Construction Beauty Queen (5 page)

He returned to the truck for the level and longer nails and, most importantly, to give himself space. When he came back, Veronica was still pushing against the post that no longer needed her support, while reading her instruction manual. His body hummed with awareness as he worked around her.

Finally, she closed the book and looked at him. “I should do the work while you tell me what I need to do for each step,” she said. “Like most people, I learn faster and more completely by doing than by watching and listening.”

He doubted her plans for after she left his company required any skills he could teach her. Then again, if he gave her the chance to touch the gate and get a splinter, maybe she’d decide her thirty-day trial wasn’t worth it. He could get his focus back on completing jobs and bringing in new business. He had employees and bills to pay.

He handed over the hammer and the level, momentarily sidetracked as a breeze blew the scent of her exotic perfume—orchids, maybe, or mangos or…bleach?—to his nostrils. “Pound in the L brackets. Make sure they’re straight.”

Veronica accepted only the level, leaving him to hold the hammer. She took an inordinate amount of time making sure the brackets were lined up and the bubble in the level was perfectly positioned inside the lines. He gave her points for precision, even though patiently watching someone do the work he could do faster and better made him crazy.

Finally, she returned the level and took the hammer. She swung at the nail and…

She smashed her thumb against the post.

“Oh!” She gasped and her eyes filled with tears as the nail and bracket clattered to the ground. Instead of falling with them or turning to him, she bent and picked up the pieces. She took the level back out of his hand and started to repeat the process of positioning the bracket again.

Matt stared at her, trying to understand what had happened. She’d smashed her thumb, and now she was going to continue working without complaining? The pain had to be excruciating. Didn’t this woman have a nasty side? Kimberly certainly had unleashed hers the first—and only—time she’d allowed herself close enough to physical labor to get a tiny scratch. At the very least, Veronica had the perfect opportunity to suck a little sympathy from him.

She silently traded the level for the hammer. This time she was more cautious with the tool, making contact with the nail using small, tentative strokes.

“You’re not even denting the post,” Matt pointed out.

She handed the hammer to him. “I think you should—”

She’d been so stoic earlier that he forced himself to swallow his smug “I told you so.” He reached to take the hammer. She released it and crumpled to the ground.

“That’s a delayed reaction if I ever saw one.” And a little overdramatic as far as sympathy bids went. Matt looked down at her. She wasn’t clutching her thumb. She was just…there.

He knelt beside her and placed his finger on the smooth, warm skin of her neck. Her pulse was steady. She’d just gone for an over-the-top attempt at sympathy.

Her eyes flickered open and settled on him. She started to sit up and immediately tucked her head in a fetal position. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled and weak. “I can hammer it. Give me a minute.”

Okay, maybe this wasn’t a sympathy bid at all. Maybe she really had fainted. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m going to finish hammering.” She looked pale but was alert and insisting she was well enough to work.

He picked up the jug of water he’d brought with him, uncapped it, and levered her slowly into a sitting position, trying not to think about how intimately his hand was splayed up her back, his fingertips touching her spine. “Drink this.”

She took a small sip and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

He pushed it back to her. “Drink it like you mean it.” He watched her throat work as she tipped her head to swallow, exposing flawless, pale skin. He managed to get half the contents in her before she returned the thermos, rewarding him with a little color in her cheeks.

He reached under her knees and around her back, lifting her up.

“What are you doing?” Her panicked voice was right against his ear.

He’d been platonically assisting an injured person. But her demand made him all too aware of their physical closeness. “Checking out your butt joints. What do you think?” he said with a laugh. “I’m carrying you to the truck, okay? I’m not making a move on you.”

“Is there such a thing as thumb joints? That’s where I could
really
use the attention.” Veronica looped an arm around his shoulders and rested her head on his chest. He tucked his chin against the top of her head so he could lift the truck’s passenger door handle.

His lungs filled with the strangely alluring scent of sodium hypochlorite and expensive perfume. He set her in the seat. If she’d stayed here to begin with, maybe he’d be able to concentrate on her thumb joint, instead of the other body parts he had no business touching but his fingers suddenly itched to explore. “Do you do this often?”

“Smash my thumb? I shut it in a door once. But this is my first time with a hammer.” Her full pink lips were inches from his.

“Faint,” he clarified, disentangling her arm from his shoulders and stepping back.

“Oh.” Embarrassment gave her face more color. “Only once. I volunteered for Habitat for Humanity in the middle of July—crazy hot and humid. It was the first day, and they had us report to the site at some absurd hour, so I didn’t have time for breakfast. I guess I kind of collapsed or something; I’m a little fuzzy on the details. All I know is they wouldn’t let me touch the power tools after that. So I did paperwork, hit up vendors for donations, and coordinated charity events.”

