The Carpenter's Daughter (10 page)

Pretty sure Jesse noticed.

“Jesse, it’s so good to have you back again.” Middle-aged Under Armour–cap lady approached him near the end of the workday.

I kept myself busy double-checking the level and plumb lines of all of the walls. Corners needed to be tight, and straight lines were an absolute must. Skip it, and the homeowners would hate us when the drywall started separating at the junctures. It was important. Plus, I didn’t have to figure out this unsettled, anxious feeling I had going in my gut if I didn’t watch him interact with the other women on the job.

“Good to be back, as always.”

Tune him out.
It was a private conversation anyway.

“Where are you staying?”

“Over at the Super 8.”

Me too. What were the odds? Well, fifty-fifty, since there was only one other hotel in town.

“Oh no.” She touched his shoulder.

I only knew because I caught a glimpse of them when I moved on to check a different section of wall. Not because I was watching.

“I can’t let you live there for a week. Cameron is gone for the summer. He’s working at camp again. You can stay with us.”

Jesse chuckled, and his eyes wandered over to Laine, who was sweeping the foundation near the front of the project. I thought he blushed, but I wasn’t sure. Because I wasn’t watching.

“Thank you, Shari, but I’m already set up there.”

“Jesse. I can’t have it. You do so much for others—you shouldn’t endure a lumpy bed every night.”

“Really, the bed’s not lumpy. It’s cozy. Honest.”

He didn’t give. This was an interesting development. But why did he keep glancing toward the suntanned beauty, with pink stained across his cheeks? I turned away.

“Okay, but I don’t like it.” The woman sighed. “In fact, I’m going to have to insist you let me feed you tonight so I feel better about it.”

Without looking, I felt his eyes on me.

“I’d planned on eating with some of the crew tonight, Shari. I’m sorry.”

Was that a reference to me?

“Bring them all. We’ll do a backyard barbecue.”

Silence.
Please say no.

“You got it.”

Before I could summon some sense, I glanced backward. He stared right at me. Jesse held me with a look I didn’t understand, and I silently begged him not to drag me into this arrangement.

He returned his attention to Shari. “There’ll be at least two of us, maybe three.”

Mack and me. Which of us was the assumed second, and who was the tentative third?

I should have listened to my dad. I should have stayed home.

Jesse

I smelled a setup. They always had the same aroma. Usually the same pattern too. It began with a mom, well meaning and generally pleasant, inviting me over. Without mentioning that her available daughter would be in attendance.

Shari surprised me with this one. Barely a year gone by. I was sure Laine needed more time. Plus, if I’d wanted a date, I’d have asked all on my own. Surely Shari knew I didn’t need any arrangements, nor did her daughter.

Perhaps she’d misunderstood the relationship that had developed between Laine and me last year. Laine didn’t see me as a potential replacement for her snake of an ex-fiancé. We were friends—good friends—but just friends. I listened while she worked through some of the mess the guy had left her in, knowing without a doubt that she needed an outside ear and an honest guy’s encouragement. She’d never hinted romantic interest. I was sure I hadn’t either. Not last summer. Not today.

I finished loading my tote of tools in the bed of my truck. Most of the workers had been driven home by rumbling stomachs, Shari and Laine included. Only Alex the resident comedian, Mack, and Sarah remained, all standing in a loose circle near the newly raised stud walls. Fixing a smile, I set my stride in their direction.

Sarah caught my eye and stepped away.

My shoulders drooped. She’d misunderstood. I’d caught her glancing toward me while I talked with Shari. No way she didn’t hear our conversation. And she’d also seen me watching Laine. What must she think?

“Sapphira.” I caught her attention before she scurried off the job site.

Having no choice, she stopped, but she hesitated before she turned back.

“Hungry?” I grinned, hoping she’d not jumped to some natural conclusions.

She shrugged.

Not an encouraging response. I plunged ahead anyway, addressing the group. “Shari Fulton asked the crew over for a barbecue tonight. Y’all are coming, right?”

“Home-cooked food?” Mack licked his lips. “I’m in.”

“Sorry, Jess,” Alex said. “My wife probably has dinner on the table. I’d better get to it.” He shook Mack’s hand, then mine, and started away with a wave. “It’s nice to meet you, carpenter-girl. See you tomorrow.”

That left only Sarah unaccounted for.

Please come.
I didn’t want to untangle all the reasons I desperately wanted her there. She needed a friend—that was reason enough. I settled my hands on my hips and managed half a grin. “Well, carpenter-girl?”

