Haven Creek (7 page)

Staring at her, sharing the same space, made Nate aware of things he either hadn’t noticed or had forgotten. First it was her voice. It was low, sultry, and incredibly seductive. Then it was her confidence. It was unusual for a woman in her early thirties to have so thoroughly taken charge of her life and career, resigning her position at a small but very successful architectural firm to strike out on her own. And she was not only confident but also secure when it came to her marital status. Whereas many women her age were trolling clubs, joining dating sites, and asking their friends to hook them up with a man, Morgan had admitted she wasn’t looking for a husband. Especially not one who came from Cavanaugh Island. His father was right when he said men were buzzing around her like bees flitting from flower to flower. Instead of preening, she’d appeared totally bored and unaffected by all the male attention she’d garnered at last weekend’s wedding reception. We’re more alike than not, Nate mused as he continued his mental assessment of Morgan.

“What’s the matter, Mo? Cat got your tongue?” he said teasingly when she compressed her lips.

“No,” she countered, smiling. “It’s just that I didn’t expect you to accept my offer without seeing the rendering. And you also said you had to talk to your dad and brother.”

“I discussed it with them and they’re in agreement that I should work with you. I’ve finished the barn’s construction, so that’ll give me time to help you out.”

Morgan pressed her palms together at the same time she closed her eyes. When she opened them they were dancing with excitement. “Thank you, Nate. Now are you ready to see the model of what will eventually be the fully restored Angels Landing Plantation?”

Attractive lines fanned out around her eyes when she smiled. He didn’t know how or why, but he felt her excitement as if it were his own. “Yes.”

Nate had decided to become part of the restoration project for several reasons, not the least of which was curiosity. But it was also good for his ego, and for posterity. The Shaw name was deeply ingrained in the annals of Lowcountry furniture making, and to have the name associated with the Angels Landing Plantation restoration was something his sister and brother could tell their grandchildren. Children of his own weren’t part of his thinking, because he had no intention of remarrying. And becoming a baby daddy was definitely not an option or even a remote possibility for Nate.

Since his return, working with his father was a reminder of how it’d been before he left for college. Accompanying his dad to the lumberyard was like visiting a toy store. The smell of raw wood had become an aphrodisiac, and the sight and sound of the saw was mesmerizing whenever it sliced large stumps into planks or wide boards. He’d watched his father, transfixed whenever he ran his fingertips over freshly cut Western red cedar, sugar maple, Brazilian mahogany, or American black walnut. Time and again he’d found himself doing the same thing. By the time he’d turned twelve he could differentiate at a glance among the many types of wood used in furniture making.

Nate followed Morgan back into her office, his gaze following the gentle sway of her hips in a pair of light gray cropped linen slacks. She appeared cool and fresh in a silk lavender man-tailored shirt and navy blue patent leather flats. When she opened the doors to an armoire, he noticed she’d replaced the drawers with shelves.

“I’ll help you with that,” he offered when Morgan slid out one of the shelves. He took it from her. “Sweet heaven,” Nate whispered when he saw the scaled-down model of a fully restored Angels Landing Plantation.

“You can put it on the drafting table.” She pulled out two high-back stools, turned on a swing-arm lamp, and positioned a high-intensity light over the table.

He placed the board with its magnetized pieces on the table, unable to believe the meticulous detail. The antebellum mansion sat at the end of a live oak allée. The scaled-down Greek Revival model, with pale pink columns and tall, black-shuttered windows, was an exact replica of the main house. Morgan had included guesthouses, carriage houses, an English boxwood garden, a family cemetery, chapel, and outbuildings around the property; rows of cabins and another cemetery made up the slave village. He recognized the cypress swamp at the east end of the property, which bordered the slave village on three sides. She’d even re-created the pond, which was surrounded by weeping willow trees.

“How long did it take you to complete this?” Nate asked.

“Once I got the surveyor’s report it took a little more than a month.”

“Is that all?”

Morgan chuckled. “There were days I’d work sixteen hours just to finish it. I usually create a regular rendering on the computer, but for a project of this scope, I felt a three-dimensional representation would be a lot more visually interesting and realistic.”

