by Kim Law
“Tomorrow?” he asked. “You available or not?”
She mentally ran through her schedule. There were a couple of fishing expeditions lined up, but she wasn’t on the books to take either of them. In fact, she’d planned a day of catching up on paperwork before spending time online, perusing kitchen cabinets and countertops. If the house was going to get finished, there were a lot of choices to be made.
“As long as nothing changes at work, I’m available whenever you need me,” she said.
Poor choice of words on her part—he clearly didn’t need her—but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Ten o’clock?” he asked. “We’ll meet you at the house and do a walk-through. You can tell Gene what you’re thinking, and the guys will start working out there next week.”
Again, she peeked out the window, and this time she heard him sigh.
The frustrated sound made her smile, but before she could come up with anything witty to say, the back door slammed and he was gone.
Ginger wheeled the company truck in front of her house, hurrying so as not to be late. She didn’t want to make a worse impression than she already would, and at this point, a bad impression was guaranteed. Her car had a flat when she’d come out to leave the office, two fishing boats had needed last-minute work first thing that morning—sending her in a smaller boat to pick up the load of bait so the charters could still leave on time—and she’d ended up pitching in with the mechanical work upon returning. Once she’d stopped for a much-needed breath, she’d seen that she was dirty from top to bottom.
There’d been no time to run home for a change of clothes, but she had managed to pull herself together. Slightly.
She looked at herself as she hopped down from her dad’s old F-350, and tugged at the bottom edge of her denim shorts. They were the only thing she’d had clean in her car, and they were indecent. When she’d chopped off the legs last summer, she’d taken about three inches too much, leaving them as over-swimsuit-wear only. Except . . . now they weren’t.
Since she’d been left with hot pants on her bottom half, she’d grabbed an oversized Sealine Expeditions T-shirt from the gift shop, hoping to hide the fact that if she bent over too far, the cheeks of her rear would hang out. Then she’d donned her trusty pair of green rubber boots because her tennis shoes smelled like the squid that had spilled when transferring the bait.
With the boots to her knees, and bare thighs above, she looked like a deranged stripper.
Oh, well. She was here to work. Not flirt.
She grabbed a hair band from the dash of the truck and twisted the majority to the top of her head. Her hair had even taken some backsplash from the squid. Then a truck pulled up next to hers, and she noticed that it wasn’t only Carter and the foreman inside the vehicle. The man with the chin dimple was there, along with the guy who’d taken pride in going shirtless the afternoon before.
Oh, boy.
She sniffed herself unobtrusively. Yep. She smelled like fish. Per usual.
The man she assumed to be the foreman—due to the quick nod of greeting—climbed from the driver’s seat while the other two exited from the back. Carter stepped from the passenger side.
Ginger once again tugged at her shorts, and cast a prayer upward that she’d somehow miraculously smell like flowers. Or look like a girl.
The guy with the dimple took in her legs. “Morning, ma’am.”
She blushed. Up close she could see that he was definitely too young for her. Which was too bad.
“Ginger.” Carter’s tone did not have the same soft Southern accent as the hottie who’d just spoken to her. “Meet Gene, your foreman.”
Gene—she’d guessed correctly—held out his hand. “Looks like quite a house you’ve got here.” He scanned the two and a half stories with interest. “I can’t wait to see what you plan to do with the inside.”
“Thank you.” She shook his hand, then automatically turned to the other two men. She couldn’t help the huge smile that covered her face.
Carter scowled at her.
“This is Gregg and Ian,” he said. “They won’t be working out here.”
Ian waved a rolled-up sheaf of papers in one hand. “We caught a gander of the plans and took lunch early to ride out an’ take a peek. What a beauty you’ve got here.”
She caught herself giving him her “date” smile. “Plans?”
“I got a copy of the drawings from your original contractor,” Carter informed her drily. She didn’t even look his way.
Gregg stepped up next, and he, too, held out his hand in greeting. His dimple winked from his chin as he angled his head in a nod, and if he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, Ginger suspected he would have tipped it back. Wherever these boys were from, she wanted to visit.
She put her hand in his and enjoyed the warm grasp. He might be too young, but he was very pretty to look at.
“Nice to meet you in person, Miss Ginger.” Gregg’s voice was a slow rumble. “We saw you at the house yesterday.”
Did that mean he’d seen her ogling them?
Probably. But who cared? She’d ogle again. Every day, most likely. Especially if shirts came off. She wasn’t too proud.
Once again, Carter scowled at her. “Can we go in?” he snapped. The man truly needed an attitude adjustment.
“Sure.” She started to move in front of them, but considered the steps leading up to the front door and the sad state of her shorts, and held the key out to Carter. “You lead the way.”
He gave her a funny look, and she noticed his nose wrinkle slightly as if he’d gotten a whiff of her, but he took the key. Then he and the other three men all headed away from her while she took a moment to pull in a deep breath and reorient herself. It was just men. Hot men, yes. But they were there in a work capacity.