She had a history of passing out on the job. That definitely required documentation. And was exactly why he needed to return his focus to his employer responsibilities. “When was the last time you’ve eaten? I’m guessing you skipped breakfast?”

“Not on purpose. By the time I got my trailer clean enough that I could sleep in it, both the grocery store and that little diner on the corner were closed. I’d left my doughnuts outside, and some critter found them before I did. But I’m fine, Matt. Let me get back to work, please.”

“Not on your life. Do you know how much my workman’s comp insurance goes up when I have an on-the-job injury?” But as guilty as she was for not taking care of herself, he deserved just as much blame. He knew the state of her trailer made it impossible for her to cook anything, and he’d heard what the townspeople had done to her at the grocery store. She hadn’t stepped inside Pauline’s Diner, which, considering the gossip there, was probably a smart choice. And Barney likely would have sent her out of the convenience store with something completely inedible.

Clearly, she hadn’t eaten since she arrived in Kortville yesterday. But he’d been too busy complaining about her being two minutes late for work and slowing him down on the job to notice. No wonder she’d passed out. Setting her up to fail was one thing—he would never purposefully endanger the health of anyone.

Matt was ashamed to realize he’d already done so. He slammed the passenger door, closed the tailgate, and settled into the driver’s seat.

“Where are you taking me?”

Her suspicion was well founded. He’d already proven he couldn’t be trusted to take care of her. “To get some food. And ice for your thumb.”

She was cradling it in her other hand; he bet it was throbbing and giving her a splitting headache. Her inability to swing a hammer, however, had nothing to do with her state of nutrition. She had no business working construction if she couldn’t drive a single nail into place.

“You left your tools behind,” she noted as he backed out of the driveway. “We didn’t finish hanging the gate, and I really wanted to meet the owner of that house.”

“I’ll come back and finish up. The job’s almost done.”

“So I’m your top priority.” She leaned her forehead against the window. “That’s so sweet.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice impassive. “You have a warped idea of top priority if you think someone who makes you beat yourself up with tools and then pass out is sweet.”

She lifted her head enough to smile weakly at him. “Matt Shaw, you are without a doubt the sweetest boss I’ve ever had.”

His fingers twitched. He clenched the steering wheel, but it was a poor substitute for the skin he longed to touch. “You’re only saying that because I haven’t fired you yet.”

Chapter Three

Her head was pounding nearly as hard as her thumb. Veronica kept her eyes closed, wishing she could shrivel and fade away. So she needed to remember to eat in the morning. So she wasn’t cut out for construction. She had her wits. She had an MBA, for goodness sake! She could make it in the world.

The truck stopped moving, and Veronica looked out the windshield. They were stopped in front of another house, this one nearly as small as her trailer but much better maintained, the grass perhaps a day or two overdue for a mowing. “What are we doing here?”

“Getting breakfast. Can you walk?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her cheeks heated. Matt had cradled her in his arms as he’d carried her to the vehicle. If he’d given her a minute, she could have walked. But instead, he’d proven his theory of how helpless she was and given her a taste of how
good
it felt to be helpless in his big, strong arms.

She was pathetic, finally claiming her pride and independence only to toss it aside less than twenty-four hours later, the second she stumbled upon a cute guy. She got out of the pickup and walked under her own power, but Matt hovered inches from her, ready to catch her if she so much as stumbled while she made her way to the front door. “Whose house is this?”

“Mine.” He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

She made no move to step over the threshold. She wasn’t going to depend on him to take care of her. She could take care of herself. “Take me to my trailer, please. I’ll find something to eat.”

“I saw what your refrigerator was stocked with. How do you feel about omelets?”

“Too much work. How about a piece of toast?” Okay, she’d eat here. He was right about the lack of anything edible in her trailer. A little food, and she’d be able to think more clearly. She had to convince him she had something to offer as an employee so he wouldn’t want to fire her.

She stepped inside. Matt closed the door behind her and headed through the small entry into the living room. She followed him through the open floor plan to the kitchen. She was wrong. The house looked small from the outside, but it was at least twice the size of her trailer.

He pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for her to sit. Then he set an ice pack, a towel, and a glass of orange juice in front of her. “How’s the thumb? Are you going to lose the fingernail?”

“Lose my nail?” She sank into the offered chair, feeling woozy again. Her thumb was red and puffy, but the ice felt heavenly.

“Stick around, and it’ll happen,” Matt said. “This is construction, not a tea party.”

Matt opened the refrigerator and began pulling out eggs, sausage, ham, mushrooms, peppers, onions, broccoli, and cheese. The appliance appeared well stocked for a guy who ate coffee and doughnuts on the run. And Matt looked as comfortable chopping vegetables and tossing ingredients in the pan as he did swinging a hammer.

