Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (46 page)

When his mind wasn't on Savannah, it was on his family. On the bad news he was going to be forced to deliver tonight. He hated being in a position where his hands were tied and the decisions were being made by another. That was not the balance of power that Mac Barlow liked.

He shut down the computer a little after five, then popped his head into the cubicle next to him where Savannah was working on realigning the sales territory. They were the only two left in the office, the rest of the staff having left a few minutes ago. But Savannah, true to her word, had stayed to work, tackling the mountain he'd given her.

He'd assessed the strengths of Hillstrand Solar's three salesmen and given her a plan for redistributing the customers to take better advantage of each salesman's expertise. It was a project he expected would take her the better part of the night and tomorrow, but a good one to also give her a better snapshot of Hillstrand Solar's customer base.

He watched her work for a moment and for the thousandth time wondered why he had let himself get talked into helping her, instead of either giving up on acquiring Hillstrand Solar altogether or giving her one last offer, take it or leave it.

But then he saw her, a pencil once again nestled in the clip of her hair, another in her hands. His gaze traveled down the back of her neck, along the delicate skin dusted by a few stray tendrils of hair, then over her shoulders, down the curve of her spine, to the nipped sides of her waist. Savannah was a hell of a beautiful woman, and his mind wandered to thoughts of falling into a king-size bed with her, kissing, touching, exploring.

Would she curve into him? Would she let out that soft little sound again when their lips met? Or would she rebuff him and tell him he had read her all wrong?

She turned just then, as if she sensed him behind her. “Mac. You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat and took a step forward. As if that would dismiss those thoughts. It didn't. If anything, getting closer to her made him want to touch her more, to draw in the scent of her perfume. “I...I was going to leave early.”

She glanced at her watch. “Early? It's after five. For most people that's past quitting time.”

“Five, for me, is pretty early. But I have, uh, some family business to take care of tonight.” Definitely not a subject he wanted to share with Savannah. Heck, with anyone.

“Okay, no problem,” she said. “I'll see you in the morning?”

“Sure.” Why did he feel disappointed that she'd dismissed him so easily? It wasn't as if he was dating Savannah or expecting to share another meal with her. He started to tell her that he wanted to stay, wanted to talk to her, but that would mean opening up about the family problems that were nagging at him. Building a connection with Savannah. It wasn't a smart move, even if it was the move he wanted to make. Instead, he just said, “Uh, see you.”

“Okay,” she said, but her attention was already back on the computer. Mac slipped out of the room and headed down to his bike.

He stowed his laptop in the bag at the back, then settled the helmet on his head. He switched out his shoes, tucked his jeans into his riding boots and started the Harley. It sprang to life with a low purr, rumbling beneath his body like a crouched tiger. A moment later he was on the highway, roaring away from Hillstrand Solar and toward the house where he'd grown up.

The trip only took a few minutes. He'd been hoping for more time, more distance, but he knew the longer he procrastinated on this, the worse it would get. Colton's words rang in his head as he made the final turn toward home.

I
am
coming to town, Mac, whether you talk to them or not. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but this is my father, too.
My
family. I've waited long enough.

Which meant Mac could put this off no longer. The driveway of the Barlow home only held one car, his father's beat-up Ford F150, a truck that had seen better days but still ran like a dream after almost two hundred thousand miles. Mac let out a sigh of relief that neither his brothers nor his mother were there.

He parked the bike and headed to the house. He knocked once, then put his head inside the door. “Dad? You here?”

“In the back,” Bobby called out.

Mac made his way through the house, past the dining room that had hosted too many Sunday dinners to count, past the “man cave,” a converted parlor that held leather sofas and a big-screen TV for watching football games, then into the kitchen. His father sat at the scuffed chrome and laminate table, a dismantled radio spread on a sheet of newspaper before him. “Your mother wanted me to fix that kitchen radio. Thing's about old as me. I told her I'd buy her a new one, but she likes the one she already has.”

“Mama's always been like that. Why buy new when the one you have is working perfectly?” Mac rested his hands on the back of the opposite chair, then let out a long breath and pulled out the chair to sit.

His father looked up at him before going back to the radio, unscrewing the circuit board from the main housing and then holding it up to the light to look at the connections. Mac sat, trying to figure out the best way to say what he'd come to say. Minutes ticked by with only the sound of Bobby working on the radio filling the kitchen.

“You come here just to watch me?” Bobby said.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Bobby twisted the screwdriver into the side of the radio and began disconnecting the top from the bottom. “So talk.”

Mac blew out a breath. “I had an interesting conversation with Uncle Tank the other day.”

Bobby snorted. “Every conversation with my brother was always...interesting. How's he doing? Haven't talked to him in a long time.”