While she stunk and looked a hot mess.
But then she remembered the gleam in Gregg’s eyes as he’d taken in her legs, and she supposed all wasn’t a total loss. At least she’d captured his attention. If she could manage to look presentable the next time she saw him—
“Were you planning to join us?” Carter yelled out at her. He waited on her porch, while the other men had already gone inside.
She rolled her eyes at the surliness the man was so good at, and hurried to the house. As she passed him, she turned a snarky look his way—and was shocked to see that his gaze was also trained on her legs.
Hmmm.
He’d checked out her butt the other day. Did he like what he saw?
Not that it mattered. She once again picked up the stench of cigarette smoke on him, and promptly put any idea of Carter and his probing eyes far from her mind.
The group of them walked through the house with Carter and her both answering Gene’s questions, while Gregg and Ian remained mostly quiet. Occasionally they’d toss out an observation or suggestion, but mostly they spent their time admiring the space.
But there was the occasional harmless flirt. It was fun.
Before she knew it, all of them were back out of the house and ready to leave. The other men went on ahead to the truck, but Carter lingered as she locked the front door. Once she’d secured the dead bolt, she dropped the key into his hand. “Thank you again for doing this. It means the world to me.”
“No problem.”
She gave him a bright smile, hoping to see him ease up on the gruffness, but he shifted his gaze from her to the other men. The usual scowl remained on his face. So she gave up. She’d take his help, and save her good moods for someone who cared. She turned and headed for the steps, but he stopped her with a hand to her arm.
“Don’t forget, these guys aren’t what you’re looking for.”
She groaned and turned back. “Really, Carter.” Where did he get off? “How do you know what I’m looking for? Maybe I do just want to get laid.”
That shut him up. But only for a moment. “I thought you wanted something permanent. The type of man to move in here when it’s done.”
&nbs
p; She did, but she refused to admit he was right.
Plus . . . heck, maybe she could use a fun night with one of these guys. For certain she could use a fun night with someone. It had been way too long, and with all the testosterone now running rampant in her vicinity, she might have to pick one out to sample.
“These guys might be willing to move in for the night,” Carter warned her, “but they won’t even stick around for breakfast.”
“Good to know.” She eyed him steadily. “I’m not a fan of breakfast.”
He stared at her, and she’d swear his bad attitude ramped up even more. “Stay away from them, Red.”
She laughed then. Loud and freeing. Because it was so funny to her that the guy with such a clearly messed-up life had the audacity to lecture her on who would and would not be right for her. Gene, Gregg, and Ian turned to see what was so funny, while Carter only glared.
“And wear some damned decent pants the next time,” he added under his breath.
This time, it was he who moved to descend the stairs first, and it was she who stopped him. With words.
“Why don’t you ever smile?” When he looked back, she added, “You used to smile all the time. It was one of the reasons I had that crush.”
“You looking to have another?”
“Crush on you?” She snorted. “Not quite. I can find better things to waste my time on. But you were my friend once.” Her tone softened to show the seriousness of her words. She was worried about him. “Are you okay, Carter? You used to be happy. Optimistic.” She paused before asking, “What changed you?”
“Who says I’ve changed?”
“I say you have. And not for the better. Come on, you hide away in the house, shutting out the world any time you can get away with it, and I doubt you’ve cracked a smile in years. Your frown has created permanent creases in your face.”
“It hasn’t been years.”
“How long? Four months?”
His jaw went rigid.
“What happened four months ago?” she prodded. “You’re the one who brought up that date. Clearly you want to talk about it.” Maybe that was a stretch, but she wanted to talk about it.
His gaze burned a hole through her. “My mistakenly stating a fact out loud does not mean that I hold any interest in talking about it.”
“Are you still married?” She tried another subject.
“You asking because your friend told you to?”
He was referring to the conversation he’d overheard between her and Andie, and her cheeks once again grew hot. “I’m asking because I still care about you. And you’re obviously in pain.”
“Then you can rest assured that there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
Truck doors slammed as the men climbed into the vehicle. She and Carter stayed where they were.
“The fact of the matter is, it’s none of your business,” Carter told her. He dragged his gaze down her body in an intentionally derogatory move. “Unless you’re interested in that crush . . .” His words trailed off.
“Really?” She laughed again. “That’s your response to me? Trying to intimidate me with sex. You don’t scare me, Carter, so stop being a jerk.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t leave. After a few more hard seconds of glaring, he took a step back and blew out a breath. “Stop badgering me, will you? I don’t need that shit. My mother does it enough.”
“Do you talk to her about your problems?”
“Do I look stupid? Hell, no, I don’t talk to my mother about my personal shit.”
“You need to talk to somebody.” She reached out and touched his forearm when he turned to leave again, and as his muscles jerked under her fingers, she realized that was the first time she’d touched him. The tension in his arm didn’t frighten her, though. She kept her hand on him while he remained poised for flight. “I’m here,” she said. “That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m here if you want to talk.”
