Wyatt's Stand (Colebrook Siblings Trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

As she turned up her driveway and drove along the row of sugar maples lining either side, her heart filled with warmth at the sight of the grand old lady ahead of her. She was so in love with the property and wanted the house to reflect her vision once it was done. This was definitely a home to sink her heart into, and a place to put down roots in. To do that, she needed to hire some help.

Her first meeting with Wyatt hadn’t been the friendliest, but this house wasn’t fixing itself and she couldn’t do it alone. If he really was as good as people said, then maybe it was worth at least calling him to see if he was interested. And, if he took the job, maybe getting to work on it would give him some sense of peace, once he saw that she intended to take good care of it.

Or not.

Parked in front of the sagging front porch, she sat there for a long moment, gazing up at the house. It really was a crime, the way this place had been let go. Its faded, peeling and frankly ugly mud-green paint cried out for help.

Well, the truth was they
both
needed help. A simple phone call wouldn’t kill her.

Mind made up, she pulled out the business card he’d handed her and dialed Wyatt’s number, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in the pit of her belly as she waited for him to answer. As far as conversations went, this was going to rate up there with the most awkward she’d ever had, but she was at the end of her rope and finding good help for this project took precedence over her pride.

Wyatt didn’t recognize the out-of-state number calling his cell phone. For a second he thought about ignoring it, then changed his mind. His youngest brother, Easton, was due in today. Maybe he was calling from a new cell phone or something. “Hello?”

“Mr. Colebrook?”

He paused in the act of pulling the fixings for a sandwich out of the fridge, that husky feminine voice somehow familiar. “Yes.”

“This is Austen Sloan.”

He set the mayo jar down before he dropped it. “Hi.” For some reason, his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. Why was she calling him? Had she changed her mind about the house?

“I just want to say up front that I still haven’t changed my mind about selling, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Damn. At least she was candid about it. “Okay, fair enough.” He was still hoping she’d change her mind in the end though.

“I need a contractor. You’ve been recommended to me repeatedly as one of the best around. I’m hoping me owning the house won’t stop you from considering working with me on it.”

Yeah, good call on putting the mayo jar down. “You want to hire me as your general contractor?” After the way things had gone between them, she had to be pretty desperate to reach out to him on this. She had balls to call him, he’d give her that.

“I might. I’d like to set up a meeting with you about it. If you’re interested. I’d understand if it would be too uncomfortable for you, but I’m anxious to get going on this and I want it done right. From what I’ve heard, you’re a perfectionist and you won’t rip me off. Those are both pluses in my book.”

He didn’t know who she’d been talking to, but then a lot of people in the area knew him, or at least knew his family. “I’d be open to a meeting,” he said cautiously. “When did you have in mind?”

She let out a soft laugh that did something to his insides. A stirring. “How about now?”

He thought about it for a moment, even looked down at Grits, who was of course at his feet, on the off chance that Wyatt dropped something in the middle of making his lunch. Could he stomach working on the house, knowing he didn’t have a chance at owning it? And what if she wanted to do something he didn’t agree with, like rip something down he thought should stay?

“I could meet you in a couple hours.” He didn’t want to seem too eager. He had a sandwich to eat, and then he needed to get cleaned up. “One o’clock?”

“Sure, I’ll be here at the house. Does that work?”

“Yes. I’ll see you then.” He ended the call and slipped his phone back into his jeans pocket. “Have to be one hell of an offer, to get me to bite,” he said to Grits, who wagged his tail and gazed up at him adoringly.

Now he was curious as to what her plans were, and whether she could afford him and his crew. Because that project wasn’t going to be cheap, or fast. Wyatt got to work making his BLT, and “accidentally” dropped a few crumbles of bacon that Grits sucked up almost before they hit the floor.

After showering and taking care of his stump and prosthesis, he grabbed his laptop and a pad of paper before getting Grits’s harness and leash out of the closet. “Wanna go in the truck?”

