Ash blinked his eyes open and swore when light sliced into his brain.

Christ, his head felt like a serial killer had gotten loose with a machete. His stomach didn’t feel much better. In fact, he’d better get his ass in gear, or he’d throw up all over the living room.

The room pitched as he stumbled and swayed to the bathroom. A few minutes later, his stomach empty, his head pounding louder, he reentered the living room to find his dad regarding him with humor and pity.

“I’ve been where you are too many times to count. You need to learn to pace yourself and hydrate.”

Ash ignored the comment. “How’d I get home?”

“You don’t remember? You will want to remember. Trust me.”

He searched his memory banks. They were full of distorted images that didn’t make a lot of sense. Had he swung a punch at Bart? If he had, that would make for an uncomfortable work environment.

Wait, Sorene.

Had she driven him home, and did they…?

God dammit, how far had they…?

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorene drove me home.”

“That she did. She still cares for you, you know. You really need to lock that in. The sooner the better. She’d make you a great wife, one you probably don’t deserve.”

He knew he didn’t deserve her. Never had. “How did she seem?”

“You mean after she stumbled in here, half-carrying your drunken ass to the couch, where you promptly passed out?”

“Yeah…that.” He sure hadn’t shown her his best side.

“She seemed fine, concerned over the two of us. But still her stellar self. The woman has a huge heart.”

Yes, she did. He wished her heart had been large enough to include him ten years ago. Both of them would have completely different lives now if she had. Maybe even have a family of their own by now.

They’d planned on four rugrats. Two girls and two boys, if they were so blessed. Sorene wanted a decent-sized family but not as many kids as her parents had created, while he just wanted more than one. Growing up an only child, he never had anyone to fight or plot with. If he had a brother or sister, dealing with Quinn’s illness wouldn’t be so hard. Someone could help, talk with him to. Grieve with him.

“Son, you look greener than grass. Make yourself a glass of my cure-all, hangover relief. The ingredients are in the fridge.”

He remembered the recipe of Quinn’s cure-all. Tomato juice, ginger, hot sauce, lemon, and a raw egg. His stomach churned again at the thought of choking down the concoction.

Yeah, he didn’t think so.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked Quinn instead.

“Don’t worry about me. Rea should be here in a few, and you need to stop in at the shop. There’s a big shipment of lumber being delivered today.”

He glanced at his watch.

Shit.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” He searched his pockets for his keys, and realized he didn’t have them. He’d left his rental at the Pump House. He’d have to borrow his dad’s beater pickup with its spring-broken bench seat, failing clutch, and cracked windshield. At least the heater worked.

“Get your ass in gear, boy. And you need a quick shower. You smell like puke and whisky sweat.”

Ash rushed up the stairs, hoping his head didn’t fall off. Or maybe wishing it would because then it would cease the relentless pounding.

He took a three-minute shower, forwent shaving, threw on jeans, and layered a t-shirt under flannel. Hair still wet, he rushed out of the house, passing a startled Rea who’d just arrived.

Good, he wouldn’t have to worry about his dad this morning. He needed to get in touch with Gideon and fished his phone out of his pocket. His call went right to voicemail, and he left a detailed message.

Pulling into the parking lot of Bleu Carpentry, he slammed out of the cab, regretting the action as the sound echoed in his head.

He found Bart inside the large shop, holding a clipboard and signing the invoice of lumber. He glanced up and then returned to the invoice. “Didn’t think you’d show today.”

Shit. He needed to apologize. “Listen, Bart—”

“Hey, we’ve all been there. Women, right?” Bart handed the clipboard to the driver of the lumber truck and struggled into leather work gloves. “Just so you know, I’m sweet on Sorene, always have been. You hurt her, and you’ll answer to me.”

“And what would Sorene say to that if she heard you?”

Bart barked out a laugh. “Probably to jump in the nearest lake and that she doesn’t need anyone watching out for her.”

Ash nodded his head in agreement, and then he had to close his eyes when pain flared from the movement.

Bart caught the action. “Need some Tylenol?”

“God, yes, and coffee.”

“Stay away from coffee. You need to hydrate. There’s some Gatorade in the fridge over there.”

Ash gladly helped himself, taking the pills Bart offered and swallowing them down with orange Gatorade.

“So, you here to stay?” Bart asked.

“For now.” He didn’t want to share with Bart anything more than that. It wasn’t like they were best buds. They’d gotten along fine in high school. Bart ran with the pigskin jocks, while he’d hung with the ice rats.

By all accounts, Bart had done right by Quinn, a valued and loyal employee. Just because he appreciated the same woman Ash did wasn’t a reason to be rude, exactly.

“About last night,” he started.

“Don’t mention it. We’ve all been there a time or two. I’d appreciate it if our quest for Sorene’s affections doesn’t impact the workplace.”

