Too Hot to Handle. Victoria Dahl

Or even know enough to pretend to know something about skiing. So that career route was closed.”

      “Okay. Got it.”

      “But when I saw this job pop up… It was serendipity. I’d been working at a local historical museum for a year, remember?” Of course he didn’t remember, but he made an affirmative sound. “So I applied and…” She didn’t want to finish the story this time. It no longer made her happy. Her pulse still sped, but it wasn’t with excitement and pride. It was anger fueling her now. And embarrassment. And just a tiny pinch of desperation. She hoped he couldn’t hear that part of it. “Here I am!” she finished with a bright smile.

      “Here you are. And you want me to help get your ghost town ready for display.”

      He didn’t sound excited. In fact, he looked downright weary. His eyes were closed again, and she was sure she could already see stubble forming beneath the skin of his jaw. “Are you okay, Shane?” She reached out to put her palm to his forehead, only registering that she might be invading his personal space when he jumped and looked at her with wide eyes.

      “Sorry. You just seem out of sorts.”

      “I’m fine,” he said in a clipped voice that made her wonder about this slick charm Grace was worried about. Apparently Merry didn’t merit charm. Or slickness. But that wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was a man with a hammer.

      “So will you do it?”

      He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re asking.” Before she could figure out what he meant, he cleared his throat and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Summer is my busy season. I only have a few months to get all the outdoor work in, and there’s a lot of it.”

      “Oh. Right. I didn’t think of that.” Her heart sank. She’d had a very clever idea to pay a carpenter out of her own salary, only it suddenly didn’t seem quite so clever. Shane was booked up for the summer. That was why he’d looked like he’d been riding the trail for a month. Everybody else was probably overworked, too. Which meant they’d have no reason to go for her half now/half later payment proposal. “Shit,” she whispered, falling back to collapse into the fat cushions of the couch.

      “Plus, I don’t know anything about restoration. That sounds like a specialty job.”

      “This part is pretty straightforward,” she murmured. “I need the porch on the saloon fixed. It’s not safe right now, and it’s my favorite building. I think it’ll be a real draw. There weren’t a lot of saloons around here back then, since a lot of the settlers were Mormon. I’ve read some great stories about that place.”

      “You’ve got a saloon right next door,” he said, waving his hand toward the Crooked R, where old Rayleen reigned like a not-quite-benevolent queen.

      She shrugged. “It’s not the same.”

      “Look, you just started. It’s the busy season for everyone in construction. You’re going to have to be content with taking your time. Nothing is going to happen this year. My advice is to sit tight and plan for next year.”

      Oh, God. The idea of spending months like this… She’d run out of things to do during the winter. She could start building a website, maybe, but that wouldn’t take more than a month, and she couldn’t even make it live, because Providence was currently too dangerous to have curious visitors poking around.

      Maybe she could design the signs that would eventually be posted on each building. Yes, that would be fun. Then she could put them in storage for two years until the first of the buildings was restored. Maybe in five years they could have a ribbon cutting ceremony, assuming the whole thing hadn’t been shut down due to a lawsuit.

      No, she had to make this work, starting right now. She had to make this a success before the board realized their ploy wasn’t having an effect on the lawsuit and they let her go. Or until the lawsuit was dropped and they decided to bring a real curator in.

      “I have to move forward,” she said. “Do you know anyone who could help, even if it’s just for a few hours a week? Please?”

      “What exactly are your plans? Just to nail a few boards up and start charging tourists?”

      “No! It’s not like that. There won’t even be a charge, just a donation box. I just need…” Affirmation. Progress. Proof that I’m not a loser. “It’s a wonderful place and people don’t even know it’s there. I want to start sharing it with the community.” Well, that was true, too. It had been even more true yesterday. “It’s an important part of the history of this place,” she finished feebly.

      She glanced over, hoping to see sympathy on his handsome face. What she found instead was frustration. Or anger. But no, it had to be frustration. He was just a little…intimidating. And still not the least bit charming about it. Cole was so damn laid-back she couldn’t imagine him being close with Shane, but maybe that was what drew them together.

      Shane hadn’t been quite so gruff at Grace’s birthday party, though. She’d thought he was cute then. Really cute. Oh, hell, he was still really cute; he just made her nervous as hell. Same as every other cute guy.

      “Maybe I could stop by on a few evenings,” he finally said, pronouncing each word slowly, carefully.

      “Really?” Merry squealed. When he nodded, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He seemed too startled to hug her back. “Thank you! Thank you! Do you want to check it out? We can go right now.”

      “Right now?”

      “Sure. We’ve still got two hours of daylight left. Let’s scoot out there so you know what you’re working with.”

      His gaze drifted toward the right as if he were looking through the wall toward the Crooked R and its cold pitchers of beer.

      “I’ll buy you a beer when we get back,” she offered in her most flirtatiously tempting voice.

      “I’m fine,” he said flatly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

      Her triumph tasted strangely like burnt pride, but she just smiled wider. “Great. I’ll grab my keys.”

      * * *

      HE’D INSISTED ON FOLLOWING Merry in his own truck. Or rather, she thought he was following, but he knew exactly where the Providence ghost town was. His dad had brought him out here dozens of times when Shane had been a kid. They’d spent whole days in the area, and sometimes nights in a tent next to the narrow creek that snuck through the piles of boulders at the mouth of the canyon.

      As a kid, he’d thought of Providence as desolate and a little spooky. A place that people had abandoned. Walked away from. But that desolation had lent it a bit of reverence in his mind. To a kid, it had felt sacred and deliciously forgotten. Not a place to be turned into another tourist playground. Jesus, weren’t there enough of those around here?

      Now, as the town came into view, with its familiar graying roof peaks and crumbling walls, he didn’t feel reverence. He felt…nothing. Nothing except irritation that it was causing him inconvenience.

      He watched Merry glance in her rearview mirror as he followed her around the last curve of the dirt road. She’d looked into her mirror a lot on the drive, as if making sure he hadn’t ditched her.

      Shit. He’d been gruff. He knew that. But she’d blindsided him with her news. Merry was just the out-of-town friend of Grace. She was a nice girl who smiled too much and wore goofy T-shirts and didn’t seem to fit with her wild, tough friend from L.A. How had she suddenly become a next-door neighbor who was asking him to help her ruin his childhood haunt?

      When she stopped, he pulled in behind her on a wide patch of dirt and got out. She was nearly bouncing on her toes when he joined her. “Isn’t it amazing?” she squealed.

      “It looks like a bunch of falling down shacks.”

      “That’s because you don’t know the history!