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When Vi’s eyes turned purplish, his attention mimicked the cans rolling everywhere. With effort, he finally said, “Hey, I know you’re mad about what I said, but I hated the way you tore out of the parking lot. I didn’t want you to get in trouble again.” Exactly what would have transpired, had he not shown up? His gut tightened at the thought.
When her brows arched even higher, he steepled his hands and rubbed his thumbs together. Yeah, his explanation made it worse. Time for a Hail Mary. He said carefully, “Vi, could we hit the reset button? You know, do the grace-thing with each other?”
The wariness abruptly left Vi’s expression, replaced with an emotion Rory couldn’t read. She said, “Yeah. That’d be good,” and rose to leave the kitchen.
Hmm. Did she mean it, or did her quick capitulation involve an ulterior motive, one he hadn’t seen yet? Stella always had an agenda. If their friendship had any chance of survival, however remote, extending grace to each other only made sense. With the additional stress of a remodel, it would be crucial.
An awful thought sobered him. What if Vi turned into one of those women contractors hated? When the unexpected happened, they turned into fire-breathing dragons, incinerating anyone who got in the way. Detail-obsessed, continually dissatisfied … the list went on and on. He stared at the fiery red hair trailing down her back. Cute little package, but if she considered him a pushover …
“Do you think they’ll return?” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
Starting this minute, Rory would clarify his position—a man who wouldn’t sugarcoat a dangerous situation to coddle her feelings. “Probably. You shouldn’t be out here alone, especially at night.”
Her shoulders slumped as his meaning hit home. “That’s a hard one. I depend on those walks. When Daddy died, I stopped, then found … well, I need the habit again. Besides, they’re trespassing, right? This is private property.” She turned, drilling him with a part-stubborn, part-pleading look.
Rory could relate to Vi’s need to walk. The bench-press machine had become his go-to stress reliever. He softened his stance. “My guess is they’re illegal immigrants who set up camp in an out-of-the-way place—which is your land, so yes, they’re trespassing. I’ll notify Tavo. They’ll scatter for a while with regular patrols, but it’s still risky out here by yourself.”
Her lips twisted. “This land belongs to me. Walking around the lake keeps me sane. If I can’t …” She turned and stumbled into the living area. Empathy kicked into gear when he noticed the wide boot hampering her progress and her look of frustration. Crankiness stemming from a physical issue proved an ongoing battle—one with which he stayed intimately familiar.
Her words convinced Rory. The property belonged to her by rights. Nothing wrong with her desire to walk in the comfort of her inheritance. He envied her for having a place she loved. Especially since he hadn’t felt a deep connection to any place since Mom had died.
“I get it. If you’ll be patient …” Her dejected look had his brain firing piston-style. “I’ll figure out a way for you to take those nighttime strolls. Deal?” A shift took place on the inside. Even if he had to hire a bodyguard, Vi would get her walks.
They stepped onto the porch. She stopped and faced him again, her heart-shaped face wreathed in a smile. “Deal. When can we get the remodel started?”
The little vertical crease between Vi’s eyes deepened at his slacked jaw. “I think fast.”
Excitement made his pulse race. Maybe Vi was wired to make quick decisions, but for him, it answered a prayer he hadn’t known how to articulate. Remodel options cut rivers through his mind. He shifted the weight from his sore leg.
Development for the subdivision continued to flourish. Updating this old Victorian would challenge and expand his skill set while he waited for the right piece of land to build the rehab center. He gazed around the large wraparound porch through a contractor’s eyes. Missing boards, windows with cracked glass, peeling paint. What little he’d seen of the interior needed a significant update. He had the know-how to redeem this place and restore it into a real home.
Vi gazed at him with a pinched expression. “It needs a ton of work, doesn’t it?”
Rory chuckled in sheer relief. Construction, he understood. The workings of a woman’s mind? Not so much. “This is your house, Vi. Nothing will happen until we’re both sure what you want and how much you’re willing to spend.”
When the worry in her eyes eased a bit, it pleased him. Too much.
The dim stars struggled to shine in the muddled sky. The burning scent persisted, though now it had a meaty aroma. Rory shuddered to think about what animal roasted over a makeshift spit. Possum or squirrel came to mind first. From there, it went downhill. He’d call Tavo about the squatters on his way home.
She pivoted and faced him, legs planted, and arms crossed. “You’re limping.” It wasn’t a question.
“It happens. Not a big deal.” Rory tried to lighten his tone despite the surging irritation. For once, they’d been on the same page. Then she had to spoil it.
“It is a big deal.” Her gaze swept his face. “It’s wearing you out. A massage would help.”
He refused to go there. If she put her hands on him, he’d turn into a mushy ball of whatever-you-do-don’t-stop. “I’ll be fine.” It came out as a growl.
“Not if you don’t treat your leg better.” Her stubborn look had returned.
Rory grunted and turned to his car, hating that his leg seemed to agree with her. He fumed, all but crawling in behind the steering wheel. He’d find a way for Vi to take her walks. Then he’d remodel her house exactly the way she wanted it.
Once those two things happened, he would say adios. No massage, ever.
Her car door slammed.
Yeah, he’d made her mad. Rory punched the ignition button of the Lexus. It was better this way. No matter how much he wanted to kiss her again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
