Builder's Reluctant Bride Read online

  Jenna opened her eyes, focused on Tucker, and nailed him to the wall with her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me you already hired Bill?”

  “I did. I told you I secured Scott and Company for our construction needs.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t connect the names.” Her jaw ached as she forced the words through clenched teeth. She fought to maintain the control she felt slipping away.

  Tucker threw up his hands in mock surrender. “It was an accident. OK? An oversight.” He tried to laugh it off as he moved to stand in front of Jenna, but it came out awkward and unnatural. He gripped her upper arms and gently squeezed them. “It’ll be OK.”

  Jenna’s eyes slid closed. Ten years ago suddenly felt like yesterday. She needed this job. She needed to right Parker’s wrongs, but letting Bill Scott learn she needed anything from him would be disastrous. Lawyers assured her she had no legal obligation to repay the families, but no one had been able to erase her moral obligation.

  Her body sagged against the wall. A wet nose nudged her wrist and she twisted it, opening her hand to welcome a moist, swampy lick from Tucker’s black Labrador retriever. Probably the best kiss she’d had all year. She turned her palm over and scratched behind the dog’s ear, murmuring platitudes. If only people were as loyal as pets.

  Her mind spun. What was Tucker’s motive here? He wouldn’t shackle her to another loser so soon after Parker. He was helping her improve her life. Making it better. Safer.

  Out of all the emotions shooting through her veins, safe wasn’t one of them.

  “This changes everything.” She kept one hand on the dog and pressed her index and middle fingertip of the other against her temple and rotated them in small circles. The dampness from the dishcloth oozed into her hair.

  “Not for me.” William’s sandpaper voice rubbed her in all the wrong places. There was a time his gravelly voice had weakened her knees, but no longer. “I have a contract, remember?”

  “Come on guys, we can work this out.” Tucker outstretched one arm toward Tucker, his other still hovering by Jenna’s upper arm.

  She had no more patience for her meddling brother. If only looks really could kill…

  “So?” William wiggled the paper in his hands. “What’s it gonna be?”

  She straightened, cracking her spine into place as if donning protective armor. “Do I have a choice?”

  Bill’s eyes softened and his voice dipped in an all too familiar way. “There is always a choice, sweetheart.” His former endearment for her stung decade-old wounds. “But, if you’re unhappy with the partnership, you’ll have to pass on the job. I’m counting on this project too.”

  She studied him, weighing her strength and determination against his flirtatious charm and constant need to have a woman on his arm. He’d stolen enough from her ten years ago. He wasn’t going to steal her chance to send her column nationwide and make something from the ashes of her life. She’d tangled with worse and survived. She’d survive this, too. Even better. She’d thrive. “Pass on the job? Not a chance.”

  2

  Jenna narrowed her eyes at her brother’s reflection in her rearview mirror as he pulled his truck into the Bayview Community Church parking lot behind her. A fitful night’s sleep did little to relieve her restlessness. Tucker insisted Bill had tried to stop and didn’t profit from the prank against her back in high school—no matter how bad it had looked back then. Was Bill really a different man than she assumed—like Tucker claimed—or was a camouflaged wolf sneaking into the fold?

  She huffed out a breath, lifting her bangs high off her forehead. She almost started to pray, but stopped. It never helped before, so why bother?

  “I guess it’s time to be a grown-up and see what I’ve gotten myself into.” She wasn’t thrilled when Tucker informed her of Bill’s request to meet this morning, and was less thrilled when Tucker accepted on her behalf. If this partnership was going to succeed, she and Bill—and Tucker—were going to have to set some boundaries. The last thing she needed was the two of them ganging up on her and dictating her job.

  On her right, the adjacent cemetery sat protected behind an iron gate inscribed, “Garden of Remembrance.” She recalled youth group, church picnics, and family outings. They played like a movie reel that suddenly fast-forwarded to yesterday’s fiasco.