His brown hair curled around the neckline of his white tee, which stretched across his broad shoulders every time he reached along the counter. One back pocket of his jeans showed off a square white outline of his wallet. He flipped the omelet onto a plate and set two slices of buttered toast along the side.

Then he turned away from the stove to face her, his brown eyes intense but gentle. His sensuous, full mouth curved slightly, outlined by his square jaw. He slid the plate across the table to her. “Eat. When you’re done, you can rest on the couch while I go back to the farmhouse.”

Veronica blinked. She’d assumed he’d stay while she ate, that maybe he’d share part of her meal; there was no way she could eat all of it. In any event, she had to return to the job site with him. “You’re going to leave me here?”

“I have things to do.”

She needed to work, too, so she could make enough money to afford her next meal and not pass out again. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll come with you.”

She lifted a forkful of egg up to her mouth, and her taste buds screamed in delight at the delicious flavors. “Oh my gosh; this is so good. You have to try a bite.”

His gaze softened. “I have tried it. Trust me, it wasn’t that good the first time I made it…or even the tenth.” He dropped into the chair next to her. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off to build your strength up, then you can hit the ground running tomorrow?”

“I hope that was an expression, and you don’t actually have a marathon planned.” She made a face, still attempting to eat quickly instead of savoring each bite, so she could help him fix the gate.

He rose to his feet. “No marathon, I promise. But you have to take care of yourself, because no one is going to do it for you.”

She looked from her omelet to him, her insides warming. “I think you just did.”

“Did you come here looking for a man to take care of you? Because if that’s the case, you might as well tell Ron you want to end this job experiment.”

Warmth deserted her. Pampering and coddling were the last things she wanted, especially from her boss. “I’m ready to go back to work right now.”

Matt frowned at her half-eaten meal. “Not until you’ve finished every bite of that and rested. I’ll come back and check on you at noon.” With that, he marched out of the house.

She ran to the door in time to see the pickup peel out of the driveway. He’d stranded her, but he must trust her, too. He wouldn’t have left her alone in his house otherwise, right? The thought made her smile as she looked around. Matt’s house had a definite masculine brown and cream color theme going. But it wasn’t completely sterile. The dishtowel hanging over the handle of the stove had a gaudy orange rooster on it. A flash of pink peeked out from under the edge of the worn couch.

Her heart stopped and then thundered. How would she explain to his girlfriend what she was doing in his house if the woman returned before he did or before Veronica left? Knowing she was snooping, she walked to the couch and pulled on the scrap of pink. A Barbie throw pillow and
Charlotte’s Web
appeared. Not from a girlfriend. A daughter, maybe? Of course, that meant a wife was likely in the picture, too.

She pushed the offending book and pillow back under the couch and returned to the table to finish her brunch. Then she took her dishes to the sink and her ice pack to the freezer. She paused with her hand on the refrigerator door. A child’s drawing of a man and a young girl holding hands was attached with magnets. The child’s writing labeled the man
Uncle Matt
and the girl
Jenny
. In the top corner next to the sun were two tiny people with wings and the heart-stopping words,
Mommy and Daddy in heaven.

Veronica’s eyes filled with tears, and she felt an overwhelming urge to hold and comfort this girl, who’d endured an unspeakable tragedy in her young life. But of course, she didn’t need Veronica’s comfort; she already had Matt. Veronica had no doubt he was doing everything in his power to fill the gap and be both parents for his young niece.

Veronica set down her dishes and dabbed her eyes. Then she washed the plate and cup and wiped the counter. Matt probably assumed she would leave her mess for him to clean up. He seemed so sure she wanted to be pampered that it felt important to prove she could hold her own without an entourage to care for her. She’d already confirmed his belief that she needed someone to look after her on the job.

After that, the couch was too inviting to resist. She lay down, only for a minute until her headache was gone.

The next thing she knew the shadows were coming from the other direction, and a blanket covered her body. Her headache was gone. The pain in her thumb had subsided to a dull, forgettable ache.

She had no idea how long she’d slept. But clearly, it had been substantially longer than a minute. She started to fold the blanket and paused. Matt must have come to check on her, as he’d promised, and covered her while she was sleeping. She tried to envision the look on his square, tan, handsome face as he’d settled the blanket over her. Tenderness, perhaps? Maybe he was starting to care about her.

Or was he simply disgusted that she was sleeping all day when she should have been working? She sighed at the more likely scenario and set the blanket on the end of the couch. It was time to figure out how to get home—her trailer home.

She had no idea where Matt’s house was in relation to the rest of town—she’d kept her eyes closed on the ride over. At the time, it had seemed like the only way to keep her headache at bay.

