The Carpenter's Daughter (6 page)

“For the moment.” I sent her a wink.

She looked away, crimson filling her cheeks.

Maybe that was too bold. Oh well, no going back now. “If my job’s in danger, you and I may not be friends.”

Her face darted upward again, and her eyebrows folded in.

I chuckled. Couldn’t help it. “You’re not after my lofty title, are you?”

“No.”

Did she know I wasn’t serious? “Good.” I dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Then we can be friends.”

A tiny sound drifted from her mouth to my ears. A mouse laugh—which, by some quirk, I found adorable.

Who would have thought I’d meet an adorable roofer? Correction, framer?

“Come on, then.” I moved toward the peak, and she stepped beside me. Up and over, then down the ladder we went. I caught a glimpse of the gathering of trees in the river valley before I descended, and I thought about the other night on Avery’s deck when I’d stewed over the Spirit’s hint of changes in my life.

I grinned. If this was it, I had nothing to worry about.

Sarah

I couldn’t place him. Wished to high heaven I could so I’d have something intelligent to say. Talking would give me a reason to stare into his face. And his face was worth looking at. Did all men smile like little boys? I’d never noticed. But this Jesse Chapman, he grinned like a ten-year-old on the Fourth of July, and he teased like he’d been the class clown.

Why would he tease me? No one ever teased me. Must have looked like a snot because I didn’t know what to do with his impish humor.

We hit the ground, Jesse right behind me, and he slipped a hand to my elbow. As if I were a lady. Was that a joke? Irritation wrestled with the pleasure incited by his hand against my skin. I decided not to take it as a joke. I liked the race of tingles in my arm way too much to spoil it with suspicion.

We headed toward the picnic, which stirred hesitation in my gut. Didn’t he hear me? I didn’t know anyone there.

“Mack.” Jesse spoke loud enough to gain the big guy’s attention as we walked.

Mack turned from a conversation and took three steps to meet us. “So, did you solve the mystery?”

“Two of them, actually.” Jesse grinned. Impishly. “Mack, this is Sarah Sharpe. She’s not only a capable roofer, but she’s your master framer.”

Jesse winked. Again. Heat flared in my face. What was this guy after? Whatever it was, he could certainly do better than me.

“Sharpe?” Mack clarified.

“Yes, sir.” I commanded my brain to an intelligent state and thrust my hand toward him. He shook it, but doubt punctuated his flimsy grip. I squeezed his muscled hand. Dad always said a firm handshake left a lasting impression. “Dan Sharpe is my uncle. He was supposed to come, but he’s tied up with work this week. I came in his place.”

Mack listened, but I had the distinct impression he wasn’t thrilled. His eyes shifted to a spot behind me, and I knew the look he was communicating to Jesse. The
I don’t have time to babysit
look.

“She could easily replace me.” Jesse’s voice took on a hard quality, and the air tensed.

I glanced back, finding the teasing light in his green eyes had darkened.

I knew when two guys were about to have a stout disagreement. Between my dad and uncle Dan, I’d seen it all my life.

Mack crossed his arms. Jesse scowled.

I wanted to sink into the dirt
.
“I don’t mind doing whatever needs done.”

“What
have
you been doing, Sarah?” Jesse crossed his arms.

I stepped back. “Sweeping the back rooms.”

Jesse shook his head, frowning at Mack. “Talent and skill shouldn’t be wasted, especially when Homes needs them both.” He didn’t wait for a response, but strode back to the house and mounted the ladder. Leaving me to deal with the big guy.

Thanks. Next time I’ll do my own talking.

Well, probably not. I’d had my chance when I’d arrived, hadn’t I?

“Dan’s daughter, huh?” The big guy turned his glare from Jesse to me.

I swallowed. “No, niece.”

“Why’d he send you?”

“Like I said, he’s on a job and he couldn’t get away—” I tucked my clammy hands behind me, hoping he didn’t notice that they shook.