Nate remembered the set of toy soldiers he’d set up on an imaginary battlefield when he was a child, in imitation of the Revolutionary War and Civil War reenactments that were held during the island-wide Memorial Day celebrations. “What are these?” he asked, pointing to two buildings near a formal rose garden.

“Kara wants to turn the plantation house into a museum.” She touched the larger of the two buildings. “This one will be Angels Landing Inn. It will have conference rooms, a restaurant with room for sixty guests, and twelve double-occupancy suites. The other will house a museum shop that will be restricted to local artisans. They will be able to exhibit and sell their handicrafts.”

“Won’t the restaurant compete with Jack’s?”

“No. I’ve spoken to Otis and Miss Vina and they’ve agreed to let their daughters run it.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Morgan smiled, her dimples deepening. “I can’t take the credit, Nate. After all, this is Kara’s vision.”

“It may be her vision, but it’s your genius that will make it come alive.”

“I’m hardly a genius, Nate.”

“There’s no need for you to be self-deprecating. You’re much too good for someone else to exploit your talent. So claim your genius, Mo.”

Extending her hand palm up, she then made a fist. “I just claimed it.”

“That’s more like it.” Nate paused, staring at a large grassy area some distance from the proposed inn. “Do you have any plans for the land next to the new buildings?”

“Kara still hasn’t decided whether she wants to put in a nine-hole golf course. I’m certain it will act as a perk for conference attendees wishing to unwind. I suggested building the course to halt developers looking to buy land for condos, country clubs, and private golf courses here on Cavanaugh Island, as they’ve done on Hilton Head and Jekyll Island and many of the other Sea Islands.”

Leaning back on the stool, Nate slowly let out his breath. “I heard talk about them offering folks a great deal of money to sell out.”

“They prey on us like locusts. It’s gotten so bad that there’s talk about putting a referendum on the ballots in all three towns in the upcoming election to restrict developers from soliciting Cavanaugh Island residents.”

Nate met Morgan’s eyes. He held his breath when she appeared to come closer, although she hadn’t moved. She lowered her gaze, peering up at him through long, thick lashes. “Do you think it’ll pass?” he asked.

“If it gets on the ballot I know it’ll pass here in the Cove and probably in the Creek.”

“What about the Landing?”

“One never knows about the folks in the Landing,” she replied.

Morgan blinked, shattering Nate’s entrancement. He wondered if she looked at all men the way she looked at him. Did she realize how seductive she was? Morgan was the total package: intelligence, incredible beauty, a flawless complexion, a dimpled smile, and a drop-dead gorgeous body.

“No lie,” he said halfheartedly. “The folks who live there were always out of step with those in the other towns. What’s going to be my involvement with your project?” he asked, changing the topic of conversation.

Morgan stood up, retrieved a stack of photographs off her desk, and handed them to him. “As we discussed, you will be responsible for re-creating the slave village. That means the cabins and the outbuildings, including the blacksmith shop, the winnowing barns, and the furniture for each cabin. As you can see, some of the original structures are dilapidated, but intact enough for you to get an idea of what they looked like inside. You will also be constructing another eight cabins.”

A slight frown furrowed Nate’s forehead. “I’m going to have to use distressed wood for the new cabins to get the same weatherworn effect as the ones that are still standing.”

It was Morgan’s turn to frown. “Will that pose a problem for you?”

“No. But if you’re going to restore the plantation to its original state, then everything should look as it did then. And that means tearing down the old cabins and putting up new ones. It will probably be more cost-eff
ectiv
e, too, because instead of building a structure from the ground up I can purchase them as prefabs. That’s what I did with the barn. It came with engineered blueprints and calculations as well as a full lumber package—but not the concrete, nails, and roofing. I also had to purchase the windows, doors, fireplace, furnishings, fixtures, insulation, and utilities. Working alone took three times as long as it would have if I’d had a couple of assistants.”

“How about cost?”

His entire face lit up as he gave her a Cheshire cat grin. “I don’t think I spent more than one fifteen for everything.”

