He wore a royal blue T-shirt tucked into the waistband of soft, faded jeans, a narrow canvas belt trimmed with brown leather and expensive brown leather athletic shoes without socks. Each item seemed to have an intimate familiarity with his body, as if from long acquaintance, and yet at the same time every article looked spanking new. As he moved closer, he slid off his sunglasses, and even from a distance those blue eyes leaped out at her, shockingly vivid. Her pulse quickened. She immediately averted her gaze.
“Here we are,” Wyatt called, his smile audible. “Just as promised.”
Traci nodded and forced an impersonal smile onto her face. Her remarks she addressed to the boys, her voice studiously polite. “Hello, boys. Ready to work? A bunch of litter has accumulated around the perimeter of the building. You’ll find a couple of trash bags on the big deck. Pick up everything but the broken glass. I don’t want you cutting yourselves. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
Neither boy seemed particularly inspired by the assigned job, but they went off to do it with a minimum of grumbling and only a few pained looks. After they’d rounded the corner of the building, she addressed their father, her gaze darting around his face without managing to land anywhere. “You don’t need to hang around. The carpentry work can’t begin until the new lumber is delivered.”
“That reminds me,” he said, stepping up onto the deck with her. “The lumber the boys took has been cut into odd lengths, but it might be serviceable. Should I bring it over?”
Instinctively, Traci moved away and tried to think. Odd lengths. Floorboards to be replaced both inside and out, shelves to be built, a portion of cabinet to be framed in, the new doorway to be cased. She tried to implement the instructions given her by her grandfather over and over again during the first nineteen years of her life. She tried to see in her mind exactly what had to be done, step-by-step, but she kept getting derailed by the vision of Wyatt Gilley performing those steps. She shook her head to clear it, realized what he must think and decided to let it stand at that. “No, don’t bring it here,” she said. “You keep it. You’ve paid for it, after all, and I’ve already reordered, but thank you, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am busy.”
She started to turn into the open doorway at her back, but Wyatt stopped her with a hand clamped down on the forearm folded across her middle. A strange kind of heat flashed up both arms and across her shoulders and down into her chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gone husky. “Is there a problem? I’d like to help.”
Her own voice felt as if it had to be forced up out of her chest, past her overinflated lungs and around an enormous lump in her throat. “N-no!” The word seemed to free her breath, which came rushing out behind it. A deep draught of fresh air helped to clear her head a bit. “I—I mean, there’s nothing wrong. Wh-what could be wrong? I’m going to get my shop opened, thanks to you.” As she spoke, she managed to extricate herself from his touch by dropping her arms to her sides.
For a long moment his eyes plumbed hers, reaching, it seemed, for the inner recesses of her mind. She kept very still, so still that her heart seemed to have ceased beating. She dared not blink. She dared not think, lest he see her thoughts and read them. Finally she felt him withdraw, slowly, gently, and her heart started to beat again in careful, even measures. A slight smile lifted the corners of his finely sculpted mouth.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said apologetically.
She hoped he did not recognize the relief behind her nod. “You can pick up the boys in about an hour and a half, if that’s all right.”
He slid the sunglasses onto his face. “See you later, then.”
She managed a smile. “Later.”
He turned and stepped down onto the gravel. Only after he’d gotten into the car and driven away did she allow herself to slump against the doorjamb. She was trembling. How did he do that? What was it about him that made her every nerve ending hypersensitive? Questions without answers. She suspected that it would always be questions without answers where Wyatt Gilley was concerned.
Traci straightened and went inside. Bending, she retrieved her heavy leather gloves and slipped them on. They were too big, but a proper size was not to be found, and she absolutely must have protection as she worked the broken shards of glass from the window frame. Flexing her fingers inside their stiff leather casings, she went back to what she had been doing when she’d heard the Gilleys’ car turn onto the gravel parking lot. She walked to the west window, being careful not to step into one of the open spaces in the plank floor. She’d nearly broken a leg the first time she’d come here after the floorboards had been taken. Having seen the degree of destruction, she had sat down and cried angry tears, during which she had begun to pray for guidance.
She had been so certain that it had been within God’s will for her to return home to Duncan. It was not a decision she had made lightly or without prayer and counsel. But she’d begun to rethink the moment she’d seen the condition that the shop was in, and its disappearing piece by piece right before her very eyes. Confused and frustrated, she’d gone back to God. Had she misunderstood? Had she blinded herself to God’s will with her own selfish desires? If not, why would He allow someone to steal the very floor from beneath her feet? And what, oh what, was she going to do now?
She had begun to recall verses of Scripture.
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God
All things work to the good of them that love the Lord and are called according to His purpose.
And finally: Let him who steals steal no more…
She had decided right then that she wasn’t going to give up, not yet. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, after all. Why worry when work could remedy the situation? Oh, she hadn’t been foolish enough to think she could do it all on her own, but she could exercise her faith as well as her brain and muscles. The first step, it had seemed to her, was to catch the culprits, as it turned out. A quick canvas of the neighborhood, which was primarily residential, had gained her an adequate description of the two boys stripping and demolishing the place, but no one could tell her their names. So she had spent two miserable days and nights camped out here before the brazen scamps had come to help themselves to the landscaping timbers that marked off the small parking lot.
Without doubt, she had terrified them with her sudden, stern appearance. When she’d asked what in blue blazes they thought they were doing, they’d looked at each other with undisguised apprehension, and then as if on cue, they’d turned tail and run. She had been breathless, exhausted and more than a little put out when she’d caught the first one; the other had loyally come back to stand with him. They had refused at first to tell her their names, but when she’d threatened to simply haul them down to the police and let them handle it, Max had blurted out the information, much to his brother’s chagrin. After that, they’d said hardly another word, despite her attempts to discover why they’d done what they had. Finally she’d let them go, saying she would be along shortly to speak to their parents. At that point, one of them—and she didn’t know which one—had stuck his tongue out at her and led the escape. Perhaps she should have foreseen what was to come, but she hadn’t.
Later, when she’d gone to the Gilley home to discuss the situation with a responsible adult, and the twins had pretended to be shocked by her accusations, she had been stunned. The most shocking thing of all had been the picture of innocence they had presented. She had almost believed them herself, until she’d seen the glint of satisfaction in the eyes of the one with the tiny scar in his eyebrow. Unless she was mistaken, that was Rex, but she couldn’t be certain. She had been a bit unnerved when Gilley had made the introductions at the courthouse. She was a bit unnerved now. Otherwise she’d be doing something besides staring out the window at the street. Oh, well, the worst was behind her. God had answered her prayers in a most unexpected manner. Who would have expected Wyatt Gilley to be the instrument. They say that God works in mysterious ways.