Chapter 3 Pax
THREE
PAX
The lawyer’s office smelled of old paper like one of my college professors. Mr. Brannon was how I expected a small-town lawyer to look. Neat and buttoned up, and I imagined he arranged his socks by color. But he was also kind and efficient, and he’d drawn up Aunt June’s will and knew her well.
“Everything’s in order.” He slid the documents across the desk. “The house is yours, and there’s no mortgage or liens. Your aunt wanted you to have a fresh start.”
I signed where he indicated, thinking a quick scribble of my signature would be enough, but by the tenth page, my hand cramped. Legal documents needed my signature in triplicate, apparently. Maybe it was a trick to ensure you were paying attention.
“There’s also this account your aunt set up.” He gave me a computer printout. “This is enough to cover your property taxes for a few years, with some left over for repairs and living expenses. June insisted that you not worry about money while you figured things out.
I sniffed and blinked away tears. Aunt June had thought of everything. She’d known I was drowning in a life that looked fine on the surface, and she’d thrown me a lifeline. But I wished she was still here to see me grab it.
“Thank you,” I choked out.
“She was a special woman.” Mr. Brannon smiled. “She used to tell me my aura was murky and that I needed to spend more time in nature to clean it.”
“Did you?”
“I bought a fish tank.” He pointed to a small aquarium in the corner. “I thought that was close enough.”
I left his office with a folder full of documents, feeling lighter than I had in months. The house and money was coupled with the opportunity to figure out what I wanted from life instead of what I thought I should want. But for right now, I had to be an adult and buy groceries.
The store closest to the lawyer’s office was smaller than the huge hypermarkets at home, but I had also noted a late-night convenience store when I drove in yesterday.
I suspected that whatever I bought would be telegraphed around town and everyone would know my preferences and if I had any food allergies.
After getting a cart, I trawled up and down the aisles, getting the basics of bread, eggs, and milk.
I could make French toast with those if nothing else.
But as I wandered around, I tossed in peanut butter, because you could never have enough, plus a sugary cereal that would give me such a rush I might mow the overgrown lawn in the middle of the night.
To those items, I added frozen pizza, pasta, and sauce in a jar, because while learning to cook was on my to-do list, it wasn’t happening this week.
A man smiled at me near the produce section. “You’re June’s nephew.” As I’d guessed, everyone knew who I was, and I hadn’t even unpacked.
“Yes, hi. I’m Pax.”
“Welcome to town. She spoke of you often.” The guy moved on before I could ask his name. When I glanced down, I was holding a bag of apples. Hmmm, I hoped the memory lapse wasn’t a warning of more changes. The last time it happened was when I got the tattoo.
I lugged my canvas bags through the doors and strode toward the parking lot.
But I didn’t make it. I couldn’t walk because my legs were refusing to obey.
There was a truck parked three spaces down from my car.
There was a red-and-orange logo on the side with the name, Galloway Construction & Carpentry.
A man was leaning on the vehicle with his arms crossed as if he was waiting for someone.
A prickling sensation rippled over my upper arm and shoulder where the tattoo was located. It was kinda itchy, but I couldn’t scratch it ‘cause my hands were full.
The guy was staring at me, and his intense gaze had my belly doing flip-flops.
I gulped. His dark hair needed a trim. Weird that was the first thing I noticed. But he was so handsome it was distracting, and those piercing green eyes had my skin heating up even more, and my pulse quickened.
And I couldn’t look away. I was mesmerized and wanted his stubble scraping over my skin and his tongue shoved down my throat. Whoa. Where did that come from?
He pushed himself off the truck, and two thoughts competed for my attention. I both wanted this alpha to speak to me, but also, I needed him to walk past. He was so dazzlingly beautiful I wished I was wearing sunglasses, but I didn’t need him distracting me while I settled into my new life.
“You’re June’s nephew.”
Damn, he was just curious like everyone else in town. I almost wanted to say “Try that again.”
Instead I put down the bags and held out a hand. “Pax.” He grasped my fingers, and they tingled. “And you are?”
“Dray.”
His hand was rough, maybe with calluses, which wasn’t surprising if the truck was his and he was in the construction business.
But as he gripped my hand, a jolt of something surged up my arm, and I yanked my hand back.
Dray raised a brow but said nothing. I should have made an excuse, like I’d sprained a finger, but I just kept staring from him to my hand and back to his face.
“I did some work for your aunt last year. The stairs up to the turret needed fixing and a porch railing had to be reinforced.” He paused and glanced at something over my shoulder. “She was very kind, and I’m sorry for your loss.
I thanked him and agreed she was special.
“How’s the house holding up?”
“I have no idea. I only arrived late yesterday.”
Dray did something with his mouth. Not quite a smile and not a smirk.
“I can take a look if you like. There’ll be no charge for the assessment.”
Of course I should have said thank you and I’d get back to him. I’d need to get quotes from multiple contractors. That was what adults did.
But I blurted out, “That’d be great.”
“I’m free now.” He jerked his head toward the truck. “I could swing by and take a look.”
I gulped and nodded, and on the drive back to the house, I kept glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure he was following. Not that he was going to get lost, and he knew the house intimately.