  She left the sanctuary of her car, slammed the door on the memories of last night’s ruined dinner, and pulled her sweater tight, overlapping it in the front and belting it closed. Thankfully Bill had declined dessert and high-tailed it out of there as soon as the meal ended. She’d signed his precious contract after a brief hesitation. The tiny part of her that needed to be in control to feel safe had loved how her pause had made him squirm. But only for a minute.

  She suspected he needed her more than he let on. Her rib-punching dead husband had railroaded her enough times during their marriage that she recognized a man pulling a fast one. What she didn’t know was who to blame for keeping her in the dark.

  She bit the inside of her cheek and welcomed the painful distraction. Bill claimed innocence. Tucker claimed ignorance.

  Neither was completely believable.

  While she waited for Tucker to find a file in his briefcase and join her, she shielded her eyes from the blinding sun that contradicted the cooler fall air. She noticed a lone figure standing in the center of the overgrown graveyard, filling the right side of the neglected property. Her heart dipped.

  Bill.

  Bill’s face, tilted heavenward, forced his wavy blond hair to fold back over the collar of his denim jacket. She stared a moment longer than necessary, wishing for a millisecond that things could be different between them. Stirred up in an intimate dance between the dust and wind, an unwelcome yearning grew for what could have been.

  “William!” Tucker stepped up beside her and gently squeezed her elbow as the wind carried his greeting into the graveyard. “Come on.”

  She nudged him back. She could never stay mad at her brother for long.

  Bill approached with quiet confidence. He sipped from a paper coffee cup, appearing far calmer than Jenna liked. Last night she’d made it clear she didn’t trust him, and he’d even admitted that he deserved her mistrust and he had definitely wronged her in high school. He had alluded that there was more to the story than she knew, but she refused to discuss it. She had thought bringing it up would rattle him, but she should have known better. Nothing rattled Bill.

  Bill stuffed one hand into his pocket and took his sweet time covering the distance between them. Outside of Tucker’s word, and Bill admitting his culpability, she had no reason to believe Bill had grown from a selfish child into a responsible and trustworthy man. Sure, everyone changed after high school, but not every change was for the better. Bill meandered forward and her heart pounded in her ears.

  “Hello, Jenna,” Bill drawled.

  Her gaze slid past him and landed on some point past his left shoulder.

  He planted his feet directly in front of her and waited for her to concede his presence. When she didn’t, he shuffled into her line of sight and forced her to. “Jenna, we need to—”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hand. “I didn’t want to discuss it last night, and I don’t want to today. Let’s leave the past where it belongs. I’d rather set the ground rules for our future work.”

  “Ground rules?” Tucker echoed.

  “Yes. Some boundaries.” She levelled a look at Tucker. “You will not make appointments on my behalf. Understand?”

  “Yes.” He at least had the grace to look sheepish.

  “And we start fresh.” She looked at Bill. “No more talk of high school. We have a professional relationship, and that is it.”

  “Fine by me.” Bill crushed his empty paper cup and tossed it toward Tucker, who caught it and shrugged. “But eventually we’ll have to talk about it. We have more to say then we discussed last night.”

  “Well, it’s not up to you.” She snapped, then staggered as a f
lash of hurt zipped through his eyes. Did she imagine it? She softened. Just a touch. Why couldn’t he drop the nice guy routine and keep being a jerk?

  “Teenagers do stupid things. I get it.” She pushed passed him. “I’ve moved on. Let’s get started.”

  She nudged Tucker, this time not as friendly as the last, sending him into business mode. He swept his arms in front of him referencing the outdoor property of the church. “As you can see, the building has definitely seen better days.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Bill muttered.

  Jenna lips curled up at her sweet-tasting minor victory until Tucker’s disapproving stare curdled it. She was behaving like a child, not the professional she insisted she’d become. Convincing the church building committee to use a decorator for the project left Tucker in a vulnerable position. Tucker deserved better from her. She shifted into her professional persona, determined to do what she could to make his risk pay off.

