Your Hand in Mine: A Heartwood Novel Read online

  “Of course.” I nodded. “I didn’t sit there looking pretty. I mean, I did my fair share of looking pretty and sitting, but there’s a good brain between these ears. I’ve also taken a few night courses on finances so I’d have a better grasp of the accounting aspect.”

  “What else did you do?” he pressed.

  I turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “You want a rundown of my old duties?”

  “I want to know how good you are with organization and handling money.”

  “Two of my best qualities. Modesty being the third.”

  Fenton considered me for a long moment, his eyes running over my body like he could somehow see me down to the atomic level. Then his gaze locked on my mouth for a split second. When they returned to my eyes, they twinkled, and I knew he had come to a conclusion, whatever it was. “You know, I might have a proposition for you.”

  “Tell me.” My foot tapped the floor. Interesting.

  His mouth split open in a smile. “You can work for me. Here.”

  “…Come again?”

  “Here at the B&B.”

  “You mean when it opens? Front desk detail? Turn down services?”

  “Now. I mean, I wouldn’t want you swinging a hammer or anything like that, but I need someone to help me balance my books.” He continued to grin at me. The satisfied I’ve-connected-all-the-dots grin.

  “You mean you want a glorified bookkeeper,” I clarified. Although, I wasn’t hating the idea.

  “Yeah, I’m not going to deny I need help in that area.” He curled up his lip at the mess, as if only now willing to admit it had been purposeful instead of an accidental breeze. “I’ve never been good with the numbers. I’m more of an idea man. I’ve done the best I can up until this point.”

  I actually pictured him more as the sweaty dude with a tool belt and no shirt. My chest tightened. Geez, I needed to get a grip on myself. Seven months without sex either made me desperate for human affection or Fenton got my motor going in a serious way.

  “The point is, you need a job,” he continued. “Am I right?”

  A stiff wind would have knocked me over. “You can’t afford me. You said it yourself. You have a mortgage to uphold and men to pay, not to mention the serious scope of work to get this place in livable condition.”

  “I have enough for the time being. I’m not offering you a forever kind of position, Shari. Think of it as more for the time being. To help you out of a hole. To help me out of a hole, god.” Again, he turned his stare at the paperwork. “What have I done to myself?”

  It hurt to shake my head. My logical mind knew it was playing with fire to work in such close proximity to him on a daily basis. The baser part of me, the one between my legs hopping up and down at the sight of him, wanted to agree on the spot. No details or conversation required. There were times I gave in to her, and others when I couldn’t, when the desire was there.

  “I refuse to fall on your kindness,” I ended up saying.

  “It’s not kindness if you’re doing me a favor. Honestly, Shar, what do you think? I’m terrible at balancing the books and you look like the kind of capable gal who could help me out of a bind. I’ve got some extra money to help pay for your services. Probably nothing like you were making at the gallery but enough to float you in the meantime. While you look for something else to do.”

  I turned to him once more, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me.”

  “What?” He pretended to look shocked, leaning against his desk. “Are you going to steal my credit card and go on a shopping spree? Order way too many palates of two-by-fours by dubious means? Tell me now before I get too caught up in this idea of you coming here to work.”

  I spared a laugh for his lame joke. “No, none of those things.”

  “Then why aren’t you saying yes?”

  There were too many caveats to think about to say yes right off the bat, despite my need to do that. I’d made it a rule to never get my honey where I made my money, in a manner of speaking. It was a bad idea to mix work with pleasure. A very, very bad idea learned over a period of time where I didn’t care what I did and it bit me on the ass.

  I wanted pleasure with Fenton. Working for him meant taking it off the table, at least for the time being. Then I thought about my bank account, sure to be dwindling in the next few weeks. An income of any kind is better than nothing, especially when I was having zero luck finding a position in town.

  Maybe coming to the B&B wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’d get to be around pretty things again, as surely Fenton would see the benefits of using me for his final designs.

  On another hand, I needed to be seen as the competent one when I worked, while I preferred a softer mentality in bed. If I chose to work for Fenton then I’d be in the middle of a dilemma. I wanted him to see soft Shari and not hard Shari. At work, Hard Shari got things done in a timely manner.

  Hard Shari tended to rub people the wrong way, especially those who had trouble handling a competent woman in the workplace. What if Fenton turned out to be one of those types and it demolished my fantasies of him? I’m not sure I could take it.

  “I’m still not positive about this. It might be a bad idea.”

  “Why aren’t you positive?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” I said to stall. “I mean, I’ve never worked for a construction company before. And your funds—”

  “Think of it less as a company and more of a regular guy trying to muddle through a renovation on his own with only limited resources. A poor, stressed man working two jobs, might I add,” he replied. His tone easy.

  I cocked my head and stared at him. “It seems like a pretty big undertaking for one guy.”

  “Yeah, well, you gotta have dreams. And those dreams should be big. Bigger than you can imagine.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “I admire your dedication.”

  “You know, I’ve walked past Doma a few times but I never saw you in there. Arts and crafts aren’t really my thing.”

  “Is that what you think it is?” I turned away and stared out the window. “Arts and crafts?”

