Chapter Two
I remembered number six first.
Tell a man exactly how I want to be touched - and make him listen.
The front door closed behind Shay. Through the windows, I watched her cross the gravel lot, holding down the skirt of her pale-blue dress against the hot wind. She climbed into her SUV and drove away without looking back.
My phone lay on the bar, screen locked. The list was gone from the message thread and the Recently Deleted folder. I’d promised her that much.
Forgetting it was another matter.
The office door opened, and Duane came out carrying the liquor order. He glanced toward the empty parking space, then at me.
“Mayor Luttrell’s daughter leave you with homework?”
I picked up the order sheet. “Inventory is your homework.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“It’s a reminder that you talk too much.”
He laughed. “You knew that when you hired me.”
I ran a finger down the page. “Why are we four cases short on tequila?”
“Because our distributor can’t count to six.”
“That seems like a problem in his line of work.”
“I thought you might enjoy explaining it to him.”
I called the distributor, corrected the order, and checked the afternoon schedule while the kitchen filled the bar with the smell of onions, peppers, and toasted bread. Duane had the rest covered.
I slid my phone into my pocket and reached for the white hat on the back counter.
“You heading to the ranch?” he asked.
“That was the plan.”
“Was?”
I settled the hat on my head. “It still is.”
Outside, the late-morning sun turned the gravel white. I crossed to my truck, started the engine, and headed toward the ranch.
By the time I reached the edge of town, I was still thinking about number six.
The road narrowed past the older houses, where live oaks leaned over weathered fences and cicadas competed with the hum of my tires. Heat shimmered above the pavement. Beyond town, the land opened into limestone hills, dry grass, and scattered cedar.
I’d known Shay most of my life without knowing her at all.
Copper Falls made that possible. I knew which family she belonged to, where she’d gone to school, and that she worked for her father.
She knew I was a Calhoun and worked our cattle ranch.
We’d crossed paths at town events, football games, and fundraisers without having a reason to speak longer than courtesy required.
Then Mayor Luttrell sent her into my bar with a threat.
She’d delivered it. She’d also told me I was right to refuse.
That part had surprised me.
The list had done worse.
I rounded a curve and eased off the gas when a familiar dark SUV came into view. It sat beneath a pecan tree beside an old bungalow I’d passed a thousand times.
The place had been neglected for years. The porch sagged in one corner, and the paint had faded until the original color was anybody’s guess. At least, that was how I remembered it.
The porch stood level now. The roof was new, the limestone piers had been cleaned, and several lengths of stripped trim rested on sawhorses beneath the shade. One of the front windows stood open.
A sharp knock sounded from inside, followed by the scrape of wood across wood.
Shay’s SUV had a canvas tool bag visible through the rear window.
I pulled onto the grass beside the drive.
The sensible thing would’ve been to keep going. Shay had come to Sin & Tonic because she wanted one mistake erased, not because she wanted me following her around town.
Then something struck wood and rattled the open window.
I parked.
The porch boards were solid beneath my boots. An extension cord ran through the open front door, but I stopped outside.
“Shay?”
The noise inside ceased.
A moment later, she appeared at the end of the hall wearing worn jeans, scuffed work boots, and a faded coral shirt fitted close, making forgetting the list even less likely.
Her dark-brown hair was twisted into a loose knot, with damp curls clinging near her temples.
Clear safety glasses rested on top of her head.
She’d kept the small gold hoops she’d worn into my bar that morning.
She held a pry bar in one hand.
“Did you follow me?”
“I was driving to the ranch.”
“And your truck made an independent decision?”
“It saw your SUV.”
Shay looked past me toward the road. “Your ranch isn’t in my front yard.”
“No. That would be inconvenient.”
She tried not to smile and nearly managed it.
I nodded toward the pry bar. “Everything all right?”
“I’m renovating.”
“I gathered that.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
I took in the restored porch, the stacked lumber, and the new electrical panel mounted along the side of the bungalow. “About the property?”
“About me being here. About any of it.”
“You’ve already trusted me with worse.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “That list isn’t worse than my father finding out I bought this place behind his back.”
I glanced at the bungalow again. “You bought this?”
“The LLC did.”
“Does that LLC happen to belong to you?”
“It does.”
She raised the pry bar slightly, not as a threat but as if she needed something to do with it.
I stepped through the doorway after she moved aside.
The inside had changed more than the exterior.
