Half Moon Hill (7 page)

Now, as she began on the house, thinking about Cathy and her youthful fascination with Robert made Anna’s work feel easier, lighter. She used the hammer to extract the old nails, one by one, some of which actually disintegrated into red dust as she pulled them out. A long stretch of rusty gutter now hung down loose behind the ladder, helping her feel she was actually making progress as she reached, leaning slightly, for the next nail, a short distance beyond where her ladder leaned.

Suddenly feeling productive and energetic, she looked forward to getting back to the diary. Of course, maybe she’d ultimately find out that nothing noteworthy or exciting had ever really happened to Cathy here. Maybe the giving of
The Phantom of the Opera
wouldn’t hold the magic she hoped. Maybe she’d finish the diaries and realize they didn’t make much of a story, after all.

But she just didn’t think so.

D
uke wasn’t sure what led him on the path through the woods to the house. Boredom, maybe. He’d told her he was fine out here, that he had all he needed, and that was true. But maybe he was beginning to miss simple human contact. A little anyway. Which surprised him. But there it was. Maybe having those small bits of interaction with Lucky’s sister had reminded him there was actually something valuable in connecting with other people.

For a lot of years, he’d blocked out that need. He’d convinced himself doing the lone wolf thing was best. But it had been a hard life, putting up that kind of wall, having no one. And then Lucky had come along and they’d hit it off, and somehow he’d known from the start that he could trust the guy, that they were coming from the same place.

“You were two lost souls,” Lucky’s wife, Tessa, had once told him when they were talking about his and Lucky’s friendship. He didn’t like getting all dramatic and philosophical about it like that, but he supposed she was right. Finding Lucky had changed his life. And he’d realized that having even one real friend in this world made him a fortunate man.

Though he and Lucky had gone through some hard times together, afterward life had been pretty good for a while. He’d found . . . direction, purpose, for the first time. He’d worked hard—mostly doing construction—and saved up his money. He’d bought the bar in Crestview. He’d made a home for himself—at least as much of a home as he figured a guy like him could hope to have. And he’d been happy. Well . . . again, as happy as he expected he ever
could
be with the kind of baggage he dragged around.

And look at you now. Living in the woods like a fucking animal.

But that was your choice.

He just suddenly hadn’t . . . known how to function among people anymore. Or maybe he just no longer had the energy. This was the closest he could come to disappearing, and he guessed that was what he’d wanted—to just disappear.

So he still wasn’t sure why he was walking through the trees toward the big Victorian house.

It surprised him when he heard music. And not anything current, either—old stuff, like from the fifties.

He stepped up to the edge of the tree line, near the honeysuckle—to see the last thing he’d imagined. Anna Romo stood on a ladder, a hammer in her hand, a tool belt around her waist, her long, tan legs looking as fine as ever in another pair of those same shorts she always seemed to wear.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised—she’d told him she was fixing the place up, and God knew it needed it—but he just hadn’t envisioned her doing the actual work. She didn’t look built for heavy labor.

She was full of surprises, Lucky’s sister. Couldn’t pick berries without twisting her ankle but was up there giving it her best to yank down an old gutter. For some reason the word
resilient
came to mind. He supposed it fit what he knew about her. She’d had a pretty weird, tragic past, too—but she seemed to make the best of it, and he couldn’t help admiring that.

Maybe that was why she’d agreed to keep his secret. And why she’d made him that cobbler—which had been pretty damn good. Maybe she’d realized they had something in common before
he
had—that they’d both seen some dark times. Maybe she was hiding out in the woods just as much as he was—just in a more civilized way.

And that was when he realized she actually
wasn’t
built for heavy labor—or at least she didn’t have the brains for it. Because . . . what the hell was she doing? She was reaching too damn far—stretching that hammer as she leaned to one side, rather than just backing down the ladder and moving it over like anyone with any sense would.