  She scanned the property. Four untamed bushes, long past their prime, crowded the front entrance blocking most of the path from use. A handful of red, faded exterior bricks had detached from the mortar on the corner of the building. What remained, crumbled into misshapen forms against the structure. Her eyes flicked to Bill then back to the brick. Did he see the irony of the perfect representation of their partnership? A crumpled, misshapen, unrecognizable mess.

  She sneaked another look his way.

  Of course he wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t even paying attention.

  Tucker frowned. “The church William attends and our church,” he continued, generously including Jenna in the word our, “has voted to merge into one congregation and restore this building.”

  Jenna felt her eyes widen at this inclusion. Somewhere between childhood and now, she had drifted from God. She didn’t deserve to be included.

  Tucker ignored her indifference and referred to the papers in his hands. “Young families predominately make up the congregation in William’s church compared to BCC’s aging congregation. As you can see, we’ve been unable to finance repairs needed to maintain the building, and William’s church needs to move from the school gym they’ve been using for meetings into a church home.”

  Tucker paused, an uncomfortably long pause like the kind teachers use to chastise distracted students.

  They both straightened up.

  “The proposed merger will serve us both well,” he continued. “Both groups will feel welcome if you two do your job right.”

  “Up for the job?” Bill wiggled his eyebrows. Probably trying to be playful, but considering their history, it felt like he was baiting her.

  “I am if you are.” She straightened her back in a snap and led the parade toward the double front doors.

  The arched doors protested with a groan when Tucker unlocked the rusty bolt and motioned for Jenna to move into the shadowy foyer. She wrinkled her nose at the dingy, oatmeal-colored walls and the frayed yellowed carpet with turned up corners. The carpet, probably laid in the forties, ruined by the eighties, did not welcome visitors in the manner she supposed the parishioners hoped.

  They continued through the entrance and moved into the sanctuary. The murky scent of old linoleum and dusty hymnals sparred with the distinct smell of Murphy Oil Soap. The lingering aroma said more about the church than Tucker’s entire introductory speech. The parishioners loved and cared for their building as best they could, despite their inability to finance upkeep.

  “Not too bad, eh?” Tucker’s hopeful voice broke Jenna’s concentration.

  “We’ll see,” she murmured.

  Tucker glanced at Jenna and then Bill. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss the project.” He slipped out the way they entered.

  Jenna shoved down the panic that surged forward as her brother left the building. She wasn’t ready to be alone with Bill. Wasn’t sure she would ever be ready. How on earth would she partner with him?

  “Look at this window.” Jenna grazed her fingertips across the stained glass, immediately focusing on something besides buried feelings clawing their way to the surface. “I’d forgotten its gorgeous use of color.” The glass filtered the early morning sunlight and cast a rainbow of hues onto the adjacent wall. The warped braces caused a slight distortion in the picture of Mary holding baby Jesus, but it did not detract from the beautiful artistry or overall effect.

  Despite the dull room, hidden potential sparkled. The pews, the wainscoting, the high ceilings, the beams. She vibrated with energy at the raw potential. The place was a rough diamond. She pulled out a notepad and jotted some thoughts.

  “Care to share your ideas?” Bill moved closer and her pulse quickened.

  What was it about this man that still set her heart racing ten years later? She knew better than to let her emotions lead. She pulled a measuring tape from her tote.

  “We’ll need a tradesman specializing in stained glass to repair this,” she said. “It’s quite detailed and complex work.” She stuffed her pencil between her teeth and wielded the measuring tape.

  “Here, let me.” Bill reached for the tape measure. “Length and width?”

  She nodded and handed it over, ensuring their fingers didn’t touch.

  He flipped the bedazzled pink tape measure over in his hand, obviously not appreciating the feminine touches. “This is—ah, different.”

  She arched a brow in a challenge. “Too macho for pink tools?”

