“Yup. Cold here in the shade.” Linc grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it over his head.
“You aren’t helping.” Jesse was trying to have a serious discussion and Linc was having no part of it. How could he solve his problems if his best friend wouldn’t help? It was the least he could do after Jesse got him a date.
“Just putting a shirt on. I’ll help in three seconds.” His tone was taunting.
Jesse huffed in frustration. Linc raised his hands in mock surrender. “Dude. I assume your attitude has something to do with your lack of sleep.” He paused. “And you helping Hailey Masters unload a U-Haul?”
“You saw that?”
“Nope. Beth might have mentioned it this morning.”
“Freaking gossip.” He’d lost count of the times his family had been the subject of gossip. For years, they were the hot topic on the gossip grapevine. Somehow, you never got used to people sticking their noses into your business.
“She’s still good looking then?” Linc scaled the ladder, hammer in hand, pry bar slung from his tool belt.
“Yeah. I guess.” She was beautiful and her smile was heartwarming, but he wasn’t going to bring it up and open himself to more ridicule.
“You’re not sure.”
“Yes, she is. But what struck me was her vulnerability and her strength. She was beat. Dead dog tired, but she kept pushing herself until the job was done. I mean, returning the trailer would have waited another day.” Her determination to finish and ditch the trailer puzzled him. Any reasonable person would have rested first.
“Maybe she’s short on money.”
Jesse considered the possibility. “Couldn’t be. She forced eighty bucks on me for helping her. If I’d known how much it was, I’d never have taken it.”
“Probably thought you were down and out. You still drive the junker you bought in high school. You dress in rags. You need a haircut. Shall I go on?”
“Don’t bother.” Jesse laughed. “I get your point.” He wasn’t convinced. Not even after spending all of last night and most of today thinking about their encounter yesterday. Frankly, she baffled him as did his inability to stop thinking about her.
A chunk of eavestrough clattered to the ground, barely missing the basement window.
“Dude! Pay attention. You can’t let some woman you’ve just met mess with your brain. Focus.”
“I’ve known her for years. And, look who’s talking.” Jesse reached up to steady the second piece before it fell.
“It’s not the same.” Linc countered. “I’ve known Beth for years. Sort of. Point is that you should spend time with Hailey. Get to know her. Get her out of your system, and stop thinking about her when you should be working. I don’t want to be replacing windows because your head is elsewhere.”
Spending time with Hailey was easier said than done after the stunt his mother had pulled in the Masters’ store. It had ignited a feud between the Masters and Phillips families; they’d never get along unless someone bent, which was unlikely after all these years.
The gate clanged.
“Jesse. Jesse, dear.”
Speak of the devil. He suppressed a groan. His mother tottered down the sidewalk in the four-inch stilettos she’d started wearing years ago when she decided to catch herself a new man. Luckily for the men, and unlucky for her, no one had ever taken the bait. He winced at the thought. He shouldn’t be so uncharitable. Shewashis mother.
“Hi, Mom.” He hated that his irritation showed in his voice. Alcoholism was a disease. She couldn’t help herself. But why couldn’t she be one of those drunks who stayed at home? He’d sold her car when she’d lost her license. She must have taken a taxi. It was too far to walk in those ridiculous heels. “What can I do for you, Mom?”
“Are you coming home for dinner? I’m going to make lasagna and apple pie. Your favorites.”
They used to be, when she didn’t drink half a bottle of whiskey before entering the kitchen. “I was planning on bringing home food. Surf and turf with lobster from Scampi’s.” He lied knowing she’d never pass up lobster.
The final piece of trough broke free and he lowered it to the ground. Linc scrambled down for the replacement and started mounting it.
“Hi, Linc,” his mother called belatedly.
“Hi, Mrs. Phillips.”
“Linc, please. It’s Iris,” she twittered. Even in her mid-fifties, she detested being called Mrs. She thought it scared away her potential suitors.
