Deke dropped his hand and they both turned to the house.
I scooted out of eyesight, not an easy task as the walls were windows that rose unobstructed for two and half stories.
I did this thinking that was at least one thing that was happening in my life that it was easy to know what to make of it.
Jim-Billy really liked me.
And more serenity settled inside me.
Ty and Wood headed back out. Deke and Jim-Billy came back in. Wood and Ty also came back in, this time with a ratty armchair.
Ty went back out to get an ottoman.
Jim-Billy sat his ass in the armchair, lifted his dusty boots to the ottoman practically before Ty had it on the floor, looked at me and asked, “You got any beer, sweetheart?”
“It’s not even nine in the morning,” Mr. T. stated tetchily, staring at Jim-Billy and doing it making it clear he wasn’t making much of him.
Jim-Billy looked at him. “Who’re you?”
“William Thurston. I’m Justice’s,” Mr. T replied.
I waited for him to say more but apparently he meant that to say it all (and it did, and the way it did gave me more solace).
“And you are?” Mr. T asked when Jim-Billy didn’t offer that information up himself.
“I’m Jim-Billy. I’m Justice’s too. And I’m hangin’ with my girl here so she don’t get bored outta her mind watchin’ men hang drywall.” He turned his attention to me. “Now, darlin’, you got beer?”
I felt my lips twitch before I said, “Coming right up, Jim-Billy.”
I moved out to the garage, got Jim-Billy a beer and headed back.
When I arrived I saw Mr. T was still sipping his coffee but now doing this perched on the arm of the couch.
Jim-Billy had his hand out for the beer, which meant I didn’t waste time making it to him so I could give it to him.
Cal was doing his thing.
But Wood and Ty were upstairs.
And Deke was coming to me.
I tipped my head back when he stopped, not Deke close, which was close but also not the close I’d like.
It was a new close. A what I thought of as a fragile-Justice-in-his-trailer close, in other words close-close, as in the close I liked.
A close he didn’t need to use when we weren’t in his trailer but instead I was surrounded by awesome people in my huge house.
But he used it.
“Baby, Wood and Ty are workin’ with me today. You down with that?”
My brows drew together. “I thought Wood owned the local garage.”
“He does, which means he can take the day off whenever he wants. He’s also a man. And when I say that, I mean a man. Not sure he’s ever hung drywall. That said, think men like him instinctively get how to hang drywall.”
I’d been in Wood’s presence for maybe five minutes and he’d not said a word to me and I still had the feeling he was the kind of man who instinctively knew how to do a lot of things.
“Ty works for Wood and Wood’s givin’ him a day off to work here,” Deke informed me. “He’s worked construction so he just knows what he’s doin’.”
“Are they, uh…does Max need—?” I stammered but Deke cut me off.
“Max won’t care. He’s tight with Ty, they’ve worked together on jobs back in the day and if you’re talkin’ about payin’ them dick, I think we had this discussion.”
“So crates of hooch all around,” I muttered.
Deke grinned, caught me at the back of my head, pulled me to him, bent in, kissed my forehead then let me go and strolled to the ladder and up it.
God, I was going to miss those bits of Deke he’d surely take away when he decided I was no longer fragile and needed his affection so I wouldn’t come flying apart.
I turned to the improvised seating area and saw Jim-Billy belting back a slug of beer.
Mr. T had eyes to the upstairs.
Those eyes came to me.
Then he rearranged his position, pulling out his phone and not perching on the arm of the couch like he would rather not have his ass touching it. An ass that was in trousers that I figured had another half back at a hotel in town, this being the suit jacket of a suit of Italian origin that cost more than that couch he was sitting on when it was new. Instead he settled right in that couch, rested his coffee cup on the arm and started sliding his finger on the phone.
At this juncture, a vehicle could be heard.
“Jesus,” was also heard right after, this being Cal who started heading to the door.
“I got it,” I told him and his eyes cut to me.
“No, you don’t.”
At the firmness of his tone, I stopped moving.
So Cal wasn’t playing butler.
Even though it was highly unlikely my attacker would show in broad daylight with my house filled with people, Cal was playing bodyguard.