Chapter Four

She was killing herself, trying to do everything alone, and he couldn’t free up enough time to help her, not to mention he wasn’t much good for anything other than bull work and gophering in any event. She was amazing, what with her skills. No traditional roles for her. And it was making him crazy.

Not the fact she knew her way around a hammer. Nor her insane ability with plants and landscaping, but the way she threw herself into a thankless project in a vain effort to make something out of a place where there was no hope. It was going to break her heart and he could admit to fearing that losing The Inn would spoil what he hoped would burgeon between them.

Maybe he should have pressed his suit, gone down the hall to her room and banged on the door. Seduced her, as was his original plan. All his careful efforts to build a connection with her seemed appreciated, but she held back and it made him grit his teeth.

Being away from her overnight had been an absolute trial, so much so that when he’d seen her, he’d had to head off to his makeshift office to wrestle with the urge to demonstrate just how much he’d missed her. Leaving her to eat the Thai food he hoped to share with her.

Finding her knee-deep in dust and drywall mud he said, “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She shoved at a lock of hair, leaving a faint smudge of white plaster on her cheek and he gave in to the urge to wipe it away with his thumb.

She peered up at him, seeming to hold her breath as his digit made contact with her soft skin. Her hands were as rough and calloused as his own, yet her face was a paradox, smooth and silky, probably like the rest of her. “You had some stuff here.”

With a tiny laugh, she swiveled away, clutching her trowel. “Careful. This stuff gets everywhere.”

As she slapped some gunk on a seam, he observed, “This seems to be the last of it upstairs. For the electrical. I’ll help you paint.”

“This has to dry and be sanded. Ready for paint tomorrow or the next day. But I can do it. Though I should be tending to more pressing stuff.”

“You can’t do everything.” He knew he’d raised his voice but was powerless to prevent it. She was worn to a nub, thinner and with lines of strain on her face around her mouth and fanning out from her eyes. Not to mention the dark shadows beneath them.

The trowel shuddered along the wall before she lifted it off and turned to face him. “I have a deadline, Maddox. And a budget.”

Damnit. He couldn’t go back on that. She wasn’t talking about any reservations, but he knew they were few and far between. Even now, the upstairs safe and spiffed up, sans the new plumbing, people didn’t want to stay at The Inn, especially in this neck of the woods. In fact, the only option was to turn the property over to a developer and hope a housing development would save the grounds at least. Regan was going to be devastated, but he couldn’t see any other way. She’d feel even worse if she poured more money into it. He needed to talk to her about his recent efforts, and soon.

“How’s that working out?”

“Fine.” She worried her bottom lip with her top teeth and he itched to soothe the tiny hurt, somehow keeping his distance. “I mean, there will still be those shared baths but I’ll be able to get the rest of the repairs done.”

“And the dining room? The fireplace?” It was like kicking a puppy as he asked the incontrovertible questions.

“I can paint the dining room and I’m sure the fireplace will be fine. I’m getting it cleaned.”

More like, she was cleaning it, and the thought of her clambering up on the damn roof… “The mortar needs pointing.”

“I saw a do-it-yourself video the other day.”

Shoving a hand through his hair instead of taking her by the shoulders for a good shake and a punishing kiss, he forced himself to nod. “It gets checked. By a professional. Before a fire is lit.”

Mutinous sparks lit her eyes and her lips set. “You’re the money guy, Maddox.”

“And half The Inn belongs to me. Which means half the liability.” And you exhausting yourself, using the rope I gave you to hang yourself, all because I hoped you’d recognize the futility… He kept his features impassive as he bit the words back.

“I…” Her face softened. “Sorry. I forget we’re on the same team. I’ll figure it out. I know it.”

Guilt ate at him and he couldn’t help it. He leaned in to wipe at her face again, despite there being nothing to remove. Slowly encroaching on her space for the past weeks, feeding her, taking opportunities like this to touch her, he’d felt like that mythical figure pushing a boulder uphill, in competition with this old money pit that was the love of her life.

Love. His thoughts stuttered on the word, even as Regan leaned into his touch, her eyes widening as their stares locked. Nothing simple about this drawn-out seduction… He stroked her cheek, the trowel dipping dangerously beside them.

The moist thump of the mud on the floor startled her and she drew back, blinking. “I’ll wash my face later. As soon as I get this finished.”

Accepting it wasn’t the time nor place, he nodded and withdrew. “I’ll make dinner.”

“That’d be great.”

****

There it was again. Puzzled, Regan smoothed over the last seam and cleaned off the tool. Her heart was still beating fast, for it seemed like Maddox was going to kiss her, again. And dirty and dusty or not, she’d almost beaten him to it.

But if he hadn’t been? She snapped the cover on the pail and breathed a sigh of relief. Saved herself an embarrassment. Maybe.

Eyeing her work, she reconsidered. He had been planning to kiss her, despite their near argument, or maybe because of it. She needed to talk with him, really talk. Maybe confess… Because she wanted the air clear between them almost as much as she wanted another kiss.

She washed up as best she could and thought about changing, but he’d seen her at her worst and she decided there was no reason to waste any more time. So, she clomped down to the kitchen, making a mental note to return later with a mop to erase her ghostly footsteps.

Maddox wasn’t in the room, although there was a package of chicken out on the counter, Oscar eyeing it from his perch by his food dish. She placed it back in the fridge—no sense in tempting fate, as in the cat, and paced through the house.

Not hearing him, she looked outside and saw a vehicle parked out front. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but perhaps he was and she thought to go in search of him to find out.