He remained quiet, and not only did the muscle work in his jaw again, but his hands clenched at his sides. He looked at once angry . . . and relieved. Whatever was going on in his life, he needed an outlet.
Everyone needed someone once in a while.
“Electricity and plumbing will go in first,” he said, effectively shutting down the conversation. Then he turned and stomped to the truck.
She followed, stopping at the driver’s-side door and waiting until Gene rolled down his window. Then she pulled a card from her back pocket. “My number is on the back.” She tossed a quick glance at Gregg and Ian. “Call anytime.”
As usual, Carter scowled. Then he climbed in and slammed the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The never-ending blink of the cursor annoyed Carter the next morning as he sat at the desk he’d rigged up by his bedroom window, trying to will himself to write. He’d written one sentence.
I will not meet Ginger at sunrise.
Which had nothing whatsoever to do with the book he’d sold, and everything to do with what he’d been battling with the last three mornings.
Ever since watching the sun come up with her by his side, he’d wanted to do it again. So much that he’d been awake, showered, and dressed before sunrise each morning. He’d told himself he’d gotten up to write, but today was the first day he’d actually opened his laptop.
Instead, he’d sat by the window, watching for movement from next door. Monday he’d caught sight of her heading down the back deck steps, but yesterday there had been nothing.
This morning . . . the verdict was still out.
He squinted as a light came on in her bedroom. She was up.
Pressing his face nearer to the window so he could see between the curtains and the window frame, he silently watched. As he did, adrenaline began to pump. He let his fingers slide to his keyboard.
She wore rubber boots and shorts that barely covered her ass.
It wasn’t the story he was supposed to be writing, but it was words. He kept going.
And she watched him as if she knew the make and model number of every torture device stashed away in his closet . . .
It stunk as far as good horror writing was concerned, but again, he didn’t care. Carter continued letting his fingers work. He turned off his brain—not thinking—and typed. And he kept his gaze glued to Ginger’s window.
As expected, the light soon went out, and seconds later the back door opened. He caught his breath. He wanted to go with her. The urge to follow came with a desperation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Only, along with the desperation, something else teased at the corners of his mind. Something that frightened him. And kept him where he sat.
It also kept him typing.
The idea of meeting up with Ginger for sunrises gave him hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t sure. But it was there. Tempting him to reach for it.
And there was a part of him that wanted to reach for it. To grab it and hold tight.
Yet, there was so much anger still inside him. Anger that didn’t feel finished. And no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t see those two emotions sharing the same space.
The moment Ginger’s foot hit the dirt path behind her house, she turned back and looked up at his window. Lifting his fingers from the keyboard, he eased the lid to the laptop closed. The screen had been the only illumination in the room, so he was certain she couldn’t see him. Yet it felt as if she were staring directly into his eyes. As if she were repeating yesterday’s words.
What happened to you, Carter? You used to be happy. You used to smile.
You need to talk to somebody.
Lisa was what had happened to him.
And though he’d stormed away from Ginger the day before when she’d hammered at him about not smiling, and poked for the details about his marriage, he’d realized as he stood there that he wanted to talk to someone. To her, specifically. He’d wanted to open the pain he’d kept closed for so many months, and to tell her—to
warn her—of all the miserable ways that life could turn on you.
He’d wanted her to be as angry at the crap path his life had taken as he was.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to do that to her. She believed life could be good. That finding the “perfect man” would make everything all right. Why should he be the one to burst her bubble?
Hopes and dreams were for the birds. Relationships? The very idea was laughable.
But her house could make her happy. The way he saw it, it was the only thing that could. So he was willing to do that for her. To help her with her dream home. And he’d keep the rest of his thoughts to himself.
He continued watching until she turned away and eventually disappeared out of sight. His own house would have made him happy if he hadn’t built it with Lisa in mind. For their hopes. Their dreams.
Or, at least for his.
Who the hell knew what Lisa’s hopes and dreams were. He certainly had no idea anymore. Had she ever wanted their marriage to work? Had she ever wanted him?
How the fuck could he have been so completely wrong about everything they’d ever had?
A soft knock sounded at his door, and he looked over to find his sister standing there in a pale-blue gown down to her knees, backlit by light spilling out from the open bathroom door. Her belly seemed to be expanding every day. On her small frame, it looked painful.
“What?” The word came out more harshly than he’d intended. He straightened, shifting away from the curtain.
“I’ll be late getting in tonight.” Her gaze flickered to the window, but she wisely didn’t point out that he’d been peeking out like a crazed stalker. “There’s a benefit dinner for the gallery after we close,” she explained. “It’ll go until at least ten.”
When he didn’t immediately answer, she added softly, “You could come if you want to.”
“I don’t want to.” He flinched at the rude tone, and tried again. “No thanks.”
After their talk last week, his and Julie’s relationship had eased into a simple—but easy—routine, and he was trying not to bite her head off every time they spoke. He often failed.
