by EMILIE ROSE
“Did Brandon pick up his carpentry skills from his father?”
She nodded. “And his grandfather. For a while we were certain he’d become a builder after high school, but then he and Rick became interested in law enforcement, and that was the end of that.”
The twins became noticeably droopy as their tummies got full. Hannah, on the other hand, became antsier with each minute that passed as she dreaded Brandon turning up.
“Thank you for including us today.”
“You’re more than welcome. I enjoy having young ones underfoot.” She directed her attention to Hannah’s children. “Mason and Belle, I have some photo albums on the coffee table for you to look at while we wait for the farrier. Your father is in many of the pictures. See if you can find him.”
Belle scampered off but Mason hung back. “Why do you have pictures of my dad?”
“Because he spent much of his childhood here, starting when he was a little younger than you. He was here so often it was almost like having twin sons. He followed Brandon everywhere.”
“Dad called them Pete and Re-Pete,” Leah added. “They were always taking things apart to see how they worked.”
“I...umm do that, too,” Mason admitted.
“Then we know where you inherited the trait, don’t we? Brandon did it because he liked to build. Your father did it because he wanted to know how things worked,” Rebecca replied with a smile then shooed everyone from the kitchen.
Hannah found Belle poring over one of the photo albums. Belle looked up. “I found Mason, but I can’t find Daddy. How come Mrs. Martin has pictures of Mason and not of me, Mommy?”
Hannah looked at the boys on the page. “That’s your father when he was Mason’s age.”
“I look like him,” Mason stated quietly.
“Yes, you do. And you’re very good at problem-solving like he was, too.” For several minutes she watched her children flip the pages and drink in the pictures of their father. Her heart ached a little and she suddenly felt selfish. She’d put away so many reminders of Rick after the funeral, because she couldn’t bear looking at them.
“Oh, my. I remember that day,” Rebecca exclaimed as she joined them. “That’s when your father was learning to paddle a kayak.”
“If he was in a boat then why is he all wet?” Belle asked.
“Because he tipped it over so many times,” Rebecca replied. “But by the end of the day, he was almost an expert. You see, failing is okay as long as you don’t get discouraged and quit trying.”
“I wish everybody felt that way,” Mason mumbled. Hannah put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. He shrugged it off, and that hurt.
The rumble of a truck engine penetrated the windows. Rebecca crossed to look outside. “The farrier is here, and Brandon and Thomas are right behind him.”
Hannah’s breath caught and her heart clanked like a bad grocery cart wheel. She fought for calm. She could handle this new “friends” status. All she had to do was, as Rebecca said, keep trying until she got the hang of it.
Hannah, Mason and Belle followed Mrs. Martin onto the back porch. The farrier parked near the barn. Brandon, with the bed of his truck piled high with something under a blue tarp, stopped beside him. Mr. Martin carefully climbed from the cab of his son’s truck, then Brandon drove into one of the barns.
Belle bounced with excitement. “Are the horses going to get new shoes now?”
“Yes, they are. You may go out and watch if you stay right beside Mr. Thomas and do what he says,” Brandon’s mother said.
Belle dashed across the yard. Mason followed more slowly. Rebecca patted her shoulder. “They’ll be fine, dear. Thomas will watch them and doing so will make him feel needed. Come back inside where it’s cool and rest a bit.”
Hannah lingered by the rail. She didn’t need to hear Belle to see that she’d begun peppering the farrier and Mr. Martin with questions the moment she reached them—questions that were being answered patiently. Why couldn’t the Leiths be this kind to her children?
“What is it, dear?”
Hannah met her hostess’s gaze, but she was reluctant to share her uncharitable thought. “I was just thinking how idyllic it must have been to raise your children here.”
“Idyllic?” Rebecca chuckled. “Hardly. Life on any kind of farm is full of pitfalls. Frost can wipe out an entire year’s crop overnight, so income is, to say the least, unpredictable. And who knows what the coming years will bring with Thomas’s diagnosis, but I intend to count my blessings instead of my troubles. The rest will fall into place.”
