I’d been at the Lair for nearly three weeks, when Connor came to talk to me. Betsey had insisted that I stay there instead of moving back into my tiny house to finish my recovery. I’d always been a fast healer and was getting around pretty well. My ribs no longer hurt, and my leg was better although it still ached when I pushed it too much.

Connor looked like warmed-over shit. I knew he was pushing himself hard to finish this job as Da had overbooked us again. Since I’d been down for the count for the last month and a half, Connor had called in a few temporary helpers despite Da’s protest about paying more people. Connor managed to overrule him, but I know the budget was tight and even though we weren’t hurting financially, we still didn’t have a giant pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“We have to split the crew for a bit, a stóirín,” Connor said, his tone and stance serious. He sounded tired, probably from working too many hours and dealing with Da’s recent screw-ups. I got the feeling this was another one. “We’ve pushed as hard as we can, but the job in Wilmington overlaps this one by about a week. We need to send a couple of us to the new location to get set up and started, chiefly Da and I. We have enough tools to divide among the two sites for now. Patrick, Angus, Owen, and Garret will stay here and finish. Da and I will go to Wilmington to set up. I’ve already made some inquiries about temp help to at least clear the new job site, but the budget is very tight and doesn’t include money for hotel rooms. You’ve got another week or two before you’re cleared for work again, and you’ll still not be at full capacity for a while yet.” He jammed a hand over his long face with an air of defeat floating around him. “Ah, Christ, it pains me to ask this, but can me and Da take your house to Wilmington and use it until the others get there with the RV?”

I sat back in the bed. My house? Really? My sanctuary, my space, my stuff, my secrets? My brother wanted me to give that up? Rage flew through me and my head throbbed. How dared he even ask that of me?

“Am I supposed to bunk in the RV?” I croaked. My head really did hurt.

Connor shook his head and gave a grunting laugh. “You’ll stay here. Betsey overheard me an’ Da arguing about this and she said you’re to stay put until you were ready to go. I may be able to argue with Da, but there’s no way I’m gonna take on that woman. You can take the train or bus out to us in Wilmington in a couple of weeks. We should be well ready for you by then.”

He looked so tired and overwhelmed, I softened. I knew he was dealing with so much bullshit and splitting the crew didn’t help. It really was time for Da to retire and let Connor take over. He’d been wanting to expand for years, hiring different people, sending out multiple crews on jobs, subcontracting when possible, making life a little less hectic and a little easier on all of us, but until Da forgot his blasted stubbornness, he was stuck. More than once, I thought Connor would just quit and go do his own thing. I think he stayed on all these years because of our crazy brothers and me.

“Yeah, I guess you and Da can take my house.” I took a breath to calm down. “Just please—you know—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, knowing what I was saying without me saying it out loud.

“I didn’t realize how many hours were in a day until I was forced to sit for so many of them,” I said casually to the other ladies. I was sitting at the Lair a week after the RV rolled out with my brothers. By some miracle of nature, they had finished the River’s Edge job earlier than expected and left just as soon as they could. Connor and Da were already setup in the North Carolina coastal city of Wilmington and anxiously awaiting their arrival. Connor was texting me daily with updates and asking about my health. Molly, Kat, and Tambre were hanging out with me, oohing and ahhing over the short stack of lap quilts I had folded and piled on the coffee table in front of me. Sometimes they came in shifts, and sometimes all together.

Stud had become my constant companion, showing up in the morning, staying with me all day, and leaving at night either for band rehearsal or for a gig or for his condo if it was not rented for the week. If he was free from band obligations, he’d spend his time with me, joking, laughing, talking, and debating movie buddies. We argued more over who was the best James Bond and went on a movie marathon where we watched them all, a different one every night. Sometimes we were in the Lair’s main room with other Dragon Runners around, and sometimes we stayed back in his room, our eyes on his TV screen and me snuggled up against his warm body. He still paid close attention to my injuries, bringing me pain pills and helping me move around. I supposed I should’ve been annoyed at his hovering, but I kinda liked it. It was nice to have a big strapping man around at times. Not once did I hear gossip about or see him with another woman.

I’d been at the Lair for over six weeks, nearly seven now, and my life had become routine. I got up and did my shower thing, which was difficult and painful at first, but there was no way I was letting Stud help me with that. Next was food. Stud could cook! This was a great thing as I didn’t have a lot of skill in that area. I could microwave with the best of them, but real cooking was limited in a tiny house, so I never had an opportunity to do much of it. Betsey would come into the kitchen and chat about the day, her grandkids, the wedding, and would rush out to do whatever it was she had to do. Stud and I then would settle in for the morning’s workload. Most often he would be at one of the sitting tables at the Lair, working on his computer, and I’d be working at my sewing machine, stitching up the next project I had started. The silence was broken only by the sounds of my machine or Stud’s key clicks.

