Читать книгу Airman To The Rescue - Heatherly Bell - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

THREE DAYS LATER, Sarah sat in the middle of the floor in the hallway, safety glasses on, a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other. Stone had previously replaced worn, missing and loose panels in the home. She, on the other hand, had decided that she wanted brand-new cherrywood flooring throughout. Now that half of it was done and half not done, she’d need to finish the job herself. And she would make this hardwood floor her bitch. How hard could this be when Satan could do it?

“You can do this. You’re an artist. This is just a different medium,” she told herself.

This much was true at least. She had a bachelor of liberal arts from Colorado University. Because she hadn’t much wanted to starve, she’d wound up working as a forensic artist for the Fort Collins Police Department. Her work had earned her a reputation back home. She’d drawn sketches of alleged suspects worthy of an art gallery, some had said. Of course, she disagreed, but she had a higher standard than most.

Van Gogh. Monet. They were her standard.

She no longer felt satisfied or rewarded by all the hard work she’d done for the PD. No longer happy to simply collect her paycheck and call herself an artist. There was still something to be said for art that simply existed for no other reason than beauty.

But now her father’s house would suffer at the hands of an incompetent carpenter. This bothered the artist in her, but maybe her dad deserved it.

She’d read the instructions on the wood slat box. Engineer talk, all of it. Clear as mud. Sounded like they were describing how to build a ship to fly to Mars, so she ignored the stupid instructions and let common sense be her guide.

And now she was short a nail.

She fixed the last nail into a single wood slat, one little tap after another. She’d nearly bruised her lower lip by the time she was done. “There!”

At this rate she should be done in approximately six months.

Shackles came into the hallway, sniffing around her like a Hoover, as if he’d missed a crumb somewhere. When he picked up a nail, Sarah panicked. Had he already swallowed the missing one? If so, why wasn’t he lying on the ground convulsing in agony?

“Drop it! Drop it, Shackles.”

She pulled his jaw open only to be rewarded with a growl. Finally prying the nail out from between his teeth without getting bitten in the process, she carried him into the spare bedroom and shut the door. He yipped his regret from behind the closed door.

“Too late for apologies. You won’t be committing suicide on my watch.”

Turning in a circle, air coming in short desperate spurts, Sarah wondered whether she could call 911 for a dog. She finally took in a full breath when she found the missing nail sticking halfway out from under one of the floor slats. So she would now have to rip up this section and try again, but at least her dog wouldn’t die.

She had to work faster. Thankfully Gus had left some of his tools and she would be confiscating those as payment for the work not delivered. Maybe a nail gun would be the answer to going faster. Power tools. Great idea. She’d seen Satan fooling with the nail gun, and making good time with it, too. Speaking of Gus, she could no longer leave a message on his phone. Box full. Surprise. Emily had heard from one of her event planners at Fortune Ranch, her family’s business, that Gus Hinckle had indeed been arrested. Drug possession was the rumor floating around town. Suddenly the constant runny nose made sense. It was not, as he had claimed, spring allergies.

More importantly, Sarah would never see her money again. Having worked with the police department, she understood felony charges would take priority over anything else. In any case, she had neither the time nor the money to sue him. This was her hot mess, and she’d fix it.

Buying her father’s house was supposed to be about a trip down memory lane, and a time for healing. She had a chance to break from her routine life in Colorado and the job that sucked the life out of her soul. A chance to try on a new attitude in a new place. And maybe, if she could make this house her own before she had to say goodbye to it, she might be able to go back home with a renewed purpose. A new beginning. As an added bonus, she’d reconnected with her brother.

Stone had grown up with their father, and Sarah had been raised by their mother. A strange custody arrangement by anyone’s standards. Even Stone now agreed, after a difficult period of time during which he hadn’t been able to face that the man who’d been his hero had done something wrong. It wasn’t like Sarah didn’t blame her mother, too. Practically being an only child had tied Sarah to her mother in a kind of guilt bond that had lasted for years. Out here in California, she’d been free from that guilt, even if she still didn’t quite belong.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

She’d had a goal when she’d come out to Fortune that went beyond hammering out estate problems with her brother. Sarah Mcallister was going to stop being a prickly porcupine. The change hadn’t been easy so far. One big mistake—okay, several big mistakes in her teenage years—didn’t mean that she had to be a nun for the rest of her life. She was going to awaken her inner goddess because life was short, dammit, and she was going to get some.

Yeah, right.

Her doorbell rang. Probably Emily again, who dropped by once a week, with or without Stone. She had to give it to her sister-in-law to be. Emily kept trying her best to make Sarah feel welcome. She’d reached out and made friends, which Sarah appreciated. It wasn’t like Stone had thrown out the welcome mat when she’d arrived in town.

But when Sarah opened her front door, it wasn’t Emily behind it. Matt stood there in all his male glory. The midday June sunshine pooled through the doorway all around his big body, practically illuminating him. It was as if God was showing off, saying Behold some of my best work. You are welcome.

He grinned and whipped off his aviator glasses. “Hey.”

Sarah’s knees took the hit first. Then her mind followed. Blank. Why, oh why, did she lose several IQ points around the man?

“Are you going to let me in?”

“Oh.” Good idea. She should let him in. Why not? How much harm could that do? She moved aside.

He was dressed casually today, in dark jeans and a Giants T-shirt. Mr. Cool.

“How’s it going?”

“Great! I just put in some of the flooring in the hallway. There’s a little section I might have to redo.”

He raised a brow. “You’re doing this all yourself?”

