Chapter Four

Late that afternoon, Ginger dropped her purse on the floor and sank down on her rear end to receive the exuberant welcome from Jack. After a day like today, there was nothing she needed more than to know she was loved unconditionally, she was completely trusted, and she was the most important person in the world to someone. And it could all be expressed with a few licks and a wag of the tail.

For quite a while, she just sat there and played with Jack, her mood improving with each minute. As the low ebb faded, she looked around at the walls and flooring in her house, and the familiar excitement started to return. The embarrassment still lingered that Greg had seen this disaster, but she knew in her mind what it would look like when she was finished, and the only one she had to satisfy was herself.

“It might take a while, but we’re going to be just fine,” she murmured, finding that special spot at the base of Jack’s tail that almost made him drool. “You don’t care what our house looks like right now, do you, big guy? It’s a work in progress, and you trust me to turn it into a home.”

After a few more minutes, Ginger stood up. Some of Jack’s excitement might be because he needed to go outside. She let him out the back door and then went to her bedroom to change into her old paint clothes. She should have shown Greg this room. Watching his face during her meltdown had been disheartening, but she didn’t need confirmation of her ability to tackle this massive project by saying, “But look, look what I have done in here! Isn’t this great?”

However, it was great. She’d worked tirelessly repairing the walls, replacing broken windowpanes, painting, adding new carpet, and installing a ceiling fan with an attached light fixture and a new door. She was proud of her efforts and couldn’t wait until the rest of her house was finished. Or at the very least livable.

She fed Jack, opened a new box of sheetrock mud, and turned the radio on full blast. An hour passed quickly while she worked, singing and dancing along to classic rock songs on the radio while she patched the holes on the kitchen walls. Suddenly, Jack jumped up and ran barking to the front door.

Frowning, she turned down the radio, and that’s when she heard the loud banging on the door. It did not take an Einstein to know who was there. She opened the door with a frown. “What are you doing here?” Jack’s tail bumped against her leg as it wagged furiously. Evidently, he was happier to see Greg than she was, probably thinking the pizza and beer Greg carried were for him.

Traitor.

Her mood didn’t improve at Greg’s obvious amusement regarding her work attire as he looked her up and down. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, daring him to make a comment. To his credit, he sobered and cleared his throat. “I figured my invitation to the party got lost in the mail, so I came on over anyway.”

She tried, but she couldn’t prevent her lips twitching. “I’m working.”

“Ah, my mistake, then. I thought you had a real live band in your living room, so naturally I assumed you were throwing a party. It’s a good thing, though, because I only brought one pizza. Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly. Before she could answer, he pushed past her. “Good. I am, too. Where shall we eat?”

She blinked and then closed the door with a shake of her head. “I do happen to own a table and chairs. Follow me.” She led the way through the kitchen to the dinette table where she pushed aside the myriad notes she’d made regarding her house. Greg placed the pizza and beer on the table and then bent down to pet Jack while she grabbed paper plates from the dishwasher which also served as the cabinets and pantry while she worked on the repairs. “Do you want a glass for your beer?”

He looked askance. “Absolutely not! The total effect of consummate machismo is wasted when you burp and smash a glass against your forehead instead of an empty can. You haven’t been in Texas long, have you?”

She sat down and opened the pizza box. “Evidently not, but I’m learning. You Texas boys are a different kind of breed.”

He sat down, his knees brushing hers under the table. “We most definitely are. You’ve got a lot to learn, little lady,” he drawled, popping the top on two beers.

She pulled her legs up Indian style, ignoring the jolt of awareness that had crashed through her nerve center at the contact of their legs. She was more tired than she’d thought. She took a bite of the pepperoni and cheese pizza. “Mmm…this is wonderful. If bringing pizza and beer to a starving woman is a Texas tradition, I think I could get used to this place. Thank you, Greg. I didn’t know I was so hungry.”

He bit into his own slice. “No problem. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d take a chance you hadn’t eaten yet.”

She looked at him. “That’s a crock of bull.”

