Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash (18 page)

A lot of boxes too. She tilted her head, counting. Looked to be enough for the entire roof which would be freaking wonderful. Of course, she was still very, very cross. She flounced back to bed, surprised to discover the sound of a man working on her roof was quite comforting, a bit like a lullaby. She was even able to fall back to sleep.

The next time she woke, she stretched, totally refreshed.

She dressed carefully, even swiped on some coral lipstick. Walked across the yard, not looking once at the roof. Gave Peanut his morning kiss and led him over to the grass. The rat-tatting stopped for a moment, but not long.

She peeked up but Burke wasn’t looking, and it was obvious he’d already made considerable progress. He appeared to be doing the entire roof, hauling off old shingles and replacing with new tile. A shiny aluminum ladder was propped against the side of the trailer, as though her wooden one wasn’t good enough.

She sniffed but it was hard to show how huffy she was when he wasn’t even looking. She stuck her nose in the air and flounced inside. Made a pot of tea and wandered restlessly around the small trailer. Unfortunately, the sun was now beating down, and the kitchen was airless.

She retreated to the swing with her tea and fancy phone. Called Emily and received a cheery message.

“Come home and see our new roof,” Jenna said, trying to sound equally upbeat, but it was early Sunday morning and where was Em? “No more leaks,” she added. “Good luck applying for the scholarship. You can do it. Love you.”

She cut the connection and wandered back into the kitchen. Sounded as though Burke was working on the left corner, closest to the kennel. He hadn’t yet taken a break. Maybe he had a thermos up there, but he wasn’t stopping to drink, not long anyway.

Perhaps she should offer him a coffee, or at least water, but he’d been such a prick yesterday. Certain that he knew best. Not earlier in the day though; he’d actually been a good sport earlier. And now it sounded like he was fueled by demons.

She sighed, trying to fan her anger, but she’d never been able to hold a grudge. He definitely had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, winding himself in knots at her little burn. Frances said the Center doors were now marked ‘entrance’ and ‘exit’, and the staff room had been equipped with a new beverage machine, one of those fancy models that made anything one desired.

Kathryn would probably like a machine like that. Jenna scowled and dumped the rest of the tea in the sink.

The hammering stopped. Silence. Something splashed, then a trickling. Good grief. Was he pissing on her roof? She tiptoed down the hall until he was directly above her. It definitely sounded like something dripped.

Maybe the coward was afraid to come down. She certainly wasn’t letting him use her bathroom. No way. Not after yesterday. But he could at least have the decency to climb down and go in the woods. Her roof leaked, for heaven’s sake.

She huffed but her curiosity was overpowering. She wheeled and headed for the door. Had to go outside anyway; after all, it was time to clean Peanut’s kennel. She grabbed the binoculars on the way out.

The pounding didn’t slow even when she rattled open the kennel door and yanked the wheelbarrow inside. He was definitely intent on his job, which was the proper thing, considering all she’d endured at the steeplechase.

Out of habit she grabbed a pitchfork but edged to the only window in the kennel. The glass was old and distorted but if she pressed her eye against it, she could see Burke’s back. Beige T-shirt with long sleeves. He must be roasting.

Oh, my…it wasn’t a shirt.

She hastily wiped a corner of the dusty window with her finger and pressed the binoculars against the glass. Blew out a slow sigh of appreciation. He was bare-chested and those arms she’d noticed earlier weren’t the only thing big. He was magnificent and definitely qualified for any beefcake calendar.

She refocused the glasses, moving lower. A smattering of dark hair led into the waistband of his jeans.

Jesus. What was she doing? She dropped the binoculars. If someone spied on her like this, she’d be furious. On the other hand, it was her land, her house, her roof. She hadn’t told him to remove his shirt. And he was sort of her employee. People always watched their employees. Certainly Burke did.

She dragged a bale of straw to the window and made herself comfortable. Picked up the glasses and supervised, determined to keep her attention on the roof.

He was doing a good job, only about a quarter of the way through but it was excellent progress. Would he leave at noon and come back tomorrow? It would be horrible if he pulled off all her tiles and then didn’t come back until next Sunday. Or didn’t come back at all.