One or more of the old ladies came by for lunch, either bringing it or making it there. I felt like I was getting waited on hand and foot. I hated it, but like Stud had pointed out time after time, the faster I recovered, the faster I could back get on my feet.

“I’ve had those days too,” Molly sympathized, nodding in agreement. She’d brought sandwiches from a local deli. “There are times I work my ass off all day, then look at the clock and discover I’ve only been at it a few hours and it ain’t even close to closing time. Sucks monkey butt!”

Kat giggled at Molly’s complaint. “Could be worse. You could have bedpan duty.”

I laughed a bit while snipping some loose threads.

“You’re a fantastic seamstress, Eva,” Kat said. “I was thinking of asking you this, but you can say no if you want. No hard feelings if you don’t want to. Not a problem.”

I looked at the timid woman who had befriended me. “I can’t say yes or no until I know what you want.”

She bit her lower lip, pulling at it between her teeth. “Do you think you can sew me a dress for my wedding? I haven’t found anything I really like at the stores, and the one I tried to buy online didn’t fit at all. I ended up shipping it back. I’ll buy the fabric and stuff and pay you for—”

“I’ll do it!” I interrupted. “No charge, this will be my gift to you.” I was flattered she thought enough of my work to want to wear it. I’d never sewn for anyone else and was really excited about the idea. I supposed I should have been intimidated, but I wasn’t.

“Your lap quilts are beautiful, and I wouldn’t mind a couple pairs of your lounge pants. I bet you could sew up table runners, tablecloths, napkins, and that sort of thing pretty easily. If you ever want to sell anything you make, there’s Psalm Kopolove’s store in town, Soap-n-stuff. She takes a lot of consignment from local artists and craftsmen. They seem to do pretty well. The tourist season here is pretty long with the folks coming in for the train. You should check it out.” Tambre spoke quietly while fingering the finished edge of the quilt I was cleaning up.

Tambre was referring to the Great Smoky Mountain Railway, one of the big attractions for this part of the state and a major source of income for many people in the area. Locals referred to it as “that damn train,” but many had businesses that thrived on the tourists the railway brought in. The thought of selling my work was another one I hadn’t really considered, but it was a good one. I had a small stash of different sized quilts already made during my forced convalescence, and it wouldn’t take too long to make the lounge pants or any of the other linens that Tambre suggested. The idea of getting money for my stuff was definitely appealing.

“How would I go about that? Just talk to Psalm?” I asked, folding the finished quilt.

“She has a standard contract she uses,” Stud’s voice said close enough to my ear. I jumped. I tilted my head back to spot him standing right behind me, arms leaning on the couch cushions and his hand bracketing my shoulders. He looked a bit like a guard dog. I visualized him in a studded collar. He would look really hot.

Damn it! Wrong kind of image!

“There’s another street festival coming up. Always something going on in the summer. Be a good way to see if your stuff would sell. ’Specially them lounging pants. I’m gonna want me some as well!” Molly said, coming up on her knees on the couch. She clapped her hands in excitement. “You should totally do this, girlfriend! Can you get her set up, Stud?”

Stud put a warm hand on my shoulder, and I tilted my head back again. His blue eyes met my green ones.

“You want to try this, Eva?” he asked, his voice so low I felt it rumble through me.

I met his gaze straight on. “Yes, I think I do.”

He nodded. “Talk to Psalm and see if she has space. I’ll print off a blank contract for you. I gave her legal advice and helped her with it. It’s as straightforward as you can get. The bones of it is she takes in approved pieces for consignment for a thirty-day limit, no fees. If the piece sells, she takes 20 percent. If the piece stays past thirty days, she charges a storage and display fee, or the seller has the option of removing it. She also takes pictures and puts the pieces up on her store website. Same thirty-day rules and percentages. She collects and takes care of sales taxes. Shipping, income tax, any other fees, that sort of thing are the seller’s responsibility. She notifies of sales and pays total sales amount at the end of the month. If the seller wants to know daily or weekly sales, it’s up to them to make contact. Make sense?”

Wow! That was a lot of information! Stud just went total lawyer on me, and I liked it. He really did know his stuff, and even though we’d had some ups and downs, I felt I could trust him, at least with this kind of thing.

His phone started ringing and he slipped it from his back pocket only to frown at the number and swipe it closed. He moved away from the couch, saying he’d get the contract and go pick up three or four of my lap quilts from my house. I was to get a few pairs of my lounge pants finished up and call Psalm about setting up an appointment.