Hannah wished she shared the woman’s positive attitude. Then Brandon strode out of the barn. Hannah’s heart clip-clopped faster than the pony galloping around the pasture.
Belle launched herself at him, getting her hug, but Mason held back. That was odd. Brandon approached him and said a few words. Mason, instead of gazing at Brandon with his usual hero-worship, kept his head low. Where was Mason’s cheerful fist-bump greeting for his hero? Had he and Brandon had a disagreement? If so, what about and why had neither of them said anything?
As much as Hannah had longed to avoid Brandon before, now she wanted to talk to him—very much. He glanced up at the house and waved. A swarm of excitement buzzed in her abdomen then shot to her extremities. Before she could summon a response and lift her hand to return his greeting, he stiffened, pulled out his phone from his pocket and spoke into it briefly. Then he lowered the device and said something to his father. Mr. Martin handed him a set of keys. Brandon hustled to another pickup truck parked near the barn, started the engine and drove off the property without stopping.
“It looks like Brandon has been called into work,” Rebecca said from behind Hannah.
Finding out what was causing the tension between him and Mason would have to wait.
* * *
BRANDON HAD TO get to Hannah’s fast. And not, as his dad insisted, because he wanted to see her, but because he needed to add additional software to her computer.
Mason had been too on edge Saturday for someone who’d just been caught looking at naked people. The kid had refused to make eye contact. That act had nagged Brandon throughout working the case that had wrapped up at four this morning. If not simply porn, then what was Mason into? He had to find out.
That was what had him restless. It had nothing to do with the conversation he’d shared with his father during Saturday’s scavenger hunt. Nothing whatsoever. His father was wrong. End of story.
On his way home to catch a few hours’ sleep, Brandon had checked in with his mother as he always did after a stretch of being incommunicado. She’d told him about Belle and Mason’s upcoming trip with their grandparents. Since he and his father had acquired everything needed for Hannah’s kitchen reno, pushing forward with that project seemed to be his golden ticket to laptop access.
He pressed her doorbell Thursday evening. After a moment he heard feet pounding down the stairs then Hannah yanked open the door. The look of concern on her face morphed into one of surprise. Unwelcome surprise. He probably should have taken time to shave. Five days’ beard growth darkened his cheeks and chin.
“Just off a case?” Her breathless voice was sex—no, just breathless. That was it. Nothing more.
“Yeah. Hello, Hannah.” He took in her rubber gloves, worn-thin T-shirt and frayed shorts. And leg. A lot of leg. He yanked his gaze north to her flushed cheeks and wary eyes.
“The kids aren’t here,” she blurted. “They’re gone for the weekend. With the Leiths. To the model train convention.” Then she bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath that tested the threadbare cotton stretching across her breasts.
Damn. Eyes up, buddy. “You decided to let them go.”
“Yes. I thought you were them—the Leiths. That they’d forgotten something or, more likely, that Belle had started crying and begged to come home
.” Her rapid-fire delivery revealed her nervousness.
He didn’t want her to be on edge around him. He wanted her to be as relaxed as she’d been out by the fire pit. “Did I interrupt something?”
She grimaced then wiggled her bare toes. The move was sex—cute. “I was scrubbing tubs and toilets. Cleaning distracts me from worrying about whether or not I made the right decision.”
“And your conclusion?”
That earned a big sigh and droopy shoulders. “Rick’s parents will never be as loving and supportive as yours. But they’re all Mason and Belle have. My dad...” She shrugged. “He’s just not interested in spending time with them.”
“If you’re that ambivalent about letting the Leiths be around your kids, then why do you?”
“Because as a mother, I can’t deny Margaret access to the only link she has to the son she buried.”
Hannah was a good mom and a caring person. He wasn’t sure he’d be as generous. “If you say so. And I’m sure they’ll be fine. On the bright side, we’ll get more done without their help.”
