“Babysitter couldn’t get Mina to go to bed last night. Neither could I. In an effort to tire her out, I endured a fashion show. It lasted an hour. This was the fallout.”
Rocky pressed her lips together as she surveyed the damage. Strewn about the living room were random piles of coats, feather boas, bright-colored shoes, hats, tiaras, and what looked to be about thirty fuzzy friends.
“Her audience,” Sam said, indicating the rows of ragtag stuffed animals. “Along with me.”
“Where was Ben?”
“In bed. Pretending to sleep. He doesn’t think I know, but he reads those anime books under the covers every night by flashlight.”
“You don’t want him reading graphic novels?”
“I don’t want him reading period after lights out.”
Rocky unzipped her jacket and perched her hands on her hips. “I never realized how many clothes and toys Mina has.”
“That’s because I, we, keep them pretty organized in her bedroom and playroom.”
Rocky swept up one of the boas. “Haven’t seen these before.”
“New fascination. Boas and princess crowns.”
“Why so many?”
Sam turned away, scooping up a purple elephant wearing a raspberry pink tiara. “She wanted them.”
Rocky raised a brow. Sam loved his kids more than anything in the world, but he wasn’t one to spoil them. Unless … “Mina still crying every morning when you drop her off at school?”
“Frickin’ torture. It’s all I can do not to swoop her up and hit the road.”
Rocky’s heart jerked when she caught the miserable look on Sam’s face. The rough-and-tough solider turned brawny carpenter, felled by a five-year-old’s tears. “So what? You’ve been bargaining with Mina? Don’t cry tomorrow and I’ll buy you this or that? How’s that working out?” she teased gently.
He turned now, smirking. “You see all the boas and crowns?”
“I’m sure it’s just a phase. The crying thing. I don’t know about the boas and crowns. I was never into all that girly stuff.”
That drew a slight smile out of Sam. “I remember your fondness for Tonka trucks and Legos.”
Now Rocky frowned. “When the time comes, I hope Jayce and I have boys.” Rocky had always been a tomboy. Tailing after her brothers and boy cousins … Jayce.
“Boys come with different challenges,” Sam said. “It’s all good.” He dropped an armful of toys into a jumbo plastic pink bin. “You mentioned needing a favor. Want to talk about it over coffee?”
“Sure.” Rocky followed Sam into his spic-and-span kitchen, draped her jacket over the back of a kitchen high-back chair, and took a seat. “How booked are you right now?”
“What, with custom orders?”
Sam crafted beautiful furniture. Painted it, too. Intricate stenciled and freehand art. A beautiful pine armoire he’d made for Rocky had burned up in the fire. She shoved that depressing thought aside. “That and carpentry work.”
“What do you need?”
“It’s not for me. Well, it is for me. In a roundabout way. I need to get a client off my back for a few weeks, turn her focus to something other than the perfect décor for her vacation home.”
“I take it she’s picky.”
“More like anal.”
“And you want to turn her loose on me and my designs?”
“Actually, the house needs a few interior repairs before we decorate in earnest.”
“What house?”
“The old Rothwell Farm.”
Sam raised a brow.
“You’ve always been fascinated with that place,” Rocky pressed. “Here’s your chance to make your mark.”
“Your client’s not spooked by the legend?”
“She’s too pragmatic to believe in ghosts.”
“Anal and pragmatic. Fun.”
“She’ll pay cash.”
Sam sipped his coffee.
“More money for boas and crowns.”
His lip curled. “Smart ass.”
“So you’ll do it?” Rocky whooped. “Thanks, Sam. This way I can distract Harper with another kind of renovation. Just until I get past my wedding. She’s really not that bad. Just used to a faster pace than we are. Although this job has been dragging on since November. She purchased the farm as a second home and, so far, she’s only flown in for a few days here and there. She’s a bit of a workaholic and easily distracted by phone calls. I take it back. She is that bad.” She smiled. “But she’s nice!”
“Molly described her as a flake.” Sam shifted his weight. “Last time I dropped off a piece of furniture at the Antique Barn, your client had just left.”
Crap. “Would it help if I said Harper is a nice flake?”
“She’s from California, right?”
“I think she’s Canadian, but yeah, she’s been living in L.A., working as a publicist. Speaking of L.A., did you hear the gossip?”
“Can you narrow it down?”
“Rachel’s back in town. I mean Rae. Damn. I have to get that in my head. Not sure why she’s back, but she called me a little earlier. Asked if we could meet this evening. I have to say, I’m dying of curiosity. Hey, do you think she knows Harper?”
“Why would you think that?”
“They’re both from L.A. Harper’s a Hollywood publicist. Rae’s mom is a Hollywood star.”
“More like a tabloid curiosity,” Sam said. “Famous for being famous.”
“And gorgeous. If you go for that sort of overt sex kitten look. Olivia, I mean. Not Rae. Hard to believe they’re related.”
“Not so hard,” Sam said with an enigmatic expression.
Rocky narrowed her eyes while Sam refreshed their mugs. “So have you actually seen Harper Day?”
“Nope. But I heard she’s pretty hot.” Sam angled his head. “This carpentry gig. You’re not trying to set me up, right?”
“Trust me. This is a purely selfish on my part.” Rocky’s suspicions continued to flare. Something was up with Sam. “You haven’t given up on Rae, have you?”
Sam slid a plate of homemade pastries between them and pulled up a chair. “Haven’t been inside the Rothwell house in years. We talking minor repairs? Or major?”
EIGHT
Luke had lingered in his office a good ten minutes after Rae left. It had taken him that long to catch his breath, to slow his bucking heart. For a minute he thought he might be having a panic attack. He’d never had one of those before but he’d heard it resembled a heart attack. At thirty-two, he was too young for a coronary, right?
Pregnant.
Rae was pregnant.
With his baby.
Unless she was lying about the paternity part, although why would she? Like she said, there were tests.
Two hours later, Adam and Kane were long gone—thank God—and Luke was still tending bar while absorbing the mind-blowing news. Rae had been eerily calm. It had forced Luke to keep his own cool. God forbid he come off like an immature ass. She’d already pegged him a judgmental jerk. He’d unwittingly pissed off some women in his time but, in lashing back, they’d never struck a sore spot. Not like Rae.
Rae pressed Luke’s buttons regarding self-esteem. No one had pressed those buttons for years. Not since he was in grade school and some kids made fun of him for not being able to read a comic book. Rae had gone to all the best schools. She had bachelor’s and master’s degrees. She’d traveled abroad. She was freaking independently wealthy, as in filthy rich. And she was only twenty-five!
All the background info Jayce had dug up on Reagan Devereaux had played out in Luke’s mind as she’d sat across from him in her stylish skinny jeans and classy, soft clingy sweater. She was unlike any woman he’d ever slept with. Completely out of his league.