“The street festival starts Friday night. If we get your quilts approved today, maybe Psalm can get them set up in the store before then and you’ll both get a chance to see buyers’ reactions,” he said, handing me the paper, still warm from the printer.

Stud had explained the contract, but I read through it anyway. After I talked to Psalm, I would sign my name. I felt a buzz in my gut as I skimmed through the fancy legal language. This was something outside of being a construction worker for my family. This would be something completely mine. Da wouldn’t be happy if I left the crew for something different, and I suppose that’s the one reason I’ve stuck around so many years. I knew Connor would be cool with it. Both of us had talked more than once about our lives, how much of it was invested in the family business, and how much we wanted to break away for something else. It was a bit scary thinking that this could actually happen. I’d been programmed to work as a member of the Pub Builders crew since birth, and this sewing consignment thing would be for just me. I supposed I should have been intimidated that the idea of doing something outside my family business could be real, but I found myself excited about it.

“This is a good thing, Eva. Psalm is a good woman, and her store does really well. Get your stuff together, and I’ll take care of business and let you know what she says later today.”

Molly shooed him off as only she could do. “Well, go on with ya! We got other things to talk about, like this wedding dress we’re gonna design and make.”

I raised my eyebrows. I knew Molly sewed, but I didn’t know her work, other than pictures of the Catwoman costume she’d made for Kat last Halloween. That sleek design would never be mistaken for a wedding dress!

“What’s this ‘we’ thing, kemosabe?” I asked. “Kat asked me to sew her dress.”

Molly flipped up her hand. “You sew, I design. We’ll make a good team.”

“Jesus.” Stud rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good luck, Cactus. You too, Kat. Only the good Lord knows what Molly the mischievous will come up with.”

His phone rang again, and he looked at it with a harsh scowl before swiping it off a second time. I’d seen Stud happy and smiling, playing music with his band. I’d seen Stud laughing and relaxed, joking around about movies during our Netflix times. I’d seen Stud serious and professional in his dealings with the bar construction and his other accounting work. We’d had deeper conversations about politics, religion, and a bunch of other subjects. The man was brilliant! I’d not seen him with any club women since my accident, and he spent his daily free time being with me in some fashion. I’d even seen him angry and annoyed, but this was different. This phone call was putting him on edge like I’d never seen, and he was tense enough to turn coal into diamonds. Something was wrong, and it was making me worry about him.

“I need to run,” he said, bending over and kissing the top of my head. “Get those pants ready, babe.” He left the room with the contract in his hand.

Tambre clicked her tongue. “Poor man,” she said softly as she shuffled through the stack of quilts I had piled up on the coffee table.

“His parents?” Kat asked. Even Molly got quiet and thoughtful.

“They’re at it again,” Tambre started. “He told Betsey his grandmother is turning ninety next weekend and there’s a big party planned for it. He’s torn up, wanting to see her but not wanting to see his other family. Still a lot of bad feelings for whatever went down.”

I remembered the ladies talking about this a bit at the pool party, but they hadn’t given up a lot of detail. “Must have been really bad for him to have turned his back on them,” I said casually. “My brothers drive me up the freakin’ wall most of the time and I’m mad as hell two of them put me on this couch, but I can’t imagine life without them.”

Tambre examined several folded pieces of cloth for me to see. “I like these the best for your lounge pants for Psalm. The colors are bright, and the patterns are cute.”

I thought she was changing the subject, but I was hoping my lead-in statement would get her to share more. She did.

“Stud has a mom and dad, brother and sister-in-law, back in Raleigh. They had a bad falling out before he showed up here. To my knowledge, he hasn’t spoken to his parents or brother since. He still keeps in touch with his grandma, but that’s it. He was messed up for a long time when he was prospecting with the Runners, and I think that’s why he took to the club so quick. This brotherhood is more family to him than his own blood. Stud is a strong man, a smart man, but deep down, he’s still a hurting man.”

She reached for a white-red-and-gold-patterned lap quilt and unfolded it.

“Not my place to get into a brother’s business, but if he goes to his grandma’s party, and I think he will, he’ll need someone at his back. Not right to take a brother in this situation. He best be takin’ a sister.” She looked at me, making her point abundantly clear. “I like this one the best,” she said, making eye contact with the other two women.

I heard Stud’s boots echoing down the hallway and all of us started chattering away about wedding colors and dress patterns. As much as these women liked to gossip about the club members, the townsfolk, and whatever else hit their heads, they were fierce as wildcats in the protection of their men. Not just their old men, but all of them. I realized that in all the conversations I’d had with Stud, he never once mentioned his family in the eastern part of the state.

Yup, I’d talk to Stud, and yup, I’d have his back if he wanted it.