“Ah.” Laurel sighed. “Guess this means I need to finally fix my fence.”
“Since he’s going under the fence, that wouldn’t help.”
She frowned at her neighbor. Who actually glowed in the sunlight. Dear God. “You never noticed the hole on your side?”
“Um...” He clasped the back of his neck. “I might have a slight...bush problem there. Anyway...here’s my idea. Even if I trim back the jungle, and you fix your fence, and we fill the hole back up, dog’s probably just gonna dig a new hole, right? So what I’m thinking is, how’s about I build a cinder block wall instead?”
Laurel made a face. “Prison chic? I’m thinking no.”
Tyler laughed. And, natch, he had a great laugh. And dimples. Right out of the devil’s toolbox, those dimples. “Doesn’t have to be gray, there’s all kinds of colors now. Since I’ve got brick, anyway, on the other two sides, maybe something that’ll kinda match? Then you can ditch that thing—” he nodded at the pathetic wood fence “—and not have to worry about another one for a long, long time. If ever.”
Man had a point. “I suppose that might work. When could you do it?”
“Next weekend, if it doesn’t rain?” Then he grinned at her. And winked. “You can help, if you want.”
Oh, hell...he was flirting? Then again, flirting was probably his default mode. Part of his genetic makeup, like the surfer blond hair. And—she couldn’t help but notice—the gold-flecked hazel eyes, twinkling in the late-afternoon sunlight...
Sighing—at her own foolishness, mostly—Laurel forced her gaze away from those twinkling eyes and back to the muddy hole. A symbol of her life if ever there was one. “Not sure I’d be much good,” she muttered. Which would have been true even if she hadn’t been pregnant. Upper body strength was not her strong suit. Then, mustering her courage, she looked at him again. “You can really build a wall?”
Ty put his hand on his heart, looking stricken. “Aww...you don’t trust me?”
“Since we’re talking many hundreds of pounds that could potentially topple over on my...” She caught herself. “On me, it seems prudent to ask.”
“Fair enough. But yeah, I can. A damn good one, too. Got my start working construction, first year was doing masonry—”
“Is there something you could show me? So I could see your work for myself?”
“Wow. Tough customer. Nobody’s gonna pull one over on you, huh?”
He should only know. “Just being practical. Well?”
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Actually...I built one for...someone not that long ago. She doesn’t live too far away. I could take you over to see it, if you like. You could even push on it, make sure it stays put.” When she laughed, he added, “Afterwards, how’s about we go pick out the blocks together? So you get the color you want. Because I don’t care, frankly.”
“Sounds like a plan. But...since it’s a shared wall, and you’re going to be doing all the work, at least let me pay for the blocks.”
“And since we wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for my dog, I’m gonna have to say ‘no’ to that.”
“Don’t be silly. If I can’t physically help, the least I can do is contribute to the cost. Which I would’ve done, anyway. No, I mean it,” she said to his snort. “I won’t feel right otherwise.”
That got a long, assessing look before he finally said, “How about a home-cooked meal in exchange? Would that work?”
A laugh pushed through her nose. “Considering my extreme lack of culinary skills? Probably not.”
Ty looked so disappointed she nearly laughed again. “You don’t cook?”
“As in, taking random ingredients and turning them into something palatable? Not so much.” She paused, then said, “But since I do eat—” Every hour, on the hour, these days. Not something he needed to know. Or that the idea of Tyler Noble sitting at her kitchen table made her slightly dizzy. “—I’m sure I can come up with something. That’s why God made delis, right?”
He grinned. An endearing grin, the kind that probably turned his mother to goo when he was a kid. Since it was making Laurel more than a little gooey herself. “Absolutely.”
She smiled back, then took a deep breath—because she had a hunch whatever was going on here had precious little to do with being neighborly, and what on earth was she supposed to do with that?—and said, “So...when can we go see this wall?”
His smile dimmed slightly. But only for a moment. “I’ll give her a call, see if we can go over sometime tomorrow. If that works for you?”
“Absolutely,” Laurel said.
Because the sooner they got this little folderol over with, the better.
* * *
His butt-ugly face wedged between the bucket seats, Boomer alternated hot-breath panting with slurping in his drool as Tyler pulled his pickup into Starla’s short driveway. On the other side of the dog, Laurel sat with her giant purse on her lap, staring out the windshield. Ty didn’t think she’d said ten words in the past ten minutes, despite her having been chatty enough the day before.
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem—his teachers used to say he talked enough for ten people, anyway—but her silence was a touch unnerving. Was it him? Had he done or said something to make her clam up? Not that he should care. They were neighbors, that’s all. Neighbors only going to look at a wall.
And besides, he could tell this one was classy. Not in a la-di-da, designer duds kind of way, but for real. Something Tyler had never been and never would be. Not that he was scum—although he’d skirted close enough, from time to time, to make his parents despair, he was sure—but no matter how often you prune a wildly growing bush in an attempt to tame it, its roots stay the same. Meaning, left to its own devices, it’ll always revert to its wild nature. And while those wild roots didn’t seem to be an issue for a lot of the women he’d known over the years, he was pretty sure they would be for Laurel.
So if his ego was whining because Laurel was apparently the first woman since his adoptive mother to be impervious to his blarney....well, his ego could shut the hell up, is what.
“Cute house,” Laurel said, popping open the car door. Yesterday’s storm had left behind clear blue skies and a cool, brisk breeze, making it feel more like fall than early summer. Starla’s little white bungalow—a dream come true for her, he knew, thanks in no small part to a leg up from the state for first-time home buyers—gleamed in the strong afternoon sunshine, the new windows Tyler’d installed glimmering like diamonds.
“Yeah. It is,” he said. Only he must’ve sounded funny, because Laurel gave him a weird look. But with a little shake of her head, she lowered herself from the passenger seat, the dog shoving past her and over to Starla, who’d come outside to greet them, all smiles as usual. She’d just gotten off work, still in jeans and a plain white polo shirt, her long blond hair pulled back from her still-pretty face. It was weird, how sometimes she looked far younger than her forty-eight years, while other times she seemed so much older.
The drugs’ toll, he supposed.
Now she untangled herself from the dog’s exuberant greeting to hold out her hand to Laurel. “So nice to meet you, honey! Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? A Coke—?”
“We’re