That shy, scared look that I’d first seen in her eyes returned. “I promised my dad I’d look over some drawings before I got back,” she said. “I think I should work on that tonight.”

“The drawings will be there when we get done. Gotta eat, right?”

Mack chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder. He spoke under his breath, moving toward his truck as he did. “You’ve got a thing for challenges, don’t you, Chapman?”

I eyed him, but he already had his back to me. “See ya, old man.”

Not stopping, he laughed again. But he’d let it go at that. Mack was an old tease, but he wasn’t unkind. He probably didn’t get what I was after with Sarah, but he wouldn’t interfere.

Sarah didn’t move, but her eyes traveled to her truck. Planning an escape.

“Come on, Sapphira.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked toward her. “Shari’s planning on you.”

She looked to the frame of the house, to the trees near the property’s edge, to the dirt near her feet. Anywhere but at me.

“No more hiding on roofs.” I stopped right next to her. “They’re just people, is all.”

More silence.

“Look, you can walk over with me. You won’t be alone.”

Thoughts whirled in her head—I could see their movement in her cautious eyes. But I couldn’t hear them, which stirred desperation in my gut.
Talk to me.

With a tiny tilt of her chin, she turned her face to mine. “Why do you want me there?”

A loaded question, one that had too many answers. “Because I don’t think you should lock yourself away. Most people are nice, if you’d quit hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.”

I snorted. “Where’d I meet you again?”

She blushed, but a hint of a smile tipped her mouth.

“Come on.” I grabbed her shoulder and gave her a playful shake. “One meal. What do you have to lose?”

Her blue eyes settled on mine, and I heard her silent response through her vulnerable expression.
You have no idea.

Perhaps she was right. I was always a popular kid, and I liked being around people. But Sarah… I saw a wound in that deep, aching look. Resolution cemented in my heart, and with it, purpose defined what I was pursuing when it came to Sarah Sharpe. I needed to know where that wound came from. More important, I wanted to see it healed.

“They’re nice people—I promise.” My hand still rested on her shoulder, and I squeezed. “If you hate it, we’ll leave.”

She pulled in air as if she were drawing in courage. “Okay. But I need a shower first.”

Victory. “Done. Which hotel?”

“Super 8.”

“Perfect. Me too.”

Sarah

Why did I keep allowing him to talk me into things beyond my comfort? Dinner with a bunch of strangers—at their house? And with their attractive daughter, who apparently had something simmering with Jesse?

That shouldn’t have surprised me. I knew he wouldn’t have an interest in me. Not like that. Laine, beautiful, blond, outgoing Laine fit the Jesse profile.

Why had he invited me? That was weird. And annoying, actually.

I tried to suppress the panic clawing in my chest as we neared the Fultons’ home.

They’re just people.

Yeah, people who didn’t know me, or my dad, or anything about our life. Pretty people whose parents stayed together, whose mother actually wanted to be a mother, and who hadn’t managed to reach adulthood without a clue as to who they were.

“Here we are.” Jesse slowed his pace and gestured to a property hidden behind two giant cottonwoods. “Ready?”

Um, no.

Apparently that wasn’t a real question. He turned up the drive without hesitating. The Fultons’ house emerged into view—a vintage Victorian, the type called a “painted lady.” The majority of the structure had been painted a mossy green, the trim a burnt orange, and the detail work had been highlighted in a buttery yellow. A wide covered front porch extended the length of one side of the house and wrapped around the back. On the opposite side, a gazebo rounded out the corner, topped with a windowpaned turret.

I stopped to examine the handiwork. The design was complicated and yet functional.

Jesse stopped behind me. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

I assumed he was studying the house, so I risked a glance at him. He stared at me
.
Warmth spread over my face, and air stuck in my lungs.
Breathe.

That was silly.
The house, butch-girl. Not you.

I cleared my throat. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore. Not around here anyway.”

Jesse nodded, his gaze still locked on me. “Architecture like that is rare anywhere these days. That’s what happens when you place quantity over quality. We lose the charm that comes with artistry.”

A well-noted truth. Odd, though, that he thought so. Charm and artistry were unaffordable luxuries for his projects.

“Life sometimes demands simplicity,” he continued. “I’m not saying a minimalist approach is wrong. But you know what kills me?”

I expected him to rattle away, answering his question without a breath. He didn’t. He waited until I turned my eyes up to his.

“I hate it when they bulldoze the old gems. It’s like people can’t see the beauty waiting underneath the surface. Some of the best builds from years past end up as rubble because people are only looking at the mess left by neglect.”

