop for a client in Little Rock. Not cost-effective.”
Duke clucked his tongue. “I’ve crossed state lines to get my hands on a period piece at auction that was basically antique firewood, then proceeded to put a shameful amount of material and man-hours into restoring it. That’s the whole point, in my opinion.”
“Renovation isn’t restoration. I bring the old into the present, and you take things back to their past. No wonder we can’t get along. Do we have anything in common?”
“Not a single thing, by my calculations.”
She eyeballed his hideous shirt. “I concur.” She also concurred with Gavin’s attraction. Damn Duke, damn him and his perfect profile.
By all things righteous and holy, his grizzled beard ought to deter from his appearance, not compliment the pure essence of maleness he exuded. Duke didn’t play by the rules. He wasn’t too pretty or flamboyant, nor foppish and effeminate. Even his long hair evoked images of Jared Leto…or maybe Fabio, if only she knew what the rest of his face looked like beneath his curtain of beard hair.
Damn him, damn him, damn him.
At least the flea market didn’t disappoint. To save time, Neve had Duke drop her off with the trailer and sent him to the local museum to ask about the lockbox, then on to the hardware store to order the porcelain bathroom tiles and pick out complimentary plumbing fixtures, which included the commode and a pedestal sink. Also, a single deep sink for the kitchen. They’d make more of the day by splitting up, and surely she could trust the man with a few off-the-shelf buys.
Besides, she wanted a chance to pout without Duke noticing. Her spirits were low, and he’d notice. She didn’t have any heart to put into mouthing off some sarcastic explanation.
The flea market was no Macy’s. For every treasure, there were ten thousand pieces of junk. Everything from ripped ottomans to broken radios, splintered canes, piles of stained clothing, threadbare comforters, poorly made quilts, cheap plastic dishes, and cracked mirrors. People would sell nearly anything at a flea market, but only with willing buyers. Some of the goods said more about the would-be purchaser than the seller.
A lifetime of experience had taught Neve the ultimate lesson when it came to bulk bargain shopping—good stuff didn’t bob to the top of the trash pile any more than diamonds floated to the surface of the earth. They had to be mined. Sometimes she had to break a sweat and get her hands dirty to find real treasures lurking in the depths, a task she relished. She uncovered what no one else had the gumption to dig for.
From an old woman, who turned out to be an old man, Neve purchased a small open-faced bookcase with two tiny drawers crafted from local cedar with the original knobs. It needed a good scrubbing and a polish and stain but was sturdy and at least thirty years old. Perfect sitting area addition. She imagined it placed below the window they’d created next to the front door or placed at an angle in the corner near the fireplace with a decorative lamp on top.
At the next stall, she picked out a reasonable amount of tarnished silverware and serving utensils, already relishing assigning the task of polishing to Duke.
At a furniture vendor of above average quality, she examined each and every table and set of chairs for both character and flaws before settling on a handcrafted dining set. The round tabletop balanced on an intricately carved pedestal. The four accompanying chairs were small but perfect for the limited space she’d designated for an eating area.
She didn’t recognize the grain, but the few scars and gouges in the otherwise smooth surface made her giddy. This furniture had seen some shit in its day, probably served families for generations in these hills and hillocks, and more than likely outlived its maker by a few decades.
In the next several hours, Neve picked up two matching nightstands in dire need of a new coat of stain; a tall, narrow dresser over which she’d hang the gold-framed mirror she’d found buried under a pile of rabbit furs; thick canvas curtains dyed forest green with red dots running down the hem; and a set of amber-colored glass dishes.
At the last stall, a hardballing young man sold her a set of dusty crystal chandeliers for half their worth. She guessed the seller assumed they were glass. Had he bothered himself with the task of cleaning them, he might’ve noticed the light refractions were like no glass he’d ever seen. But perhaps not.
