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She resisted the urge to rip her hair out by the roots. Cameron’s people would get it done. They were used to quick turnarounds from working with Habitat for Humanity. And because Cam was involved, it would be perfect. But that still meant she had to figure out how to rearrange the musical acts. Make sure their equipment wouldn’t short out the building’s less than modern wiring.
Wishing she’d worn her flats instead of the toffee colored heels, Bella stepped over piles of lumber and bags of cement. Why was it that on the days she did the whole cute outfit thing something happened to make her regret it?
A steady trickle of sweat was pooling at the base of her spine. And, of course, it would show with jersey material. Lovely.
Male shouts and the hissing compression of a nail gun told her they were getting close to the barn. It was just as shabby as she remembered, but the scent of freshly cut wood and sawdust made her feel a little better.
The racket made it impossible for the mayor to speak, so Bella took the time to look around the huge barn. The hardwood floor had been sanded to the natural finish of the planks. A stage that had seen better days two decades ago was half covered with huge scaffolding set ups on either end. The rest of the room was wide open.
A few folding tables held cases of bottled water with coolers tucked beneath them. A sunbeam, that looked more like a spotlight, arrowed across the floor, highlighting a pair of coffee urns like it was a gift from God. Isabella looked up to find a huge hole in the barn’s roof with Cam in a harness, hanging from the rafters.
Yikes.
Cam must have felt her gaze because he peered over his shoulder with a wave. He stopped nailing and pushed up his protective glasses. “Nice of you to make it, Mayor Darcy.” His smile widened and warmed. “Bella.”
Bella shaded her eyes. “Got a wild hair to build, Cam?” she shouted over the banging.
“You know me. Can’t let a space go to waste.”
Yes, she did know him. Efficiency and brains were only a few of the finer qualities of the town veterinarian. And now that she saw the space, she was already rearranging acts. It really was wonderful.
Maybe if she had the acoustic band from Connecticut, and the cover band from the city play in here, then she could still have the main stage taken care of. A few of the bands would need to do another night. How she was going to get around that without paying them extra…well, that would be the trick.
Sharon stalked over to a group of men huddled around one of the tables. She raised her voice over the noise, asking if there was any way people could take a break. Walkie talkies came out and slowly the hammering faded until it was just the occasional whir of a drill.
Isabella wandered over the wide, worn planks. Some of them were warped with time and any number of spills from machines or animals. A few coats of dark stain, and the barn would be lovely. Rustic and full of stories, it was the perfect backdrop for a show.
The hollow click of her heels filled the silence now. The workers had scattered, except for a tall man on the stage. Battered denim cupped a rather fine backside as he crouched in front of a junction box.
Electrician maybe?
An electrician that took care of himself from the flex of muscle under his army green tank top. He was all smooth, tanned skin with a splash of freckles across his shoulders. It was as if he’d been dusted with powdered cinnamon, some were big and some were a mere pinprick. More of the same dotted his arms and forearms. And lord, his hands.
What was it about a man’s hands?
Wide with long fingers and more of those damn freckles. Was the man covered in them from head to toe?
She swallowed at the thought. Everything?
Wow.
Gutter meet shameful hussy. Geeze.
She was picking apart the finer points of a complete stranger. Who probably did not have a face to match his superior back end. Those hands though. They were enough to spark a few fantasies in the dark.
Since her life consisted of fantasies instead of flesh and blood men lately, she’d been stirring up some decidedly racy ones.
He stood, and by the weeping angels, that man had muscles to spare on his back. He
even had those hot little triceps denting his arms that made her drool for unknown reasons. A fine sheen of sweat on his shoulders matched her own. There was no breeze in the barn and the heat was cloying.
She dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand and wished she’d pinned her bangs back. The original plan had been to spend the day in her over air conditioned store. She had to keep a lot of the collector books at a certain temperature and humidity, so the lower level of the brownstone had been heaven this week.
The man slapped the electrical box closed and turned so he was in profile. Chest of magnificence to match those shoulders—check. Long neck with more freckles hidden by a dense scruff in a ginger color made her mouth water. She had a weakness for men with a weekend beard. It was still prickly enough to give you a nice little buzz and soft enough not to rip your skin apart.
His looked soft though. More like a week’s worth of growth.
Full lips pressed together then a swipe of tongue wet them. Would his lips be salty?
