Love After Hours Page 11

  “I think maybe just one.” Blake wore a T-shirt over the compression vest and loose shorts in bed. “They kinda make me fuzzy.”

  She shook out a pill and handed it to him along with the bottle of spring water. “It probably won’t matter if you get to go back to sleep.”

  “Well, I can take one now and then one later if I need it, right?”

  “Yeah, you can.” She pointed to the egg-shaped plastic collection containers resting on top of the covers. The tubes disappeared under Blake’s shirt and connected to the drains under his skin. She’d seen them on YouTube. “You know, I think they need to be emptied.”

  Blake lifted one up and held it in the air. Pale pink fluid nearly filled it. “You’re right. They’re almost full. If they’re not empty, they don’t suck right.”

  He sounded just a little bit nervous.

  Margie considered the options. “Well, either we do it, or I can wake up Flann or your mom.”

  “I know how to do it.” Blake sat up a little straighter. “I think I might need a little help, though.”

  “Well, yeah.” Margie tilted her head toward the small bathroom in the back corner of the loft. “In there?”

  “I guess.” Blake swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Wait.”

  Margie skirted the end of the bed and slipped her arm around his waist as he stood. “You good?”

  “Yeah,” Blake said after a second. “Thanks for, you know…staying.”

  Margie squeezed, careful not to lean against his chest. “Well, yeah.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When Carrie’s alarm beeped at 6:45 a.m., she turned it off, avoiding the big fat snooze bar that was four times the size of the off button. She never hit snooze, which she considered a subtle form of self-delusion. If she wanted an extra half hour’s sleep, she’d set the alarm for the correct time and then get up and go about her business. Efficiency was her secret obsession, although she preferred the term “organized” over “obsessive-compulsive.” True, everything about her morning routine was timed down to the minute, but she couldn’t really help the fact she had a precise internal clock ticking away in the back of her head. She’d obviously inherited all the time sensitivity that had passed the other members of her family by. She’d taken to getting herself up and ready for school by third grade after realizing her well-meaning parents had no sense of being on time. Not that she let time rule her life—she wasn’t a slave to the clock. She just liked to be organized.

  Take her work life, for example. Presley would already be at work, but that was Presley’s obsession, not hers. She chose to show up at seven thirty every morning, a good hour ahead of almost everyone else in administration. She garnered both admiration and a few thinly veiled accusatory looks suggesting she was making other people look bad, but hey, she was Presley’s wingman, and that required flying as high as her. Besides, she liked the challenge of meeting her talented boss on equal ground. Within reason, of course. Starting work in the dark was not reasonable.

  Humming to herself, she jumped in the shower for a quick refresher, and ninety seconds later, wrapped in a towel, headed downstairs to push Brew on the coffeepot she’d set up the night before. She didn’t trust the automatic timers, having been disappointed a couple of times that cost her a good five minutes she couldn’t afford. She preferred not to leave anything to chance. Halfway down the stairs, a loud crash shook the house and stopped her in her tracks.

  Tree falling? She pictured the area around the house. No, none that were close enough to hit the house if they suddenly toppled over. The maples by the barn were a possibility, but surely she wouldn’t feel the vibrations all this way away. Something crashing down in the kitchen? No cats or dogs or critters larger than a field mouse to knock things off the counters. A cabinet coming loose from the wall? Hopefully that wasn’t the case, because she didn’t have time to deal with the mess.

  All was quiet now and she continued down the stairs in search of whatever had fallen. The kitchen was just as she’d left it the night before, all the chairs arranged around the table, the coffeepot waiting for her to push Brew, which was the first thing she did as she scanned the room, and all the cabinets were still firmly attached above the counters. She glanced out the back window and, from what she could see, the barn and surrounding copse of trees looked unharmed. She stepped out onto the back porch to get a better look at the yard, and froze.