  “No. Yes? No.”

  I laughed. “It’s a lot more than that. Unfortunately, it’s not my place anymore.”

  “You deserve better than being a glorified paper pusher, I know. You might not get the chance to be polished here, or dress in your best, but let me show you the rest of the property before you change your mind.” He pushed away from the desk, towering over me. “And I might not be able to pay you what you deserve right away.”

  “Well—”

  Once Fenton got started, it was hard to get him to stop. His enthusiasm for the project was infectious. We spoke about the patio in the back he wanted to refurbish and the planter boxes he’d use to accentuate the space. How I could help him finalize his plans. It was, I realized, exactly what I’d wanted to hear.

  It was more talking than I’d done in a long time. It wasn’t that I followed everything he said. It would be impossible to do so when I knew next to nothing about rehabbing houses. But I cooperated happily. It was nice to see Fenton animated, talking with his hands, scurrying from room to room like a kid showing his parent his cubby hole in class.

  We walked into the back-porch area and I stopped. Staring at the new sheetrock walls. The coffered ceiling. “This room must be last on your list.”

  His face dropped into a frown. “Are you kidding? I picked out the décor myself.”

  “Then you must need to go to the eye doctor. The couch…” I trailed off and turned away.

  “What about the couch?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. The room was a sad statement of minimalism. A college-style bachelor pad. The best thing she could find to say about it? The paint wasn’t half-bad. How could he have put in such a stunning ceiling and paired it with outlet store furniture?

  Then his face shifted. “Maybe, if you came to work for me, you could help me with ideas. Couches and curtains and whatnot.”


  “The girly stuff isn’t your forte, I get it,” I began. “But there is no excuse for this.”

  His hands fell on my shoulders and he shuffled closer. “I’ll get around to it eventually. Put it back on my list of things to do and whatnot. Before I lose you entirely with my poor fabric decisions, tell me about your qualifications.”

  How could I tell him anything when his touch had short-circuited my wires? “Professional qualifications or personal? You can gather the latter from our spectacular conversation and the three tickets I paid at the fair.” I casually shifted back until I came into contact with his tool belt.

  “A great deal, if I say so myself,” he rumbled, his voice gruff and deep. “I’m talking about resume-style stuff. You know the works.”

  “I think you’ve got it backward, Champ. Usually, you ask about a resume before you offer someone a job.”

  “Hey, I’m trying my best to get organized. I’m a bartender trying to make a better life for myself. The less I know, the more I have to research. I’ve been a little behind on my research.”

  I honed in on his body language. Fenton was angled toward me, his touch soft and his shoulders held tight in anticipation.

  I turned around to stare at him, making my decision on the spot. “You do need me.”

  He struck me as a smart, ambitious sort of man. Open-minded enough to give a woman he barely knew an invitation to work under him. Probably not literally, although I’d do my best to convince him. We had a great rapport. I needed a job. And he needed—

  “Come on back to the office.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Let’s get the paperwork started.”

  I maintained the smile walking through the maze of halls toward the tiny office I’d helm once I took the job, which I intended to do. “At some point, we’re going to have to sit down so I can go over your designs on paper. I’m a visual kind of gal. I like to see everything laid out. If that’s something you want me to do.”

  “It is.”

  And what a visual I was getting. Fenton’s backside, clad in skin-tight jeans, swaying left and right with his every step. The hammer bumping his hip.

  “You could do with some reorganizing,” I told him, focusing on the house instead of the man. “Leave the office space to me and I’ll have you in ship shape in no time. I swear.”

  A different man would send me a look telling me to mind my business. I’d seen it time and again with vendors I’d worked with in the past. They didn’t like taking orders from a woman. Not Fenton. My heart flipped in response to his angled brows and slight grin.

  “You can start with paperwork. Making phone calls. Keeping files and receipts on track. I can’t do it all anymore, and I can’t keep working out of my truck when I remember the things I’ve forgotten to do.”

  “I can do it all with little effort, trust me. What are we talking about for monetary remuneration?”

  “A salary?” He ruffled through a stack of papers threatening to topple over. “What do you think is fair?”

  A million dollars and wild sex five days a week with my soon-to-be boss. I wondered if he would agree to the deal. “I’ll tell you the truth,” I said. “I was making minimum wage at the gallery. Add a dollar to it and I’m all yours.” Like I needed an extra dollar to be his. “And a list of what kind of materials and stock you need to get this job done. Then we’ll be on the same page.”

  He found the folder he’d been searching for and handed it to me. “Just let me find a pen.”

  I watched him take a seat behind the desk, then leaned a hip against the same. “Fenton…”

  He refused to glance up from his mad pen hunt. “Mmhmm?”

  The explorer in me wanted proof. I’d tasted my fair share of the male population in and around the county, and I could tell you, there were no such things as fireworks. Those belonged in the pages of a book rather than in real life. I wanted proof of what had happened between me and Fenton. I wanted to know whether it was a one-time deal or an explosion.

  “I promise to play nice after this, truly,” I murmured. Then I placed my hands on his cheeks and drew him close. Lowered my lips to his. It was one kiss, I thought. A single kiss to see if the magic was there. I might as well try.

