Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

W arrick

My brothers had all gone back to their lives, a piece of us still buried in that cemetery with Dad. I stayed in my old bedroom, eyeing the dingy paint and the dust that had collected on every surface. Every second of Mom's life the last few years had revolved around taking care of Dad and her animals. Housework and general maintenance had taken a back seat, even with the day nurse I'd hired to take the load off of her.

Which was why one of the first things I'd done after the funeral was to start emailing around for general contractors to come out to the house. Mom had been hesitant to let me spend my considerable bank account on the house repairs, but after I whined that I couldn't live in a house that had an avocado-green refrigerator, she relented. Honestly, that fridge would probably outlive me, but I had plenty of money and no one to spend it on. It would give me great pleasure to spoil the hell out of my mother .

"Come on, Mom! I hear there's a buffet and open bar right when you step onto the cruise ship!"

Mom finally came whizzing out of the hallway that led to the primary bedroom, a beach bag slung over her shoulders and her reading glasses jammed on top of her head. She spun in a full circle.

"I just need my glasses!"

I grinned. Mom, known as Gigi to everyone around town, was a bit of a mess. But I liked seeing the excitement in her eyes. Booking this three-week cruise for her and her sisters had been the right thing to do. After Dad's funeral, she'd grieved for several weeks and hadn't left the house except to take care of her animals. There definitely wasn't a timeline on grief and I didn't want to rush her, but I didn't want her spirit to die along with him either. My aunts had been excited about my idea and had certainly approved of me paying for all three ladies to enjoy some time at sea. A little distraction was just what the situation called for.

Putting my hands on her shoulders, I kissed Mom's cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of bacon and lavender. "They're on your head, Gigi."

She gasped and then grinned sheepishly. "Ohh, don't you tell your brothers or they'll have me tested for mental decline. I'm almost seventy. Of course there's been a decline! It's a design by God himself. Get old, forget your aches and pains and even names just so you don't have to deal with pain and bullshit people. Brilliant, if you ask me."

I shook my head at her reasoning and grabbed the suitcase I'd wheeled out of her room earlier this morning. "Just don't forget to have some fun on the ship, will you?"

Mom plunked her glasses on her face and walked to the door with her nose held high. "I intend to see how many pounds I can gain in three weeks." As we exited the house, she called out goodbyes to her animals, as if they could understand what she said. "Now, you don't forget to feed Cleveland and Thistle and Bessie. The chickens won't give you much grief if you stick to the schedule. My Bessie Baby still hasn't warmed to you, but she will once she hasn't been milked for a day or two. Keep at it, son."

I rolled my eyes, but got Mom's suitcase stored in the back of my truck, before I picked her up princess-style and placed her in the passenger seat.

"I don't know why you bought a truck this big," she grumbled.

"The seats have a massager," I answered. That wasn't why I traded in my Porsche convertible and bought the truck, but I didn't think now was the time to go into the fact her oldest son might be having a midlife crisis.

Mom snorted, clicking her seat belt on. "Great. My son buys a truck just to get his butt rubbed. You know if you got married, you could?—"

I shut the door and glared at her through the window. She shot me the bird, which just made me laugh and shake my head. Mom was a character, that was for sure. The drive to San Francisco was filled with motherly advice, excessive ribbing, and considerable cajoling around the idea of obtaining a wife. The usual.

I loved my mother, but I was all too happy to leave her in the hands of her younger sisters by the time we got to the dock. The cruise ship loomed behind them as I took their picture. I wasn't sure how something that large was able to stay afloat. Then again, I didn't understand how planes actually flew, but I trusted the pilots to make it happen every time I stepped onto one. With assurances I would feed her animals and have the house renovation completed when she got back, I turned the truck around and headed back home.

"Bessie, you're being a little hussy, you know that?" I eyed the beast of a cow, one huge eyeball looking right back at me with just as much trepidation. I'd grown up on this hobby farm and had milked plenty of cows in my day, but at the seasoned—or as I liked to put it, experienced —age of forty-four, I hadn't milked one in over twenty years. I was rusty. And Bitchy Bessie knew it.

The minute I stepped foot in her pen, she'd given me side eye and moved to the opposite side of the grassy patch. I plunked down both buckets, one for collecting milk and the other for sitting on. Sitting in an executive chair for twenty years had done a number on my back. I couldn't squat for the length of time it would take to get even a single drop out of this animal. I cooed encouragement and compliments I didn't actually mean for several minutes. That got me within two feet of her, an accomplishment, if you asked me. A stroke of my hand down her back, over and over, got her to stay still long enough for me to have a seat on one bucket and get the other bucket in place underneath her.

I got my hands on Bessie's udders and felt more triumph than I did as a teenager finally getting my hands on Heather Briggs's boobs sophomore year in the back seat of my vintage Mustang. I pulled, the muscle memory of how to milk a cow coming back to me like riding a bicycle. Sadly, this bicycle fucking hated me. Bessie stiffened, letting out a deep moo that nearly vibrated me off the bucket. That would have been preferable, in hindsight, because next thing I knew, she shot out her back hoof and kicked the bucket.

She didn't die. Though in my head, I wished death upon her. None of that metaphorical bullshit. She literally kicked the bucket out from under me. My ass hit the dirt and my tailbone sent up an urgent SOS to my brain.

