Bounty

  In the morning.

  What the fuck?

  The banging stopped only to start again.

  “Goddammit,” I muttered angrily, tossing back the covers, feeling the violent hit of the chill of the early morning and ignoring it to throw my legs off the side of the bed.

  I reached down to the floor to grab the wool socks I’d worn to bed (because the down didn’t kick in for a while and last night it had gotten super-chilly, then the comforter kicked in and I’d had to take them off). I yanked them on and nabbed the big, bulky, loose-knit cardigan at the end of the bed that I’d thrown on last night when it started to get cold.

  I pulled it on as I stomped out, the banging stopping. But I kept motoring toward the front door even if I was in my PJs under the sweater, which meant a cropped tank top and pair of baggy but clingy silk short-shorts that had flowered embroidery up the hips.

  I tore my hand through my hair as I saw a white T-shirt at the door and suddenly I was not one with the idea that Deke Whoever-He-Was was not the only man in the universe for me.

  Suddenly, I was ticked off that Deke Whoever-He-Was had not felt the same as me yonks ago in Wyoming, which meant we’d spent the ensuing time together and he knew I stayed up until earliest midnight and never got out of bed before nine.

  Which was what I’d done last night, reading in my cold-as-fuck bedroom until two in the morning.

  I unlocked and yanked open the door just as the pounding started again.

  “Okay, okay,” I snapped, looking up at hot, man-bunned, colossal, alert Deke, a Deke who was so hot, the man bun worked so well on him, was so big and so…Deke, I didn’t notice his eyes take a quick journey south upon my opening the door. I just declared, “I’m up. What the hell?”

  His brows shot together and his attention cut to my face. “What the hell?”

  “Yes, what the hell?” I asked.

  “Woman, I’m here to work on your house,” he informed me.

  “I know that, Deke,” I returned. “But it’s not even seven in the morning.”

  “Hours seven to four,” he stated shortly, something I vaguely remembered Max mentioning to me during our meeting. “For you, since you want overtime, seven to six. It’s seven.”

  “It’s ten to seven,” I shared.

  “It’s as good as seven,” he shot back. “You want me to show right at seven, whatever. I’ll do that tomorrow. Now I’m here.”

  “Yes, and the here you’re here for, it’s my understanding, requires work outside the house. Not you banging on the door and dragging me out of my bed.”

  “Can’t start work on a property without letting the owner know I’m around.”

  “Is that a rule?”

  “You want me to get on with it without disturbing your beauty rest, I’ll do that too. But just sayin’, construction ain’t quiet.”

  He had me there.

  And I was acting crazy, something I was wont to do on the rare occasion I was dragged out of bed before nine.

  But Deke hadn’t spent the last seven years learning that about me so I reined it in.

  “Point taken,” I granted. “Now I know you’re here. Go for it. I’ll keep the door open if you need anything. Do you want coffee?”

  He did a slow blink.

  It was hotter than him just standing there which in and of itself was hot enough.

  “You bite my head off and ten seconds later offer me coffee?”

  A new tone from Deke.

  Incredulous.

  “I’ll be making some, and if you drink it, I can make you some too,” I pointed out.

  “Had some already.”

  It was my turn to blink.

  “You’ve been up long enough to make and drink coffee?” I asked.

  “There are some of us who live in the real world, gypsy princess,” he struck out, his aim true, and I felt the sting of the bite. “Get up. Get juiced up. Go to work. That’s what real people do.”

  “I didn’t mean—” I started, my tone conciliatory.

  Deke didn’t feel like being consoled.

  “We done here?” he asked.

  “You haven’t answered about the coffee.”

  “Thanks,” he clipped, not sounding grateful at all. “I’m good.”

  He then turned on his work boot and tramped out of the arched entryway, shifted left and I lost sight of him.

  As I seemed to do a lot around Deke, I stood in the door where I noticed belatedly the chill from outside was no more chilly than the chill inside and I stared at the place I last saw him.

  Okay, so I’d sorted my brain about Deke yesterday, which was good.

  Today, it was barely dawn (right, so actually it was past dawn but it seemed barely dawn to me), and I’d already created a situation where I needed to sort different things out with Deke.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I closed the door.

  I moved through the house to get to the garage to start coffee, wondering if I should have turned on the furnace that now had nice, shiny thermostats in three places.

  Since I had no insulation, and even rich as sin, I didn’t feel like warming the Colorado night around my house along with warming my house, I hadn’t.

  I’d be glad for insulation.

  Which meant I needed to be glad I had Deke because I’d be screwed if I didn’t.

  Which meant I had to sort things out with Deke.

  Shit.

  * * * * *

  An hour and a half later, hair wet and hanging down, wearing a dress made of pretty much nothing but cream lace (over a cream shift, of course) that had short sleeves and a shorter hem (this hitting me at mid-thigh) as well as a pair of sky-blue wellies with ladybugs on them, I made my approach to Deke. I was carrying a mug of hot coffee in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, a bag of sugar held against my chest with my arm.

  He heard me coming, turned, gave me a once-over, and his usually expressionless face formed an expression.