“Yup. You seem to have a habit of not talking to people who disagree with you.”

Bobby sighed. “Is that what this is going to be about? Because it's almost suppertime and your mother is going to be home from the grocery soon, and I don't have time to dig up all that crap again.”

“No, Dad, this is different crap.”

Bobby stopped working on the radio and raised his gaze to Mac's. “What do you mean, different?”

Now or never. Mac steeled his frame and looked his father in the eye. “When were you planning on telling Mama about Colton?”

Bobby's face went white. His hand trembled, the screwdriver rat-a-tatted against the metal frame and for a second Mac almost felt bad for him. “How...how do you know...” He shook his head and cursed. “Tank. I'll kill him.”

“Actually, Colton is the one who went to Uncle Tank. Colton said his mother recently told him their family friend was actually his uncle. He's met Tank's whole family, too.” Mac paused a beat. “Now he wants to meet us. On Jack's wedding weekend. Do you have any idea what that is going to do to everyone?”

The thick Adam's apple in Bobby's neck bobbed up and down. “Meet
us
?”

Mac stared at his father. “When were you going to tell Mama? The rest of us?”

“I...I...” Bobby hung his head.

Mac felt a moment of sympathy and a second of regret at seeing his father broken and sad, but then he pushed it away. Bobby had brought this on himself by choosing another woman over Della.

“I...I don't know,” Bobby said after a moment.

“Well, you better figure it the hell out, Dad, because Colton has no intentions of waiting.” Mac got to his feet and pushed the chair back under the table. It shuddered into place with a protesting screech. “And I have no intentions of being the one who gets to tell your wife of thirty-five years that you were cheating on her. Maybe still are, for all I know. How could you do that?”

Bobby's eyes welled and he shook his head. “It's complicated, Mac.”

“Complicated? That's the word you have for it?” Mac shook his head and cursed.

“Let me explain. It was a long time ago and...”

“And what, you weren't happy being married to the love of your life? Because that's what you and Mama call each other.”

The tears threatened to spill out of Bobby's eyes. “We are. We were. It's...complicated.”

“No, Dad, it's not. It's wrong.” Then Mac turned on his heel and headed out of the house. Even the roar of the wind in his ears as the bike tore up the streets of Stone Gap wasn't enough to silence the tornado of thoughts in Mac's head. Maybe nothing was loud enough to drown out those moments in the kitchen when his father had confirmed that everything Mac thought he knew about his parents and his childhood was a lie.

Chapter Seven

S
avannah brushed the bangs off her forehead, then stepped back to survey her work. She only had another half hour before the sun set completely, but she'd gotten far more demo accomplished than she'd expected. The bones of the front porch were in a mountain beside the old house, filled with timbers and shingles and the first few floorboards she'd ripped off. The fresh pile of lumber she'd ordered this morning sat on the front lawn, waiting.

She should have been working on the sales-territory realignment, but as the end of the day had ticked away, Savannah had grown anxious and worried about the company. And most of all, powerless, because Hillstrand Solar was still struggling, and turning that ship in a new direction was a slow, painful process. She'd felt stifled by the walls around her, the recirculated air filling the cubicles.

Five seconds later she'd been in her car, heading for the beach house. She'd followed the twisting dirt road, then parked on the side of the house and grabbed her toolbox from the trunk. She missed her pickup truck, but figured if she'd gone home to load the old Chevy, she would have lost too much daylight. Her toolbox and tools were still in the trunk of her car from a temporary porch repair she'd done after a storm a couple months ago.

She'd changed into some shorts and a T-shirt she kept at the house, then set to work. By the time she'd dismantled most of the porch, her head felt clearer, her shoulders less tense and her mind had stepped back from the razor edge of stress she'd been riding for months.

Just as she was about to get back to work, she heard a low roar, then a crunch of tires. A moment later, Mac and his Harley swung into view. Her breath caught at the sight of him, sexy as hell with the black leather jacket and the riding boots. He made bad-boy businessman look good. Very, very good.

Ever since that kiss she hadn't been able to think of much else but him. His smile. His eyes. His touch. She told herself she didn't want that kiss—the complications it came with—but truth be told, she'd wanted it more than she'd ever wanted another kiss before. There was something
electric
about that moment when they had turned at the same time, something that had awakened a deep need in Savannah's gut. She'd barely been able to concentrate at work, knowing he was only a few feet away. And now...

He was here. And Lord help her, but she was a weak woman right now, with all the willpower of a mouse in a cheese factory.

Mac kicked out the stand, then swung off the bike, removing his helmet at the same time. Once his blue eyes met hers, Savannah's heart trilled.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Thinking.”

He arched a brow. “Thinking? With a crowbar in your hand?”

