Page 6 of A Package Deal

“Ready to see the house, Slaywright?” I asked, needing to end the staredown and get things back under control. Plus the idea of an ice pack on my ass was sounding better and better.

Emmerleigh nodded and that was that. I ushered her into the house, rattling off all the things I wanted replaced or fixed. She kept a running list on her clipboard, along with taking pictures on her phone. By the time we made it to the outside, she had to flip her paper over and write on the back side. Two bathroom renovations, complete kitchen renovation, add on another bedroom, build a screened-in back porch, new interior paint throughout, and resurface wood floors.

When we were back to where the driveway gravel met the bottom of the porch stairs, Emmerleigh scanned over the list again.

“Well, it’s a lot, but shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll start on the interior while we wait for the permits to be pulled for the porch and the bedroom. I’ll get a crew together, and if we agree to terms, we can get going as early as tomorrow.”

That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “I have three weeks.”

Emmerleigh’s eyes looked like they might fall out of her dainty little head. “Three weeks? More like three months.”

I tapped my boot and assessed the little lady. She wasn’t that big, but she looked like she was pretty capable. “Tell you what, you get it done in three weeks and I’ll throw in a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “I’ll go get my checkbook. Five now, five when you finish on time.”

Her jaw dropped open, but she didn’t argue. I headed inside to grab my checkbook. Money always opened doors and bent rules, a lesson I’d learned quickly when my business had taken off in my mid-twenties. It wasn’t fair, but it was just the way the world worked and I wasn’t so noble to not take advantage of it. When I came back down the stairs, she was on a phone call, her back to me.

“You can’t call me.”

I frowned, my footsteps halting. Her voice had a wobble to it I didn’t care for. Her back stiffened, and even though she didn’t say another word, I could hear a voice coming from the phone. A male voice. A man who didn’t sound happy at all. I barreled down the stairs, intent on taking the phone out of her hand and giving that asshole a piece of my mind, but she hung up and shoved the phone in her back pocket before I could get to her.

“Who was that?” I snapped, feeling protective of a woman I barely knew and honestly didn’t like all that much.

Mom had been married before Dad. Exactly one year she spent in matrimonial hell with an asshole who yelled and raged and eventually hit. As boys, she’d told us the whole story, impressing upon us that women were to be treasured and protected. She told us how our father had arrived on the scene and not only saved her from that marriage, but offered her a love that lasted forty-six years and through raising three boys. There was one surefire way to piss off a Wolfe, and that was to disrespect women.

Sadly, I’d just never met a woman I felt that protective of.

Emmerleigh’s face was pale, all sparkle of challenge and mirth wiped completely away. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. She looked smaller, as if she’d closed in on herself. “No one.”

I wanted to press her further because that most assuredly was someone. Someone important if it had made her go all pale and quivery from just one short phone call. Maybe whoever was tattooed on her arm. I’d noticed the script tattoo on her left inner forearm, but hadn’t been able to read it. She held up the clipboard and lifted her chin.

“I’ll get an estimate to you by tonight. If it looks all right, I’ll get that crew and be back tomorrow to get started.”

And then she spun abruptly and left, climbing into her truck without a backward glance. I watched her turn around in the driveway and head back out, her taillights finally disappearing as she made the right onto the main road. It was only after Bessie mooed at me again that I realized I still held my checkbook in my hand. I never wrote the check I’d promised Emmerleigh.

With a sigh, I stuck my tongue out at Bessie and headed inside to get some ice on my sore ass.

CHAPTER THREE

Emmerleigh

“Mama! My fingies are prunes!” Georgia called from the bathtub of the house I rented from a particularly grumpy lawyer in town. I pushed the door open and nearly cursed at the sight of the water and bubbles she’d splashed on every available surface. Even the ceiling was dripping. I tamped down my irritation. I wasn’t mad at Georgia. I was mad at the world tonight, and my little girl didn’t need to bear the brunt of my ire.

I grabbed the bath towel and motioned for her to stand up. “Come on, mermaid princess, let’s get your human form dry.”

Georgia giggled, climbing out of the bathtub and letting me scrub the towel from head to toe before sending her on her way to the second bedroom where her clean pajamas waited for her on the bed. Then I got to work, mopping up the water with extra towels and putting away the bath toys. My left thumb was pulsing, thanks to the hammer I accidentally hit it with this morning replacing Betty’s skirting. The job was done though, and I had a new one lined up for tomorrow, which meant I would ignore my injury in favor of paying jobs.

If I could find a crew.

And that was a big if. While Georgia had relocated all the water in the bathtub to the walls and ceiling, I’d sat in the hallway and called all the subcontractors I knew of in this town. So far, I’d only been able to secure two and both weren’t exactly hard workers from the little I knew of them. Warrick Wolfe wanted a lot done in only three weeks. But ten grand was a lot of money. Enough to get a better truck. Or save for a down payment on my own little house here in Blueball. Georgia deserved to grow up in a home that had a yard full of green grass and a dog as her best friend. I was a single mom, but I was determined my little girl would lack for nothing.

I walked into Georgia’s bedroom, eyeing the book she’d already put out for me, the longest one she owned. She jumped under the covers and lay down, being incredibly obedient so that she could finagle her way into me reading the whole book to her tonight. Instead of trying to negotiate a different—shorter—book, I sat on the side of the bed, my back against her headboard and settled in. At least reading would take my mind off Cayden’s sudden interest in our lives. She curled into my side and put her tiny hand on top of my thigh. The sparkly purple nail polish I’d applied to her nails over the weekend had mostly chipped off. How could anyone be in a bad mood with this living reminder of how beautiful life really was?

“Love you, Mama,” Georgia murmured after I read the last word and shut the book, long eyelashes fluttering as she struggled to keep her eyes open. My girl was a fighter with a raging sense of FOMO. She hated to fall asleep and miss even a moment of life.

I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Climbing out of bed, I tucked the blankets around her and whispered back, “Love you too, baby. Sweet dreams.”

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