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And there’d be more where that came from. Tristan had women falling all over him for a reason, and it wasn’t solely because of his pretty face—he knew how to talk to them, how to treat them. Had some wicked words at his disposal that made woman swoon and he’d regaled the team with tales of his exploits enough times that it was pretty clear he knew his way around a woman’s body too. They tended to like it when a man had talents in the area of making them feel good.
That line of thought did nothing to cool the temper that simmered just under Isaiah’s skin.
How was he supposed to stand around and watch Marchande put his mouth on Aria some more?
Answer: he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. It was obvious that his time in Superstition Springs had come to an abrupt halt. Except he was right in the middle of not one, but two really important projects that he’d committed to doing for Hardy. If a man couldn’t honor his word even when the going got tough, he had little character. At least that had always been Isaiah’s philosophy and it had carried him through BUD/s training where he’d learned what true pain and difficulty meant. And then he’d become a SEAL, fighting for justice in some of the darkest corners of the world. Never once had he faltered in his mission. Until Syria.
The cherry on his craptastic sundae arrived at that moment as Aria and Cassidy came into view at the head of the dusty road leading from town to the barn. He stifled a groan. Both ladies were still on the barn restoration project, which he’d conveniently forgotten. Apparently today was the day they’d opted to come by for a long morning of torture.
To make it even more fun, Havana and Hardy were with them.
Marchande stiffened the second he caught sight of Cassidy and said something under his breath that would get him bleeped on any sort of broadcast. Apparently, Isaiah wasn’t the only one blindsided by the company. Though he did wonder why Marchande was surprised to see the woman he’d just been cozying up to in the stairwell—had they not gotten around to discussing Aria’s plans for the day?
“Hi, guys,” Havana called cheerily, her bright red hair a garish contrast to Aria’s muted shade.
Aria’s sister held hands with Hardy and neither of them seemed at all concerned about public displays of affection that might make other people suddenly long to have that kind of easy warmth with another human.
Apparently it was a day for jealousy. Isaiah swallowed against the burn in his throat. “Wasn’t expecting a crowd.”
Hardy’s gaze shifted past Isaiah and Marchande to examine the side of the barn, his expression decidedly underwhelmed. “Came by to see the progress. We’ve got to move on this schoolhouse. When do you think you’ll have it ready for Cassidy and Tallhorse to start setting up for classes?”
Tallhorse had long been the only teacher in Superstition Springs until he’d taken on Cassidy as his apprentice of sorts. They planned to run a charter school together that the renovated barn would house. The Native American resident was real character, the kind that could be thirty-five or ninety, and had a Ph.D. in Russian Literature from Yale, an oddity Isaiah still didn’t get.
Isaiah glanced at Marchande, who was making a great show of ignoring Cassidy and didn’t give the slightest hint that he’d heard the question. So Isaiah answered on behalf of both of them. “Once we have the paint dry, we only have a few more weatherproofing things to do on the inside and about a day’s worth of work on the bathroom. We got that guy from Bastrop to do the majority of the plumbing, so it’s minor stuff. Easy.”
Clearly relieved, Hardy nodded. “That’s great. I knew I could count on you. The sooner we get this checked off, the better. Then you can double down on how to attract folks. We’re thinking of doing something big and splashy to generate interest in the town. Like a welcome to Superstition Springs party or some such. I’d like to put you in charge of that. A dose of Elmer would be stellar.”
An iron claw raked through Isaiah’s stomach. Obviously Hardy had gotten the wrong impression when Isaiah hadn’t categorically rejected his plea to handle the PR stuff. He should have just said no. There was no way he could handle responsibility for an entire kickoff party. It was too much pressure, too much opportunity to get it wrong.
But before he could utter a word, Aria piped up.
“Let us finish the barn first,” she said with a laugh that clawed at him in a much more disturbing way. “You don’t have to tell us that there’s more work to do. We get it. But we’ll do better working on one thing at a time.”
“That makes sense.” Hardy glanced at Havana and they exchanged a look that seemed to signal agreement. “I’m fine with reconvening on the welcome party, maybe later this week. Elmer, you come find me when you’re ready to talk.”
And with that, Hardy and Havana strolled off. In one fell swoop, Aria had read his mind and offered an alternative that allowed him ample breathing room. She’d rescued him.
That couldn’t have been an accident. Clearly he’d communicated more to her last night about his reasons for not wanting to handle the job alone than he’d realized. He’d have rather kept all of his angst hidden, but clearly he didn’t get that choice. Aria saw through him to his most visceral level. What was he supposed to do with that?
“What would you like for me to work on?” Cassidy asked in the sudden silence. “I’m not really dressed for painting.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you walked out of the door this morning,” Tristan said with a good bit of sarcasm. “We’re renovating a barn, not going shopping. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out you didn’t own any clothes that you’d consider painting in.”
“You don’t have to be obnoxious,” she retorted, hands on her hips as she faced Marchande down. “Oh, I forgot. You can’t help it.
You open your mouth and the obnoxiousness just pours out.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes and went back to painting as they continued hurling insults and criticism at each other, too unsettled over the way Aria had jumped in to save him from the mayor’s agenda to deal with someone else’s conflict. Which was as much a testament to his befuddled state of mind as anything. Usually he was the one who smoothed things over.
The back of his neck prickled as Aria leaned in to murmur, “Are they like, related or something? If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’d grown up sharing a bathroom. I mean, Ember and Havana fight like that too, but they love each other underneath. I don’t know what to do with this.”
That was only fair. Isaiah didn’t know what to do with the way his pulse had started jackhammering in his throat the moment he’d scented her hair, either. “I think the key is to keep them apart at this point. Maybe you should both work on something on the inside of the barn.”
That would benefit everyone, especially him. The less Aria had opportunity to lean into his space, the better.
“That’s a fantastic idea, thanks. I can’t take any more of the bickering.”
Isaiah nodded his agreement, willing her to disappear as quickly as possible. Apparently, that plan suited Cassidy to the ground, because the woman flounced through the door well ahead of Aria less than a minute later.
