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I felt my blood thunder at his comment and had the ridiculous urge to pound the guy, but managed to suck in a few breaths instead. “My new renter,” I told him. “I think Craig’s her dad.”
“What the...? Seriously?” Dean laughed. “That would mean someone once got close enough to that guy to—“
“Right,” I cut him off, feeling peculiarly protective of Harper, of her past, her story.
The conversation between Harper and Craig didn’t look comfortable. She was now holding her menu up in front of her face between them, and it was Craig’s turn to cross his arms as he stared at the back of the menu.
Dean and I paid and stood to go, and I felt it the moment Harper’s eyes landed on me across the restaurant. I turned to look at her once more as we made our way out. She looked miserable, but offered me a half-smile and lifted a hand, and a little blossom of warmth opened in my chest. I ignored it and lifted a couple fingers at my side in a sad attempt at a wave as I followed Dean out the diner door.
Whatever this was, this glow of interest, of misplaced hope, where Harper was concerned, I needed to squash it.
I was not a guy who developed crushes on girls. I was a widower, and I was grieving. I wanted to keep my life simple from here on out—take care of my sister, mind my own business, and honor my wife’s memory. Plus, I was out of the business of forming close attachments to people.
* * *
I spentthe rest of the afternoon working with Dean on getting the channels set up for the retractable glass Chance had insisted we could make work. The idea was that the outpost would be wide open to the elements in the summer, but in the winter—or during a storm—there was a system of retractable walls and a ceiling that slid out and sealed. It was a cool idea. I just wasn’t sure it could actually be done, despite Sam and Chance Palmer insisting it could.
“Shit,” Dean cursed from where he knelt behind me, bolting the channel hardware to the deck.
“That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence,” I told him, though it wasn’t like cursing was unusual on a construction site. Just not usual for him. Dean was a generally clean-cut kid. Where some of the other guys the Palmers hired were more standard construction variety—many of them traveling for jobs up here from the valley and driving all the way back down at night or at least for the weekends, Dean was clean cut and local. And his folks were still here. In a town this small, bad behavior didn’t go unnoticed or unremarked upon. I should know. There was plenty of whispering about my bad moods over the last couple years, which I’d never been great at hiding or handling.
“Nah, it’s fine, it’s just...” Dean sat back on his heels, looking at the work he’d been doing.
“It’s not straight,” I said.
“Yeah, I got that.”
The channel was made of a really thick rubber intended to create a seal once the walls were extended. There was a metal piece that fit inside the rubber to guide the walls into place, but the rubber went on first. And if it wasn’t completely straight, the walls wouldn’t extend.
I stood, looking down at it, and rubbed a hand over the back of my neck as I looked around at the rest of the crew. Some of the guys were finishing up the front of the building, constructing the extended roof that would reach out over the front doors, others were closing in the area beneath the enormous deck, which would be storage once the place was finished. A few guys were handling electrical and the plumbers had been on site recently too. Everyone was dragging a bit as the sun began its slide back down the sky.
We were getting closer to summer and the days were getting longer. It was tempting to keep the crew at work longer, but I knew a worn out crew wasn’t an effective one, and I wanted to make sure these guys showed up fresh every day or stupid mistakes would get made.
“Let’s call it for the day,” I told them all in a loud voice. “See you in the morning.”
I gathered my stuff as the rest of the men did the same, and stayed until everyone had cleared off, Dean hanging by my side.
“Need a ride back?” I asked him.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” The younger man didn’t have a car, and I didn’t mind helping him out.
As I navigated my truck into the residential side of the village, taking it gently down the potholed streets where you were as likely to find a toddler playing as a deer standing in your way, Dean spoke.
“How old would you say your renter is?” he asked, interest clear in his voice.
“Too old for you,” I said, the words coming out more like a growl than I intended.
“So like...twenty-three or so?” Dean was probably twenty, though I wasn’t sure exactly.
“Closer to twenty-six, twenty-seven. Mike says she’s got a graduate degree and she had enough time to have a big job in New York.” I wasn’t sure why I felt like bragging on Harper’s behalf, but something in me pushed to make sure he knew she wasn’t just a Kings Grove local—she’d been out in the world, living, accomplishing things. Of course anyone who knew the Palmers would tell you you didn’t have to leave Kings Grove to be successful.
“Yeah,” Dean replied, a dreamy edge to his voice.
“Too old for you,” I repeated.
“Maybe not for you though, huh?” Dean shot me a sideways glance as I pulled up in front of his house, and I turned to look at him, keeping my expression serious.
“I don’t think so,” I said, my chest tightening in some kind of silly protest at my words. “I’m not really in the market.”
