Worth the Trouble(46)

She looked on the verge of jumping into his arms. If his truck hadn’t roared into the driveway, he would’ve scooped her up and carried her off right then and there.

“I should go,” Cat said, her body still close to his.

“Hold on.” Hank reached for her cheek, but Jenny burst into the garage.

“Oh, sorry!” Embarrassed, she turned away. “Saw the light and figured Hank was out here working.”

Cat and Hank stepped apart, the moment lost. He’d grown used to the utter lack of privacy, although it irked him tonight. “It’s fine, Jenny.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jenny swirled around and grimaced. “Don’t mind me.”

“I really should leave.” Cat smiled at Jenny. “Long drive.”

“See you inside,” Hank said to Jenny before he refocused his attention on Cat. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

They all filed out of the garage, and Jenny headed toward the house.

Cat fell in step beside Hank. Together they meandered down the driveway in silence.

Uncertainty, and lots of other emotions, weighed on him. She liked him but didn’t want a relationship. If he proposed something more casual, would she go for it? He’d never been one for flings, but given her mercurial nature, maybe it would work better that way. No matter how much he wanted to resist her, she was an itch he needed to scratch.

Cat unlocked the car with her remote, so Hank stepped ahead and opened the door for her. Before sliding into the seat, she turned and touched his arm. He liked her touch—wanted more. He covered her hand with his, enjoying the stirring sensations rippling up his forearm.

Her face brightened unexpectedly. “When will you be starting on my armoires?”

“I think I’ll come on Monday. Need to pick up the wood and do some rough cutting this weekend. Once I start, I’ll still need to spend a few hours out here now and then to oversee Jackson’s projects.”

“He relies on you that much?”

Hank nodded.

“Jackson values loyalty.” She looked down the street and then at him. “One last thought before I go. You might be an amazing finish carpenter, but in that profession you’re still replaceable, right? There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of carpenters in Connecticut that Jackson could hire. On the other hand, your exceptional talent for furniture design—that’s not replaceable. It’s a gift you shouldn’t squander.”

Is that what he’d been doing—squandering his talent?

He didn’t like that perception one bit, but like a drop of poison in a body of water, it seeped throughout his mind.

Maybe for Cat, throwing a little money and effort to test the waters wasn’t a big deal, but Hank didn’t have that luxury. Failure could be catastrophic to his family’s future. Then again, her proposal was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Could it work?

“You’re determined to tempt me, aren’t you?” And oh, did she ever.

“How am I doing?”

Pretty well, considering he hadn’t shot it down completely, at least not in his own mind.

“Tell you what, I’ll give your idea some more thought.” He glanced back at his house briefly, trying to envision a different life.

“You will?” She lit up. “Consider yourself warned, Hank. Next time you see me, you won’t know what hit you.”

He almost laughed, because he already felt that way whenever he saw her. A mixture of hope and doubt brewed in his stomach.





Mom,

I think you’d really like Hank. He’s open, like you. Even with a life full of adversity, he isn’t hardened or resentful. He’s forgiving, earnest, reliable, fair . . .

He deserves good things now—big and small—and I’m going to make sure he gets them.





CHAPTER TEN

Despite Hank’s protests yesterday afternoon, he caught up with Jackson on-site at the Caine’s house. Jackson had been a great boss and friend for years, and Hank knew his friend needed his help. Or perhaps he just had a guilty conscience because he’d spent all night considering Cat’s crazy idea.

While discussing the installation of the final touches in the kitchen, he noticed dark circles beneath Jackson’s eyes. “Jackson, you look like shit. You need some sleep.”

“I’m fine.” Jackson rubbed his right hand over one side of his face. “You’re one to talk, anyway. When’s the last time you got enough sleep?”

“That’s different. I’m on call twenty-four seven, but at least when I do sleep, I’m sober.” He rested his hands on his hips and kept his gaze on Jackson.

“Don’t start again.” Jackson raised his hand to stop Hank’s lecture. “You never complained when you were hanging out as my wingman. Now I can’t remember the last time we went out for a beer.”