Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (10 page)

He drove through the residential neighborhood, recognizing the signs of money coming in, signs that could actually be seen all over this island, mostly thanks to the resort in Barefoot Bay. Some of these houses, circa 1970 and 1980, were already repainted, remodeled, and redone. Cracked concrete driveways had been paved with upscale bricks and cheap shingle roofs changed out to statement-making barrel tile. Weed-thick lawns were manicured and trimmed with regal queen palms.

Beth was in the right business at the right time, that was for sure.

As he approached the house, the first thing he saw was a large green Dumpster in the driveway, and his heart rate kicked up. She wouldn’t demo a house pregnant, would she?

Oh hell, who was he kidding? Miss Independent might do anything.

He parked his truck on the street and climbed out, peering at the house his dispatcher had sent him to. One story, maybe twenty-five hundred square feet tops, plain as dirt.

As he got closer, he heard music coming through the screen door. Not any old music—this sounded like a full fifty-piece orchestra hitting the crescendo of something screechy and classical.

Who listened to stuff like that?

He checked the notes on this phone again, making sure he had the right address. Yep. This was 185 Mangrove Trail, recently purchased by Bethany Eleanor Endicott.

That was his girl. Well, not technically. Not…yet.

He reached the front door, making a face as the music reverberated, lifting his hand to knock but stopping himself at the sight of Beth. She stood in profile in the dining room, staring at something ahead, but hidden behind a wall, one hand on her stomach. She wore a simple white T-shirt tied in a knot at her waist, showing a good two inches of skin above extremely short jean cutoffs and legs that went on for days.

Everything in him stirred, like any time he looked at her.

She was talking—well, her mouth was moving—the music was so loud he couldn’t hear anything.

He tapped on the door, but she didn’t hear him, tipping her head and continuing her mouth-moving. She pointed at something in what he assumed was the kitchen and noticed a sledgehammer leaning against the wall.

Suddenly, the music stopped, allowing him to hear her.

“We could certainly put the sink there, cupcake.”

Cupcake? Who the hell was she talking to?

“But that would depend on the cabinet guys—” She turned, as if she sensed someone at the door, shading her eyes to see what he imagined was his silhouette with the morning sun backlighting him. “Oh, thank God, you’re here.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so happy to see me.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Ken?”

“You were expecting someone else?”

Her shoulders sank as she took a few steps to the door. “The world’s most unreliable subcontractor.”

“Who likes Mozart?”

“It was Bach, but no, that’s for…” She opened the screen door to let him in, and he could see some color rise to her cheeks. “For the baby,” she murmured. “It’s supposed to build brain cells or something.”

An unfamiliar feeling washed over him, so new he couldn’t even name it. A sense of…anticipation? Joy? Pride? A sudden urge to call something
cupcake
?

Her eyes narrowed in distrust. “Wait, what are you doing here? How did you find my house?”

“Firefighter connections.”

Still looking at him, she tucked her fingers into the pockets of her denim shorts. “You could have called.”

“I wanted to see you.”

She inhaled slowly and nodded. “Okay…well, here I am. And here’s my house. It’s kitchen demo day.”

He narrowed his eyes in warning, and they dropped to her stomach. “Please tell me you are
not
—”

“I am
not
,” she assured him. “But it’s killing me to wait for the sub who is.”

He glanced around, seeing an incredible amount of orderliness for a house about to be wrecked. In the corner of the dining room there was a makeshift kitchen with a hot plate, a dorm-size fridge with plastic gallons of water on top, and a few dishes on a single plastic rack. Clearly labeled boxes lined a wall. On a drape-covered dining table a selection of tools was spread neatly, like a chef might line up knives before preparing a big meal.

“There’s a method to your madness, I see.”

“Of course there is. The water’s off in the whole house—for now, anyway—all the circuits to the kitchen are off at the breaker box, everything is emptied and prepped, and the base screws and upper fasteners are out. I’ve done everything I can except what I normally do.”

“Demolish.”

“The best part, but I have to be safe.”

“Good…” He almost said
girl
but thought better of it. “Call,” he finished.

She shook her head slowly. “It pains me, especially because the doctor said normal physical activity is fine.”

“Lifting a sledgehammer is not normal physical activity.”

“No, I realize that. But…” She peered beyond him to the open door. “The sub was supposed to be here over an hour ago and I’m getting impatient.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” He stepped deeper into the house, surveying the space.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Can it.” He flicked at the sleeves of his T-shirt, already dressed for work. “Which cabinet is first?”

“Ken.”

“What?”

“You didn’t come over here to demo a kitchen. We need to finish our conversation.”

“We can finish it while we work. And by work, I mean you tell me what to do while you sit there and not play that god-awful music. Oh, and tell me you have a working coffeepot, because I got off a twenty-four-hour shift less than an hour ago and didn’t catch more than three hours’ sleep.”

Because someone came into the station yesterday and told me she was pregnant.

“I…I can’t…”

“
You
can’t do the demo, the sub is a no-show, and I’m here to help. Coffee?”

She walked toward the dining area. “Just what I need—another man to tell me what to do,” she said under her breath, lifting a coffeemaker from the floor to place it on the table.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said,
you
tell
me
what to do and I do it.”

She bent down to plug in the coffeemaker, her ponytail falling in a way that covered her expression. “Okay. Sorry. I’m frustrated.”

“And pregnant.”