Any other client, Neve might’ve turned away from the idea, saved the image of twin crystal chandeliers hanging in the center of an antique cabin in the middle of the forest for someone else. It wasn’t the sort of thing a client thought to ask for, but Gavin struck her as the type to appreciate the touch of decadence and whimsy amid the understated charm of the woodsy cabin.
She texted Duke. It was downright pleasant to have the use of her cell phone back. Small curtain rod for front window while you’re at the hardware store, plz. Not white. Done here. Ready 4 lunch. He returned her message with k, which she despised.
Awhile later, they met in the dirt-packed parking lot, Neve trailed by a trio of beefy men she’d hired to load her purchases into the storage trailer.
Duke stood back with his hands on hips and watched them stack her haul. “You make friends everywhere you go, don’t you?”
“Draw ’em like flies.” She paid the men, smiled pitying at the one who asked for her phone number, and climbed inside the truck. The air-conditioning was at full blast, and she stuck her face in front of the closest vent. “Full trailer, empty stomach. What can we do about that?”
“Eat.” Something in Duke’s voice suggested his day hadn’t been as advantageous as hers.
The Red Hill Delicatessen boasted the “Best Hoagies in Town!” painted boldly in red across their front window. Probably the only hoagies in town, Neve judged by what she’d seen so far. “Town” seemed to consist of a single main street, nearly all small local business, and a few scattered residential areas beyond that.
Duke’s frown over his sweet tea preceded his bad news. “No luck with the chest.” He disregarded the straw and took three manly gulps, his Adam’s apple jouncing like a fishing bobber. “Nothing like it in the museum. I took a chance and asked around. No one knows anything. One of the men I talked to was ninety if a day, John Bilson, and he was at a complete loss. He’s not even convinced it’s a lock.”
“It’s definitely a lock.”
Duke shrugged. “I think so, too. He made me an appointment with Cherish Rancourt, head of the Red Hill Historical Society. He says if anyone knows about the lockbox, it’ll be her, but she’s out of town. I won’t get a chance to meet her for another four weeks.”
“Peachy. So, if she’s got anything to tell us, we won’t find out until we’re nearly done with the cabin.”
Duke’s spirits seemed to improve with the arrival of their lunch—roast beef and cheddar on whole wheat. “By then, we’ll be down to the fine details I’ve got nothing to do with—pure interior design. I’ll have plenty of time to widen the search grid if we have to. By the by, I’ve got your curtain rod, the commode, a pedestal sink for the bathroom, and a drop-in singe sink for the kitchen. Porcelain, of course, but off-white. And I ordered the porcelain tiles for the bathroom. I went with a glazed amber color. I think it’ll compliment the wood grain. I chose fixtures within the same spectrum but slightly off for contrast.”
Neve nodded her approval, impressed. Then she wanted to smack herself. She’d seen his office. Duke had talent, even if he wasn’t applying it to the project at hand. “A gold star for you, Duke. Well done.”
He nodded but didn’t speak. It’d be impossible with the huge wad of sandwich he’d muscled between
his jaws with superhuman force.
Neve didn’t bother to hide her disgust. He even ate like a straight man. “If you choke, I’m having your sandwich order engraved on your headstone.”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
Chapter 7
Four weeks left. Duke could hardly fathom how the first four had passed so quickly. It’s halfway over. Another four weeks, possibly three, if it all stays on track, and I’m free and clear of this mess.
The last week had seen Neve subdued, her head down, concentrated on the project. She kept her end of the bargain. The razor edge of her tongue never dulled completely, but she tempered her remarks with a smile or a wink, despite how Duke failed over and over again to convince Gavin to take his concerns to Neve. He’d have nothing to do with her, and Duke had to wonder why in the hell he’d bothered hiring her.
Easy. So I’d take the job. But why? Why did it matter so damn much?
He didn’t have answers. What he did have, finally, was something useful to do.