  Irritability.

  I’d earned that, being a bitch, so I ignored it.

  “Hey,” I called as I got close.

  He did not return my greeting.

  I finished getting close, which was to say stopping four feet from him, doing this a little surprised that the large rectangular fire pit that would eventually be the focal point in the middle of the deck was already constructed to three feet up, rising from the moist earth.

  He worked fast.

  And it looked good.

  I turned my gaze to him.

  “I brought you coffee,” I shared unnecessarily.

  He didn’t even glance at my hands.

  He also didn’t say anything.

  “Okay, dude,” I started quietly. “Just to say, I’m not a morning person.”

  “Got that,” he grunted.

  “Doesn’t give me a right to be a shrew,” I went on. “I’m sorry about that.”

  He shifted but only to cross his arms on his chest.

  This brought my attention to his chest which was not a healthy place for it to be if I didn’t want to blurt out I’d met him years ago, that meeting meant something to me, doing this just moments before I jumped his bones (something I didn’t want to do, because I did but he didn’t), so I looked to his face and that wasn’t much better.

  I persevered.

  “I’ll set an alarm from now on.”

  “Don’t tax yourself.”

  Now, wait.

  I’d apologized. I’d brought coffee. I’d been a bitch but I’d explained and now I was being cool.

  He needed to meet me halfway.

  So I didn’t give up.

  “Or I can give you a key and you can just,” I swung out the mug, “get on with things.”

  “Whatever way you want it. You’re the boss,” he returned.

  Deke was stubborn.

  Damn.

  I kept trying.

  “I’d like you to be comfortable here.”

  “Comfortable enough when I’m workin’,” he
replied.

  Which meant he’d be good if I just left him alone.

  He wanted it that way, fine. I’d been uncool, apologized for that, he wasn’t going to let it go, that wasn’t my problem.

  He was there to work. He was not there to become my best friend.

  “Right,” I murmured, turned, saw the stack of wood tarped and bound with thick wires that was sitting up against the side of the house, and I moved there. I put the mug on top, the milk, the sugar, and turned back to him. “There’s a spoon in the sugar, you need it. I’ll come out and get the stuff later. I won’t bother you when I do.”

  “Obliged,” he muttered and turned back to his stone.

  I didn’t linger.

  I got out of there.

  An hour later, I went back and the pit was up five feet.

  It was going to be awesome.

  I grabbed the milk, the sugar and the (I was weirdly pleased to see) empty mug and took it back to the house.

  * * * * *

  I listened to my brother’s ugly voicemail message again and waited for the beep.

  Then I sat at the edge of the seat of my Adirondack chair, leaned over, staring at the toes of my wellies, and left my message.

  “You’ll be glad to know, but I hope you know how sad I am to say it, that this is the last message you’ll get from me. I really want you to do the right thing, Mav. I’m still holding out hope you’ll figure out what that is and do it. And I hope that you’ve got it in you to realize that if Dad was still here, how this would cut him. Straight down to the bone, baby brother. He’d die another death, a more painful one this time, knowing his boy was acting this way to the two women in his life that he loved the most. Please, please, please, Maverick, the only person you’re hurting is you. I hate that for you. Dad would have hated it for you. So don’t do it.”

  I hit the button to disconnect but I didn’t wait that first beat as my thumb moved on the screen to find Bianca’s number.

  Get all the shit out of the way and move on.

  Dad hadn’t taught me that, Mr. T had (though, he didn’t use the word “shit” since he never cursed).

  I hit go and there was no ringing.

  Bianca’s phone was obviously off. It went right to voicemail.

  So I went right to leaving the message.

  “Right, so I was freaked, I couldn’t get hold of you. Then I got more freaked. Then worried. Now, I’m panicked, Anca. Lace is coming out in a few weeks and I’d love for you to come out too so we can be together and you can fill us in on what’s going down with you. Thick and thin. Three Musketeers. You know that, baby, always.” I even heard the edge of alarm in my voice when I finished, “Let me in, Anc. You know you can give anything to me. Anything. I’m here. Always here for you, my beautiful sister. Know it. Anything and always.”

  I hit the disconnect and a second later heard the gruff noise of a throat clearing.

  My head shot up and I looked to my right to see Deke standing at the side of the deck, at the top of the steps that led down from there, one hand to the railing, eyes to me.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Thought you heard me comin’.”

  I gave a short shake of my head and replied, “Not a problem. Everything okay?”

  “Pit’s as done as it needs to get at this juncture, I’m gonna start on the decking. This means I’m gonna be cutting wood and things are gonna get noisy.”

  I pushed up to standing. “That’s okay. I’m headed to Gnaw Bone to meet with Mindy anyway.”

  He nodded shortly. “Right.”

  “Anything I can bring you back?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  I wanted to push it. Offer to bring him a sandwich. Go to whoever Shambles was and get him a coffee. Maybe tell him I’d bring back a pizza we’d both share while he took a break.

  Nothing about him invited anything friendly from me and it wasn’t just that I’d been a bitch earlier, nothing about him had invited that yesterday either.