She looked up, a few strands of hair escaping the elastic and falling over her eye. “Which doesn’t change anything except my ability to pry cabinets off the wall.”

“Doesn’t it change your mood?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’ve been in a perpetual bad mood since I called this sub yesterday. I knew it was a mistake, but everyone else is booked for months.”

“Well, I’m here.” He grabbed a breaker bar from the table and a pair of clear goggles and headed into the galley kitchen. “These cabinets and the wall behind?”

“Yes, but not the wall yet.” She pointed at the first cabinet. “Start with that bank, beginning at the farthest to the left. Be sure to check for screws and cut carefully through any caulking.”

He glanced at her. “You saving the cabinets for the garage?”

“No, they’re trash.”

“You’re not donating them or planning to do anything with them?”

“Look at them.”

They were yellow and hideous, but he had to be sure. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms and came closer to the kitchen. “They’re going in the Dumpster in the driveway. Why?”

“Back up, buttercup.” He slid the goggles over his eyes, threw the breaker bar on the counter, and grabbed the sledgehammer with one hand. He checked to make sure she was standing back, hoisted the hammer, and thwacked the crap out of the top cabinet, knocking down three-quarters of it in one swoop. “I’m a fan of the full bore and blast technique.”

He turned to grin at her, only to find blue eyes locked on him. “I’m not.”

“Why? You want these down and want to finish today, right? I can—”

“Do it my way. Which is careful, clean, methodical, and thorough.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how I do everything.”

“You’re a control freak.”

She lifted a brow. “A pregnant one, so don’t cross me.”

He laughed at the warning. “Okay, if there’s a good reason to go all methodical, I will. But why spend two or three days doing what I can have done by tonight by going full bore?”

“Full bore.” She turned to the coffeepot to hide the fact that she was smiling. “Who says that?”

“Your new sub, who is free, by the way. And showed up when you needed him. And…” He took the cup she offered. “Is eternally grateful for the caffeine.”

She closed her eyes and sighed in surrender. “Fine. Do it your way.”

“Step back.”

After gulping the coffee, he turned and lifted the sledgehammer, giving the cheap fiberboard one more solid hit. The impact jolted his arms with satisfaction. He finished it off with two more slams.

“This is fun.” He looked over his shoulder to find her sitting in a dining room chair, staring at him with no expression, as if she wasn’t sure yet if she’d made the right decision letting him work.

“I guess it depends on your perspective,” she said.

Already feeling the first trickle of sweat, he reached over his head and ripped off his T-shirt, tossing it to the ground. “I’ll be done fast, I promise.”

“Oh no, please, take your time,” she said. “Don’t rush the
full bore
.”

He smiled and creamed the next cabinet with all he had. “So I heard you talked to Pookie,” he said.

“Interesting woman.”

He laughed before the next swing. “Oh, you know the type. A compulsive gambler with a heart of gold.”

“That’s a type?”

He smashed some wood, splintering it into fifty pieces. “It is in the firefighting world.” Before he took the next swing, he turned, a little surprised to see her blank expression had shifted to something more…interested. And not in Pookie. “You should have stuck around the station and met more of my team. Great men and women.”

“I’m sure they are, but I wasn’t sure what to do,” she said, a rich honesty in the reply. “And that feeling continues right now, right here.”

He threw a lazy smile over his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?”

“Soon as I get rid of this bank of cabinets.” He thwacked another cabinet and turned again to find her chin resting on her hand, her gaze locked on him, the sweetest hint of a smile. “You just enjoy the view.”

“Believe me, I am.”

And that made him want to work harder, which, he suspected, she knew.

Chapter Seven

Okay, this wasn’t her demo style, but two hours later, Beth forgot to be bothered by that. For one thing, all the uppers were out. For another, the stupid subcontractor never showed up or answered his cell phone. She’d have lost the entire day if Ken hadn’t come.

Except for a few jokes and conversation about the project, they didn’t talk about anything too serious. He demolished and, good Lord, she watched. And
watched
. Muscles bunched and relaxed. Sweat trickled down a tanned, ripped back and over a simple mariner’s star tattoo on his shoulder blade. Worn and faded jeans hung low on his narrow hips, revealing even more muscles and a vague tan line that made her mouth go bone-dry.

Full bore wasn’t so bad.

“You have to be hungry,” she said when he stopped to power down another half gallon of water.

He put the bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes intense on her. “Ravenous.”

“Me, too,” she said. Starved and itchy and a little too sweaty for a woman who wasn’t doing anything physical except eating him up with her eyes. “I was going to have a salad, but…” She let her gaze fall over his torso, which was wet from sweat, with a dark line of hair that ran down to…there. “That wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“We can go grab a bite. I could use a quick break.” He snagged a towel she’d given him and wiped his forehead. “Is the outside water on a different valve? I need to hose off.”

“Actually, it’s turned off, too.”

He glanced outside. “Pool looks good. Can I take a two-minute dip to cool off?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect.” He flicked the button to his jeans, taking a step toward the door.

“Oh,” she said. “You mean…”

He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it.”

And not like she didn’t want to see more.

“You’re welcome to join me.” One brow lifted in invitation.

“I…uh…” Good Lord, why couldn’t she string together a simple response? One that sounded like
no
.

One side of his mouth lifted, and his eyes twinkled as if he knew exactly why she was suddenly tongue-tied. The look finally shook her from her stupor.