  Gina stood in the middle of the yard, tool belt slung across her lean jeans-clad hips, her dusty work boots planted shoulder-width apart, her head tilted back, eyes squinting ever so slightly in the early morning sun. She didn’t have the hard hat today, and her hair was tousled as if she’d hastily run her hands through it. Her gray T-shirt with the faded number 20 on the chest had a rip over her right shoulder. Carrie’s gaze kept returning to that small patch of skin as if it were a beacon leading her somewhere she ought to be going.

  Gina raised a brow. “What are you doing here?”

  Grabbing the edge of the towel she’d hastily secured in a loose roll over her chest, Carrie parroted, “What are you doing here?”

  Gina laughed. “I’m working.”

  “Not here you’re not. You’re supposed to be…” Carrie waved a hand. At the hospital, except she couldn’t be there because of those damnable permits that haunted her like a bad memory. “Someplace else.”

  Obviously enjoying herself, and irritating Carrie even more, Gina grinned and slid her hands into her back pockets, her hips tilting forward ever so slightly. The move was unspeakably sexy. “According to my work order, I’m supposed to be here renovating”—she drew a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket—“kitchen and bathroom, checking both porches for structural integrity, and adding a carport.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “From my father. He’s the boss.”

  “Yes, I know that, I mean, that makes sense, but where did you get it from?” Extremely exasperated at yet another fractured conversation with the only woman she’d ever met who could leave her tongue-tied, and acutely aware she was standing half-naked in her bare feet at 7:06 in the morning and time was slipping away, Carrie snapped, “Before that. Who hired you?”

  “I guess that would be whoever owns this house. As far as I know, your boss.” Gina cocked her head. “Have you noticed any leaks? That roof looks like it could use an overhaul.”

  “Well, no one said anything to me!” Carrie stared up at the underside of the porch roof. “Really, you think it will leak?”

  “I was thinking the main roof, but I’ll check them all.” Gina shrugged. “As to the scheduling, I guess you’ll have to take that up with your boss. Where do you want me to start?”

  Carrie glared. “How about by getting into your truck and leaving?”

  “Not and lose half a day of work. Did I wake you?”

  Carrie finally focused on the giant very ugly green dumpster beside the porch. “No. I was getting ready for work and I heard the crash.”

  Gina grimaced. “Look, I really am sorry about the confusion. I’m usually careful not to disturb the owners on residential jobs, but we do start early. I’ll wait in the truck until you’re…done.”

  “Oh, this is crazy,” Carrie said, mollified by Gina’s apologetic tone. She wasn’t usually such a grump. Gina just seemed to bring out her inner cranky-pants. “Wait right here just a minute.”

  “You sure?” Gina asked, suddenly all helpful and making Carrie feel even worse for snapping at her. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here at nine to go over the work, so I could just come back. I only wanted to get the equipment delivered to save time.”

  Carrie lost the last of her mad. Gina was just being time conscious, after all. She sighed. “I have a feeling that nine o’clock might be with me, since I live here. Let me clear this up.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Holding her towel even more securely, Carrie turned with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she
wasn’t wearing anything except terry cloth, and hurried back into the house. Once out of view of the screen door she sprinted for the stairs, tossed her towel into the bathroom, and yanked sweats and a T from her dresser. As soon as she was decent, she found her phone and checked messages. Sure enough, voice mail from Presley at 6:58, just when she would have been in the shower.

  Hi, Carrie. I bet you’re in the shower right now. Sorry, I got a message just a couple minutes ago that the contractor wants to start work this morning at your place. I know it’s late notice. It looks like there’s not much going on after the eight o’clock division head meeting, so maybe you can swing back and talk to them about what you want done after that. Really sorry about the mix-up, but I didn’t want to say no. You know what they’re like. She laughed. We need to hold on to them while we have them! See you in a few.