Her brow puckered in confusion. “More of what done? What are you talking about, Brandon?”
“Renovations.” He stepped aside and jerked a thumb, indicating the truck he’d backed up to her porch.
“What’s under the tarp?” she asked.
“A granite countertop and a few boards. We’re redoing your kitchen this weekend.”
Her lips parted and her eyes widened with excitement that quickly faded, then she shook her head. “Brandon, I can’t afford—”
He wanted to bring the excitement back, and he could, but he hated that he’d come here with an ulterior motive. “Dad and I found everything you need. All of it free or close enough.”
“The scrounging your mother mentioned?”
“It’s something he and I have always done together. Their house, like yours, has been a bit of a money pit, and I get a lot of supplies for my rentals that way, too.”
Still, she hesitated. He pulled the engineer’s report from his back pocket and stepped forward, deliberately crowding her out of the way. She scrambled backward. Then he strode into her kitchen. The door shut behind him and her footsteps followed. She stopped two yards from him and tugged at the hem of her shorts. Didn’t help. They were still eye-catchingly short, and she had the legs to make them work.
“I looked over the structural engineer’s report. The packet included a rough sketch of what you wanted to do. We can do it.”
“It’s a big job. I don’t think we can handle this alone.”
He’d expected resistance. “You underestimate yourself. I saw those muscles when you climbed the rope. Other than lowering the upper cabinets from the wall, there won’t be any heavy lifting, and there’s only one outlet to relocate. I can do that.”
He spread the papers across the table. “Isn’t this your drawing?”
She inched a yard closer and leaned. “Yes.”
He caught a whiff of her scent and wanted more. Crushing the thought, he redirected his attention to the sketch. “We’ll use the base cabinets as the foundation for your kitchen island. The countertop is one that the granite guy cut wrong for a custom order. It’s been sitting at his place collecting dust for almost a year. He hasn’t been able to sell it. We can make it work. We only need to take down the top half of this wall for you to have your dream kitchen.”
The excitement returned to her eyes, but indecision and then doubt chased it away. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“We’ll be finished before the kids get back Sunday.”
She was tempted. He could see it. She did the lip-biting thing. The pencil snapped in his fingers, and he was clenching his jaw so hard it’s a wonder his molars didn’t crumble.
“Brandon, I have to work tomorrow, and I’m covering the nursery at church Sunday morning. I can’t be here.”
Even better access to the computer than he’d hoped. “I’m off tomorrow and Sunday. I can work alone until you return.”
She dithered a little more, then her eyebrows dipped. “What’s going on between you and Mason?”
He fought to conceal his surprise at the shift in topic. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you talking to him at the orchard. He was very reserved.”
And she was very observant. But then he’d never doubted Hannah’s intelligence. “I don’t know what to say. I barely spoke to him before I got called in on a case.”
“Did you have an argument?”
“No.” Truth. Diversion needed.
“Let’s get started emptying the cabinets.” He opened the first one and started lowering the contents onto the countertop. He half expected Hannah to press him for details or tell him to get the hell out. He prompted, “Trust me, this will be a quick and easy job. Do you have any boxes?”
“I think there are some in the attic.” And then she left.
He eased out a breath. Close call. He had to get to the point of no return in a hurry if he wanted computer time. He pulled a pry bar from his toolbox and yanked down the trim wood before she returned. When she did, she carried an armload of collapsed cardboard. Her eyes rounded when she saw the strips of wood and the old, ugly paint now showing. Uncertainty returned to her face.
“You’ll want to keep the kids’ baby dishes,” he suggested.
She slowly moved forward. “Yes, but—”
“Your dream kitchen, Hannah, for nothing but sweat. The kids will love being able to sit at the bar while you cook.”