“Sure. I can’t lie, it’s a little challenging, but I figured I’d work with what I have.” She followed him into the kitchen, where his gaze studied the cabinets. The doors were all missing. She cleared her throat. “I hope he ordered those. Maybe I’ll get a call from the home improvement store that they’ve come in.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” he said without an ounce of confidence in his voice. His hand smoothed over the granite countertops. “These came out well.”

“Yeah. Well. Stone’s handiwork.”

“I remember.”

Right. Matt had dropped by a lot during the week Stone had been helping her work on the house.

She blew out a breath, and her overgrown bangs flipped out of her eyes. “Matt, what are you doing here?”

“Came to check things out.”

“I thought I told you to forget about this.”

His dark gaze did a slow slide down the length of her body, and back up to meet her eyes. “And I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Listen, I’m not being stubborn here.”

He snorted. “No, of course not.”

“The fact of the matter is I would let you finish the job if I had a prayer of compensating you for your work. Properly.” In other words, not in long deep kisses and showers in the new bathroom stall she still didn’t have, but in actual money.

“I get that.”

“I’m not sure you do.”

Ignoring her, he walked toward the hallway. Sarah would have followed him, but humiliation kept her seated at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of her. No point in arguing with the man. She’d let him inspect to his heart’s content. Maybe he had a little free time today. She heard him curse when he entered the hallway, and a few more times as he went into each bedroom. Sarah didn’t respond. It didn’t take an engineer to know her remodel was in trouble.

He walked into the living room and cursed again. Probably at the windows. They were half framed. All the blinds had been removed, and Sarah was currently using sheets for privacy. She stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about the Swiss cheese roof above her. The roof would come later, if at all. She’d planned on giving the new buyers a roof allowance, like the real estate agent had suggested. Roofs were expensive.

A few minutes and several loud curses later, Matt rejoined her in the kitchen. She glanced at him briefly, then looked away when he shoved a hand through his honey-colored hair. She expected him to say I told you so or any one of a number of phrases he could have let loose with to prove he’d been right and she’d been wrong.

Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat shoulder to shoulder next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. For several minutes he didn’t speak, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at the floor.

Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “How bad?”

His answer was to curse again and shake his head.

That bad. Sarah buried her face in her hands. “I’m screwed.”

“No,” he said simply. “Not if you’re willing to listen to me.”

“I already said I’m not—”

“Would you shut up and listen?”

She pursed her lips together and made a show of locking them and throwing away the key. If he had an answer to her predicament, she could at least hear him out. As long as it didn’t involve him working for free, she could be flexible.

“I have a proposition for you.”

The way those sensual lips said proposition had her wishing he were about to say something quite different than what he was probably about to suggest. Definitely not that they should get naked and test out her new kitchen counters.

“Yes?” she squeaked out.

“I’ll do the work in exchange for being able to rent the spare bedroom from you. This way, I don’t have a landlord breathing down my back while I look for another place to live. A win-win for both of us. You’re helping me out.”

Sarah couldn’t speak for a few seconds. She’d never imagined he would suggest living here. With her. But of course, this was no big deal to him. He was not picturing accidentally running into her coming out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around her naked body the way she’d been imagining in the few seconds since he’d mentioned the idea.

“This house has one bathroom. One.”

He grinned. “I was taught to share.”

“And how long do you think it will take to finish?”

He glanced up at the ceiling, then met her eyes. “Depends on the roof. But I’m thinking a month or two.”

“That’s about all the time I have left. And I was thinking of skipping the roof anyway.”

“We’ll discuss it.” He studied her. “This could work.”

It might work, but she hated the fact Matt was rescuing her again. She’d been an independent woman her entire adult life, but since coming to California this might be the third time Matt had stepped in. Second if she didn’t count the coffee incident. When she’d first come out to California a few months ago, after getting the news her father had died, it was Matt who had understood her grief. Not Stone. Matt who had acted as peacemaker between her and Stone. Matt who had listened to her ramble on for hours. Matt who had been such a good friend to her. He was a great guy, and she wished she didn’t feel a magnetic attraction to him. Life would be simpler if they could be buddies, and if she would never want anything more than that from him.

Fat chance.

Seated next to her, far too close, he waited for her answer.

“But you’ll only get at most two months of free rent before we have to sell the house.”

“That’s probably all I’ll need.”

“That doesn’t sound like enough for all your efforts. And then there’s the materials. The cabinets.” She sighed, not wanting to go on with the rest of the list and hear him curse again.

“I’ve got connections, and I can find a lot of the materials I’ll need for less money.”

“No.”

“Ah, hell, Sarah. Now you’re pissing me off.”

She smiled, stupid with the satisfaction she could make him feel anything at all. “But I have a counter proposition.”

He scowled. “Let’s hear it.”

She shifted her focus away from him and those piercing eyes to stare at her hands again. “I think you should be a partner with me in this. When I sell the house, I’ll give you a percentage of the profits I make.”

He studied her. “That sound fair to you?”

“It’s the only way I’ll do this.”

“You’ve already put too much into this house. Bought Stone out of his half.”

“And because of insane valley prices, the house has already appreciated in value since I did.”

“I could only take five percent at the most. And that’s after all your expenses.”

That didn’t seem fair, considering all he’d have to put into this. “I’m thinking twenty percent.”

He grimaced. “How about ten percent?”

“Fifteen percent, and that’s my final offer!”

The chair squeaked across the tile kitchen floor as Matt stood. “You drive a hard bargain. Backward. Fifteen percent, you stubborn woman.”

Sarah stood and followed him to the front door. “I’ll clear out one of the bedrooms so you can move in.”

“Leave that for me. I’ll be by day after tomorrow.” He shoved his aviator glasses back on.

And then he was out the door, leaving her to wonder how she’d ever get through the next two months without jumping Matt Conner’s bones.