Page 1 of Protected By the Surly Carpenter

1

CLARK

Ionly paste on a smile when I need to. To be polite, or neighborly. Or because I’m not in the mood to deal with well-meaning folks asking what’s wrong. I suspect I have “resting grouch face”.

I look around the sea of smiles in the park behind City Hall. God, my cheeks are exhausted from my face automatically stretching into a half smile whenever anyone looks my way.

I get it. Walker and his new bride are deeply in love. I’m genuinely happy for them. But honestly, I had a better time hauling lumber and loading up the trucks with the guys so we could build the tables, chairs and benches for the reception than I’m having attending it now, watching people drink tea and congratulate the new couple. Stealing a look around, I figure I’ve already spoken with everyone I need to. Plus I’ve definitely run out of smiles for the day.

Yeah, I’m out.

Nodding to a few people, I stride to my truck, ducking inside for a moment of peace. I’m grateful that the townspeople of Old Hemlock Valley are mellow, for the most part. Any sort of crowdis a bit much for me. Too chattery. Like birds chirping. Gets on my nerves.

I’m boring, and that’s fine. People depend on me, and I’m always happy to help, whether it’s bringing ice cream to a friend’s injured girlfriend who’s stuck on the couch or phoning a buddy when I see his sweetie driving into an unsafe town. Helping out is the right thing to do. But every time I assist with someone else’s relationship all it does is leave me feeling emptier.

I figure I deserve a break since I did a downright professional job of smiling politely for the past two hours. No cooking for me tonight. I drive a few blocks to Jim’s Pizza and decide on an extra-large, so that will cover breakfast and lunch tomorrow too.

As soon as I approach the restaurant, I regret my decision.

A few months ago, I was hired to build a huge patio for the summer crowd. It’s since turned into the official Friday and Saturday night hangout spot. Teenagers are out front counting their change to buy a slice. Middle-aged people inside the restaurant are drinking wine and eating pasta. Out on the patio, the younger crowd are sharing pitchers of beer, flirting and laughing it up.

It kind of makes me want to forget about the pizza and just hit my basement gym to work off the frustration. Or maybe go out to the shop and work on some more pieces for Wolfe Furniture. They’ve been pretty busy this season, ever since people started talking about the benefits of rustic wood furniture that ages well on your back patio instead of that cheap plastic crap that falls apart.

But then the smell of pizza hits me and I’m pulled inside to place my order anyway. Bianca writes it down, then gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry – it’ll be about half an hour. That patio you built is just too popular. But I’ll see if they can rush yours.”

“Appreciate it, thanks.” I pay, leaving a generous tip as usual, then look around for somewhere to wait. It’s a bit stuffy inside, and the incredible aroma of the pasta is cranking my hunger to near starvation levels.

I step out to the completely packed patio and lean against the wall. Closing my eyes for a moment, I picture my current list of orders in the shop. After I get home and finish dinner, maybe I’ll knock out the rough cutting for the bistro set. Then I could?—

“No.”

The word is barely a whisper, but there’s a desperate energy behind it.

My eyes snap open. I whirl to see the waitress cowering in front of a man who has her cornered against the edge of the patio fence. Part of me is rooting for her to kick through it to get away from him, but since I built it, I know that’s not happening.

The man is Lawney Powell. I’ve known him for years. Total scumbag. One of those guys who is always up to no good. Every time he shows up, trouble follows.

He’s holding up her hand and checking her fingers. “Where are those rings, Elena? In the safety deposit box? Maybe you should just give me the key.”

She yanks her hand back, gripping the edge of her apron. Her slim shoulders are shaking. Her eyes dart around, looking for a way out while he chuckles darkly.

Then her gaze locks on mine.

All the air in my lungs vaporizes as my heart pounds out a frantic off-kilter rhythm like boulders tumbling down a mountain.

Suddenly I’m beside her, sliding my body in between them so that Lawney is against my back. “I’m so sorry I’m late, baby,” I hear myself say. “How’s your shift going?”

I’m smiling. Hard. But gently, as I look into her rich golden-brown eyes.

Elena’s shoulders drop. Then she taps my chest playfully, causing a tremor of desire to shoot through my entire body. “Fine. But I thought you were going to drop by an hour ago!”

Behind me, I hear Lawney shuffling to get away. The weasel knows I can’t stand him. Plus, he’s half my size.

Leaning down, I’m blocking her enough that people around us will just think I’m kissing her cheek as I whisper in her ear. “I’m Clark. The carpenter who built this patio. Would you like me to stay here and pretend to be your boyfriend until the end of your shift?”

Her sweet grin is dazzling. Even though she’s just wearing the red golf shirt and simple black pants that all the servers wear here, she manages to make the uniform look glamorous. Her long dirty blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail with a red clip, and she’s wearing a bit of black eyeliner that’s doing that flippy thing at the corners that makes her look like a pixie.

“That would be amazing,” she whispers. “Thank you so much.” Some movement catches her eye as a couple leaves. “You can grab that table. I’ll go check on your order and tell them you’re eating here now.”

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