“I object to wasting time and money.”
Maybe. But Buchanons had plenty. Maybe the money comment was a smoke screen. “Will I have your cooperation?”
“You will, but I don’t know anything that’s not in the police reports.”
Her lips curved again in a humorless smile.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
* * *
Sawyer squinted at the woman sitting on his couch and rubbed a hand over the discombobulated feeling in his chest while mulling the previous ten minutes.
Jade Warren, for some reason, had decided not to like him, and he tried to understand why. When he’d seemed surprised at seeing her standing on his itty-bitty porch, she’d jumped to immediate conclusions and practically accused him of misogyny.
He bit back a grin. Sawyer Buchanon was anything but a woman hater.
Granted, he’d been surprised at the investigator’s gender considering her profession, but he certainly didn’t object. Just as he didn’t object to women in the construction business.
Take Clare Hammond, for instance. A great trim carpenter, she beat him to the job every morning. Like today, while he’d still been slouching around the town house, Clare had dropped by to return a set of miter clamps he’d inadvertently left behind. She’d been on the job since six. What a work ethic! And she was easy on the eyes, too.
Sawyer also knew Clare took flack at times for being a woman in what was traditionally a man’s world, and being pretty was not to her advantage on a construction crew. She had to work hard to prove she was as good at her job as the men. Even then, some crews frowned on having a female on the job site.
But not Buchanon Built Construction Company. When Dad said equal-opportunity employer, he meant it. If a woman could do the job, do it well in a timely fashion and take the inevitable joking that happened on every crew, she was hired. Dad was no dummy. All he had to do was look around at his own family. The Buchanon women were as strong and independent as they came, and Sawyer respected those traits, just as he respected all women.
He also adored them. A woman like Clare who could work him into the ground fascinated him. Women were, in his view, the most blessed gender. They made the world a happier, prettier, kinder place.
So if he had to hang out with someone prying into his life, he’d rather have the vulnerable-looking blonde with the bee-stung mouth than some trench-coat-wearing, smoke-scented gumshoe with an attitude.
Not that Miss Jade Warren didn’t have an attitude. She did. A very cold attitude that said she suspected him of something heinous, like sinking the Titanic single-handedly.
She sat on the edge of his sofa, as straight and stiff as a planed two-by-four, hand poised over a notebook. Not a cell phone as he would have used for notes. An old-fashioned notebook.
Except for the clipped tone and suspicious gray eyes that seemed to take in every element in his living room, Little Miss Magnum PI looked too soft and small to investigate anything. Maybe that was her strategy to fool the guilty.
If Sawyer was guilty of anything, she’d have had him in handcuffs by now. Her long eyelashes, mysterious and dark against pale cheeks, captivated his attention.
She flicked a glance up at him. His breath stuttered and a moth took flight in his midsection.
Whoa. Weird. Nice weird but still weird. He liked women but he could normally maintain coherent thought in their presence.
Jade Warren was different.
There was no good reason in the world for him to be attracted to her. She was too cold, too tight-lipped, too suspicious. But interest bubbled up anyway.
A mouth like hers was made to smile, and he wondered what it would take to make her laugh.
Not that he saw that happening in the next five minutes. Talk about chilly—and yet somebody needed to remind the woman of the outside temperature. Texas in summer scorched, but here she was in a nifty black business suit, tucked in and buttoned up as if she dared anyone to notice she was female.
Sorry to burst your bubble, lady. Even in long pants and sensible shoes—also black—you are all woman. Above the white button-down blouse was a pair of fascinating gray eyes. The color of his couch. Smoke and mystery.
Sawyer took a stinging gulp of Coke, letting the burn brand some sense into him. At the Huckleberry Addition, he had a massive built-in china hutch waiting for his hammer and expertise. He couldn’t sit here and contemplate the novelty of a female private investigator who’d managed to both insult and interest him. Maybe more than interest him.
He glanced at his watch. “Ask me whatever you need to. But talk fast. I have to meet my brother at the building supply center in thirty minutes.”
“We have a lot to discuss. I need more time with you than that.”
He tilted his head. “Time’s an important commodity for me, too.”
“When can we meet again?”
Sawyer couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Are you asking me out?”
She glared icicles at him. The temperature in the room fell ten degrees. No wonder she wore a black suit. The chill emanating from her could cause frostbite.
Sawyer rubbed his bare arms and fought back a grimace. Prickly little woman, this PI. Pretty and prickly.
“Mr. Buchanon—”
“Sawyer.” He held up a hand. “Before you pounce, I apologize. Joking around is my style.”
“Not mine.”
Sawyer bit back a sigh.
Well, wasn’t she more fun than a dental drill? Maybe Dad should have hired a smoke-scented gumshoe after all.
The Gabriel’s Crossing Building and Supply Company spanned a full block and was one of Sawyer’s favorite places to shop, if you called buying boards and nails shopping.
Employees knew him by name and catered to his needs as a trim carpenter specializing in beautiful cabinetry and other built-ins. To top it all off, the coffee and popcorn were free.
He stood next to the fragrant machines, munching hot, salty corn while waiting for Dawson. His twin had hit the neighborhood pool early this morning while Sawyer ran five miles around the golf course, their usual routine. Sawyer ran. Dawson swam. He’d not bothered to inform the know-it-all investigator of this fact. That she hadn’t headed over to Dawson’s condo was a good sign that she already knew their daily routines, an unsettling thought. Though he had nothing to hide, he wasn’t wild about the idea of someone knowing his every move. Invasive. Like Big Brother or something.
“Sawyer, good morning. May I help you?”
A dark-haired woman in