Neve’s hands were full with double-checking her assistant’s plans for the cabinetry and the measurements for major plumbing installations. If the calculations were off by so much as an inch, they’d have to scramble to rearrange the components. If she altered the toilet or shower placement, it had better be now while master plumber Andrew Bale and his team were there inspecting the pump house the last owner constructed over an underground spring.
The man was about as impressive as any other plumber, master or otherwise, which was to say unremarkable with the exception of his expressionless face. He had the sort of stern look that never seemed to change, whether he was happy or displeased.
Duke gathered little from his passive appearance, except that he was a man of few words. Short, succinct words. Like Neve when she was in full-on production mode. He worked like hell, too, taking no more than a few hours to track down Duke and give him his report.
Andrew’s thick eyebrows came together like long-lost caterpillars. He kicked a pile of dirt his team had churned up during their inspection. “The last owner dug themselves a pump house, but that’s about it,” he lamented. “My team will have to dig and lay pipe. While they do that, I’ll get to work on installing interior hookups. You show me where you want stuff to go, and I’ll get to marking. Tiny cabin like this, we’ll have it done by week’s end.”
Neve chose that opportune moment to introduce herself. “Neve Harper.” She stuck out a hand, confident he’d take it, which he did. Hardly a squeeze had time to pass between them before she dropped her hand and guided them toward the cabin. “This way. The bathroom is interesting. The cabin had no interior walls, so we’ve constructed a couple. The new construction won’t have insulation installed, but the outer walls will. You’ll need to take both insulation and the secondary wall into account. That, or I considered the possibility of having the pipes come from underneath, but I’ll bow to your authority. Hell, you can run the pipes overhead if you want, but it’s not what I prefer.”
“More costly,” Andrew agreed.
Duke settled into the background and watched Neve take command of the situation. Andrew Bale seemed like the kind of guy people might find intimidating but, at his lack of a smile, Neve’s grew bigger. “Oh, goody. I get to do all the talking.”
She liked Andrew, Duke mused. No fuss, no muss, all work, no strong personality getting in the way of the job. Just there to get the work done. And how could Duke guess at such a thing? Because, all else aside, Neve was fascinating to watch in her element. He’d spent weeks seeing the way she handled Vince and his crew, her efficient use of the assistant Gavin provided. She kept everyone busy but didn’t rush them. No idle hands, but no accidents, either. It was a steady, grinding pace that put every crew member on the site into a pattern of busting ass and resting well, because they knew they’d be pushed just as hard the next day. Vince had a good team, and that helped. But Duke suspected no one wanted to be outdone by the boss lady. So, everyone tried to put in the same verve and energy that she did each day. It took a special kind of leader to propel any group to such a high level of production.
“We’ve got all the appliances on standby for measurements,” Neve was saying as she led the way, two steps ahead of them. “Toilet, pedestal sink, but not the shower stall. Not yet. Don’t be delicate with the floor. We’re putting down tile long after you and your crew have moved on. One of the more tedious things in a renovation, laying tile. What about you, huh?” She cast a teasing glance over her shoulder at Andrew. “Besides the obvious, what’s the worst thing about laying poo pipes? Is it laying poo pipes?”
Red spread through the man’s face until Duke could almost feel his embarrassment. She didn’t know when to quit.
Lo and behold, Andrew grinned. He almost looked confused about it. “I enjoy laying pipes.”
“Right.” She grinned wider, a playful, facetious smile. “They’re clean the first time around. Probably fixing poo pipes is the worst.”
Neve talked all the way, so by the time they entered the cabin and reached the newly constructed room they’d intended to turn into a bathroom, Andrew had nearly every bit of information he needed to get started right away. She didn’t hesitate in her stream of information, but Duke noticed, with the exception of a few jokes sprinkled in for fun’s sake, every word had purpose. “Four-by-four. Tiny. Here”—she pointed to the original wall on her left past the open entry—“I’ve marked where I want the sink and commode. Move what you need to within the space I’ve designated. If anything has to be rearranged for any reason, inform me.”