A cackle of laughter floated above the curses streaming from my mouth. I risked turning my head to see who dared laugh at my misfortune, not sure if my entire spine was compromised and that twisting motion might render me permanently paralyzed. Emmerleigh Slaywright, the general contractor I'd asked to come by today, stood in the driveway, nearly pissing herself over my misfortune. The jeans, boots, and T-shirt were the same as yesterday, but her blonde hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail this time. Too bad. I quite liked the way the strands had framed her pretty face yesterday.

I glared at the woman, which only made her laugh harder. Bessie mooed again, moving quickly to the fence line to see if Emmerleigh offered escape from my excellent milking prowess.

"Don't stop on account of me. I was enjoying the show," Emmerleigh managed to gasp, echoing the words I'd tossed at her after she started her strip show yesterday. Lord help me, this one was spicy.

I rolled my eyes, gingerly getting to my feet and testing out my legs. I wasn't sure how to ice a tailbone, nor did I want to know, but I had a feeling I'd be walking funny for a few days. Emmerleigh petted Bessie's head, like that hussy deserved praise for nearly maiming me. I came over too, slapping Bessie on the flank and earning myself another side eye.

Emmerleigh lifted a single light eyebrow. "First time those jeans have seen dirt?" she drawled.

"First time wearing a shirt to a job?" I shot back immediately.

"First time being rejected by a female?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. I could stand here all day with insults. "First time being asked to start a big-girl job?

Her eyes narrowed in challenge, and so did mine. Fuck, that was hot. Not that I had any business eyeing my contractor with lust, but there was just something about a woman who got mouthy that just did it for me. The women I'd dated in the city had known exactly who I was and what I could do for them. They'd had nothing but flowery words for me in order to gain my favor. It had been awesome at first, but had grown tiresome quickly. Deep pockets gave me privileges I greatly appreciated, but it came with a few downsides too. Mostly, I never knew if a woman wanted me for me or for my money and connections. Emmerleigh looked like she didn't give a shit who I was.

"Ready to see the house, Slaywright?" I asked, needing to end the staredown and get things back under control. Plus the idea of an ice pack on my ass was sounding better and better.

Emmerleigh nodded and that was that. I ushered her into the house, rattling off all the things I wanted replaced or fixed. She kept a running list on her clipboard, along with taking pictures on her phone. By the time we made it to the outside, she had to flip her paper over and write on the back side. Two bathroom renovations, complete kitchen renovation, add on another bedroom, build a screened-in back porch, new interior paint throughout, and resurface wood floors.

When we were back to where the driveway gravel met the bottom of the porch stairs, Emmerleigh scanned over the list again.

"Well, it's a lot, but shouldn't be a problem. I'll start on the interior while we wait for the permits to be pulled for the porch and the bedroom. I'll get a crew together, and if we agree to terms, we can get going as early as tomorrow."

That was exactly what I wanted to hear. "I have three weeks."

Emmerleigh's eyes looked like they might fall out of her dainty little head. "Three weeks? More like three months ."

I tapped my boot and assessed the little lady. She wasn't that big, but she looked like she was pretty capable. "Tell you what, you get it done in three weeks and I'll throw in a ten-thousand-dollar bonus."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Seriously? "

I nodded. "I'll go get my checkbook. Five now, five when you finish on time."

Her jaw dropped open, but she didn't argue. I headed inside to grab my checkbook. Money always opened doors and bent rules, a lesson I'd learned quickly when my business had taken off in my mid-twenties. It wasn't fair, but it was just the way the world worked and I wasn't so noble to not take advantage of it. When I came back down the stairs, she was on a phone call, her back to me.

"You can't call me."

I frowned, my footsteps halting. Her voice had a wobble to it I didn't care for. Her back stiffened, and even though she didn't say another word, I could hear a voice coming from the phone. A male voice. A man who didn't sound happy at all. I barreled down the stairs, intent on taking the phone out of her hand and giving that asshole a piece of my mind, but she hung up and shoved the phone in her back pocket before I could get to her.

"Who was that?" I snapped, feeling protective of a woman I barely knew and honestly didn't like all that much.

Mom had been married before Dad. Exactly one year she spent in matrimonial hell with an asshole who yelled and raged and eventually hit. As boys, she'd told us the whole story, impressing upon us that women were to be treasured and protected. She told us how our father had arrived on the scene and not only saved her from that marriage, but offered her a love that lasted forty-six years and through raising three boys. There was one surefire way to piss off a Wolfe, and that was to disrespect women.

Sadly, I'd just never met a woman I felt that protective of.

Emmerleigh's face was pale, all sparkle of challenge and mirth wiped completely away. She wouldn't meet my gaze. She looked smaller, as if she'd closed in on herself. "No one."

I wanted to press her further because that most assuredly was someone . Someone important if it had made her go all pale and quivery from just one short phone call. Maybe whoever was tattooed on her arm. I'd noticed the script tattoo on her left inner forearm, but hadn't been able to read it. She held up the clipboard and lifted her chin.

"I'll get an estimate to you by tonight. If it looks all right, I'll get that crew and be back tomorrow to get started."

And then she spun abruptly and left, climbing into her truck without a backward glance. I watched her turn around in the driveway and head back out, her taillights finally disappearing as she made the right onto the main road. It was only after Bessie mooed at me again that I realized I still held my checkbook in my hand. I never wrote the check I'd promised Emmerleigh.

With a sigh, I stuck my tongue out at Bessie and headed inside to get some ice on my sore ass.