again, shortly after she arrived in town. He dropped by the lodge to see her and he said it was like talking to a brick wall.”
Though Luke knew what Ry said was probably true, it didn’t ease his reluctance in spying on the woman. “I don’t feel right doing this. Seems underhanded somehow.”
Ry nodded. “I can understand why you might feel that way. But we’re not asking you to do anything illegal. All we want is for you to make sure she’s safe, that she doesn’t want for anything.”
Luke thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He snugged on his hat and headed for the back door. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back. “I better warn you, though. I have a feelin’ if she finds out I’m spyin’ on her for y’all, she’s gonna be madder than a wet hen.”
Two
Lauren was surprised the next day when Luke arrived at seven sharp. She’d have bet the farm that he wouldn’t show up at all…and had secretly hoped he wouldn’t.
It bugged her that he’d applied for the job two days after their chance meeting on the road. Rhena kept insisting the two events were nothing but a coincidence. Since Lauren hadn’t told Luke her name, revealed her address or said anything about needing to hire a handyman, she had to believe Rhena was right.
But it still bugged her.
She frowned as she watched him climb down from his truck. It bugged her, too, that he wore his hat low over his brow, kept his gloves on all the time and buttoned his shirt up to his chin. Rhena had said his manner of dress was probably a precaution against skin cancer. Lauren thought it was more likely that he was an escaped convict who feared detection. That made more sense, considering the way her luck with men was running lately.
When he headed for the front door, obviously not having seen her, she shouted, “Over here!”
He stopped and glanced her way, then strode for the side yard. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She flapped an impatient hand at his old-fashioned manners. “Whatever.” She gestured to the lumber stacked at the side of the house. “We need to move this around to the back porch. We’ll be working there today.”
Without a word, he hefted a large stack of boards to his shoulder and carried it to the rear of the house.
Lauren picked up a sack of nails and followed. “Some of the flooring on the porch needs to be replaced. There’s a leak on the roof and the boards below have rotted.”
He set the lumber down near the sawhorses she had set out, then straightened and peered up at the roof. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to fix the roof first? If it rains, the floor’ll just get wet again.”
“Which is why you’re going up on the roof and repairing the leak, while I replace the boards on the porch.”
What she could see of his face turned a bright red. “I’ll get right on it,” he said, and started for the ladder.
Lauren felt a stab of remorse for her rudeness, but dispelled it by reminding herself that she was the boss. It was important that she establish the lines of authority early on. If she didn’t, he might try to take advantage of the fact that she was a woman.
Grabbing a crowbar, she set to work, prying up the rotted boards and tossing them into a pile to discard later. As she worked, she could hear the solid thud of Luke’s footsteps on the roof overhead and the screech of old iron as he pulled nails from the sheets of tin.
“Ms. Tanner?”
She lifted her head and wiped sweat from her brow. “What?” she asked impatiently.
“I’m going to need at least four sheets of tin to replace the damaged ones I’ve found so far. Maybe more. Do you have any on hand?”
She stifled a groan, wishing she’d thought to request tin when she placed her order with the lumberyard earlier that week. The owner charged her exorbitant delivery fees. Probably because her last name was Tanner and he assumed she could afford to pay whatever price he named. Hoping to avoid an extra delivery, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen any tin lying around.
“I think there are some extra sheets in the barn,” she called to him.
She heard the thud of his footsteps as he crossed back to the ladder, then saw his boots appear on the top rail. The ladder shook beneath his weight as he clomped down. Upon reaching the ground, he angled his body in profile to her to avoid looking at her. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll check and see if they’re in good enough condition to use.”
It irritated her that he wouldn’t look at her when he spoke to her, but it irritated her even more that she couldn’t see his face.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Look in the loft. I think that’s where I saw the tin.”
She watched him walk away, her frown deepening. His gait was long and easy, his shoulders square. And his head was up, which added another level of irritation to her already miffed mood. He could look at the barn but not at her? The man was beyond weird.
And he was big. He had to be over six feet tall, since the top of her head hit him about chin level. He had wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to a slim waist and hips. His legs were long and muscled beneath his jeans, and he had what she’d heard referred to as a cowboy butt—nicely rounded and muscled—as well. His hair—or what she could see of it beneath his ever-present cowboy hat—was a sandy brown. Other than that, she had no idea what he looked like.
Frustrated by his secretive behavior, she attacked a rotted board and pried it up, taking pleasure in the grind of nails and splintering of wood as the board snapped free. She tossed it aside and crawled along the porch until she reached the next damaged board. In spite of the earliness of the morning, it was strenuous work and sweaty, but she relished the burn of muscle, the sense of accomplishment with each finished task. And she was grateful at the end of each workday for her weariness, knowing she’d be able to sleep that night and not toss and turn, haunted by old memories and worries over her future.
A loud crash had her snapping her head up, her gaze going to the barn. Fearing that Luke had fallen out of the loft, she leaped to her feet and ran. Inside the building she stopped to stare, her chest heaving, as she struggled to catch her breath. Luke stood in the alleyway, looking down at a pile of tin, a shovel gripped between his hands like a weapon.
“What happened?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest to still her heart’s beating.
He braced the shovel against the ground and shook his head. “Rattler. Must’ve been curled up between the sheets of tin. When I pulled ’em down, he came down with ’em.”
Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she eased closer and saw the rattlesnake—or what was left of it—on the ground, and shuddered. “D-did he bite you?”
He puffed his cheeks and released a shaky breath. “No, ma’am. Wanted to, though. I heard the rattle and grabbed the shovel from the wall and whacked it before it had a chance to strike.”
She shifted her gaze to Luke and froze, noticing for the first time that his hat was missing, which offered her a clear view of the left side of his face. Crepey skin, shades lighter than the rest of his face, covered a portion of his