Clear, decisive direction. She didn’t wait for Andrew to grant her authority; she took it and left no room for argument or doubt it belonged to her. She pointed to the adjacent wall. “There’s a blank space about two feet across here. I want a towel rack there if at all possible. The room will be sparse but functional.”
Andrew grunted his approval. “Pretty grand for a simple cabin, you ask me. Smart arrangement. It’ll seem a little roomier.”
Neve took the compliment in stride and held her hands out toward the east-facing wall to her right. “The shower is going to share this new wall here with the kitchen sink on the other side. Ought to make for less piping and therefore cost less dollars.” Her sly gaze slid to Andrew.
He nodded once. “Right you are. It’d cost a good deal more to hook up both sides of the cabin.”
Neve grinned. “Not my first plumbing rodeo.”
“Oh, I believe it.” Andrew examined the small space a final time. “That’s all of it? Sink, commode, bath, kitchen sink? Everything appears marked and measured, but I’ll do my own calculations.”
She pressed her lips together in a line, tapped them with her forefinger and gave Duke a pointed look.
Oh, God, did I forget something? Damn, where did that list she gave me disappear to? Before he had a chance to start patting his pockets for the assignments Neve had doled out for the week, she made a strange request.
“Duke, I think I hear the electrician calling your name. Scram.”
“What? But—”
Her amber gaze hardened, like watching sugar crystalize. “I need a moment with our plumber here. Would you mind?”
Ah, sweet dismissal. He shrugged, though it chafed. He’d done Vale House, damn it. He wasn’t some newbie. But Neve ran the show. She’d proven it, too, taking Andrew’s respect before he’d even had the chance to offer it. Still, Duke walked away from Neve with something like dread. She was already conferring in murmurs with the old plumber. Definitely up to something.
In an uncanny happenstance, Duke ran into Jake Lansky and his two crew members on the path coming from the road. After a short exchange, where the word dude was used with a total lack of irony, Duke accepted the instantaneous dislike Jake encouraged with little to no guilt.
In his thirties and probably a woman’s idea of good-looking, Jake had the rakish devil-may-care thing going on. Jeans too tight and shirt too exp
ensive for the kind of work he’d come to do. The heavy work boots he wore appeared brand new. He regarded Duke with the careless attention of a bored teenager, an attitude bound to rub Neve the wrong way.
Duke would love nothing more than to put the young man in his place, but he had no true authority. Little more than Gavin’s mouthpiece out here, only Neve had to take notice of anything he offered. Besides, Neve had proven she could handle herself, and personally, he couldn’t wait to watch her put a verbal whooping on Jake Lansky.
He beckoned him and his crew to follow and guided them back toward the cabin.
Neve stood outside, with her arms crossed, dappled shade casting a pattern across her skin and her baggy white V-neck T-shirt. It was worse than the tight gray one she favored, the way the fabric draped and shifted over her small breasts and showed an expanse of pale creamy skin at her neck. She simply stood there, the center of the world, without even trying.
A speckled Neve in her natural habitat…Wisely, Duke kept the joke to himself and introduced Jake.
“So, uh, where do I throw up the panels?”
Duke winced at Jake’s artless greeting and the tone of indifference.
Neve cocked her head to examine him. “Neve Harper,” she introduced herself formally. “I don’t recall we’ve come to a decision on the solar panels. I’d like to discuss a secondary energy source.”
The young man didn’t seem to hear. One of his crew had been carrying a ladder, which he placed against the side of the cabin for access to the roof. “Oh, you definitely want solar panels. They’re like free power.” When he did bother to glance at Neve, his gaze swept over her from head to toe with one eyebrow hitched in undisguised appreciation.
Duke had the sudden urge to take the young man by his giblets and deliver a lesson in respect. Instead, he grinned and waited. This was going to be so good.
Neve’s response was immediate. “How old are you, Jake?”
To the Studs Page 12
