She didn't know how much square footage had been added to the carriage house, she just knew that when she looked at it from the side, it took up twice as much space as it previously had. And then there was the casket warehouse. She also knew there had to be a hidden passageway somewhere on the property. She'd never seen a group of large men able to move in and out of space so quietly. One minute she was alone, and then the next . . . pffft . . . they just appeared out of nowhere and scared the ever-living hell out of her.
All funeral homes were required by law to have an area designated as a casket showroom and to provide caskets at different ends of the price spectrum. Mr. Jessup and his family had run a successful business for generations, but they also knew the scope of the clientele and the infrequency. Nothing was wasted and everything possible conserved.
The old casket warehouse had been not much more than a shed with metal siding. It was large enough to fit the six different caskets people could choose from and that was about it. The small metal building was no longer there. In its place was a warehouse that looked like it had been made out of concrete. There were several large windows with casket displays in them, and there was a large garage door on the opposite side to get the caskets in and out.
Tess had wondered if maybe she should have a talk with Eve. They weren't the kind of funeral home to do the volume of business that the woman seemed to be preparing for. Half the people in town would have to drop dead for them to do that much business. But maybe Eve didn't realize how inconvenient Last Stop was to get to from the city and that the only candidates who might use the funeral home were the 3,047 people who lived there.
Ultimately, Tess had decided it wasn't her business. She wasn't the owner, and it wasn't her problem. Only, it kind of was her problem because if they went bankrupt it would mean she was out of a job.
While people had certainly talked, taken pictures, and gawked from Main Street at the Last Stop Funeral Home, it wasn't the only thing getting attention.
What really had tongues wagging was the men. Five men, to be exact.
Eve had chosen Tess's staff for her. Tess had been appreciative, but considering there was barely enough work to keep her occupied each day, she couldn't imagine what she was supposed to do with the five men-the overbearing, larger-than-life, sexy-as-hell men. But Eve had told her they'd be busy enough, and she'd left it at that.
They certainly didn't fit in with Last Stop, and there was something about each of them that made her a little bit wary and a whole lot cautious. Maybe it was the way they were always watching their surroundings, as if they expected the worst to happen. Or maybe it was the way they seemed to distrust everyone on sight. Tess couldn't really blame them for that one. She always figured just about everyone had an ulterior motive when they showed interest in a person. But maybe she was just cynical.
What she didn't like was all the talk around town about her and her merry band of death men, which was the name her friend Miller was passing around town, the traitor. Over at the Clip n' Curl, they apparently filled hours of conversation with whether or not Tess knew the men intimately. And if she didn't, would she be willing to make an introduction? Since her mother was the owner of the Clip n' Curl, she liked gossip almost as much as money and men, so she didn't bother trying to defend her only daughter's reputation.
All of the ladies at the Clip n' Curl were in unanimous agreement that Tess's men were about as close to male perfection as they'd ever seen. There was Deacon Tucker and Axel Tate. They'd been her first two employees to show up out of the blue. One look at Deacon had made her briefly wish she was the kind of woman to grab the attention of a man like that, but looks were fleeting and she'd always have a brain, so she didn't let it faze her too much.
No, Deacon had definitely given her a few of those breathless moments. The ones she remembered from her youth where her heart fluttered and her words stumbled over themselves every time she tried to speak to a guy. It had been a long time since she'd had feelings like that. She'd certainly never had them with Henry, the man she'd been engaged to. But she'd always assumed that flutter and anticipation would fade with age.
There was a reason there was a saying about people who made assumptions, because boy, had she been wrong. The flutters were more like jackhammers in her belly, and her fantasies were a lot more explicit than they'd been when she was fifteen. She'd once seen Deacon mowing the yard without his shirt on and the primal urge to pounce on him and stake her claim had been so strong she'd called her friend Miller for an emergency wine intervention.