Page 79 of Take Me Away, Cowboy

Again, Paige came to mind when he thought of the whole thing falling down around him so he could start over and fix it from the ground up.

He shook his head, walked faster.

Owen shot up the stairs into his closet to get his less-used tools, the ones he only took out when he needed to do a bigger project. He found a box with his drafting tools and some flat carpenter pencils and hoisted it from the back of his closet. Shit. He’d tweaked his back. He put his hand against the wall, his breath exacerbating the pain.

Dammit. He wheezed, unable to fill his lungs with oxygen and pressed his hand to the small of his back where the tweak pulsed. Same place as earlier in the summer. Same place as the first injury in Afghanistan.

Twisting back and forth twice, he was pretty sure that he’d be okay in a day or two. Though experience told him he’d need a couple Tylenol or his day was over. His hands brushed against a jacket as he righted himself. The fabric felt familiar, his brain whirring for reasons he couldn’t figure out yet. He laid the old tweed frock on the comforter, unbuttoning and tracing the seam on the right side.

His hand stopped when he got to the fold he knew was there. A few years earlier, the thread holding the silk together had to be sewn into a silk patch. The surrounding material was too weak to take the attempt at stitching the hole he’d made when he’d snagged the fabric on a nail. Since it had been his grandfather’s tweed jacket, leather patches on the elbows to boot, he wanted to take care of it, not just chuck it and start over. Hence the patch. He slid his finger the full way around the patch and back the other way. Something in his brain worked to figure out why this seemed important. The patch was so simple, so rudimentary. But it had worked.

Suddenly, Owen saw how to fix the faulty window and shutter. Alan had figured out the same thing himself, or something close to it.

With the jitters of a high school quarterback about to throw his first touchdown pass, sure only of his idea, wary still about the execution, a surge of excitement flowed through Owen’s blood.

Grabbing the phone from his pocket, he dialed Brad’s number, knowing full well he ran the risk of waking the poor guy up.

“Yo,” the person on the other line answered.

“Brad?” Since when did traditional and professional Brad answer the phone like a twenty-year-old rapper?

“Nope. Steve. Brad’s in the shower. I just checked him out of the hospital.”

“Wait, hospital? I thought his dad was the one laid up.”

“Yeah, turns out Brad’s our weakest link when it comes to holding down his liquor. Nurses checked him in the minute he let loose the contents of his night on the linoleum floor. For the third time.”

“Damn.” Maybe he should’ve dragged Brad home with him. But then again, Brad was a grown man who could make his own decisions, even when they proved not to be good ones. “He in any shape to help me out with a project at the barn you think? I could use you, too, if you’re free.”

“He could be with the right IV of coffee. I’ll get him there. Why? Whatcha got in mind?”

Owen filled Steve in on his idea to help out Alan while he was laid up, made his case for why it should only take a day or so to complete.

“We’re in. I’ll bring the coffee and donuts.”

“You sure?”

“Sounds like more fun than watching the Seahawks lose again. Plus, sweating out the liter of whiskey in my system might not be such a bad idea. We’ll be there in thirty.”

“That works. I’m gonna run into town and grab some supplies and meet you back here right about then. Make yourselves at home if I’m not there. Beer’s in the fridge.”

“Beer’s a four-letter word right now, man. But thanks. See you in a sec.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“You bet.” The phone clicked and Owen got to work. There wasn’t much daylight left now that the sun set more to the south every night. They probably only had an hour or two once they got set up. Owen jogged to his truck, threw it in drive, and sped until he pulled up in front of Mitch’s Hardware store. A quick glance at his phone and the list he’d made himself in his Notes app told him he needed about thirty feet of lumber, some ring shank nails, and a whole helluva lot of paint. Shouldn’t be too bad. It would take some work, but with the three of them, it’d go fast.

With his order complete, Owen took off with the same roar of his engine, hoping to beat the guys to the house. He slowed as the light in front of him turned yellow, impatiently tapping his foot on the floorboards. He took advantage of the pause to glance around him, watching a few families headed to Jules and Verne’s, kids swinging from parents’ arms, and one couple that had to be in high school sharing a cone that looked about to topple on the girl’s shoes. A pang of jealousy shot through his chest, forcing him to look away. Yet another thing that had changed since he met Paige. He used to feel a sense of amusement when he saw couples cozied up together, but he’d never felt like he was missing out until now. Damn that woman. His impatience turned to frustration.

Finally, his gaze settled on the bus stop next to the stoplight and his sixth sense picked up with the breeze. A woman sat on the bench, bedazzled in bright colors that looked unnatural against the tan, brown, and olive background. She had the lightest chocolate-colored skin, flawless from what he could tell, and her long hair hung in braids that landed close to her hips. She was stunning, but to his surprise, that didn’t do anything except remind him of Paige.

Paige. He took another glance at the woman and did a double take as she turned to face him. It couldn’t be, could it?

A scowl settled on her face as she caught him open-mouthed and staring. She shook her head and mumbled something under her breath. Even angry, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Definitely out of her element in Banberry.

A car honked behind him, alerting him to the change in traffic status, and without giving it a second thought, Owen swooped right and parked on the corner next to the bus stop. He jumped out of his truck and slammed the door shut in one fluid motion.

Guilt plagued him as he approached her and her disdain deepened the lines on a forehead that was otherwise as smooth as the coffee and creamer he drank every morning. She was scared of him. She clutched a small, red and yellow bag close to her chest, and used her knees to clamp tight to the suitcase between her legs, the latter strong and fit.

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