  I wasn’t naïve, and I knew what I was getting into. Somehow, I wasn’t prepared for the reaction. I saw his eyes, forest colored in shades of green and brown, before everything blurred.

  This time around, his mouth wasn’t hot or heavy. It was hesitant, and not particularly friendly. Even so, my heart slid higher until it clogged my throat. There were no words. No air. Before long he caught my hair in his hands and plastered his mouth to mine with enough force to have my brains leaking out of my ears. The kiss deepened until I knew I was in trouble. I was wound up in his wild scent. His sexy eyes. His soft lips and strong hands.

  I shouldn’t have thought of kissing him. Once I had, once I’d made the decision to follow through, there was no way to walk away with the deed undone. Now I was in trouble. A moan caught in my throat. What the hell was I supposed to do? I wanted. I took. His fingers lifted to my shoulder and...

  Pushed. Pushed?

  “Shari.” His voice went soft and husky. “We can’t do this.”

  I ran my tongue over my lips and sighing, easing away. “I know, I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “…Maybe this isn’t going to work.”

  Uh oh. I’d pressed him too far. My stomach flipped. “What?”

  “Look, I need help with the job,” he said. The tips of his ears were red. “I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. If it’s going to complicate things between us with you working here, then maybe this isn’t the best position for you.” Fenton shoved his hand through his hair and groaned. “Dammit anyway.”

  “No! I mean, no. I’m grateful for the job. I think we can work together well and I don’t want you to think I’ll complicate this.” I paused. Moistened my lips. “I know how to work.”

  “You sure? I don’t want you to come here every day and be uncomfortable.”

  Uncomfortable? When I recognized the rejection staring me in the face, I wanted to curl up in a corner and indulge in self-pity.

  I slapped the on button on my temper.

  “Okay, one, you weren’t exactly unwilling in this case. Two, I am a drop dead gorgeous woman whom any man would be delighted to kiss. And three, I am a goddamn professional. I can do this job with my eyes closed and, from the looks of this office, you are going to need some serious help if you want to get this baby going by the autumn rush. I don’t exactly see you putting in the long hours trying to file your own papers. Oh, you didn’t know about the autumn rush? Another reason you need me.”

  Calm down, I told myself. Hard Shari was coming out in all the wrong ways. I shoved her down deep. This was no place for her or any other negative emotions. Confidence was key. I refused to lose my cool.

  “You’re right,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You’re absolutely right on all counts. I’m sorry I questioned your integrity.”

  “My integrity can be an argument for another day.” I shook my head then snatched a heap of employment papers off the desk. “Are these the ones you need me to fill out?”

  Fenton nodded.

  “Then I’ll take them home with me.” I refused to look at him. Those kissable lips were looking too good and had already crossed my mind more than they warranted. Mentally, I shook my head. These thoughts had to stop. I didn’t have time for them right now. They were more tempting than one of Essie’s homemade apple pies, which I loved more than anything else.

  “I’ll bring these by tomorrow,” I replied stiffly and, stuffing the papers in my purse, strut out the door with as much dignity as I could muster. Whether he watched me go or not, I couldn’t say.

  I never looked back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After a hot shower and a medicinal bag of potato chips to take the edge off my rapidly declining mood, I headed for the sweet shop and
the companionship of my best friend. It was after twelve on a weekday, which meant there was little traffic in town. I raced through the single stoplight and parked adjacent to the building, taking a moment to appreciate the peace of small-town life on a quiet weekday.

  Then I remembered the way I’d grabbed Fenton, his response, and hurried from the car.

  I walked into the building right off the main street and saw most of the black bistro tables were unoccupied. There was an older woman with a bag of beignets reading a newspaper and a man toting a toddler, with a second baby strapped to his back, at the checkout counter. Pleased I wouldn’t have to fight for Essie’s attention, I made my way up to the glass display case.

  There was the usual array of goodies, freshly baked and made from as many local ingredients as possible. That idea, I knew, had come from one of the underlings, a woman quickly working her way up the latter of Essie’s Confections toward top management. Her farm-to-table approach to ingredients took every sweet they sold over the top, from ordinary to something magnificent.

  The place was quickly becoming known throughout the region and beyond.

  I stopped to stare wide-eyed at a four-layered trifle with homemade whipped cream and vibrant red strawberries layered around the top. If I gave myself the chance, I’d have the whole thing polished off in record time. Maybe Essie would be willing to give me a discount.

  “I was hoping you’d stop in at some point,” Essie said to me, nodding and smiling at the super dad as she finished making his change. “What are—” her eyes widened when she finally saw the whole of me. “Ooh, boy. Someone ticked you off.”

  “I am known for having a level head,” I insisted, leaning my elbow on the glass and resting my chin on my palm, the trifle shifting to the back of my mind. I smiled at the toddler, who paid me little attention, too busy stuffing a cookie in his mouth and letting his dad tug him toward the door. “Today I did something that I wouldn’t ordinarily consider stupid. But it was stupid. I’m stupid. Don’t judge me”, I finished.