Chapter 6
Chapter Six
If a man’s home was his castle, the room Greer had just opened the door to was the friggin’ dungeon.
It held a ratty cot and a decades-old refrigerator, the kind some governmental agency had banned because little kids could get stuck in them and suffocate.
And the damn thing wasn’t even standing upright.
It was lying on its side like a victim of refrigerator tipping.
The space included another door on the opposite side of the room next to an ancient window air conditioner unit.
Alex wandered over and turned the AC knob to low.
The thing rumbled, whined, and coughed up a cloud of brown dust, a June bug, and an army of dead flies.
Just as he was about to turn away from the wheezing thing, something furry popped out of the vent and leapt in front of his face.
It hit the floor and took off like its ass was on fire.
His back hit the door, and Greer doubled over with her arms wrapped around her middle. He was pretty sure she was laughing. When she came up for air, her face was a flushed pink. “Oh my God, you should’ve seen your face when that mouse jumped out. You flinched.”
Villanueva men didn’t flinch at a fucking rodent. Hell, they didn’t flinch at a .380 to the temple. “Did not.”
“Then what do you call that little shuffle-step you did, the electric slide?”
He pushed away from the door he assumed led outside. “Normal girls are afraid of mice.”
“Guess you’ve figured out the unfortunate truth. I am not normal.” She’d straightened her shirt after her snort-fest, but Alex could still spy a hint of cleavage peeking out from the neckline that had been driving him crazy all day. “Let’s check out the bathroom.”
God help them.
The tiny space holding a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a modest shower was anything but fancy. It needed a good cleaning, but other than that, it would work. And if he had to stick around for a few days, the farther out of sight he was, the better.
“You desperate enough to get out of the frilly B&B to risk another mouse sighting?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah.” This time Alex found himself grinning along with Greer’s laughter. “But as eager as I am to get away from that girly bed, this place doesn’t have furniture.”
“Oh.” Her laughter died down quickly. “Dad’s house is still full of stuff…”
This time, he was the one to reach out and touch her. “I can make do with a blow-up mattress.”
“We’ll get it figured out.” Greer dusted off her hands and led the way back through the larger room, down the stairs, and into the barn’s main area.
As far as he could see, all it had going for it were high ceilings and a relative lack of crap.
But by the way Greer was slowly pacing off the space, her pointer finger against her lips, she obviously envisioned something else.
“It won’t work for long-term resident artist studio space, but I could fit at least sixty flexible vendor stalls for weeklong exhibitions in here,” she muttered. “Maybe with moveable three-quarter panels. Gotta run electric down the walls, maybe deal with some plumbing.”
“Don’t customers usually expect small conveniences like bathrooms?”
“Hmm…you’re right about that. The building has one back there.” She pointed toward the leftmost corner. “But it hasn’t been used for years, so I’ll have to ask Cal how to handle that.”
“I thought he carved benches.”
“Oh, he can pretty much build or renovate anything.”
Hopefully the guy gave a family discount, because she was going to need it. “Probably take a few months to get everything squared away.”
Greer whirled around. “Months? I don’t think so. I’m thinking a few weeks max. Less, if possible.”
“Are you seeing the same barn I am?” Even as he asked, he started to envision it.
The place had a rustic sort of appeal that Texans loved—the barnwood, the simplicity, even the plywood floor.
The sound of craftspeople using tools and customers chatting.
The scent of oil paints and wet clay and leather.
“I’ll admit it’s rough right now, but all it’ll take is some hard work.”
“And a shitload of money.” Maybe that wasn’t a problem with the Prophecy Boot Company behind her.
“I’ve got some savings.”
Yeah, so did Alex. But he needed the work from PBC to top off his stash.
Then again, he wasn’t thinking of taking a dilapidated barn and trying to turn it into a place that would attract people eager to spend money.
A little spot in an industrial area—one with doors that hung straight—would be fine for him. Not sexy, but it would be functional.
Still, he’d be a complete dick if he didn’t discourage this woman from blowing her life savings on what could be a monumental failure. “Don’t you think it’s too far from town? Would people really drive out here to shop?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Obviously she’d never had her life go from sugar to complete shit. “Because the other stores are on the main street through town.”