  Carrie let out a long sigh and trod back outside. Gina regarded her expectantly. “Well, this is turning into a comedy of errors. I just got the message that you were on your way. Of course, I didn’t actually get the message or I wouldn’t have greeted you in my”—she blew out a breath and laughed, the ridiculousness of everything finally hitting her—“towel.”

  “I can’t say I mind.” Gina’s smile turned slow and admiring as her gaze traveled down Carrie’s now thoroughly covered form. “Kinda liked the look, but I do recognize it wasn’t the best timing. So like I said, I’ll wait in the truck until you get ready.”

  “I’ll be dressed and out of here in eighteen minutes.”

  “That soon, huh?”

  Carrie grinned at the wry note in Gina’s voice. “How about I get you a cup of coffee. The pot just finished brewing.”

  “I’d be your slave forever,” Gina said.

  “That might be taking it a little too far,” Carrie said primly.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Depends on how good the coffee is.”

  “Trust me, it’s excellent. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Gina put a boot up against the bottom step and leaned on her bent leg. “I’ll await your pleasure.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes and disappeared inside. Gina settled onto the top step and stretched her legs down to the bottom stair. She’d backed the truck with the dumpster on her trailer into the drive and hadn’t pulled in far enough to see the little car nestled in the turnaround in the back. She would’ve recognized it and made her presence known before creating a racket. Still, she was happy with the way things turned out. A glimpse of Carrie Longmire in a bath towel at seven in the morning was about the best way to start the day she could imagine. Add the fire in her eyes to the expanse of smooth creamy skin that promised to be softer than it looked, and she couldn’t ask for anything more. The woman was an intoxicating combination of sharp edges and silky-smooth curves, hot tempered and surprisingly amusing. Carrie combined the power and beauty of a summer thunderstorm at its fiercest and most sultry, when the air was so hot your skin tingled with every brush of a breeze and lightning streaked across the sky with a jolt that made your heart race.

  Bemused by her fanciful thoughts, Gina tilted her head back against the porch post and closed her eyes as the sun drifted across her face. The morning smelled of hay and wildflowers, quiet and peaceful, something she rarely felt. She lazily opened her eyes at the tread of footfalls coming closer and looked up. Deep green eyes, the exact color of the fields she’d driven through half an hour before, met her gaze.

  “I thought you might have fallen asleep,” Carrie said gently.

  “No, just daydreaming.” Gina shook her head, surprised at having drifted away and even more surprised at admitting it.

  “Nice dreams?”

  “Yeah,” Gina said.

  Carrie handed her a mug of coffee. “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. I’m not much on dreaming.”

  “Why is that?” Carrie sipped her coffee. 7:18. She could spare two more minutes and wished she had more. Gina’s expression when she’d come upon her unawares had been softer, gentler than she’d seen before. When she’d opened her eyes, sadness had moved through them. For a tiny fraction of a time, that glimpse of vulnerability had reached inside and squeezed her heart.

  “Don’t believe in them.”

  The flat dismissal in Gina’s voice should have warned her off, but the memory of the sadness drove her on. “Even the good ones?”

  “Most of all those.”

  Carrie nodded. Some things couldn’t be rushed. “So what were you daydreaming about, then?”

  “I was thinking about thunderstorms,” Gina said.

  “You like them?”

  “I do. Very much.” Gina smiled, and this time her gaze as it traveled down Carrie’s body was anything but sad. Carrie was glad she’d taken the time to pull on clothes, because Gina had a way of making her feel naked just by looking at her.

  “I didn’t realize how beautiful they were until I’d lived through a few here,” Carrie said, choosing to ignore the appraisal in Gina’s glance. She wasn’t going to wither under a woman’s heated gaze like a blossom in the noonday sun, after all. “I like to sit out on the porch and watch them coming. It’s something Harper taught Presley and me to do when we all lived together. I thought she was crazy until I experienced the anticipation of watching the clouds roll in while the lightning streaked closer and closer and the thunder crashed right on top of us. I swear, the air feels so alive it dances on your skin.”

