Page 27 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Logan was right. I instantly felt a kinship. That was a rarity in my life.

The older man picked up a rag and brushed off the sawdust from his jeans. “You’re lucky you showed up after my wife made dinner.”

“Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.” I ignored my growling belly. It had been a long day of arguing and calling in favors. My tally of favors wasn’t exactly in the plus column these days.

Logan had been on his phone a bit himself, but he’d been less than forthcoming with any details on how he’d fared.

Unfortunately, Logan was already on the record, so I couldn’t even make him do a song at this point. He was semi-retired these days, so it would help sales some, but Angel had been our ace.

And our charity backers were already crawling up our asses about finishing the collection to get the album to press. Not just the vinyl, but the record pressings were limited. There were only a few places that could actually do it these days, and they knew they had us by the short and curlies.

“If you’re looking for a food handout, a farm is the best place to be, boy.”

“I’m not.” My back went up immediately. Jacob only raised his eyebrow at me. “Sir.”

He gave me a smile that was more chilling than reassuring. I glanced at Logan, who was tamping down his own amusement.

“All right. Let’s see what we can do. I’m going to need some help. Sure those soft hands of yours remember how to work wood, Lo?”

“Not all my calluses have melted away.”

“Speak for yourself.” And here I was, the asshole muttering in the corner. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if I walked back to town.

It took some doing, but Jacob did have the blueprints and an excruciatingly detailed list of steps to make the door. It was a rectangle, for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t require an engineering degree to get this done.

Not being an expert in this particular subject, I kept my mouth shut. I was mostly in the way and desperately wanted a cigarette by the time we had the majority of the door set with clamps, glue, and other various woodworking gadgetry.

Finally, Jacob stood back. “Needs at least an hour to dry. You sure Bella won’t let you come back and get it later?”

“Unless I want to sleep in my truck—nope.”

“Well then. Beer?”

“Yes.”

“I’m good.” I shoved my hands into my hair under my hat and walked out into the night. The night sounds were a bit closer this far out into New York’s version of the heartland. Hearty frogs and a few brave crickets sang their night songs.

This was one nice thing about visiting Logan. I had a semi-solitary existence in New York City, but it wasn’t quiet. Well, outside my soundproofed rooms anyway. And for the most part, I enjoyed the busy, buzzy city.

But sometimes the quiet was welcome.

“Catch.”

I turned toward the voice just in time for a water bottle to come sailing at my head. Quick reflexes and a lifetime of rugby and football as a lad kept me from getting beaned in the head. “Thanks.”

“All you had to say was you didn’t drink.”

I shrugged and broke the seal on the bottle. The devil in my brain was a little too active. Normally, it was a non-issue. Living in New York City with musicians all around me meant booze was everywhere. “Don’t like to make people uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” He held his own bottle of water. “Maybe it’s you.”

I lifted my bottle. “Touché.”

“It was either my wife or the bottle. She wins every time.” Jacob took a sip and surveyed his land.

I was shite at smalltalk. “Sounds like a good reason if you need one.”

His white eyebrow winged up in the sliver of light from the barn. “Touchy one. Keep it up, I’ll have you cutting firewood.”

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