Chapter Six
Shay set her dusty work boots beside my kitchen door and folded last night’s blue dress into the canvas bag she’d brought in from her SUV before showering.
She wore faded jeans and a fitted pink tank now, with her dark-brown hair twisted into a damp knot. Her safety glasses rested beside the bag, and the small gold hoops she’d put back in caught the morning light.
I set a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. “You planning to eat before you reorganize that bag again?”
“I’m making sure the dress doesn’t spend the day beneath a pair of work boots.”
“It survived the mayor’s office and Sin & Tonic.”
“That doesn’t mean it should be punished.”
I carried my coffee to the other side of the table. Beyond the kitchen windows, cattle moved through the nearest pasture while cicadas started up in the live oaks.
Shay sat and picked up her fork, but she didn’t take a bite.
“You’re thinking about your father,” I said.
“I’m thinking about primer.”
“You’ve stared at those eggs for thirty seconds.”
“That proves I’m thorough.”
“It proves you’re not thinking about primer.”
Her smile faded at the edges. “I’m ready to tell him.”
I believed her. I also knew being ready wouldn’t make Mayor Luttrell listen the first time.
“You don’t have to convince him,” I said.
“I know. I have to tell him.”
“You asked me to stand beside you and let you handle it.”
“That remains the plan.”
“I can manage that.”
Shay looked at me across the table. “Even when Daddy starts issuing orders?”
“I’ll remember you’re in charge.”
“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“I’ve had a strong week.”
I breathed easier when she laughed. She took a bite of eggs and reached for her coffee.
“First the bungalow,” she said. “Then I tell Daddy he’s losing his office administrator.”
“That’s a full Friday.”
“I made room in the schedule.”
After breakfast, I finished the morning feed and checked the nearest trough while Shay sat at the kitchen table with one of her bungalow binders open. When I returned, she had three pages spread beside her coffee and a pencil tucked behind one ear.
“You’ve been working,” I said.
“I’ve been making a list.”
“Is this one safe for public distribution?”
She looked up. “You’re getting brave.”
“I know what happens when I receive your lists.”
“You get an inflated opinion of yourself?”
“I get invited to help with built-ins.”
Shay closed the binder. “Today you get window casing.”
“I was hoping for another built-in.”
“The header is almost wide enough to qualify.”
“Does it have hidden talents?”
“It has one repaired split, two original corner blocks, and ninety-nine years of paint removed from it.”
“That sounds promising.”
She slid the pages into the binder and fastened it. “I need to dry-fit the pieces before I prime them. The header is too long to hold level and mark by myself.”
“I can hold it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
I leaned against the table. “You could’ve asked.”
“I did. I scheduled you.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Yes, but my threats involve damaged trim instead of liquor permits.”
“Considerably more effective.”
Shay carried the binder to her bag. I picked up our plates and took them to the sink.
When I turned, she was watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
She came closer and rested her palms against my chest. “I woke up in your bed, showered in your bathroom, ate breakfast at your table, and now we’re going to work on my property before I resign from my father’s office.”
“That’s accurate.”
“It’s a strange Friday.”
“Do you want a normal one?”
“No.” Her mouth curved. “I’m becoming suspicious of normal.”
I kissed her.
Shay rose onto her toes and slid her arms around my neck. The kiss stayed soft, without the urgency of the bungalow kitchen or my office. When she eased back, her eyes remained closed for another second.
“You’re distracting me,” she said.
“You were thinking about primer.”
“I was attempting to.”
I touched the small gold hoop at her ear. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
She opened her eyes.
This time, I believed the answer meant more than her father.
We put her work bag in the back of her SUV. I loaded my tool bag into my truck, though Shay had enough equipment at the bungalow to rebuild half the town. She pulled on her boots, settled the safety glasses on top of her head, and started her engine.
“You’re following me?” she called through the open window.
“I know the road.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Yes, Shay. I’m following you.”
“Good.”
She drove through the open ranch gate first.
I followed at enough distance to keep dust from swallowing my windshield. The late-June sun had already hardened the road to pale stone, and dry grass flashed gold along the fences. Shay’s SUV stayed ahead of me until the ranchland gave way to scattered houses and the older road toward Sin & Tonic.
She turned into the bungalow drive beneath the pecan tree. I parked beside the grass, leaving both vehicles clear of the porch and the lumber stacked beneath it.
The place looked different every time I arrived.
