Chapter Eight

SKYLIGHT? WHAT the hell had Elliott been thinking? There was enough going on, necessary things that needed to be done that would make the cabin a livable, comfortable, and functioning space. Instead, he had to go for cosmetics and bring the sun and moon into the bedroom, literally. Now his hands hurt, his back was screaming, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a comfortable position on the hard mattress. Clay had stormed out of the room a half hour ago, frustrated with Elliott’s constant shifting and groaning. No doubt Clay was just as sore as Elliott was, and it bothered him that he’d disrupted Clay’s sleep, but dammit, he couldn’t help it. He hurt everywhere.

It wasn’t only the skylight that had him writhing in misery. It had been an ambitious task for sure. But so was tearing down the roof covering the front porch, reframing it, and installing new metal. Those were tasks that most men would have considered a full day’s work. Oh, but not them. No. They had to level the porch and replace many of the rotted and warped boards. It had gone from a productive day with a few aches and pains to over the top with miserable results to Elliott’s poor body.

Elliott rolled again, grunting as a jolt of pain raced from his shoulder down his arm. “I hope you’re comfortable,” Elliott grumbled. Clay didn’t respond. Lucky bastard must have fallen asleep. He envied him. Elliott had tried relaxing in the river and on the hammock Clay had installed between two big oak trees. Had tried Motrin, a couple cold beers, and even talked Clay into rubbing him down with BenGay, but nothing helped. He was still fucking miserable. He should have gone for the whiskey. He considered trying it but it was way out in the other room, and if he thought he could make it to the cabinet without crying, he’d go for it. He seriously doubted he could. Probably about the same chance he had of waking Clay up and getting him to bring it to him—zilch. If he could just make it through the night with a couple of good hours of sleep, he wasn’t doing jack shit tomorrow, unless it included beers and a fishing pole.

A few more position changes, a little more bitching and groaning, and Elliott finally settled. The rain hitting the tin roof playing a soothing beat had a lulling effect on him. His exhaustion finally overrode his discomfort, and he began to drift off. He was still aware of the twitching in his strained muscles, images from the day flashing in his mind with a dreamlike quality as he teetered on the edge between waking and sleep.

Standing on top of the roof, the sun beating down on him. Sweat dripped from the rim of his ball cap. In the distance, dark clouds were forming.

A feeling of unease settled into Elliott. A storm was brewing, and he had to finish the roof. Not only necessary but imperative. All their hard work would be ruined. He pushed himself—had to finish. The harder he worked, the faster the sweat poured from him, yet curiously he shivered beneath the bright sunshine.

The tools slipped from his damp hands. He scrambled to retrieve them, but they were lost in the plaid sheet covering the roof. Why in the hell was there a sheet? Clay couldn’t have possibly thought it would be sufficient to keep the rain out. Silly man. Elliott clutched the sheet, frantically looking for his tools.

He had to finish.

The dark clouds moved at a quick pace. They would be here soon. Thunder rolled in the distance, a bolt of lightning splitting the sky.

Closer.

Have to finish.

His hands refused to cooperate, damp and shaking.

How was it possible he was shaking? His entire body was shivering. So cold, yet the sweat still streamed down, burning his eyes. Soaked.

Have to finish. No tools. Where in the hell were his tools?

Shaking.

Thunder

Lightning.

Finish now!

Elliott jerked upright, shivering as he scanned the area, frantically trying to figure out where he was. Darkness. He tipped his head back, and a cold droplet of water landed on his forehead. He shook it off as the bedroom came into focus.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Elliott scrambled from the wet bed. He hit the switch on the bedside lamp, but it didn’t turn on. He didn’t have any better luck with the overhead light. “Clay! Get your ass in here!” He felt his way along the dresser until he found a lighter. He lit the lantern, cranking it all the way up. The room filled with a warm fiery glow, revealing the large wet spot on the bed and the steady stream of water pouring from around the skylight.

“Clay!”

Elliott briefly considered moving the mattress but ditched the idea. The material would dry, but the hardwood beneath wouldn’t do so well under the deluge of water.

Clay rushed into the room, his hair standing on end, eyes wild. “What’s going on?”

“You mean other than the fact that there’s a fucking waterfall in our bedroom?”

Clay scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head like he was having a hard time with what he was seeing. Understandable. Elliott had quite the start himself. “Holy fuck!” Clay shook his head again as if he could dispel what he was seeing, but nope, the rain continued to pour through the ceiling.

Elliott set the lamp on the dresser. He pulled a pair of sweats out of his bag and handed them to Clay, then grabbed another for himself and slipped them on. “Get ’em on. The rain will wake you up.”