  So I said, “Okay, then. You want my number in case you need to phone me?”

  “I need somethin’, I’ll call Max.”

  Definitely didn’t want friendly.

  “Fine,” I said and it came out more curt (or hurt) than I wanted it to.

  He didn’t miss it. Oh no, he didn’t. I knew this with the way his chin jerked slightly to the side and something slid over his features only to vanish before I could read it.

  He didn’t want friendly, that was okay. If the ticked-off morning bear I could become didn’t raise her ugly head, he could not want whatever he didn’t want.

  I was still going to be friendly.

  “You change your mind, I’ll be back in a few hours and happy to pick you up a sandwich or get a pizza,” I offered. “Just call Max and ask for my number.”

  He said nothing.

  I decided not to roll my eyes or give him a glare.

  I just turned on my wellie and walked into my bedroom, calling behind me, “Later, Deke.”

  I shut the French door behind me seeing he’d already disappeared.

  * * * * *

  I sat on my Adirondack chair, bottle of beer resting on the arm, brochures Mindy had given me scattered around, all of them now having Post-it notes sticking out of the tops and sides, but I was scrolling through images on my phone that Dana’s interior designer had sent to me.

  Reception out there was spotty, which sucked and made anything loading take forever.

  I needed cable and Wi-Fi.

  Then again, I needed a lot of things.

  “Yo.” I heard and looked right to see Deke standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  I was not thrilled to see that after work, sweat making his shirt cling to his chest, flecks of wood sticking to his tee, he looked better than he did fresh and alert and recently caffeinated in the morning.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Done for the day,” he declared.

  Still not friendly.

  His call.

  “Okay, great, thanks.”

  “Be back at seven,” he stated.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Gonna be doin’ the insulation. You might not wanna be around,” he warned.

  “Noisy?” I asked.

  “That and other things,” he kind of answered.

  I nodded. “I’ll make myself scarce. I’ll do whatever for insulation. Nights are getting nippy.”

  Deke had no comment.

  “Enjoy your evening,” I bid.

  He lifted his chin, turned and walked away.

  I wondered about my poet’s soul. I was thinking, as I watched him walk away, that it might be faulty, seeing as it was what picked that guy for me.

  I gave it some time before I set my phone aside, got up and wandered down the stairs and around the house only to stop and stare.

  Except for some minimal decking around the edges, the railing and the finishing touches at the top of the fire pit, the deck was done.

  And it looked amazing.

  It was huge and it was perfect and I loved it.

  I also wished I’d seen it before Deke had left so I could tell him that.

  I hadn’t so I’d have to tell him tomorrow.

  Right then, it was time to send an email to Dana’s designer.

  That deck needed furniture.

  I’d also have to talk to Max. I’d be willing to wait another day to be able to do laundry to have that deck done and available to me.

  Totally.

  * * * * *

  Deke

  Deke sat in his chair outside, watching the lake turn orange, his mind not on the lake but on the fact that he wouldn’t have to dip too low to find the bottom of Jus’s short, lace dress and slide it up over her ass.

  These thoughts shifted uncomfortably to her saying, He’d die another death, a more painful one this time, knowing his boy was acting this way to the two women in his life that he loved the most.

  She had trouble with her brother, some tha
t sounded really not good.

  And her dad was dead.

  Jus didn’t look to be much older than thirty. Either the man had babies late or he’d died young.

  Deke’s mind barely wrapped around that fact when he heard her voice say, I’m here. Always here for you, my beautiful sister.

  Something was going down with a sister as well.

  Neither of those calls sounded good.

  Still, she made them then looked at him, pulled it together and offered to bring him back a pizza.

  He thought for certain the way she opened the door to him she was what he thought she was, a fake gypsy princess slumming in the Colorado mountains on millions of dollars’ worth of land.

  Her offering him a sandwich, wearing that cute-as-fuck dress and stomping around in those ridiculous boots that she looked comfortable in, not like she was missing her high heels, he was wondering if he was right.

  “Christ,” he bit out, pushed up, went into his trailer and made a bologna and cheese sandwich.

  He ate it and went right back out to head to Bubba’s.

  He did this hoping Jus wasn’t there.

  At the same time denying he hoped she was.

  * * * * *

  Justice

  I was in the garage the next morning, staring impatiently at Mr. Coffee as it dribbled brown elixir, when I heard the muted banging.

  Deke was there.

  I moved into the house, through it and to the front door.

  No PJs that morning. I was barely dressed and had had no shower. But I was dressed, awake, and determined not to be a bitch.

  I opened the door and looked up.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Hey,” he greeted back.

  “I’m making coffee,” I stated, shifting out of the door to let him in, and he came in while I was still talking. “I’ll bring you a mug when it’s done. Then I’ll hit the shower and get out of here while you get on with things. You want me to come back around noon with food or something?”

  He’d stopped inside and was studying me as I spoke.

  It took him a couple of beats before he said, “Thanks. No.”

  “Sure?” I asked.

  “I’m good,” he answered.

  “Okeydoke,” I replied, turned and moved back through the house, asking, “How do you take your coffee?”