  “You made it sound even prettier than I was remembering,” Gina said.

  “We’ll have to do it sometime,” Carrie said and mentally slapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean…”

  Gina went on as if she hadn’t noticed Carrie madly backpedaling. “If I’m here sometime when you’re here and a storm is coming, we’ll watch the show.”

  Carrie nodded abruptly. “I should let you get to work. And I’ve got to leave in about three minutes.”

  “Sure. I’ll just finish the coffee.”

  Carrie made do with the minimum of makeup and was back downstairs in two minutes. Grabbing the pot of coffee, she walked outside. “You want a refill?”

  “Sure.” Gina rose and held out her cup. “I can’t believe how quickly you got ready. You look great.”

  “Hmm.” Carrie poured coffee and feigned nonchalance. If she hadn’t blushed while dressed in a towel and nothing else, she wasn’t going to now over a little throwaway compliment. Of course, telling herself that didn’t stop the heat from rising in her face. She was just grateful for whatever had possessed her to grab a dress from her closet instead of the shirt and pants she’d been planning to wear. She liked the way Gina looked at her. “Thanks.”

  “Well,” Gina said, leaning with her back against the post, the mug cradled in her hand. “You were right. Excellent coffee. I’ll see you in a couple of hours?”

  “I should be here by nine ten.”

  “Right.” Gina grinned. “I’ll just finish with the dumpster and unload some equipment.”

  “If I’m delayed, I’ll call.”

  “Well, you’ve got my number.”

  “I do,” Carrie said breezily as she shouldered her purse and headed across the yard to her car. Gina’s laughter followed her, as electric as a storm on the wind.

  *****

  Abby climbed the stairs to the loft and stopped just below the landing. “You two want some breakfast?”

  Margie tiptoed across the floor and started down the stairs. Trying for cool, she said, “Morning.”

  Abby followed her down and into the galley kitchen tucked under the loft. She smiled at Margie as if it wasn’t weird at all for Margie to be coming down from Blake’s bedroom first thing in the morning. Cripes!

  “Hey,” Margie said, playing along. Nothing unusual here. Nope.

  “Is Blake awake?”

  “Sort of,” Margie said. “He’s not exactly a morning person.”

  Abby laughed. “Trust me, I know that. The smell of breakfast usually drags him up, though.”

  Margie hop
ped up on one of the tall stools at the counter that divided the galley kitchen from the rest of the living space. Since Abby wasn’t freaking out, she guessed she didn’t need to, either. “I think he’s still knocked out from yesterday.”

  “How about you? Can I fix you something to eat?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Margie said, hoping her stomach didn’t growl. “I should probably get going.”

  “I called your mom last night,” Abby said. “I didn’t want her to worry.”

  “Thanks, I thought you probably did,” Margie said. “Sorry, I kind of crashed.”

  “No problem. How about toast and bacon. Scrambled eggs?”

  “Um, yeah, that would be great. I’m actually kind of starving.”

  Abby pulled fixings from the refrigerator. “Thought you might be.”

  “Hey, me too?” Blake called from up above them.

  Abby looked up at the ceiling below Blake’s space. “You need some help up there before breakfast?”

  “No, we already got everything taken care of. Just need five minutes.” Footsteps, and then the sound of the bathroom door closing.

  Abby slid fresh-cut bread into the four-slot toaster. “I think it probably helped Blake relax to have you here last night. I appreciate it.”

  Margie let out a mental sigh of relief. Things really were cool. “He’s good. Not even hurting too much.”

  “I’m glad. How are you doing?” Abby asked casually.

  “Me?” Margie hesitated, searching for the real question behind the pretend one. “You mean how do I feel about Blake’s surgery now?”

  Abby laughed softly. “Yes. And I suppose I should’ve just asked that, shouldn’t I.”

  Margie grinned. “I think I’m a lot like Flann. Not so subtle, so it’s probably just best to ask what you want to know.”