“Rain?” Clay asked, sounding confused.

Elliott pulled on a T-shirt, grabbed the lantern, and went out the door. Clay would get it soon enough, and he damn sure would be wide-awake as soon as he stepped outside. At the back door, he pulled their coats off the hooks and tossed one to Clay, who followed Elliott but still didn’t seem to have a grasp of the situation.

As Elliott had predicted, the instant they stepped off the back porch, Clay yelped. “Oh sweet baby Jesus that’s cold.”

“Grab the tarp from the shed. I’ll get the ladder.”

Elliott ran around to the side of the house where he’d left the ladder, gritting his teeth when his bare feet encountered sticks and rocks. It would probably be wise to take a minute to grab his work boots, but he was on a mission. His immediate focus to stop the leak was skewing his good sense. He propped the ladder against the cabin, making sure it was stable. Clay returned with the tarp as well as hammer and nails. It was obvious he had woken and was thinking clearer than Elliott. How had he thought he was going to attach the tarp? Well, he hadn’t considered it, to be honest, and was thankful Clay had.

Clay handed him the hammer and nails. “How do you want to do this?”

Elliott shoved the nails in his pocket and the hammer in his waistband, then took the tarp. “You’re going to hold the ladder steady while I get this side tacked down.”

“Okay, then what?” Clay asked, sounding skeptical.

Elliott didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t a complete idiot. He realized he should be attaching the tarp over the peak of the roof first. However, the thought of climbing to the top scared the bejesus out of him. He’d figure it out after he got this side secure. Because he didn’t have an answer to Clay’s question, he simply said, “Just hold the ladder.” He’d figure it out as he went.

Elliott climbed on the roof. Keeping his feet on the top rung of the ladder, he stretched out across the metal. While attaching the tarp, an idea came to him, not a brilliant one but doable. He secured his hammer and nails and climbed back down to stand next to Clay. “I’m going to grab a rope. Be right back.”

“For what?”

“So I can tie it around me when I do the top and you, my knight in shining armor, will keep me safe.”

Clay narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like it. Wouldn’t it be easier to move the bed and put buckets down than climbing up there tonight in this weather?”

“We’d need a bucket the size of a small pool. Besides, what’s life if you don’t take a walk on the wild side occasionally?”

“This isn’t the wild side. It’s stupidity,” Clay shot back.

“Point taken.” Elliott patted his arm. “Be right back.”

Elliott retrieved the rope, secured it around his waist, and handed the other end to Clay. Clay hesitated but finally took it. “I just want to go on record again that I think this is a really, really bad idea.”

“Duly noted.”

The wind howled through the trees and the rain pelted Elliott’s face. The tin roof beneath his feet felt slippery. Clay was right; he had no business being on the roof in a fricken rainstorm. But what choice did they have? They had a fucking monsoon in their bedroom, and no way could they control it with buckets.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Clay yelled. His voice sounded muffled beneath the onslaught of rain on the metal roof and the whipping wind.

Elliott didn’t respond, instead concentrating on keeping his feet while doing his best to pull the tarp to the peak. The wind, stronger, threatened to tear the tarp from Elliott’s hands. Elliott drew the back of his hand over his face as he considered the task ahead of him. He blew out an uneasy breath, not certain this was going to turn out well. But there was no turning back now.

Straddling the peak, he managed to overlap it with the tarp, slowly inching back until the entire piece was attached. In his haste, he hadn’t really considered the soundness of the security feature he’d implemented. Feeling triumphant that he’d done it, he stood up and pumped his fist. His foot slid on the wet tin and he started to fall back. He overcompensated and found himself shooting forward. He landed on his stomach, hands ineffectively scrambling for purchase.

“Elliott!”

The edge came up fast, and Elliott was completely powerless to stop it. He heard Clay scream, closed his eyes, and steeled himself for impact. It wasn’t the unforgiving ground he hit, but his back connected with the hard muscles of Clay’s chest. Strong arms wrapped around him, stopping him, his nose a mere inch from a mud puddle.

Heart hammering, Elliott blew out a relieved breath. “Wow!”

“I told you that was a dumb idea,” Clay growled.

“Yeah, but it worked,” Elliott shot back. Perhaps it came out a bit smugly, because a second later he was lying flat and spitting water.

Elliott rolled onto his back and watched as Clay stomped off to the cabin. Elliott couldn’t help but laugh, not so much at the situation he found himself in, but just fucking giddy because the worst thing he’d suffered was a face full of dirty water.