But what did I know about Dray? Nothing, though he’d worked for Aunt June, and she had a canny ability to size people up.
When he emerged from the truck, he studied the overgrown roses and vines, saying my aunt loved her garden. “She used to tell me which plants had good energy.”
He offered to cut the grass, as he had a riding mower in the truck. I protested, but he shrugged off my concerns. I had to look away as he maneuvered it down the ramp. Despite his long sleeves, the muscles bulged underneath.
Inside the house, I stood at the window as he whizzed past through the overgrown grass. He took off his jacket, and I peered from behind a curtain, telling myself I was making sure he didn’t run over any rose bushes. I wanted him to roll up his shirt sleeves, but he didn’t oblige.
When he was done, he wiped sweat from his brow and strode toward the coiled hose. I met him outside because when a gorgeous man was doing you a favor, you had to thank him. I could think of many ways of showing my gratitude, but none of them were appropriate for almost strangers.
He lifted the hose to his mouth. The water spurted, but the hose kinked and water exploded and sprayed my face and chest. I yelped as my favorite sweater was soaked.
“I’m so sorry. That wasn’t on purpose.”
The sweater clung to my chest and drooped toward my thighs. Why would he assume I thought he’d done it on purpose? Dray lowered his eyes to my crotch before jerking them back to my face, and my tattoo heated up again. That had to be my imagination because could an image of a fire generate heat?
“You should change your clothes.”
I froze but not from the cold, as a vision of me getting naked on the lawn popped into my head. But I was convinced the heat from the tattoo was keeping me warm.
“I’ll grab a towel and then we can inspect the house together.”
Not waiting for an answer, I raced into the downstairs bathroom. As I stared at my flushed face in the mirror and tried to calm my breathing, I gave myself a talking-to and said to quit what the heck was going on. But I couldn’t rid myself of the memory of his eyes raking over my body.
We traipsed around the two floors and the turret as he made notes on what needed repairing. I stared at his back, his large hands as he examined a door frame, and his cute butt encased in denim. I was struggling to breathe but covered it up with a cough, saying I had allergies.
After exchanging numbers, he said he’d drop the estimate around in a couple of days.
And when he left, I didn’t move, watching the truck as he drove out of sight.
I went inside and leaned on the door while rubbing the tattoo under my damp sweater.
I couldn’t understand why I was so drawn to this man I’d met only this morning.
The next day I was bored with unpacking and ran my eyes over the walls. While Dray may be doing the repairs, I couldn’t afford to have him repaint the house or choose new light bulbs. So, I got myself to the hardware store, but as I drove, I kept looking for glimpses of Dray’s truck.
I stood in the paint aisle staring at approximately four hundred shades of white and wondered what the hell the difference was. They all looked like white to me.
“Are you planning to paint or just memorizing the color chart?”
I spun around. Dray was holding a bag of concrete.
“I’m trying to figure out which white I want. I don’t want it too white.” That didn’t make sense, but I was tripping over my words with him standing so close.
He set the bag down and came closer to study the paint chips I was clutching. “Which room?”
“The kitchen. The cabinets are this cream color, and I’m not sure if I should match, contrast, or burn the house down.”
He grinned. “Let’s not go with arson.” He removed a chip from my hand, and his fingers brushed over mine. Goosebumps marched over my skin, and I was glad of the jacket I was wearing. “This one. It won’t make the room feel cold.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve painted a lot of kitchens.”
We ended up walking every aisle. Dray explained the difference between wood screws and drywall screws. And he helped me pick out drawer pulls that wouldn't look terrible and talked me out of buying a circular saw when I admitted I didn't know how to use one.
“Stick with a handsaw for now. I’ll teach you power tools later.”
Later? He was planning on sticking around. Goody.
We both reached for the same package of sandpaper and our hands collided. I jerked mine back as if I’d touched a hot stove. Dray stared at me until I had to look away from those emerald eyes.
The hardware store owner grinned at us. "You two make a great team. Dray knows his stuff, and you ask good questions."
We walked out together, and I wanted to keep talking about paint colors and whatever else would keep him here, but rain was pelting down.
Dray held up the plastic sheeting he bought—I didn’t remember what happened to his concrete—and we ran to my car, but when we reached it, we were both drenched and laughing.
“You’re always with me when I’m wet and dripping.” Hmmm, if I’d had time to think, I would have reworded that.
“Any time.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Damn!
Water was sliding over my chin, and my shoes were waterlogged as I thanked him for helping me.
He raised his voice above the rain, saying he had to get to a job site, and I couldn’t come up with an excuse for us to stay where we were and get even more wet.
When I reached home, I discovered I’d been at the store for an hour.
Time passed so quickly when I was with Dray.
I took a shower. The tattoo was warm under the spray, and I pressed my palm against it. Eight years and I still didn't understand it. Flames and scales were something out of a fantasy novel, and why was it reacting to my new surroundings? Shoot, I hadn’t bought any moisturizer.
In bed, I stared at the ceiling and thought about Dray's hands when he'd pointed at the paint samples. I remembered the calluses on his fingers and how he’d smiled when I pelted him with questions. This was ridiculous. What was happening to me?