He laughed. “To be honest, I wanted to find out more about your house and what you’re planning to do. I see you’re…uh…starting to patch some holes,” he said with a knowing look at the blobs on her shirt. “Is this what you wanted a contractor for?”

She looked down at her shirt and grimaced. “Somehow I always end up wearing more sheetrock mud than I put on the walls. I won’t need any contractors immediately, but I would like to get some estimates so I can budget.”

“I can do the estimating for you.”

“Nope.” She took a drink of her beer and shook her head.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, nope?”

“I mean I would appreciate some names of contractors you trust, but I don’t want any part of this going through Tucker Construction.”

“Why in the world not? Didn’t you read the benefits page of your employment package? Health and dental insurance, paid vacations, and discounts on hammers and nails. It was all there in black and white.”

“I must have missed that part. However, since I’ve only been employed less than one week, it might be too soon to take advantage of my benefits.”

“So you want to work for us, but you don’t trust us. Is that it?” The glint in his eyes was proof he was teasing, but could he be thinking there might be a bit of truth in his words?

“I wouldn’t be working for you if I didn’t trust you. I just…it’s hard to explain.” She paused and then looked him directly in the eye. She needed him to understand. “I won’t deny working for Tucker Construction would be a big plus with the work I want to get done, but that’s not the way I want to do it. I do not want to feel indebted to anyone, or worry about what I am willing to pay for something. I know it must sound silly, but I would feel very uncomfortable using my employer to smooth this job along.”

She reached for another slice of pizza and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not going to pretend money isn’t an issue. I blew my wad on a new roof, a new water heater, and repairs to the air conditioning unit when I first got here. I also paid an electrician to come check out all the wiring. I will admit I was starting to panic, though. I was out of money and nowhere close to finishing this house. Now, if I’m careful, I’ll be able to get the repairs done while socking money away each month for the rest of the carpet.”

“Ginger, some of this work is going to require more than one person. You’re doing an amazing job of patching holes,” he added quickly, “but some of this sheetrock is going to have to be replaced rather than patched.”

She gave him a slow smile. Picking up her pizza and beer, she stood and headed for the hallway. “Follow me.”

When she reached her bedroom, she flipped on the light switch with her wrist and stepped inside. Greg followed slowly, and Jack brushed past them, prancing around the room as if inviting Greg to feel the magic.

Ginger took a bite of her pizza and watched Greg’s face as he took in the huge canopy bed covered in a dark rose comforter. Several throw pillows in different shades of mauve, rose, and pink were scattered at the headboard, and a big stuffed rabbit with button eyes was plopped in the center of the bed.

Matching sheer panels covered the window above the headboard, and two nightstands holding delicate ceramic lamps were at each side of the bed. A new ceiling fan with Victorian globes turned softly, and a dresser and mirror set in the same light oak wood as the bed adorned the adjacent wall.

His gaze finally settled on the freshly painted walls, baseboard, and door trim. He turned with a look of surprise, and she lifted a shoulder.

“Yes, I did it myself,” she stated. “Well, except for replacing the window pane and installing the carpet. The furniture is new, of course, but everything else you see I did myself.”

He walked closer to the far wall and ran his hand over the surface. The walls and ceiling had been expertly textured and then painted with a soft, rose tint, and all the trim and doors were painted a glossy off-white. “Was this room as bad as the rest of the house?”

“Worse. I think they used a broom handle to poke holes through the ceiling. I fixed the holes, but I had to scrape off all the old acoustic and then retexture it along with the walls. I haven’t done anything to the bathroom yet.” She walked over and opened a door.

Two five-gallon buckets of paint and new bathroom fixtures were piled in a corner. “I’d like to start working on it over the weekend, though.” The cabinets were in the same condition as the ones in the kitchen. A large hole on the side of one wall over the sink once held a medicine cabinet, and another door, held up by only one hinge, separated the commode and tub area.

