Chapter Seven
Sandra stared at the piles of sawdust on the floor and all the scraps of wood, strewn packaging, and loose nails and other debris left behind by the workers. Never would she have pictured one crew could make such a mess. But her job was to clean up after the brothers, not critique their work habits.
Bottom line, they were building her and David a house. Every time she thought about it, she did a little jig at the idea that she would be a homeowner. She’d never lived on her own. She’d gone from her parents’ house to living with Ed, and then back to her parents’. Until a few days ago, she never dreamed she’d have a home of her own. Take that, Ed Morton. Liquored up, when she’d finally found the nerve and saved enough money to leave, he’d slurred from the sofa that she’d come crawling back.
She shrugged off the thoughts of him and swept away the mess. But it was a mess in her house. Not anyone else’s.
“Coming through,” a deep voice said behind her.
She scooted to one side.
“Other way,” the voice called out.
She scooted in the opposite direction as a man hauled a stack of boards past her. “Sorry, I was in the way.”
“No worries, ma’am.” Boards piled on his shoulder, he paused and smiled at her. Even though a lot of the crew were from out of town, everyone on the build was really friendly.
“I’m Jet. You must be the homeowner.” The guy stood in the middle of what would one day be her breakfast nook.
“I am.” Just saying that sent a chill down her spine. “Or at least I will be. Nice to meet you. I’m Sandra.”
He stared at her for a moment. Not long enough to be a problem, but long enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
“That must be heavy.” She gestured to the load on his shoulder.
“This?” He gave the boards a look as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Just part of the job.” Tossing a smile her way, he shifted around and trooped to the other end of the house.
Taking the giant metal dustpan and broom in hand, she began sweeping up the debris, still incapable of getting over that Paxton and his brothers had pulled some strings to get her this house.
Milling over all the fun things she hoped to do, how she would decorate David’s room, where she’d place the sofa—once she bought one, of course. That had her frowning, staring at the opposite wall. She wasn’t homeless, but her situation had not been ideal. She’d had to leave all her belongings and secondhand furniture behind with her ex. She debated if it was too soon to start hitting garage sales in search of the perfect furnishings. Though that might be rushing things a bit.
“Need some help?” Jet unexpectedly appeared behind her.
Turning quickly, more from surprise than anything else, his eyes darted up to her face, and she knew she’d caught him staring at her butt. No point in making a fuss about it. “Nope. I’ve got this. It’s part of my sweat equity.”
His gaze dropped momentarily before leveling with her eyes again. “Call me if you change your mind and want a man’s help.”
“Will do.” In some other lifetime. She hadn’t been a part of the dating scene for a heck of a lot of years, but she still recognized a man’s interest when she saw it. But too bad for Jet, she most definitely was not interested. Spinning around to return to her task at hand, she somehow got her foot tangled between the broom and some plastic wrap on the floor and dropping the broom, her arms flared and she wobbled in place. Strong hands manacled her arms.
“Whoa.” Jet held on, steadying her.
“Oops.” She found her balance, but Jet’s hand lingered on her arm. Glancing down at the fingers that still held on to her, she took a step in retreat. “Thanks, but I’m okay now.”
“You sure?” He still held on.
“I promise I’ll watch where I put my feet.”
He released his grip, but remained too close for comfort. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
If he wasn’t going to back off, she certainly was. Her hard hat had wobbled and she placed back on her head properly. “I’m sure I’ll learn how to navigate a construction site.”
Jet nodded. She couldn’t swear to it, but she thought she saw disappointment in his gaze. “Just be careful.”
“I will.”
Leaning over to pick up the broom she’d dropped, a string of cuss words came from the front of the house. Straightening quickly, she looked through what would be her front door to the front porch. Paxton stood, muttering, frowning, and holding his hand. “Uh, oh.”
Paxton had seen Jet lingering around Sandra and then holding on to her arm long after he should have let go. Paxton was glad that Jet had been close enough to stop her from falling over, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. And he didn’t, not one bit. Jet was a player. He had a string of women from here to Oklahoma. That guy was the last thing Sandra needed.