He climbed down, his back glistening in the sun. Maybe leaving now? No. His muscles rippled as he hoisted a box of tiles over his shoulder and climbed back up the ladder.

Good. He should keep working. He was really sweating though. Maybe she should take him a towel, even though the sheen on those ridged muscles was wildly attractive. He scooped up a bottle of water. His throat rippled as he took a long swig then raised it over his head and dumped.

Ah, so that explained the splashing noise. Maybe he’d like a big jug of water, even some ice. Heat stroke could be so dangerous. Her mother had always worried, rushing to deliver her dad a chilled beer even after an eye-blackening fight.
Wimpy Mom had never stayed mad either
.

She blew out an agonized sigh and sank back into the straw.

***

Burke cursed as he hit his thumb, readjusted the hammer and drove in another nail. Damn, it was hot. He swiped his forehead with his arm and opened the last bottle of water.

He’d have to make a run back to his house, grab a sandwich and something more to drink. He was sweating buckets, but this kind of work was always therapeutic, doubly so since it was
her
roof.

He could hear movement in the hall beneath him. The screen door slammed and he paused, praying this time she’d speak, even if it was just to call him an asshole.

“Hey, Burke.”

He dropped his hammer, almost tripping as he rushed to the side of the roof.

“Do you want some water or lemonade?”

“Yeah.” His voice croaked with relief. Finally. She was speaking.

“Well, which one?” She tilted her head, eyes flashing with impatience.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll come down.”

“No!” she said. “Stay there.”

“Okay.” He sank meekly to his knees, watching as she wheeled around the corner. Her denim shorts almost reached her knees, her faded blue T-shirt was two sizes too big, and if she was trying not to be sexy, it wasn’t working.

She returned with a pitcher of clinking ice and lemonade, and a plastic cup. Passed it up to him without a word.

“Thank you,” he said.

She wordlessly began to climb down.

“Wait,” he said.

She lifted a haughty eyebrow but paused on the ladder.

“The cup will blow away. Wait a sec and I’ll give it back.” He took his time drinking then quickly refilled his cup, studying her face. In situations like this, it was always important to get the woman talking, but he didn’t have a clue what to say.

‘Sorry’ wouldn’t work. She’d look wounded and stalk off, and they’d both feel like shit all over again. Christ, he hated her wounded look.

“There will probably be some tiles left,” he said, scrambling to fill the silence. “Maybe enough to do Peanut’s kennel.”

“Really?” Interest flashed across her face then her expression shuttered. “That’d be nice.”

“I’ll do it next Sunday.”

“This roof looks good,” she said grudgingly.

He poured himself another lemonade, wondering where the hell he was going to put it. There was no way she’d let him use her bathroom, and anyway he didn’t deserve it.

“The raises are going through this week,” he said, trying to hide his desperation. The accountants were going to scream and he didn’t give a rat’s ass.

She nodded thoughtfully. “I imagine they’re retroactive.”

“Yes…of course.” He paused and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Ah, when did you imagine they’d be retroactive to?”

She tilted her heat thoughtfully. “Back to the sale date, of course.”

“Yes. That’s what I thought.” He stared blankly at his full glass. “Was there anything else we should talk about?”

“I think Frances deserves a raise,” Jenna said. “Even though she doesn’t have much education, she’s been trying. Even doing a lot more typing.”

“Yes. I was thinking that myself.” He cleared his throat. “Five percent, I thought?”

“Should be ten.”

He nodded. Would have gone fifteen but Jenna was having fun and deserved to turn his screws. He drained a fourth glass, almost bursting his bladder. “I wonder if I could use your bathroom?” he asked meekly.

“All right,” she said.

***

Jenna parked Burke’s Audi after a drive to town and swept back into the trailer, carrying a bag of antibiotics for Peanut. It had been rather fortuitous Colin had driven her home last night and lingered to check the pony. ‘Low-grade skin infection,’ he’d said. ‘Drop by and pick up some antibiotics. And use that light therapy at Three Brooks. It works wonders for this type of thing.’

Kind, gentle Colin. Seemed she always pushed the good ones away. She stumbled on the bottom of the step but straightened her thoughts and peered up at the roof.