Well, Bart was more mature than he. “Sure,” he answered.

“Good. If your head can handle it, let’s get that truck unloaded.”

It took them an hour to unload and store the lumber. It was almost noon when he climbed into the truck and drove to the lake house.

He made a slight detour for burgers at Eat Your Heart Out. Now that his hangover had receded to a growl instead of a full-blown attack, the thought of a cheeseburger and fries didn’t nauseate him, and bringing lunch to Sorene might help smooth over whatever happened between them last night.

He remembered with clarity what had gone down at the Pump House. The drive home? Not so much.

He pulled up beside Sorene’s Jeep and smiled at the view that greeted him.

Sawdust dusted the air above Sorene as she carved with the chainsaw. Dressed in almost the same uniform of Carhartt and flannel of yesterday, she seemed lost in her own world. Blond tendrils had escaped her knit hat and floated around her when she moved, and she was constantly in motion. She’d fleshed out the bear completely now and used a smaller chainsaw to add in finer details.

Damn, she was talented.

He’d always known she was creative, but the work of art she carved before him belonged in a gallery. He wondered briefly if she had any idea of how good she was.

He doubted it.

She straightened as if knowing she was being observed. Cutting the engine, she turned, her face registering surprise and then suspicion at seeing him sitting in the cab of the pickup, watching her.

He grabbed the bag of food and climbed out of the truck.

“Hello, Sorene,” he said softly. What he wouldn’t give to greet her with a kiss like he used to every time he saw her when they’d been an item.

She pushed off her earmuffs and let them rest around her neck like jewelry. “I didn’t think I’d see you today,” she said, her tone stiff, almost wary.

Why would she need to be wary of him? What had he done on that drive home? “We had an appointment,” he reminded her.

She pulled back the cuff of her sleeve and glanced at her watch. “You’re late.”

“I know, sorry. There was a shipment of lumber that needed unloaded and it took longer than expected. I tried to call.” He gestured to the chainsaw she still clutched in her hand. “Guess you couldn’t hear the phone.”

When she didn’t say anything, he held up the bag of burgers. “I brought food. I thought we could eat and then go over the ideas of what you want for the cabin.”

“I brought my own lunch.”

“Okay, if you’d prefer to eat that, no problem.” So much for a peace offering, and when would she set that chainsaw down? She held it like a knight brandishing a sword.

She tilted her head to the side. “What’s in the bag?”

He bit back a smile. “Cheeseburgers and fries.”

“Onions?”

“No onions, extra mustard and pickles.”

Slowly, she set the chainsaw down, and he felt like he’d won a victory.

“Well, that beats my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She tore off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her overalls and took off her safety glasses, hooking them in the bib.

He glanced around for a place for them to eat and realized there was no comfort to be found on the construction site. “Let’s eat in the truck. The cab is still warm.”

She walked over to the passenger side, brushing sawdust and splinters off her clothes, and climbed in, wincing when she sat. “What’s up with this seat?”

“Yeah, you gotta be careful where you sit. I believe the springs have a vendetta against butts.”

She choked out a surprised laugh, and he stared at her, captivated.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

She sobered and looked away as though his statement made her uncomfortable. The words just escaped him, but now he wished he’d kept them to himself. Their relationship—and there was one regardless of how she felt—lay tricky before him like a thin sheet of ice.

He needed to tread lightly.

Starting the truck and adjusting the heat, he reached into the bag of food and handed her a cheeseburger. Setting his burger on his lap, he dumped the fries into the bottom of the bag, added salt, and shook them, then folded down the edges of the bag for them both to reach in.

“You still do that?” she asked, watching him.

“Of course, fries need salt more than ketchup or mustard.”

“Someday you might have blood pressure issues.” She took a large bite of her cheeseburger.

Not someday.

Just sitting next to her, sharing a simple meal, had his blood pressure pumping with desire and his heart beating fast enough to drive him mad.

They ate in silence, the silence stretching thin between them until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “What happened last night?”

She slid a sideways glance his way. “You don’t remember?”

“Not everything. Pretty much everything that happened in the bar is clear, but after that it’s a fog patch.”

“So, asking me to marry you and bear your children, you don’t recall any of that?”

He choked on his cheeseburger. Slapping his chest, he gasped for breath.

“Are you okay?” Sorene laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do I need to Heimlich you?”

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I’m good.” The words sounded like he’d eaten gravel.

No, he wasn’t good. Of all the things not to remember, proposing had to be at the top.

Had she given him an answer?

Were they engaged right now and he had no memory of it? Christ, what if she’d laughed at him and said no way in hell she’d consider marry him?

If that had been the case, he could count his lucky stars he didn’t remember.

No longer hungry, he gathered up his half-eaten cheeseburger, stowed it away with the leftover fries, and set the bag on the floorboards. He turned and faced her. “What answer did you give me?”