“I need a carpenter—a framer. Not a girl.”

A girl?
That was nice—a step up from butch. “I’ve worked with my dad my whole life, sir. Framing is my specialty, but I can do anything you need.”

“Your dad?” Mack spit toward the dirt at our feet. “I thought you said Dan was your uncle.”

“Right. He and my dad work together. Sharpe Contracting.”

He grunted, which sounded more like a growl. “You familiar with the codes?”

“Yes, sir.”

I could feel his doubt like a cold bucket of water dumped over my head. This had gone on long enough. I wasn’t sure who exactly I was as a woman, but I knew I was pretty dang good with a set of building plans and a hammer. Gumption nearly loosed my tongue, but before it came unhinged, Mack stepped toward the house.

“Come with me.”

I pushed my shoulders back. I’d run a crew before, for heaven’s sake. Why had I been cowering as if I didn’t know the differences between a common nail and a finishing tack? Setting my stride to match his, I determined to keep up.

“Ed.” Mack spoke to the guy I’d seen earlier, the one I couldn’t decide whether or not was a master. “Our framer’s here. This is Sarah Sharpe. Show her where you’re at, and run the changes by her.”

Ed, who had turned and given me a once-over, raised his eyebrows. Mack didn’t respond before he walked away, leaving me stuck with yet another skeptical hurdle. I pushed panic back down my throat. Whatever I was not—which was sure to be a long list—I was a capable carpenter. If only I could remember that fact when these boys glared at me like I’d spattered paint on their new truck.

Forcing my hand forward, I made myself speak. “Ed? It’s nice to meet you.”

One eyebrow tipped up as he took my hand. Another weak grip. “Sharpe, is it?”

I squeezed. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’re a carpenter?”

“Yes, sir.”

He dropped his flimsy hold. “Huh. Desperate times…”

Really? I ground my teeth. “What are we starting on after lunch?”

He held me with a cool gaze. With an enormous amount of determination, I maintained one of my own.

“The kitchen.” He pointed in the general direction of that room. “The owners want it a bit different. A little more open. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

That was speculative. Moving walls wasn’t like rearranging furniture. “Let’s have a look.”

Ed’s cool stare turned to an outright glare. “Fine.”

Clenching my fists so that no one would see my hands tremble, I followed him. He pointed to the wall that divided the kitchen from the living area. “They’d like this open. More modern.”

“Sure.” I nodded. That would make sense. Why was Homes For Hope building a chopped-up box anyway? That trend died a while ago. “That’s doable, but we’ll need a better header.”

“Right.” Sarcasm lilted his voice as he pointed to the far outside wall. “I’ve got one put together.”

He’d slapped a couple of two-by-fours together with common nails. Not good enough. “If they want this open, that’ll create an eight-foot gap on a load-bearing wall. That’ll require something more substantial.”

Ed crossed his arms. “Look, girlie. I don’t know why Mack is playing whatever game you’re up to, but you’re not impressing anyone. Let the men handle this, and you go back to picking out fabric and paint colors.”

My chin fell slack. Did he just call me
girlie
? “Where are the building plans?”

He clamped his jaw.

I huffed. “You can’t put that rigged header in that wall and call it good. It won’t pass inspection.”

“I’ve done lots of building, chica. I know what I’m doing.”

Building what? Chicken coops?

“Do we have a problem?” Jesse strode across the plywood from the would-be front door to where Ed and I stood.

I didn’t know how long he’d been listening, and my face flamed at the whole scene. “No.”

Ed unfolded his arms and looked at Jesse as if they shared a joke. “Girlie here thinks we can’t make this an open-concept space.”

“I didn’t say that.” I scowled first at Ed and then Jesse. “I said it shouldn’t be a problem, but we needed a better header.”

Jesse glanced at the wall. “How big an opening?”

“Eight feet.” I wanted to spit on his boots.
No, Jesse Chapman, we will not be friends.