Just then, she reached a little farther, pulled a nail from the gutter, accidentally dropped the hammer to send it plunking to the grass below, and murmured, “Shit,” right in the middle of “Twistin’ the Night Away.” Then the ladder tilted to the right, sliding along the roof a few inches, one of the two feet coming off the ground. Shit was right.

Duke moved rapidly across the yard, but by the time he reached her, the ladder was leaning, leaning, slowly falling away, out from under her, giving her just enough time to grab on to a couple of old wooden railings on a balcony over her head. The metal ladder clattered to the ground to leave her hanging there, about a dozen feet above him. Damn.

“Don’t panic, Daisy, I’m here,” he said, rushing forward to start maneuvering the ladder.

“Huh—what?” she yelled, clearly all the more startled by his presence. Then she glanced down and let out a yelp—whether at seeing how far up she was or just merely at the sight of him, which seemed to scare the hell out of her each time, he couldn’t tell.

“Just keep holding tight, girl,” he instructed her, working to get the ladder upright again—a job that would have seemed easier if he wasn’t trying to rescue some damsel in distress.

“Hurry,” she was saying. “Hurry!”

A few seconds later, he finally got the ladder against the roof next to her, then scooted it to where she could reach it. “There—put your foot over until you find a rung. And keep holding on.”

“Like I’m gonna let go,” she snapped. God, she was sassy. And he was too busy at the moment to know whether it pissed him off or if he liked it.

She swung her left foot onto the ladder, which he held firmly in place from the bottom. “There you go,” he said. “Now the other one.” But she was already doing that.

Though even once she was safe again, she still clung to those rails with a death grip, still looking panicked.

“It’s all right,” he said as soothingly as he could. Which probably wasn’t particularly soothing—it wasn’t a skill he’d ever much needed before. “Just relax—you’re fine now. I’m holding the ladder—all you gotta do is back down, real slow.”

He didn’t pressure her after that, just waited until she finally moved her hands, one by one, to the ladder. He heard her pull in her breath before she began to take the first backward steps toward him.

“Just don’t let go,” she said.

“I won’t. Promise.”

And he didn’t. Even as she neared the ground and ended up backing right into his chest.

Maybe it was awful, but having her up against him gave him the same sensation it had the last time—when he’d carried her home. A sexual tug. A reminder of passion.

But then came the bigger realization: No one would want him anymore, least of all this gorgeous, sassy girl with the killer legs.

So he moved forward in his thoughts to something more practical. And without weighing it, he said the first thing on his mind, speaking low, near her ear, since there was no reason to speak louder at the moment. “You worry me, Daisy.”

She took a second to answer, and he spent that second knowing he should probably be moving, letting go of the ladder, freeing her from having his arms on either side of her—but for some reason he still didn’t.

Her voice came softer than when she’d been in panic mode. “I’m not usually as clumsy as I probably seem.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed that or not. “Either way, you still worry me.”

Anna felt pleasantly imprisoned by him, but it was strange to know that if she turned her head and saw her wolfman so close, it would alarm her even now. So she just faced forward, her heart beating too fast from what had happened. Or maybe also due to where she now found herself, pressed softly up against Duke Dawson, a place that seemed nearly as perilous as dangling from the roof.

And she seemed to have lost the ability to calculate time—because she wasn’t sure if it was five seconds or thirty before he finally released the ladder and backed away.

Only then could she gather the courage to turn and face him. And like always, she found the sight of him intimidating—though she began to wonder if it was still about the scar and scraggly beard . . . or if maybe now it was also the way his heated gaze penetrated hers. His eyes shone a little bluer in the sun.

“Guess I owe you another thank you,” she managed.

He just shrugged. “Couldn’t really let you fall.”

It was hardly a heroic statement, yet it reminded her that he’d recently witnessed the death of a friend. Which somehow made her even more appreciative. “Well, actually, you could have. So thank you anyway.” She dropped her glance briefly before lifting it back to his. “So . . . you were just passing by?”

Another noncommittal shrug. “Something like that.”

Hmm. Had he been watching her from the woods? And if so, why? She didn’t want to be scared of Duke anymore—but she also didn’t want to be foolishly trusting of a guy in a bad place.

