“Or hurt her so she doesn’t want to see us or make her cocktails. I’m getting good at poker, too,” Sydney said.
Fuming, he glared at his family and friends, who were supposed to have his back. The only one who didn’t seem to speak was Cal. He just studied Dalton’s face thoughtfully, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Unbelievable. They still treated him like the big bad fucking wolf, ready to eat poor Little Red Riding Hood. Well, his Red could kick his ass just like she had the gunman’s. If he tried to tell them she was holding all the power in this relationship, they wouldn’t believe him.
“Thanks for looking out for me, but I got this. I won’t ruin your poker or cocktails or break her heart. Okay? If anyone needs me, I’ll be out at the Sullivans’, building their new deck. Oh, and your snakewood came in, Morgan. I dropped it off at the house. Tristan, I took care of the supplier in Vermont. And here’s the bill for My Place, Sydney. I put it on monthly installments.” He thrust the papers into her hand, ignoring her guilty look. “Guess that’s it for the screwup.”
“Dalton—”
“Don’t go—”
“Hey, dude—”
He walked out of the office and didn’t look back.
He needed some damn air.
Dalton drove out to the Sullivans’ place, looking forward to losing himself in his work. The colonial was bright yellow, with pretty white shutters and a small, manicured front yard. The older couple had saved for a while to finally install a deck, and Dalton was going to make sure the wait was worth it. The old screened porch had been badly constructed and was leaking air, so he’d ripped it down and was now replacing it with a half-covered open deck with benches. He’d decided to use Trex for the floor for easy maintenance, but the rest of the structure was a gorgeous cedar, one of his favorite materials for a deck.
He walked up the curved stone pathway toward the back. The job was halfway done, and he intended to spend next week finishing it up so the couple would be able to enjoy the deck for the rest of the summer. Art Sullivan raised a hand to him, riding on his mower, motioning at him to make himself at home.
Dalton walked the area, donning his safety gear while he powered up his band saw. Then jumped back.
“Hi.” The woman stood a few feet from him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No problem, I didn’t see you.” He frowned. The Sullivans had no children, so he wasn’t sure what this woman was doing in their yard. “Can I help you?”
She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes. Her hair was long and straight, and held streaks of cedar and honeycomb timber colors. She was on the short side, with killer curves and huge hazel eyes. Dressed in white shorts and a pink T-shirt that declared JUICY, she could’ve easily been eighteen. “No, I’m Charlie. I’m Art’s niece. I’m staying here for a bit while I look for my own place. I just moved here.”
“Oh, welcome to Harrington. Are you trying to stay in the dorms or closer to the campus?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and grinned. “I’m done with college. Graduated a few years ago. I know, I look like I’m barely legal, right?”
“Sorry, you do look young.”
“I get carded all the time. Everyone says I’ll be happy twenty years from now, but it’s a bit embarrassing when I’m looking for a job that requires leadership.”
He grinned back. “I bet. What do you do?”
She jerked her head toward the deck. “That.”
Dalton frowned. “Build decks?”
“Rehab. I’m an addict. Not the drugs, just construction. Kind of like that show on HGTV, actually. I like to tear down houses, or parts of houses, and rebuild them on a strict budget. I’m a bit of a miser, so I like to save lots of money. Another characteristic that’s not too much fun. Umm, there I go again, telling my life story to a stranger ’cause I’m desperate for company.”
“No, that’s amazing. So how come you’re not doing this deck?”
She motioned to her uncle on the mower. “I don’t mix family with work. They’ve been supportive, but Uncle Art still can’t wrap his head around the fact his only niece used to reject Barbies for a hammer and nails. It’s better this way. I need to work on my résumé.”
“Have you found a job yet?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Thinking of taking on some projects myself and trying to build a name.”
He scratched his head, his thoughts whirling. “I work for Pierce Brothers. Why don’t you stop by the office and fill out an application? Tell Sydney I sent you. We’d probably only offer part-time to start.”
Her face brightened, and he was struck again by the blast of animation from her figure. Almost like she was filled with light, and it poured out of her. Now where had that analogy come from? “Okay, I’m going to try real hard not to freak out with excitement or you will think I’m in high school. I appreciate it. I’ll bring over my portfolio.”