and—”
She was far too intrigued to hold on to her pique. “We could do that with the storage shed, you think?” Her mind was spinning out scenarios, already sorting through which furnishings could fit. Then she made herself stop. “I don’t have any money in the budget for more renovations,” she said with more regret than he could imagine.
“It won’t take much. I can wire it and install the fan myself.” He stepped beside her. “Take out part of this wall then use the same lumber for door facings. The wood, like everything else around the house, is solid. I learned as a kid never to waste materials. Some new nails, a ceiling fan and some wiring is all you’d need to have.” He turned to her, and eagerness had replaced his irritation. “Intriguing idea?”
She’d been wanting to offer massage services but assumed they’d have to take place in the guest rooms. If they built this…shelter, there would be some times of the year they still would, but this building could be an amazing space, and if it couldn’t be used year-round, so what? That only made it more special.
“Very intriguing.” Her mind was racing. “I know exactly the chaise. And there’s a ceiling fan we removed from the kitchen that still seems to work.”
“There you go.”
Her gaze met his. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”
“No sweat. Armando has a suggestion for creating a path and relocating a few plants from elsewhere on the property to soften up the look of this structure.”
“Really?” She looked at her foreman.
“ Es verdad . We do this, Señorita Sophie. Muy bueno .”
“And there’s time?”
“Esé,” he indicated Cade. “He is strong. Good help.”
She couldn’t help grinning at Cade’s smug expression. “You heard the man, Queenie. Some people like having me around.”
Armando’s face split into a smile.
Sophie gave up and laughed. “Thank you,” she said to Armando, then lifted her eyes to the blue ones smiling down at her. “And thank you.”
The moment shimmered with pleasure.
And hope.
Sophie had forgotten too much about both.
“I, uh, I see to my men,” Armando said.
The spell that locked her gaze to Cade’s shattered, and she hastily turned away, rubbing her palms on her jeans when her hands itched to touch him, to… “I—I have work to do. And you should go home,” she said to Cade, trying to put distance between them. He already had proved himself a distraction she couldn’t afford. She could not lose her focus on what was important.
“Scared, Queenie?” His amused voice followed her.
Don’t look back . Whatever you do, don’t look back at him .
The rich sound of his laughter accompanied her all the way into the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
O N THE DARKENED PORCH of Jenna’s home, Cade drew his laptop from its case with the caution of someone handling a rattlesnake. He’d never been one to submit to the electronic leash so many people accepted. Much of his life had been spent far from cell phone towers or Wi-Fi hotspots, and though he knew it made him seem a Neanderthal to others, he liked the world better that way—observed firsthand, experienced in its raw reality, not on a computer screen. Talking to real people—though, he admitted, no more often than he had to—not via text messages and emoticons.
He was a throwback, and he’d never minded the label. Too many people in the “civilized world” had gotten so far away from the realities of their ancestors that they lived in their heads. Their experiences were made up entirely of the visual, the artificial—the world as seen in the mind, not felt in all its messy, startling, sometimes astonishing truth.
So while he did communicate via email with his editor and agent, he felt not the slightest twinge at being away from communications for long spans of time. His laptop was a tool, a place to store his images, but it was not his lifeline—or shackle.
Since the accident, he’d opened his laptop maybe three times.
She was far too intrigued to hold on to her pique. “We could do that with the storage shed, you think?” Her mind was spinning out scenarios, already sorting through which furnishings could fit. Then she made herself stop. “I don’t have any money in the budget for more renovations,” she said with more regret than he could imagine.
“It won’t take much. I can wire it and install the fan myself.” He stepped beside her. “Take out part of this wall then use the same lumber for door facings. The wood, like everything else around the house, is solid. I learned as a kid never to waste materials. Some new nails, a ceiling fan and some wiring is all you’d need to have.” He turned to her, and eagerness had replaced his irritation. “Intriguing idea?”
She’d been wanting to offer massage services but assumed they’d have to take place in the guest rooms. If they built this…shelter, there would be some times of the year they still would, but this building could be an amazing space, and if it couldn’t be used year-round, so what? That only made it more special.
“Very intriguing.” Her mind was racing. “I know exactly the chaise. And there’s a ceiling fan we removed from the kitchen that still seems to work.”
“There you go.”
Her gaze met his. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”
“No sweat. Armando has a suggestion for creating a path and relocating a few plants from elsewhere on the property to soften up the look of this structure.”
“Really?” She looked at her foreman.
“ Es verdad . We do this, Señorita Sophie. Muy bueno .”
“And there’s time?”
“Esé,” he indicated Cade. “He is strong. Good help.”
She couldn’t help grinning at Cade’s smug expression. “You heard the man, Queenie. Some people like having me around.”
Armando’s face split into a smile.
Sophie gave up and laughed. “Thank you,” she said to Armando, then lifted her eyes to the blue ones smiling down at her. “And thank you.”
The moment shimmered with pleasure.
And hope.
Sophie had forgotten too much about both.
“I, uh, I see to my men,” Armando said.
The spell that locked her gaze to Cade’s shattered, and she hastily turned away, rubbing her palms on her jeans when her hands itched to touch him, to… “I—I have work to do. And you should go home,” she said to Cade, trying to put distance between them. He already had proved himself a distraction she couldn’t afford. She could not lose her focus on what was important.
“Scared, Queenie?” His amused voice followed her.
Don’t look back . Whatever you do, don’t look back at him .
The rich sound of his laughter accompanied her all the way into the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
O N THE DARKENED PORCH of Jenna’s home, Cade drew his laptop from its case with the caution of someone handling a rattlesnake. He’d never been one to submit to the electronic leash so many people accepted. Much of his life had been spent far from cell phone towers or Wi-Fi hotspots, and though he knew it made him seem a Neanderthal to others, he liked the world better that way—observed firsthand, experienced in its raw reality, not on a computer screen. Talking to real people—though, he admitted, no more often than he had to—not via text messages and emoticons.
He was a throwback, and he’d never minded the label. Too many people in the “civilized world” had gotten so far away from the realities of their ancestors that they lived in their heads. Their experiences were made up entirely of the visual, the artificial—the world as seen in the mind, not felt in all its messy, startling, sometimes astonishing truth.
So while he did communicate via email with his editor and agent, he felt not the slightest twinge at being away from communications for long spans of time. His laptop was a tool, a place to store his images, but it was not his lifeline—or shackle.
Since the accident, he’d opened his laptop maybe three times.
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