“That's how I do my best planning.” She wiped her bangs away again with the back of her hand and let out a sigh. As excited as her body might be to see him, she knew better than to think he'd come by on a social call. He was probably here to discuss more business stuff with her. As much as she wanted to save Hillstrand Solar, right now she couldn't stand to look at another spreadsheet or read another report. She needed open spaces, ocean breezes, hard work to clear her head and help her refocus in the morning.

“When I didn't find you at the office I figured this was where you'd be,” he said.

“Listen, I know I said I'd go over that sales-territory thing tonight,” she began. “But the numbers and names started swimming in front of me, and I just needed some fresh air and something...constructive to do.”

“Or deconstructive.” He nodded toward the pile of debris.

“Yeah. That's even more satisfying sometimes.” She gestured toward the remaining floorboards. “Anyway, I was only going to work for another half hour or so, then get back to the sales-territory thing.”

Okay, so she'd had no such intention. What she wanted was several hours working with her hands, watching the fruits of her labor change what was dying into something new and vibrant. She doubted she could get the entire porch rebuilt tonight, but maybe just the first few timbers would give her that sense of satisfaction. And then she could breathe and think and concentrate on the business. Because after the past few months, Savannah desperately needed a way to decompress, to find her...center again. And being here with the tools and the wood and the work did that for her.

“This demo thing...does it really help relieve stress?” Mac asked.

“It does indeed.” She glanced at his face, and saw the tension in his features, the set of his shoulders. Apparently she wasn't the only one who needed a little time outside the office. She held out the crowbar to him. “Try it and see. Help me rip out the rest of the floorboards.”

He gave the tool a dubious glance. “You sure you want me doing this? It's your family's home and—”

“If you screw anything up, I'll let you know. Start on that end and work toward me. We'll meet in the middle.” She grabbed a claw hammer from the toolbox and headed for the far side of the porch. “If you can leave the boards mostly whole, I'm going to build a storage chest out of them later.”

“Really? I'm impressed.”

She laughed. “Don't be. My carpentry skills are pretty rudimentary. I can frame a wall and build a box, but anything more complex and I have to call in an expert. I'm awesome at demo, though.” She raised her hammer and flexed her biceps.

He chuckled. “Okay, we'll see about that, Hercules.” He hung his jacket on the front door knob, then rolled up his sleeves and settled in at the other end of the porch. Her heart skipped again at the sight of his exposed forearms, this new, relaxed Mac Barlow.

Mac already had finished removing two boards before Savannah recovered her senses and stopped staring at him. The man was too damned handsome. And distracting. She'd come out here to clear her head, not fill it with images of Mac Barlow taking her upstairs and running his hands over her naked body.

Savannah got to work, and once she was immersed in the repetitive motion of prying up the boards, pounding out the nails, then adding the wood to the pile, she almost forgot Mac was there. Almost, because he was always in her peripheral vision and thus always in her peripheral thoughts. Not to mention that each board she removed brought her closer to meeting him in the middle of the porch.

Fifteen minutes later they pried off the last two boards. Savannah and Mac balanced on the joists beneath the old floor, then gave each other a quick high five. It was a satisfying feeling to see the old, damaged boards gone, and the porch ready for a new life.

“That was awesome, I have to say,” Mac said, sending the board sailing onto the pile on the grass. “What can we demo next?”

Savannah laughed. “The sun's going to set pretty soon. I think we can just get started on laying the new floor and maybe framing part of the new roof before we'll have to quit. If you're up for that, that is.”

“Sure. Whatever you want. You were right. This kind of work... It feels good. Satisfying.”

She laughed. “I had the exact same thought.”

“It's been a long time since I've done anything like this.” Mac followed her down the steps and over to the new pile of wood. “And back then it was just small projects with my dad. My brother Jack is the one who loves building things.”

“And you love tearing things down.” She dipped her head. “Sorry. That was out of line.”

“I don't tear everything down,” he said quietly. Then, before she could ask him what he meant by that, he gestured toward the wood. “How are we going to cut the boards for the new floor?”

“I brought along my saw.” She pulled a chop saw out of her trunk, then set it up on a sawhorse she'd found in the shed earlier. Savannah unclipped her tape measure from her tool belt and thumbed toward the porch. “I'll measure and you can cut.”

He grinned. “Do you know how incredibly sexy you look with that on?”

She blushed. He thought she was sexy? “With sawdust in my hair and cobwebs on my shoulders and—”

Mac closed the distance between them. “Incredibly sexy.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped to his lips and a slow warmth spread through her belly. He'd undone the top two buttons on his shirt, giving her a too-brief glimpse of his chest. She wanted more. She wanted to see all of him. Wanted to touch all of him.