Original hardwood crossed the living room, sanded clean but not yet finished.
Tall windows stood open beneath the deep eaves, letting hot air move through the rooms. A wide new opening connected the living room to the kitchen, where pale quartz countertops reflected the midday light.
The air smelled of old wood and fresh primer. Drop cloths covered part of the floor. Trim pieces had been numbered in pencil and lined against one wall.
“You did this?” I asked.
“Some of it.”
Shay set the pry bar on a folded drop cloth rather than dropping it onto the floor. “I hired contractors for the roof, electrical, plumbing, foundation repairs, and the structural work. I’m not teaching myself wiring from the internet.”
“Good.”
“I’ve handled most of the finish work. I’m restoring what I can instead of replacing everything with gray vinyl and calling it character.”
I studied the tall baseboards and the casing stacked by the wall. Old nail holes had been filled. Damaged sections had been repaired instead of hidden.
“Did the roof pass inspection?”
“Yes.”
“And the electrical and plumbing?”
“Both passed.”
“What about the new opening?”
“Engineered, permitted, inspected, and approved.” She folded her arms. “Would you like to see the binder?”
“You have a binder?”
“I have two.”
“Of course you do.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That sounded judgmental.”
“It was admiration.”
She stared at me for a second.
“Was that a joke?” she asked.
“No.”
“It sounded like one.”
“That doesn’t make it my fault.”
A laugh escaped her before she turned toward the living room. “I’m working on the original built-in. It was wedged into that recess when I bought the place. I took it apart, repaired the lower cabinet, and stripped six layers of paint.”
“Only six?”
“The bottom layer may be lead-based spite.”
I followed her to an alcove beside the widened kitchen opening. The upper shelves leaned against the wall, padded with moving blankets. The lower cabinet sat several feet from the recess on a low furniture dolly.
One corner had been repaired with matching wood. The old doors were stacked nearby, their hardware removed and labeled.
“What were you doing when I pulled up?” I asked.
“Trying to get the base off the dolly and into place.”
“By yourself?”
“I got it onto the dolly by myself.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Shay planted both hands on her hips. “I had a plan.”
I measured the cabinet against the narrow gap between it and the recess. “What was the plan?”
“I was going to slide it close, tip one end, pull out the dolly, and lower it onto blocks.”
“That’s one plan.”
“You have another?”
“We leave it on the dolly until it’s lined up. Then we lift one end at a time and stack scrap beneath it. Once we’ve raised it, the dolly rolls out without you trying to hold half the cabinet in the air.”
She studied the cabinet. “That would work.”
“It would.”
“I could’ve figured that out.”
“I believe you.”
“You don’t sound smug enough.”
“I save that for special occasions.”
“Like receiving private lists from women who threatened your liquor permit?”
“You didn’t threaten it. You delivered the threat and told me it was wrong.”
Her posture eased.
I took off my hat and set it on a clean section of drop cloth. “Show me where you want the cabinet.”
“You’re helping?”
“You need another person.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“No. I’m offering.”
She glanced from me to the cabinet before she answered.
“Fine,” she said. “But this is my project.”
“I noticed.”
“You follow my measurements.”
“All right.”
“You don’t decide the whole thing needs to be ripped out because you would’ve done it differently.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“And if you damage the original trim, I’ll make you regret stopping.”
“That sounded like a threat.”
“It was.”
I nodded toward the cabinet. “Where do you want me?”
She took in my faded shirt and jeans before returning to my face.
“At the far end,” she said.
I moved into position.
She crouched beside the recess and checked the pencil marks on the wall. Her jeans pulled tight over her hips. I focused on the cabinet, which was difficult when I knew exactly what she’d written about cowboys and instructions.
“Bring it toward me six inches,” she said.
I pushed while she guided the dolly. The cabinet rolled across the protected floor and stopped short of the recess.
“Two inches left.”
I shifted it.
“Your other left.”
“I only brought one.”
Shay tipped her chin up, loose curls brushing her cheeks. “Do cattle find that charming?”
“They don’t ask me to move furniture.”
“I’m beginning to understand why.”
I let her direct the alignment until she was satisfied. Then I braced one end while she slid a square of scrap wood beneath the corner.
“Lower it,” she said.
I lowered the cabinet.
“Slowly.”
“I am.”
“You’re moving faster than slowly.”
“That’s because the cabinet weighs less on this end.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does from where I’m standing.”
She gave me a look, but the next block went under cleanly.