She ignored the tightening of Greg’s jaw and turned her back on the mess. She was focusing on her bedroom now, not on what still had to be done. It was exciting to be able to show somebody what she had accomplished. The surprise that crossed his face had sent waves of pleasure over her, giving her a much-needed boost of confidence. She might be a loser when it came to choosing boyfriends, but her construction experience was still top-notch.

His gaze roamed over the room. He had a bemused smile on his face. “Where did the rabbit come from?”

She smiled. “My father. He gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. That rabbit has been on every bed I have owned since. It’s my most prized possession.”

He nodded. “Nice touch.” His gaze lingered on the bed.

All of a sudden, she felt awkward. The air grew heavy, and the bed expanded disproportionately in her line of vision. This was a very feminine, romantic room, and having a strong, handsome—and unquestionably male—figure in its midst caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach.

Swallowing, she moved toward her door. “I’m glad you like it.”

He followed her back to the dinette table. “How did you learn to do this kind of work?” he asked with a shake of his head. “I have to tell you it’s as good, if not better, than a lot of professional contractors could do. I’m really impressed.”

She had learned long ago not to talk about her ability to do home repairs because it usually resulted in men feeling threatened and women thinking she was weird. Nevertheless, it was something she truly enjoyed doing. The work challenged her in a way other jobs failed to do.

She got up to start a pot of coffee. “My father taught me.” She filled the carafe with water. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I think my parents wanted me to have the best of what they each had to offer. My dad owned a small construction company. Nowhere near the magnitude of Tucker Construction, but from the time I was a little girl, I loved going to work with him. My mother never held me back, but she would often ask if I would rather stay with her and bake something or learn to sew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I never did. To this day, I can’t bake edible cupcakes or stitch a hem in a skirt, but I can tape and float drywall with the best of ’em.”

He laughed. “I have to admit it’s easier imagining you with a hammer and paint brush than with an apron and hot pad.”

She grinned. “That’s what all my boyfriends tell me.” Then she could have bitten her tongue. Why had she said boyfriend? Whether intended or not, remarks like that were a sure-fire way to destroy a friendship. She pulled two cups from the dishwasher and continued as though those stupid words hadn’t come from her mouth. “Dad said I had a knack for building and repairing things, and he started letting me participate in projects around our home. On Christmas and birthdays, I would always get a new tool or something related to construction.

“My mother tried to compete by giving me clothes and jewelry, but it was always the tools I wanted to mess with. Of course, it wasn’t until I was about nineteen that my dad let me work on his jobsites, and only when he could be there. I had an incredible childhood.”

“It sounds like it,” he said gently. “Where are your parents now?”

She paused. “Car accident. Drunk driver.”

He did not make an immediate comment. She stole a quick glance at him. A muscle worked in his jaw, and his eyes were downcast as he stared at his clasped hands dangling between his knees. She must have sounded detached, too callous in her remark. If he knew how close she’d come to completely falling apart, he wouldn’t think she was detached at all.

She placed a coffee cup in front of him and sat down.

Unexpectedly, he reached over and covered one of her hands with his. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.”

That’s all it took. The pressure built behind her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. She didn’t talk much about the death of her parents for exactly this reason. The pain was still too raw, and when someone showed any sympathy, she almost melted into a blubbering puddle. Swallowing, she let out a small sigh and nodded. “Yes, it was. It still is, but I’m learning to deal with the loss and cope with the anger from the accident.”

Actually, that was only partly true. There were days she was so lost that the pain of losing her parents made her want to scream. However, if she dwelled on what had so suddenly been taken from her, she would not be able to get up in the mornings. Her parents would want her to keep moving forward, to find happiness and security and love. She was working hard on the happiness and security thing, but finding love was not on her “list of things to do” at the moment.

“So tell me about your childhood,” she said, hoping to lighten the conversation. “What secret talents do you have?”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his jean-clad legs out in front of him, a wicked grin on his face. “Well, I hate to brag—”

“Then don’t!” She found it hard to hide her amusement. He was so…cute, sitting there in his faded Dallas Cowboys T-shirt, an innocent, little-boy expression plastered across his face. She had a strong feeling, though, Greg Tucker was anything but innocent.

He laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything too interesting to tell you. I wish I could say my childhood was as idyllic as yours was, but the truth is it wasn’t. In fact, I barely remember it. Let’s see, you already know I am the youngest of three brothers. My mother ran off with someone else when I was seven.”

A startled gasp escaped her lips, but he continued with the same emotion he would have used to discuss the weather.

“We did okay for a while. My father kept thinking she would come back home, so he continued to work hard and tried to keep things as normal around the home front as he could. But when the weeks turned into months and the months into a year, my dad sort of gave up. He started drinking. Just a little at first, then more and more.

“We recognize now it was depression, but at the time it felt like Dad was also giving up on the family. I hate to think what would have happened to all of us if it hadn’t been for Justin. I remember him pushing us out of bed in the mornings to make sure we got to school on time because our father was usually passed out on the sofa. Man, you should have seen the school lunches Justin made.” He grinned. “Squished peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, baggies full of chips and those baby carrots everybody but us loved. What made it so hard was we all went to the same school, and he made sure we didn’t toss out our lunch. To this day I can’t eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

He fell silent, and she didn’t dare break into his reverie. He spoke matter-of-factly without displaying any of the anger or hurt he had to have felt at first his mother’s and then his father’s betrayal. Her eyes were stinging, and her heart broke for the lost little boys, but she doubted Greg would appreciate any sign of sympathy or pity.

So much for lightening the mood. She got up from the table and grabbed two cans of beer from the fridge and then placed one in front of him. The coffee could wait. “Wow, your childhood really sucked.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his beer can toward her. “It could have been worse, you know. At least I know how to bake cupcakes.”

“Well, there is that,” she conceded. “So what happened to your father? Did your mother ever come back?”

“My mother—and I use the term loosely—never returned. We got birthday and Christmas cards with some money in them for a few years, with never a return address, of course, and then nothing. Justin stayed on our butts, forcing us to do our best in school and teaching us how to do household chores. Dad was a project manager for a large construction firm—we have that in common, by the way—and Justin pestered the hell out of him to go to work every day. And every afternoon, Dad came home, planted his rear in front of the TV, and drank.

“Finally, little by little, Dad pulled himself out of it. He taught us how to do construction work, and when we were old enough, we began working with him. He insisted we start going to church as a family, and that’s where Dad met Mary, my stepmother. She is the best thing that happened to all of us. We became a complete family again.”

Ginger shook her head slowly. “That’s an amazing story. You all must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished, and proud of your father for turning himself around.”

Greg shrugged. “We are, but we’re mostly proud of Justin. I speak for Steve when I say we because he and I have often talked about this. I can’t imagine what would have happened to Dad, or Steve and I, if Justin had not been such a mother hen. He still is, to some extent. He believes he always knows what is best for us, and he isn’t afraid to voice his opinions. It gets old sometimes, but I guess it’s a habit he will never be able to break. We tolerate it pretty well. Justin carried the weight of the whole family on his shoulders for several years, and we owe him a debt of gratitude we’ll never be able to repay.”

Admiration and respect for his older brother were evident in Greg’s voice. The Tuckers were not typical, everyday men. They had struggled emotionally and physically and come out on top, now running one of the most successful construction companies in the city. Obviously, there was an unbreakable bond between the brothers, and she had a feeling the unsuspecting fool who hurt one of them would live to regret it.

Greg started chuckling. “I have just told you more about my life than I’ve ever told anybody before.”

She smiled. “It must be the beer.” She felt honored he had shared such a private part of himself with her, but it also frightened her. She didn’t want to feel close to him, she didn’t want to care, and yet she could feel herself being drawn to his strength and his compassion.

She was not naive, though. Every time her mind started to trick her into believing that here was a man who was different, one who had integrity and who was truly the real deal, she needed to remind herself she’d been wrong before…and often.

Still, it was a shame she wouldn’t be able to test Greg with her List of Mandatory Traits because he already failed big time on number one.

He was her boss.