A moment passed. Another. The world was quiet, save for the call of a few birds and the low distant
glub-glub
of a passing motorboat. Savannah heard nothing, saw nothing except Mac. Her throat was tight, her pulse running at double speed. His cologne whispered between them, dark and tempting, and it took everything for Savannah not to haul his body against hers.

He tipped a finger under her chin and lifted her lips until they were just below his. It was sexy and sweet and made a part of her melt.

“You can start an engine, drive a boat, operate a chop saw and rebuild a house,” he said. “Is there anything you can't do, Savannah Hillstrand?”

“Run a company.” Her eyes watered. It was the truth. She could fix a lot of things, but she couldn't fix Hillstrand Solar.

“That can be learned,” Mac said. “You already have passion for the business. That's important.”

She had a
promise.
That wasn't the same as passion, but she didn't correct Mac, because if she did, he might see it as an opportunity to convince her to sell. And right now, doing the work that she truly loved, far from the offices and spreadsheets, it wouldn't take much before she was signing the papers over to Mac.

Nor did she want to discuss business with Mac's finger on her chin. Then again she didn't want to work, either, with him touching her. Getting too close to him was like getting too close to quicksand. Savannah worried she'd forget that he was supposed to be the enemy and get swept into something that was nothing more than a fantasy.

With great reluctance she stepped away and nodded toward the porch. The air seemed to chill a bit. “Right now I'm passionate about laying a floor before the sun sets. Do you know how to run that thing?”

He nodded, then crossed to the sawhorse and connected the chop saw's plug to a waiting extension cord. “I think I've got it under control.”

“Okay. Good.” She headed back up to the porch and started working before Mac Barlow could see another moment of vulnerability or read the desire in her eyes. How long had it been since she'd been to bed with a man?

Far too long, that was for sure. The past four months had been a whirlwind of caring for her father, then taking over for him. There'd been no time for dating, and no one beating down her door for a date. Savannah had worked so long in a man's world—construction and production—that she found most men were intimidated and felt more comfortable treating her like one of the guys instead of a girl. The few men she had dated had been big on words, not so good at actions that rang true.

But not Mac Barlow. He treated her as an equal, and then, in too brief snippets, like a woman to be desired. It was a heady sensation. Intoxicating.

Savannah cleared her throat and concentrated on the tape measure. It took three tries before she read the measurement right, but once her mind refocused, the rhythm of work got her back on track. To what was important—saving the company and saving the house. Restoring what was falling down, before it was all lost.
Promise me.

That
was what mattered, Savannah reminded herself. Not a fleeting attraction to the man who ultimately wanted her to give up the company.

She called out measurements, Mac cut the wood, and she hammered the new boards into place. One after another, laying in the fresh boards like a row of teeth in a wide, happy smile, watching the porch come to life again, giving her the satisfaction of seeing one thing her father loved being restored to its former glory.

A little at a time.

* * *

The last floorboard went in just as the sun began to disappear behind the trees on the western side of the property. Savannah turned on the porch lights, then headed inside and returned a moment later with two beers. She handed one to Mac, then the two of them sat on the top step and watched darkness steal over the bay. The scent of fresh-cut wood heightened the salty tang in the air with a homey scent.

Mac rested his elbows on his knees and drew in a deep breath. He hadn't felt such a sense of satisfaction in a long time. His shoulders ached, and he had the beginnings of a sunburn on his arms and face, but every inch of him was sated by the feeling of good, hard work. “Thanks.”

Savannah glanced over at him, surprised. “For what?”

“For the beer, but mostly for letting me help you.” He drew in another breath. What was it about newly cut wood that carried that scent of new beginnings? Fresh starts. Hope. They were all feelings alien to Mac for far too long. “I needed that today.”

“Bad day in corporate-takeover world?” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I'm sorry. I keep saying things like that and I shouldn't. You helped me, and I appreciate it.”

“What I needed today wasn't about work. It was...personal.” Even as he said the last word he could feel himself closing that door, the one that divided him from the people in his life. Outside of his brothers, Mac had few friends. Almost no close friends. Something about being the man at the top created an automatic dividing line, and the guys he used to shoot hoops with or play a few rounds of golf with suddenly saw him as an outsider. Then his days had become consumed by work, and except for working lunches and dinners, and the occasional run through Boston Public Garden, there wasn't much time for hanging out with buddies. And certainly not enough time for heart-to-heart conversations about the ups and downs in his life. Especially not the latest monkey wrench.

He couldn't go to his brothers with this thing about Colton. Not yet anyway. Nor did he really want to drop that information in their laps, as it had been done to him. They were moving on with their own lives, marrying great women. The last thing Jack and Luke needed was to be saddled with another stress. Some would argue Mac didn't need it, either, but the monkey wrench was there, nonetheless, expecting him to
fix this.