“Anybody ever tell you it’s not real bright to lean when you’re on a ladder, Daisy?”

Again, she found herself defending her intelligence and remembering life had been easier back when she’d stuck to what she knew. “Nope. Never talked to anyone before about
being
on a ladder. Or been on one before, either. I’m learning as I go—and now I know. Don’t lean.”

She couldn’t quite interpret the slight smirk he cast within all that hair on and around his face. “If you’ve never been on a ladder before, what are you doing on one now?”

“Removing a gutter,” she said, glancing toward the line of rusty metal now hanging almost to the ground, still barely attached at the top.

“That I can see,” he informed her. “I just meant . . . if you don’t know how to do this kinda stuff, might make more sense to hire somebody, or at least get some help. I’m sure your brothers would come lend a hand.”

She drew in a long breath, let it back out. Though she knew he meant well, the very suggestion made her feel tired. “I’m sure they would, too. But . . . maybe I want to show them I’m capable of doing things on my own.”

“That’s fine—when it’s something you
can
do on your own. But . . .” He leaned back, took a long look at the house. “Getting this place in shape is gonna be a big job. And a hell of a lot bigger for somebody without any carpentry experience.”

“I did the inside mostly by myself with just a little help from Sue Ann Simpkins and Tessa,” she explained proudly.

And for the effort got only another knowing shrug. “Not knockin’ it,” he said. “I know that’s hard work, too. But inside work and outside work are two different things, Daisy.”

Anna let out one more sigh. The truth was, she was beginning to see his point. She didn’t like to give up on something—but just a few minutes with that gutter had shown her it was the tip of a very big home repair iceberg, and that even if she could muddle through it on her own, bit by bit, it would be a long, rough, project that she might not do an especially competent job on. And that she could end up growing old before she ever got her bed-and-breakfast open. Still  . . . “The thing is, I love my brother Mike, but he has a bad habit of hovering over me and trying to do everything for me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, guess I might have noticed that some last summer.”

Anna wasn’t surprised because she and Duke had crossed paths at more than one event last year, related to both Lucky’s and Mike’s weddings. “And if I get him involved, he’ll just hover even more—which is a habit I’m trying to break and part of the reason I moved up here. To be close to my family, but not
too
close.”

He nodded again, and she thought maybe he understood that since Lucky had once told her Duke lived in this area because it kept his family in Indiana within driving distance—but also far enough away that they didn’t see each other often.

“And if I ask Lucky or even hire somebody from town, Mike will know and get involved whether I want him to or not. So it’s just a situation I want to avoid.” But now she found herself taking a long, disparaging look at the large house as well. “Even if it’s beginning not to seem very practical.”

The sun began to feel hotter to Anna than it had all day up to now as they stood there in silence, both seeming to weigh it. And just when she’d begun to wonder, for the first time ever, if she’d bitten off more than she could chew in buying this place, Duke quietly said, “I could help you.”

As his words sifted slowly down through her, she dared to look at him once more. “You could?” She hadn’t seen this coming from the hermit in the woods who had actually succeeded—wildly—in being an even bigger hermit than
she
had unwittingly become.

He gave another of his short, quick nods. “Not for free, though. You’d have to pay me.”

She tilted her head, gave him a slightly critical look. “Or we could consider it rent.”

He returned a glance just as challenging. “Then I’d be wanting a few improvements on the place, Miss Landlord.”

She felt a conceding expression come over her face before she could stop it. Since the structure he inhabited was indeed a shit hole of the highest degree and his being there didn’t cost her a dime. “Okay, point taken. And all right, I’m willing to pay you a fair enough wage. But . . .” She squinted slightly in his direction. “Why do you want to work on my house? I mean, I thought you were all ‘I just want to keep to myself and live in the woods.’ ” She said the last part in a deep, gruff imitation of him.

“Maybe I could use some physical exertion,” he replied without missing a beat. “Or maybe I need a way to pass the time.”