Morgan blinked, then gave him a long, penetrating look. “I don’t believe it. You spent one hundred fifteen thousand for a new house with more than two thousand square feet of living space?”

He nodded. “Living
and
working space. Shaw Woodworking will occupy the first floor. I ordered the package without the horse stalls to give us more working area. The final cost would’ve been a lot more if I’d paid for labor.”

“Are you saying you’d put up the cabins by yourself?”

Nate recognized an expression of concern cross Morgan’s features. “No. Building sixteen cabins and furniture for each is a herculean feat. And there are also the outbuildings. I’d have to work with at least two other carpenters.”

She nodded. “I’ll subcontract with you and it will be your responsibility to hire the people you want to supervise. Your crew will be the only one that will not report to the project manager.” Opening a drawer under the drafting table, Morgan took out a pad and wrote down a figure. “This is my offer.” He was hard pressed not to smile. Morgan was offering him a great deal more money than he anticipated. “I’ve factored in cost overruns for each line in the budget, so if you’re going to need more money, please let me know.”

This time Nate did smile. “It looks good, Mo.”

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

She exhaled an audible sigh. “If that’s the case, then I’ll have David draw up a contract for you to go over with your attorney. The agreement will be between Nathaniel Shaw and the Angels Landing Plantation Preservation Foundation, and you’ll receive a one-quarter advance once the contract is executed. By the way, do you have a middle name?”

“It’s Phillip.”

Nate was going to tell Morgan that the agreement should be between Shaw Woodworking, Inc., and the preservation foundation, but quickly changed his mind because he didn’t want to commingle funds from two different enterprises. He realized his cautiousness came from not completely trusting Odessa.

When she’d first come to the Creek to care for his mother he’d overheard her asking their neighbor if there were any well-off single men on the island. He later learned she’d grown up dirt poor after her father was stabbed to death in a dice game. After that she swore she would never wear secondhand clothes or eat grits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner ever again.

Lucas wasn’t wealthy but he had always earned a good living crafting custom-made furniture. Nate’s suspicions about Odessa were confirmed when some of her relatives who’d come to the Creek for her wedding had whispered she’d always been a gold digger. He’d never interfered when it came to his father and stepmother’s relationship, but Nate didn’t intend for Odessa to inherit the monies he’d set aside for his niece and nephew’s college education.

Morgan extended her hand. “It’s nice to have you on board, Nathaniel Phillip Shaw.” He took her cool fingers, cradling them to his chest. “What are you doing?” she asked.

She tried extricating her hand as he tightened his hold. “Let me warm you up.”

“I’m not cold,” she countered. “In fact, I’m quite warm.”

Nate pressed his thumb to her wrist. Her pulse was beating in double time. “Are you afraid of me?” The query was out before he could censor himself.

A full minute passed before Morgan said, “Why would I be afraid of you, Nate?”

He dropped her hand. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel like you’re not always comfortable around me.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “You’re imagining things. I’m here with you alone. If I was uncomfortable I never would’ve asked you to become involved with this project.”

He attempted to conceal a mischievous grin, deciding to challenge her claim that she was comfortable with him. “Come have supper with me. I’d planned to eat at Jack’s, but if you want to go someplace a little more upscale, then I’ll go home and change.”

“It’s ironic you mention Jack’s because I was going to order a delivery from them.”

“Jack’s delivers?”

Throwing back her head, Morgan laughed, the low, sultry sound washing over Nate like the mist coming off the water. He stared at the graceful curve of her long neck and the silken skin on her throat, wondering what it would be like to press his mouth there. Again, his erotic thoughts returned, leaving him more shaken than he wanted when part of his anatomy reacted vigorously. He was grateful to be seated and that the drafting table concealed his growing erection.

Nate still didn’t know what there was about Morgan that had him entertaining licentious fantasies. He’d always related to her as the youngest daughter of the Drs. Dane, who’d trailed behind her grandfather whenever he went out, several cameras slung around his neck, looking for new subjects to capture on film. When she was about eight she could be seen with her own camera, snapping pictures of flowers, butterflies, or anything that would stand still long enough for her to shoot them.