Ears perking up at the word
truck
, the dog raced over, ears flying, and stood wriggling in place while Wyatt slipped on the harness. He was a sweet little fella, but had absolutely no recall and a strong hunting instinct. Wyatt had already seen the dog had a tendency to chase things. A barn cat, a bird, and even a fly that had gotten trapped in the house the other day. Grits had chased it down for the better part of thirty minutes before giving up. No way Wyatt was letting him off leash in an unfenced area.

Outside he spotted Scott, one of the wounded vets he and his dad hired to help them around the property, heading out of the barn. “Possible job offer?” Scott asked him, indicating the notepad Wyatt held as he headed over.

“Maybe.”

“In town?” He pushed his sandy brown hair out of his face.

“The old Miller place.”

He stopped. “It sold?”

“Last week.”

Scott winced. “Oh, man, I’m sorry.”

Wyatt nodded. “Big job. Would keep us all busy for a few solid months at least.”

“Well let’s hope you get it then,” he said with a grin and Wyatt was glad to see that spark of life in him. Lately Scott had seemed to be sliding back into depression, just one of the demons he wrestled with from a combination of PTSD and the brain injury he’d suffered in Afghanistan. His recent divorce hadn’t helped matters any either.

Scott had missed work a few times over the past month, something that had cost him a few jobs before Wyatt had hired him. Since Wyatt had talked to him about it he’d been steady ever since and Wyatt and his dad were glad for the help around the farm.

In the Army Scott’s MOS had been as an interior electrician, and he was damn good at electrical work, which was why Wyatt liked to hire him on building jobs. Steady work for a few months would give him and the other guys a purpose, a reason to get up each morning, and give them the satisfaction that came with putting in a solid day’s work. He owed it to them to try and get this bid.

“I’ll let you and the others know if anything comes of it,” Wyatt said, and headed for his truck with Grits trotting beside him.

It took fifteen minutes to drive to the Miller place. As he turned up the driveway, he braced himself for the inevitable wave of heartache that hit him when the house came into view.

Grabbing his stuff, he lifted Grits down from the passenger seat and walked him up to the front porch. A little cute, furry backup was a welcome icebreaker right now.

Austen appeared in the front doorway as they reached the top step, and without the anger and fear tearing at him this time, her welcoming smile hit him right in the solar plexus.

Standing there before him, she seemed to glow from some inner light source. She had on a snug T-shirt that outlined the pert curve of her breasts, and faded jeans that hugged her long, strong-looking legs, her curly hair tied back into a ponytail.

“Hi there. Who’s this?” That smile grew even wider as she crouched and reached a hand toward the dog, who stretched his head forward but didn’t go toward her, tail down, just the end of it wagging. Unsure, but craving the affection she offered.

“Grits.”

She looked up at him, those gorgeous silver eyes sending another jolt through him. He’d been so caught up in his own emotional reaction before, he hadn’t realized just how pretty she was. “Grits?”

“I know. I didn’t name him. He’s a rescue.”

Her expression melted as she looked back at the dog. “Hey, cutie. I won’t hurt you. C’mere.” She stayed absolutely still, hand held outward, palm up, her posture nonthreatening, and she didn’t stare into Grits’s eyes. Wyatt could tell a lot about a person by the way they acted around a dog, and so far, he liked what he was seeing in Austen.

He stood there watching her as she waited, and Grits took a cautious step forward, his tail rising slightly and gaining speed. The dog clearly wanted to meet her, but was still a little unsure. Her actions told Wyatt she was no stranger to dogs, and she obviously seemed to like them. More points in her favor.

“He’s still a little unsure around strangers,” Wyatt explained.

“It’s okay.” She stayed still, crooning softly to Grits for a few moments, the soothing sound of her voice stroking over Wyatt like a caress.

Grits stretched his neck out to sniff her upturned palm, then began licking it. Austen gently scratched the underside of his chin, knowing enough to not raise her hand to try and pet him on the top of the head, which would have frightened him. Three seconds after that, Grits practically climbed into her lap, his entire body wriggling, his tongue flicking like a lizard’s at any part of her he could reach.