“If I build it, they’ll come,” she said, waving a careless hand.
Was the woman supremely confident or stupid? “Building a business isn’t that easy. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it all come true.”
She studied him. “You said you were taking a risk by coming to Prophecy. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do, make your dreams come true?”
“Dreams?” He made a rough sound in his throat, and the compulsion to run his hands over his head in agitation swarmed him, but he settled for crossing his arms. “I’m not the kind of guy who can afford that kind of bullshit. I’m just trying to make a buck, make it in this world.”
Her gaze sharpened, as if she were slicing right into his soul. “Something messed you up good, didn’t it? Was it your family? Friends? A woman? I don’t think people are born this cynical.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m practical.”
“You’re a Debbie Downer.”
Jesus, didn’t she understand a business wasn’t something you skipped through like a field of buttercups? “Given any thought to a business plan?”
Rather than answer him, she wandered toward the far corner. With deliberate strides, she stepped off what he assumed were the imaginary vendor booths.
“Even if you have the cash to pour into the idea, you have to recruit your artisans first. Otherwise, you might not have the setup right based on their needs. Think about furniture making as opposed to needle arts.”
“Know what I like about you, Villanueva?”
Probably nothing, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What?”
“You know something about handcrafts. How would you feel about helping me out with this little project?”
What she was considering pulling off was anything but little, and he had no plans to stay in Prophecy, regardless if the Maddox family chose him for the tooling contract or not.
“I don’t think so. You know, that little apartment upstairs probably isn’t a good idea. I won’t be in town that long and—”
She slid him a look from the corner of her eye. “So you don’t believe in your work enough to think PBC will offer you the contract?”
Something expanded inside Alex, pressing against his ribs, and he was pretty sure it was his pride. “I didn’t say that—”
“Because if you don’t believe in yourself then—”
“I’m the best, dammit.” His increased volume trampled her words.
Her right cheek rose with a little smirk. “Then you’ll be around a little longer than you think.”
This woman had a knack for getting under Alex’s skin.
Not just getting under there but snaking around and setting off firecrackers under every nerve ending.
And that was dangerous. There were other bootmakers he could work with, companies without blue-eyed, gypsy-haired shit-stirrers.
But she was a driven, ambitious shit-stirrer, and that he respected.
“Even if you figure out the space issues, do you have anyone to put in those booths?”
She turned a slow circle, taking in the entire space as though she were imagining what it would look like full of artists and buyers. “And I don’t want just anyone.” She stopped and pinned him with a stare. “I want the best.”
Four innocent words, but from the spark in Greer’s eye, Alex couldn’t be sure if her statement held an underlying meaning.
His body, however, was ready to believe that her words meant she wanted to strip them both down to the skin and pull him to the floor and have the best-ever sex.
It had been a while since his last not-quite-friends-with-benefits situation, and his body was more than ready to accommodate her.
Alex shoved his hands into his front pockets, trying to pull his jeans away from his interested dick.
She was talking business, and he was thinking about shoving her ass-hugging jeans down around her ankles, bending her over a tarp-covered lump of something-or-other, grabbing himself a handful of that wild hair, and fucking her until neither of them could stand upright.
And God knew that was a complication he didn’t need. One he definitely couldn’t afford.
But that didn’t keep him from wanting it.
He took a breath. Too damn bad he didn’t have an industrial-sized fan to chill out his cock and his mind. Both had gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past. “The best are often hard to come by.”
“Artists are proud, right?”
“Some of them are downright egotistical.”
“Them? Are you saying you don’t consider yourself an artist?”
Shit. He didn’t want to get into this. What he was or wasn’t. “Them, us, whatever.”
“So we’re a competitive bunch, like to prove what we do, the art we make, is worth something.”
“Yeah.” He had no idea where she was going with this.
“Then all I have to do is create an irresistible way for them to prove they’re the best.”
“And what’s that?”
Her smile was a seductive combination of flirtation and determination. “Oh, maybe a little something like a competition.”