With a shake of her head, she started packing. For half an hour they emptied cabinets and filled boxes. It was close work in the narrow kitchen. Hannah bumped into the counter a couple of times to avoid touching him, and he had to fight harder than he wanted to admit to keep his eyes off her legs and the sliver of bare waist that showed each time she reached for a high cabinet. The atmosphere was similar to that night on the landing, but on steroids. By the time they finished it was almost seven o’clock, and he was ready to take a sledgehammer to something. But that was the kind of crap they did for show on TV. It wasn’t necessary to make all that mess, and it could cause more damage than good.
“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.
“No.”
“Carry that box to the garage. I’ll be right behind you.” He waited until she left the room then dialed the Chinese restaurant nearby and placed an order. Then he grabbed the biggest box and met her head-on in the washroom. She twisted sideways to give him room to pass, flattening her back against the wall. He misjudged the width of the box. His forearm brushed across her breasts as he passed, sending a current of electricity straight to his groin. Holy mother of—
“’Scuse me.” He squeezed through the noose cinching his throat.
In the garage he took a moment to regain control of his overheated body. He needed to get laid in the worst kind of way. But not by Hannah. What was wrong with him? He’d never had thoughts like this about her when Rick was alive. Hannah was Rick’s girl.
Rick’s gone.
He ignored the voice in his subconscious—a remnant of the conversation with his father—and returned to the kitchen. Hannah wouldn’t meet his gaze and he couldn’t blame her. His out-of-control libido was embarrassing for both of them. But her awareness was equally plain from her darting glances and quickened breaths. He grabbed the last box and marched out.
When he returned she pushed a glass of ice water toward him. He reached for it and noticed her nipples tenting her shirt. Fire burned through him like a lit fuse. He faced the wall and guzzled half the water, willing his brain to rise out of his shorts. This reno was going to be hell. And not because of the work required.
The doorbell rang. She jumped and her eyes filled with panic—probably thinking it was the Leiths returning her children. She started for the door. He grabbed her arm. Mistake. Her sk
in was soft, warm, and the urge to stroke her was almost impossible to resist.
“It’s dinner,” he ground out and headed for the foyer, putting some much-needed distance between them. He paid the delivery guy and carried the bag to the kitchen to feed the appetite he could satisfy. “Are Subgum Wonton and Vegetable Lo Mein still your favorites?”
Her expression softened. “Yes. I can’t believe you remembered. I’ll get plates.”
He couldn’t even remember his sisters’ favorite foods. But he remembered Hannah’s. Why?
At the table in the breakfast nook they passed cartons. He made damn sure their fingers didn’t touch. Crazy, but he was as nervous as a teen on a first date.
He shoved food in his mouth and dutifully ate despite a lack of appetite for food. Tomorrow he’d have his shit together. But tonight...tonight he was going to need to jack off then take a long, cold shower when he got home.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said.
“Least I can do since I sprung this on you. We’ll remove the upper cabinets after we eat, then we’ll call it a night.”
She looked up from her plate. He eyes were deep and dark, and he couldn’t look away. “As long as we’re done by nine. I need time to upload some files to my laptop before work tomorrow.”
The statement sank his gut like a brick. He lowered his fork. “You use your personal computer at work?”
“Not for patient files. But when I have new exercises I want to try with a client, I take it in.”
Damn. The program download would have to wait until Sunday.
Chapter Fourteen
“TWO SCREWS LEFT,” Brandon said behind Hannah, “and your last cabinet will be down.”
With one big hand on the stepladder and the other supporting the bottom of the cabinet, his muscle-corded arms bracketed her on her perch three rungs from the top. If she moved an inch left or right her bare legs would brush his biceps. His body radiated heat, and if she twisted on the ladder, his face would be...in an intimate position.
Her stomach fluttered—for the umpteenth time in the past ninety minutes, and once again she regretted insisting he teach her how to do each step of the demolition. But given the number of projects left on her list she’d thought she might use these skills in the future. One day, she might appreciate what he’d taught her, but right now she was so distracted by her physical awareness of him she was ready to scream.