“Oh, he’s so soft and sweet.” Austen laughed and ruffled the white fur on Grits’s chest. “So, does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Think so.” Wyatt couldn’t help but smile. In his experience, dog lovers were good people. One more mark in Austen’s favor, even if she had bought the house out from under him. Though to be fair, it wasn’t like she’d known he’d wanted it.

She raised her eyes to his, gaze warm, and stood before holding out her right hand. He noticed there was a diamond ring on her finger, but her left hand was bare. “How about we start over? I’m Austen.”

He accepted the handshake, unprepared for the shot of electricity that raced through him at the contact. “Hi. Nice to meet you again.” He’d come here with the intent of being professional, nothing more, but she was being so nice he couldn’t help wanting to be nice.

“You too.” She withdrew her hand, glanced down at Grits. “Think he’d let me hold him now? I don’t want him to step on any nails or anything sharp I’ve pulled out.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“C’mere, sweet baby,” she crooned, bending to scoop him up. Grits all but melted into her hold, and Wyatt couldn’t blame him. He felt like a jerk for the way he’d acted earlier, when she seemed like such a nice person. It wasn’t like she’d connived to steal the house from him.

He cleared his throat, feeling stiff and awkward. Apologies had never been easy for him. “Listen, I’m sorry about how I was the other day.”

She waved a hand. “I’m over it, so apology accepted.”

He blinked, somewhat surprised she hadn’t chastised him for his behavior or made him grovel a little more.

“Ready to see what I’ve got in mind?” she asked him.

“Sure.” He followed her inside, a flood of bittersweet memories hitting him at the familiar smells of the old wood and the sights around him. It made him sad to see how bad the place had gotten.

“I’d like to start with the kitchen, then do the bathrooms. That way I can at least live here while the rest is being worked on.”

He nodded, looking around. She’d taken the boards off all the windows, flooding the entry and kitchen with natural light. Judging from the pile of rubble already on the kitchen floor, she’d been busy.

Bits of mint green cabinets and speckled Formica countertop lay in heaps on the tarps she’d laid out. They’d been pretty much bombproof, so he knew what kind of muscle and time it would have taken to dismantle them. In addition to being a dog person, Austen Sloan also seemed to be a hard worker.

“I like the bones in here, so I’m not going to change anything structurally. I want to put in a small island along with the cabinets, and have a gasfitter install a line for the stove. I’m going to be doing the carpentry work myself,” she told him, stopping in the center of the half-demolished kitchen.

Light filtering through the tall windows at the back of the kitchen brought out warm brown highlights in her dark hair. Her skin looked smooth and soft. So touchable. It had been forever since Wyatt had touched a woman that way, and this one was off limits.

“Okay,” he answered, surprised and impressed that she could handle that herself. “You a carpenter?”

“Sort of. I did it on the side for years, but I was a firefighter for the past nine years.”

“I heard.”

She appeared surprised for a second, then she smiled. “Gotta love small towns. I’m still getting used to how things operate here. Way different than back in Philly.”

“Yeah.” Philly, huh? “You planning to work as a firefighter here?”

“Not sure yet. I want to get my feet under me for a while.”

He wanted to know why she’d come here in the first place but held off on asking. That was too personal and he was here to do a job, not get to know her, even if his social graces weren’t rusty. Which they definitely were. “Want to show me what else you have in mind?”

“Sure.” Carrying Grits, she took him through the entire house, giving Wyatt a general idea of her vision.

The tight band that had been squeezing his ribcage eased a little more with each room they toured, because it was obvious she cared a great deal about restoring the house and doing a good job of it. He asked dozens of questions about the materials she had in mind, what kind of finishing.

Halfway through the upstairs tour, he got a text. Reading it, he frowned, and for a moment wondered if maybe Easton was playing some kind of twisted joke on him.

I’m watching you. How does it feel to be hunted?

What the hell? Someone either had the wrong number or was playing a prank on him, and he didn’t have time for either. He was about to ignore it and put the phone back into his pocket when another message came in.

I’m going to make you pay for all the lives you’ve ruined.

At that he went dead still. Definitely not Easton. And the wording sent a chill down his spine.