I froze as his eyes held mine. He spoke in layers. We were talking about houses, but somehow it seemed that he saw me the same way—that he wasn’t talking only about houses. That flustered me. Was I a mess resulting from neglect?

I didn’t want Jesse to see me as some kind of reconstruction project. While uncertain as to what I wanted from him, whatever it was, I wanted it to be sincere. Was it too much to ask that a person sees me as I was, whatever that may be, and was okay with what he found?

That was a trick question, because I wasn’t okay with it. I didn’t want to be some guy’s project, but I didn’t want to stay the same either. Feeling lost was awful. But feeling like a task on Jesse’s make-him-a-saint checklist was degrading.

I moved toward the house again. When Jesse set his stride beside mine, I drifted toward the lawn on my right, intentionally widening the space between us.

“You okay, Sapphira?”

“Fine.” I looped my thumbs in my jeans pockets. “Why?”

“I think irritation just passed over your face.” He closed the gap I’d pried open. “Did I say something?”

“Nope.” I drifted farther away.

We encountered the porch, and I set a foot on the first of three steps, when he tugged on my elbow. “You’re a tough read, carpenter-girl.” The corners of his eyes crinkled, but some kind of concern undergirded his grin. “How about you tell me why you’re tucking your head inside your shell again?”

Now I was a turtle? “I’m not.”

One disbelieving laugh escaped from his lips, and he stared at me for two more breaths. “Okay, but if I catch you on the roof, we’ll take a crowbar to this.”

Yep. I was his new project. And here I’d thought I’d actually found a friend.

Mrs. Fulton poked her head out of the glass-paned front door, drawing Jesse’s attention.

“Hey, you guys, come on in.” She waved us to the house. “Mack beat you here. We’re all in the backyard, and the burgers are ready.”

With a smile, Jesse nodded and then moved his gaze back to me. “Deep breath, kid. You’ll have fun. I promise.”

Promise, shmomise. He hardly knew me. Didn’t know that I’d really only conversed with a handful of women in my whole life. Didn’t know that standing next to the blond beauty waiting in the backyard was going to make me feel like that awkward girl on
Saturday Night Live
who had a thing for smelling her own sweat.

Didn’t know that right now I felt like hyperventilating and puking at the same time.

His hand touched my elbow and gave it a little wiggle. My feet moved forward, following him even though instinct said to turn around.

Our walk through the house was brief, but as I glimpsed the hand-hewn trim, the paneled ceilings, and the custom French double doors, I tried to escape into architectural appreciation. Because I was on safe ground there. It didn’t work. Our trek through the livable artwork lasted less than a minute, and then we passed through the back door and were dumped into the midst of the waiting group.

“Hey, Chapman.” Mack’s gravelly voice chuckled. “I see you were successful.”

With a sideways glance, I saw Jesse raise a challenging brow.

“It was a good day all around.” He shook his head once and held Mack’s stare a mite long.

A project, and also a bet. I was worse than an abandoned house.

No more Homes For Hope for me. This whole deal shifted from
good for me
to total humiliation. Worse than dealing with Ed the Ego Man up in Valentine. What was Jesse thinking? My appreciation for this quirky, all-too-good man diminished.

I looked away, thinking back to the two meals I’d eaten with him. He’d seemed so genuine, so happy, and peculiarly kind. Now…now he seemed cruel. The paradox made me dizzy, and suddenly my head hurt.

“Hey, Jess.” The blond beauty floated through the back door of the house and straight to his side. She’d showered and fixed her hair so that the glossy, honey-golden strands ran in waves down her back. Her perfect complexion glowed, and I wondered if there wasn’t some kind of glitter in whatever she must have smeared over her skin. Black eye makeup drew attention to her pale-blue eyes, which she zeroed in on him. “Glad you came.”

He turned his attention to her and smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Of course he wouldn’t. What guy would want to miss the willing attentions of this young, make-me-feel-like-a-brute beauty? I stepped away, not sure where I was headed, but not willing to stand there feeling like the contrast character in a predictable play.

“Laine, did you meet Sarah?”

Was it rude to keep walking away when you heard your name connected to an introduction? Probably. I stopped, swallowed a sigh, and slowly forced myself to turn back to them.

“No, I didn’t get the chance.” Laine held her dainty hand out.

I shook it carefully because I didn’t want my calloused man-hands to crush her fragile fingers.

“Sarah Sharpe.” I pushed my name past my lips, hating that I sounded like a wispy coward with my voice all raspy like that.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Her thin smile didn’t really confirm that. “Do you travel with Homes For Hope too?”