"I thought you had funny business in mind for me." Val's immediate scowl made him grin. "Besides, I've driven by that house numerous times. This pal of yours would need to be Picasso and a nympho to pay for the sheer amount of dirt work it needs."
"Fine. Your life. Your missed opportunity."
One opportunity in particular nearly blindsided him. An opportunity he'd missed last year. That house would be perfect for the Maxwell Landscaping Competition. Damn. He'd given up on entering this year and consequently had put it out of his mind.
Humiliation still tightened his throat when he recalled the bold, red REJECTED stamped across his application from last year, courtesy of the City Beautification Committee. He'd believed Val's landscaping job and his extensive construction experience had more than qualified for the prestigious contest. Wrong. Seemed he didn't meet the city's criteria as a professional without the "Certified Landscaping Designer" title behind his name.
Nathan had rectified that situation. He'd enrolled in an online course focused on xeriscaping, a type of landscaping that utilizes indigenous plants and trees native to a specific geographical area to conserve natural resources. After three weeks of hands-on training down south last winter, he'd graduated.
Hadn't helped his drawing skills one whit, but as the only landscaper in town able to add xeriscaping to his resume, he figured after a profitable summer installing sewers, he'd hang out his landscaping shingle in the autumn when the utility business slowed down.
This opportunity was too good to pass up, even if he was busy as hell. Utility work paid extremely well. But pretty as his septic systems seemed to him, they did not qualify for awards or generate lucrative city contracts.
Not only would revenge be sweet if he won the competition, he'd prove his ideas about expanding his father's business beyond sewage construction weren't a pipe dream. And he'd land the city contact for the new fire substation, a near guarantee of additional landscaping work. It did seem like his golden chance.
"You okay?" Val murmured behind him. "You're awful quiet."
Nathan shook his head. Jesus. He was hard up if he was seriously considering this woman's off-the-wall proposal. "Just thinking." He faced her, imparting a winsome smile. "Look, I'm not sure … "
When her eyes shimmered, his heart sank to the tips of his steel-toed boots.
Shit. Val was doing that puppy-dog-eye thing-a last resort because it always worked. He scrubbed his hand over his stubbly jaw and groaned defeat. Round one: meddlesome sister.
"Nice going. Fine. You win, even though you fight dirty. Why didn't you line up my nieces and nephews on the couch and have them cry?"
She smiled-a bit smugly in his opinion. "That was phase two if phase one didn't work. So you'll talk to her?"
"Yeah, I'll talk to her."
"Good. I'll introduce you at our barbecue tomorrow night. Oh, by the way, it's a western theme this year."
He'd suffered though her themed parties before, but there was something innately wrong with an Indian dressing up like a cowboy.
When Val didn't gleefully elaborate on what outlandish costume she planned on foisting on her poor husband, Rich, Nathan knew she'd withheld other vital information from him too. Especially with the rapt manner in which she studied the tiled floor, as if she could actually see her pink toenails beneath her extended belly.
He tipped her face up to meet his gaze. "Tell me what you're hiding, little sis, or the deal is off."
"Fine." Petulant, Val raised her chin higher. "Tate's return to South Dakota is temporary. Once the landscaping is done and the house she inherited is saleable, she'll head back to Denver and her job as a graphic artist." She frowned. "This 'no-strings' fling thing is a new kick. Tate is so sweet. For all her bold talk, I don't think she's had much experience with casual sex."
Val's admission hung in the air for several awkward seconds.
Nathan felt choked by the sudden silence. And the sudden possibilities.
Sweet? Sweet usually meant shy, right? Wouldn't a shy woman-especially one with limited sexual escapades-eagerly welcome his ideas for exploring his romantic side and keep her legs primly crossed? Even if this Tate confirmed his incompetence in the romance department, she wasn't sticking around. She wouldn't be a constant reminder he wasn't cut out for hearts and flowers shit.
How could he lose? If he kept the particulars about their intimate relationship-or lack thereof-from nosy Val, soaked up Tate's artistic expertise to bolster his pathetic drawing skills and kept both of them from discovering his application in the Maxwell Landscaping Competition …