“I’ve got a header ready to go.” Ed’s tone added the nonverbal
so there
as he stuck a finger in the direction of the slapped-together header.

Crossing the room to where Ed had pointed, Jesse made a quick inspection of the header in question. “Sarah’s right. That’s not going to do it.”

Ed snorted. “You’re playing too, huh? What’s the deal—she your girlfriend?”

Jesse scowled and laughed at the same time. Crossing back, he dropped an arm over Ed’s shoulders. “Probably better drop this, buddy, before you embarrass yourself. You’re working with people that know what they’re doing.”

I looked to my boots, to the two-by-fours, to the plywood surrounding the house. The one place in life I felt confident, and I discovered I was an oddity there too. Instead of feeling like a person with purpose, I’d discovered I didn’t fit in anywhere.

Thanks for that, Aunt Darcy.

Jesse

Most of the crew had left—gone home where dinner and family were waiting. That left the traveling crew to wrap up the day and to do the jobs that required more precision and focus. Mack, Sarah, and me, to be exact. That bit was a piece of luck. Or providence.

I leaned against the framed-out doorway at the front of the house, watching Sarah work. Definitely proficient. And particular.
Measure twice, cut once.
That was generally the rule, but Sarah measured every step along the way, squared every corner as she set the frame for a kitchen island. Another alteration to the plans, at the owner’s request.

I pushed off the studs and stepped forward. “Looks good.”

Sarah glanced back before she finished pounding in a nail. One solid swing and the shaft sank into the two-by-four with the squeak that came from dead-on impact. Pretty sure she could make the nails sing like that with every drive.

“Thanks.” Her hand slid from the end of the hammer to its neck before it dropped into its appointed loop on her tool belt. She moved like a gunslinger holstering a six-shooter. I didn’t think I’d want to face her in a draw.

On second thought, that was an idea…

“Did your day iron out?” I stopped in front of the U-shape frame she’d created. When it came time for finish work, someone would set a couple of cabinets in the space and then drop a countertop over the whole structure.

She shrugged and looked up to the properly designed header, which had been set in place of the wall studs that had been removed. “It’ll pass code.”

“Where’d you find the two-by-eights?”

A tiny smile curled her lips. “Mack. Showed up with them about fifteen minutes after you left.” She squared her eyes on me. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

“Could be.” I tugged my hat off and ran my fingers through my sweat-drenched hair.

She stared.

I couldn’t tell if her gaze was approving or appalled. This was where I was always going wrong with women. I couldn’t read them. I needed thought bubbles hanging over their heads, and even at that, I probably wouldn’t understand. Why were they so mysterious?

I gave my grimy mane—which was in need of a pair of sharp scissors, by the way—a shake. “Pretty nasty, huh?”

“What?”

Confusion looked cute on her. I felt not entirely alone in my ineptness, which made me grin. “I’m pretty disgusting after being up there all day.” I pointed toward the trusses overhead.

“I wasn’t thinking that.” She turned her face down.

Actually, I was pretty sure that was exactly what she was thinking, which siphoned some of my confidence.

She pulled her hat off, exposing her dark wet hair, and then cleared her throat. “I was wondering if that’s what I look like after I’ve been on a roof all day.”

Relief tickled, and I laughed. “I doubt it.” Because even in her end-of-the-day grunge, her eyes kept me mesmerized, and her smudged face maintained a raw attractiveness.

This was why every time Mia had assumed Cupid’s job, she’d failed. She didn’t understand my way of thinking. Bless her, Mia had an obsession with the magazine-kind of pretty. She was always made-up, her hair always styled, whether it was Sunday or laundry day. Her hands were always scrubbed, nails painted, and fingers jeweled. Those were the kind of girlfriends she kept and the kind of women she’d arrange for me to meet. Nothing wrong with them, but it didn’t do it for me. I wasn’t saying I went for ugly—and Sarah definitely wouldn’t slide into that category—just not high maintenance.