Burke had materialized at the far corner, scanning his big car, obviously checking for damage. The Audi had been a dream to drive, so loaded the dashboard resembled a small airplane, unlike the simplicity of her battered Neon.

She stepped back a few feet, tilting her head so she could watch his reaction. “Thanks for letting me borrow your car. I haven’t been able to drive my standard yet,” she waved her wrapped hand just in case he needed a reminder, “but it feels a lot like my Neon. My car takes the bumps a little bit better though. I’ll let you drive it sometime. Maybe we should trade for the week.”

His eyes flared with panic and the thought of him squeezed into her underpowered rust bucket made her grin. He hadn’t said much when she’d delivered a peanut butter and jam sandwich on dry whole wheat bread. Only nodded when she’d stated that the chicken coop needed a roof too, and he had wordlessly tossed down his keys when she’d mentioned a standard shift was hard to handle with one hand. He hadn’t even complained about the blaring country music.

But a car swap for an entire week would require some heavy guilt.

She swept into the bathroom, hesitating over her makeup bag. He’d worked tirelessly for her today and seemed to be trying to apologize the only way he knew. But he’d been so dogmatic yesterday, always thinking he knew best. She hated bullies.

He was coming down. She could hear his tread on the roof, then the jangle of the ladder. She resolutely grabbed her makeup.

Two minutes later, she returned to the kitchen and pushed open the screen door. He stood on the porch, mopping his face with his balled up shirt, muscles bunching as he dragged it across his forehead. Her dad had never worked a fraction as hard.

She paused, trying to gather her resentment but it had drained away with the day.

“I’ll do Peanut’s roof on the next nice evening,” he said, “then the chicken coop.” His dark eyes swept over her, widening as he noticed her bruised arm.

She immediately regretted her decision. He looked so appalled, and now she was taking this thing too far. “This bruise isn’t from yesterday,” she said quickly. She dropped on the swing, unbalanced by his stricken gaze.

The porch creaked beneath the tread of his work boots, and he lowered himself beside her.

“Really, it’s not from yesterday,” she repeated. “You didn’t grab me that hard. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you think that.” She glanced up and spotted the amused twitch of his lip.

“Oh, good. You already knew.” She blew out a sigh of relief. He carried his guilt much too heavily, and she already regretted applying the dark makeup to her arm. “How did you know?”

“I grabbed you by the left arm,” he said. “That bruise is on the right. Makeup?”

She nodded ruefully.

“So are we about even now?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned over, tilting her face with a finger. His mouth dipped, surprising her with a kiss, a kiss so tender she moved her lips, searching, wondering if they were even touching. The sweetest, nicest kiss, a kiss of apology that made her heart dance.

Her left arm lifted, drifting over that damp, rippled chest, exploring what she had admired all day. He was slick and hard and controlled, and she slid her hand around the back of his neck, feeling his hair damp against her fingers.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she automatically tilted, her nipples hypersensitive against the fabric of her shirt. His kiss deepened, turning hungry, and she pressed against him, wanting to get closer to that sweaty body.

He pulled back with a frustrated groan and dragged his mouth over her cheek, the cords in his neck taut. “I need a shower, Jenna. But come home with me. Please.”

“I need to catch Peanut first.”

“I’ll look after the pony. Just get in the car.”

“Yes but Peanut is hard to—”

“Just get in the car, sweetheart.”

He was being bossy again but in a nice way, so she let him tug her to the car. He turned on the air conditioning and tossed his crumpled shirt in the back. “I’ll be one minute, max,” he said, his voice gruff.

But she knew he’d be much longer than one minute, and he really should learn to listen to her. She sighed as her shirtless hunk of a man rushed toward Peanut.

The pony pricked his ears, watching with curious eyes. He looked more energetic after the oxygen and light therapy, almost mischievous. His tail swished and he sniffed the air, hopeful for carrots.

Burke reached out to grab Peanut’s halter, his forearm as thick as the pony’s leg, but Peanut whirled at the last second. Trotted deeper into the grass, tail lifting, in no hurry to leave his grazing.