The first morning, the porch and roof had surprised me. Now the built-in stood square in its recess, the front windows had been cleaned, and repaired trim pieces waited across padded sawhorses beneath the shade.
Shay unlocked the door, then opened the tall front-room windows before turning on a box fan aimed toward the porch.
“I thought you had air-conditioning,” I said.
“I do. I also intend to sand outside and keep the dust out there.”
“Reasonable.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m admiring the plan.”
“You’re learning quickly.”
She carried the three pieces of front-window casing inside. The repaired header stretched wider than her arm span. Two upright lengths followed, each ending in a square corner block carved with a simple flower.
“The blocks were buried under so much paint that I thought they were flat,” she said. “They aren’t perfect, but I’d rather keep them.”
“They belong with the window.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Shay set one upright against the wall and checked the penciled marks she’d made before removing it.
I held the top steady while she adjusted the bottom.
“Toward me,” she said.
I moved it.
“Not that far.”
“That was useful information.”
“I’m giving it to you now.”
I shifted the casing back toward the window.
“There,” she said. “Hold it.”
She placed a level against the edge, tapped the bottom with the heel of her palm, and checked again.
“Perfect.”
“You say that a lot after I follow directions.”
“It’s an effective system.”
She marked the wall, then repeated the process on the other side. She secured both uprights with short strips of painter’s tape, and I lifted the header above the window.
Shay climbed the stepladder and guided the corner blocks into place.
“Higher on your end,” she said.
“My end is higher.”
“Then lower it.”
“Those are different instructions.”
“I’m responding to new information.”
I lowered the header until the joints met evenly.
Shay leaned close to inspect the seam. A loose curl brushed her cheek, and the fitted pink cotton pulled across her breasts when she reached above her head.
I kept the header level.
Mostly.
She glanced down. “You stopped listening.”
“I’m holding the casing exactly where you asked.”
“Your attention wandered.”
“That’s different.”
Her smile made the header feel heavier.
“Mark the holes,” I said.
Shay drew short pencil lines at each end. Then she climbed down and peeled away the tape. We carried the three pieces back outside and set them on the padded sawhorses.
She ran one finger over the repaired split. “I want to fill this once more before I prime it.”
“You’ll still see the repair.”
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No. It proves the wood lasted long enough to need one.”
She reached for the sanding block.
I caught the end of the trim before it shifted. “You want me to hold it?”
“I was going to use a clamp.”
“I’m already here.”
She paused. “You are.”
I held the casing while she worked the fine sandpaper over the repaired section. Dust settled across the sawhorse and the backs of her fingers. She stopped twice to check the surface against the light.
When she was satisfied, she wiped it clean and opened a small container of wood filler.
A vehicle slowed on the road.
Shay’s hand stopped above the trim.
Tires turned onto the gravel drive.
Mayor Luttrell’s truck came to a hard stop behind her SUV.
She set down the putty knife.
“You didn’t call him,” I said.
“No.”
The truck door opened.
Mayor Luttrell crossed the yard in polished boots, pressed gray slacks, and a white shirt that belonged behind a podium instead of beside a sanding block. Sun caught the silver at his temples and deepened the red across his face.
“Shaylene.”
“Hello, Daddy.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working.”
He swept one hand toward the trim, the open front door, and the tools beneath the porch. “At this place?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
Mayor Luttrell stopped at the bottom step. “I was on my way to Sin & Tonic after one of my donors called to tell me you were dancing barefoot with Titus Calhoun in front of half of Copper Falls.”
Shay folded her arms. “It wasn’t half the town.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“The dance was completely legal.”
His voice hardened. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He climbed the steps. “You didn’t come home last night.”
“I slept at the ranch.”
The muscles across his face tightened.
I placed the casing securely on the sawhorse and stepped beside Shay. Close enough that she knew I was there. Not close enough to crowd her.
Mayor Luttrell turned on me. “What have you talked her into?”
“Nothing,” Shay answered.
“I asked him.”
“And I’m answering because you’re talking about me.”
“Shaylene, come home. We’ll sort out whatever this is after you’ve had time to think.”
“I’ve had time.”
“You’ve known him for four days.”
“I’ve known who Titus is most of my life. I’ve spent four days learning who he actually is.”
Through the open doorway, the restored floors, widened kitchen entrance, and built-in were visible from the porch.
“Who owns this place?”
“I do.”
No one spoke.