All right. She might not have her GPS, and she didn’t trust the townspeople to give her directions to anywhere but the interstate, but the town was small and she was wearing comfortable shoes. She’d find her way—to the house with the broken gate, to the convenience store, or to the Kortville Construction office. Wherever she arrived first, that’s where she’d put in her time. Then she’d go home.

After twenty minutes of walking, her toes pinched and her boots felt like torture chambers instead of practical, comfortable footwear, but she knew where she was. She could see the convenience store sign. Perfect. She’d cover the doughnuts and spend the rest of the day hanging drywall and spreading joint compound.

The plan lost a little of its perfection when she got closer and saw that Matt’s truck wasn’t in front of the store. Her anticipation over the job disappeared without him to share it. She couldn’t stop thinking about him walking in and covering her with that blanket, instead of demanding she wake up and get back to work—which he would have been well within his rights to do. If her father or Trevor had been half as thoughtful, she might never have left home.

She limped through the parking lot, favoring her brand-new blisters. The convenience store door was propped open with the beer boxes again. She tried to convince herself this was the best-case scenario: she’d finish the job. When Matt saw what she’d accomplished, he’d realize she was an asset to his team, not someone he needed to babysit.

“Look who’s here.” Barney hustled around the counter to her side. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“I am?” She smiled, pleased that she was making headway with the townspeople.

“Absolutely. My freezer was accidentally unplugged all night, and I have this box of ice cream bars that I need to give away.” Barney lifted a box. The corners were discolored, damp, and squishy.

She couldn’t allow for a repeat of yesterday. “Thanks, Barney, but I actually came here to polish off the remodeling project for Matt.”

“I thought you were spending the day lounging on his couch.”

Matt had told everyone she was a slacker. Nice.

“Anyway, I hired
him
, not you. Have some ice cream.” He held out the box, which dripped a steady stream of white cream onto the gray concrete between them.

“You hired Kortville Construction,” she corrected, doing her best to pretend she didn’t see his
gift
. “I am an employee of the company.”

“You’ve got to take this ice cream and get it out of here right now. It’s making a big mess on my floor.” He shoved the cold, gooey box against her chest and nudged her toward the door.

Ick. She much preferred the dusty doughnuts. “Barney, I’m going to give this box back to you if you don’t explain to me why you won’t consider one single thing I ask for when I come inside your store.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His face was a picture of pudgy innocence.

She held out the box, and the ice cream stopped soaking her shirt and starting pooling on the floor.

“Okay, okay.” He pushed the box back against her again. “You’re ruining everything. You think I’m remodeling because I’ve got money to throw around? No, I’m spiffing this place up because it’s going to be
the
place to hang out. People will grab Gatorade, doughnuts, ice cream, pizza—everything they need for the big game.”

“The big game?”

He pointed across the street. “Ron promised to clear out the trailers and donate the old trailer park for a community baseball field. People were going to start playing ball this summer. By next spring he was going to donate the funds for lights, so they could play night games. Kids’ leagues, adult leagues, teams from neighboring towns. They were all going to come here, and they were going to get gas and snacks at my store.”

She tried to envision it, but her sticky, wet shirt stole her concentration. “And I’m living on third base?”

He almost smiled. “Over home plate, actually.”

“Well, that’s a problem,” she agreed, giving him her brightest smile. “But this is only temporary, Barney. I don’t want to live in that trailer forever. Hopefully, long before next spring, I’ll have solved my income problem and I’ll have a nice little house far enough away that I won’t have stray foul balls coming through my windows.”

He didn’t look appeased. “If you’re here at all, working for Ron’s distribution warehouse, that means he didn’t sell it, so he won’t have the cash lying around to pay for the lights like he’d promised—not to mention the new library building, the community closet, or the food pantry.”

“Ron promised all that?” Despite offering her a job, he hadn’t struck her as the most generous of men.

“He’s willing to give money to every cause. He just needs to sell his business before he has the cash to fund everything.”

And if she took over, his money would be tied up and unavailable for distribution. Ugh. No wonder everyone hated her. She couldn’t just give up the job Ron had promised her to make them happy—she needed it to build her own foundation. She deserved that as much as they deserved a new baseball field or library building. But now guilt warred with her ambitions. She’d never imagined that she’d be taking away things that others needed to meet her own goals.

Veronica took off her sticky shirt and cleaned up the mess from Barney’s ice cream before donning a clean knit top. She couldn’t make any of the same missteps tomorrow that she’d made today. That meant she needed to find out from Matt if the start time varied by day or if it was always at seven a.m. and where she should meet him. She rummaged through her purse for her phone and dialed.

“Kortville Construction. This is Matt.”