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Their marriage was killing him, bit by bit, chipping him into pieces he’d never be able to put together again. Not that his wife noticed. Hell, no. She remained frustratingly oblivious.
Glancing up from the papers scattered across the oak surface of his desk, she cupped a hand over the microphone of her cell phone. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“We need to talk, Shayne—”
Of course, she ignored him. “The ones I want are all three foot square and labeled FT dash one through twelve. Could you have them crated and shipped to me? Air express the package, if necessary. Yes, Iknow it’ll be expensive, but send them anyway. See they get through customs yourself, Chelita. Or have Marvin take care of it. He’ll make sure there’s no hang-up. He and I have an understanding.”
Say, what? “Who are you talking to?” he demanded. And what the hell kind of an understanding did his wife have with a Marvin?
“Thanks, Chelita. Talk to you soon.”
He didn’t wait for her to hang up. “Who the hell is Marvin?”
“A friend. He grew up in the village outside Rafe’s coffee finca.”
“And what is he bringing through customs?”
“Some of my artwork.”
“Oh.” Damn. Here he’d worked up a good bluster and she’d managed to drain it right out of him. He switched to a different subject, one that would allow him to bluster all he wanted. “Now, look. About my floors—”
The door opened and a man with a tool belt dragging his pants in the general direction of his knees walked in. Swearing beneath his breath, Chaz shifted to block the worst from Shayne’s sight. Damn it all! Here was something else he’d have to take care of before returning to work. Couldn’t have some strange man wandering around like that in full view of his wife. It wasn’t proper. And he’d make sure the fella knew it,too.
Shayne shifted her chair so she could see around him. “Hi, Tim. What can I do for you?”
“Punched those holes in the walls you wanted. No problem.” He hitched his pants up. They stayed for a whole two seconds before gravity tugged them downward again. Another inch and serious action would be needed. “But would you mind taking a look before I frame it up?”
“Wait one damn minute here,” Chaz interrupted. “Not more holes!”
Shayne gave Tim a smile that Chaz would have killed to have turned on him, full and natural and tastier than anything Mojo had ever dreamed of serving up. “Thanks, Tim. I’ll be right there.” The door banged closed and she glanced at him, her smile fading. “I thought you put me in charge of the house.”
“I did. But—”
She cut him off. “I don’t recall their being a ‘but’ as part of our agreement. You said I was in charge and when you said it, there was a period at the end of your statement.”
“I’m fairly certain I shoved a ‘but’ in there someplace,” he retorted through gritted teeth. “Along with a comma so I could make amendments should someone put holes in my house!”
“You’re shouting.”
“I’m allowed to shout.” He began to pace, needing some outlet for his energy other than snatching his wife out from behind that desk and giving full rein to every physical expression he could think of. Considering how long it had been since he’d physically expressed himself, he could think of a goodly number. “And I’m allowed to swear. And I’m allowed to complain like hell when my wife entertains half-naked men.”
“You can’t mean Tim.”
He whipped around to confront her. “Yes, Imean Tim! If his pants drooped any lower you’d know him better than his doctor. You’re supposed to be getting the place ready for my daughter. We only have a couple short weeks before Satan’s sister sweeps in on her broomstick.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Now there’s an interesting image.”
Chaz slammed his Stetson onto the desk, biting back some of the choicer words burning a strip off his tongue. “You know what I mean. Instead of fixin’ stuff, you’re ripping it down around our— Our—”
His wedding band flashed a warning. Damn it all! Enough was enough. His life wasn’t his own, anymore. His employees had turned traitor, his wife treated him like an annoying little brother, and he couldn’t speak his mind without checking each word before he uttered it. But worse of all, he had an ache that wouldn’t goaway.
Well, there was one thing he could do. He could march out to the barn, oust the dang animals from their dang stalls, and turn it into a cussin’ room. Aplace for men only and the fouler-mouthed, the better. No women. No holes in the walls. And no watching his language. Hell. He’d stick a refrigerator in there and stock it with beer and have himself more than just a room. He’d have a whole cussing bar. Of course, he’d have to put a lock on the damned place or his spread would be overrun with drunken cowboys.
Shayne lifted an eyebrow. “You were saying? I’ve been ripping the house down around our...?”
He balled his hands into fists. “Around our ears.”
“That’s what I thought you were going to say.”