Distracted keeping an eye on Jet and Sandra Lynn, he’d lost his grip on the old board he was stripping and sliced his hand open on a protruding nail. The sting of his hand was almost as sharp as the sting of watching Sandra manhandled by Jet. Putting pressure on the wound, he debated going in search of the first aid kit, or laying down some house rules for the crew where the new homeowner was concerned.
“Are you okay?” Sandra appeared at his side.
“Yeah. Just a little nick.”
“Nick? Let me look at it.” Her gaze fell on the blood oozing between his fingers. “You’re bleeding. Is there a first aid kit on site?”
“In the construction trailer.” They’d set up a trailer in the far corner of the backyard.
“Keep the pressure on it. I’ll get the kit and be right back.”
Had this been a competitive sprint, she’d have won the gold medal. In half the time he would have expected, she’d returned with the first aid kit and a small bucket of fresh water as well as a roll of paper towels under her arm.
“Thanks. I can take it from here.” As much as he wanted to feel her touch, he didn’t dare let her.
“Nonsense. Give me your hand.”
As soon as she poured cool water on it, he winced. Maybe it was a bit deeper than he’d thought.
“You need to be more careful, Paxton.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He’d been an idiot for letting Jet’s attention to Sandra get to him. “Listen, I’m sorry for the swearing earlier.”
She waved away his comment. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
Why did that raise his hackles?
“Relax.” She used the paper towels to wipe the wound. “Are you up to date on Tetanus?”
“Always.” That was one thing that he and his brothers insisted on for all the crew. Rusty nails and sharp objects abounded on construction sites.
“That’s good to hear.” She continued to clean the wound and then fished through the kit.
“Not exactly how I’d hoped your first day with us would go.” He tried not to wince when she squirted something on the cut.
She shook her head. “It’s not that bad.”
“I said that.”
“Not the cut.” Looking up at him through long lush lashes, she chuckled softly. “The antibiotic ointment.”
When she pressed a non-stick gauze pad onto his palm, he reflexively pulled away.
“Come on now. David doesn’t wiggle this much.”
“Sorry.” He smiled at her. “I’ll try and do better.”
That pulled the desired smile from her. Taking hold of the roll of tape, she unwound a long strip and wrapped it around the sterile pad. “The bleeding has slowed, but you may want to see Brooks. You might need stitches.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. You’re doing a good job at doctoring.”
She studied his freshly wrapped wound. “This will have to do for now. But you’ll want to hold it up against you for a bit until it stops bleeding completely.”
“No time. I have work to do.” He should get back to work, but her holding his hand had been the best part of this day. Her hands were soft and efficient. A part of him considered that nothing seemed more important to him right now than keeping this gentle connection. Short of slicing his other hand open, he wouldn’t mind finding a reason every day to hold Sandra’s hand. So not a good idea. A recently divorced woman, with a young son, finding her way back home. She didn’t need the complications of an infatuated Farraday.
“Lying down on the job?” Quinn came up the front walkway.
“He cut himself.” Sandra Lynn snapped the lid of the first aid kit shut.
Quinn frowned. “How bad?”
“Just a nick,” Paxton repeated.
Sandra’s brows rose high on her forehead. “Not a nick. I still say you should go see Brooks.”
One of the downsides of having a cousin who was a doctor was there was no excuse for not going to seek medical advice. Relatives always fit you in.
“You need the rest of the day off?” Quinn asked. “Ryan’s bringing another load of plywood. We can handle it without you.”
“Nonsense. I’m fine.” To prove his point, he turned his hand, palm out, delighted to find no sign of blood on the fresh bandage. “See? I can work.” At least he hoped he could. If this had been his right hand, he’d have been screwed.
“Hmm,” Quinn huffed. “Up to you.” Clearly satisfied, his brother proceeded into the house that already had all the exterior walls up and the guys in the backyard working on framing out the roof.
Pushing to his feet, he turned to Sandra. “Break time over, but with only one usable hand for now, I’ll shift to working with Ryan inside. At least I can manage a drill without any trouble.”
Shaking her head, Sandra made a tsking sound. “You know, you’re more stubborn than my son.”
“Since I like David, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
Another smile bloomed on her face. Oh, boy, was he going to love keeping her in smiles.