  He grinned. “Bring it on.” He scooted a chair and used it as a ladder. “Ahh, roughly eight feet wide by twelve feet high.”

  “Thanks.” She jotted down the numbers.

  “No prob.” He pressed the faux diamond release and the tape zipped back into its pink case.

  She reached for it and missed, almost as if he pulled it back teasingly. But he hadn’t. Surprising memories of camaraderie forced the corners of her lips to turn upward. She snatched the tape measure from him and stuffed it inside her bag, along with the unwanted feelings those recollections stirred. She zipped her tote shut, locking her memories inside. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have her eating out of his hand by Friday.

  Her gaze skipped over him and trailed to the worn windowsills, the cracked and crumbling plaster, and landed on the floor. The pews minus the usual glossy finish, the floors worn down to the bare wood, and the scuffed, discolored, red linoleum runner that highlighted the center aisle all screamed for help. Fortunately, the beautiful window saved the room from complete ugliness and helped rectify the inadequate lighting.

  “I think the building has shifted.” Bill’s gravelly voice ripped her from her internal observations.

  “Really, why?”

  “See these foundation fractures?” Bill stooped and traced a faint line near the floor. “I’ll have to check it out to make sure the renovation can move forward. The building might not be safe to renovate. We might be looking at a tear down and rebuild.”

  She squatted beside Bill and studied the lines that could make or break her project. A spider darted across the cracks, so many small cracks. This could not be good.

  “Jenna?”

  Her mind drifted to when the foundation of her heart had similarly cracked. Were any telltale hairline fractures from her past snaking up the walls she’d built?

  “Jenna? Did I lose you?” He touched her shoulder.

  She jerked and forced an awkward laugh. “It looks like the church survived an earthquake and by some miracle remained standing.”

  As she leaned in for a closer look, his clean woodsy scent filled her senses. His distinct maleness mingled with the lingering aroma of lemon-scented wood cleaner. The paralyzing and familiar smell of him sent her heart into palpitations. She stood, laying a weak hand over her chest, and took two strides toward the front of the room, refusing to concede to his nearness with quivers and faintness. Her stomach churned at her body’s betrayal. Had Parker taught her nothing?

  ~*~

  William fought the urge to smile. When Jenna knelt beside h
im, a small breath caught in her throat that told him far more than she wanted him to know. Something sent her scampering for space, and he bet it had nothing to do with the tiny spider scurrying along the crack in the wall. But just in case, he scooped up the offender and set him free in a few long strides.

  “Thanks.” Jenna smiled when he returned.

  “You’re welcome.” He didn’t buy her fainthearted, scared-of-a-spider act and suspected she knew it. His grin widened.

  When her hand went to her heart and lay there, limp, he moved into the closest pew, battling foreign feelings. A part of him was happy that his presence could still throw her emotions off balance, but another part worried that it pleased him so much. He shouldn’t care how she felt around him, but he did. How was Miss Independence going to deal with the sudden elephant in the room?

  “You can tell the people love their church.” Jenna turned her back to him and studied the adjacent wall.

  He sprawled across a pew much too small to hold his large frame and bit back a chuckle. Ignoring the elephant wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he could play along. “How can you tell?”

  “Look around you.” Jenna flung her arms wide and spun in a slow circle until she faced him. “Can’t you feel the atmosphere?” She folded her arms over her chest and gave herself a small squeeze. “The room practically sings love.”

  He didn’t know about the room, but he sure loved how she came alive as she spoke about the project. Breathing new life into castoffs seemed to invigorate her. Her clear excitement about the pending job almost made up for her lack of enthusiasm in collaborating with him. Almost.

  He gave the space another visual sweep. He didn’t get it.

  “Look around, Bill. The place is run down, but lovingly cared for.” Jenna pointed down at the hardwood then moved across the aisle to the window and swiped a finger across the windowsill. “It’s worn, but clean.”

  She strode toward the front of the room and pointed to an arrangement of flowers. “All this work and today isn’t even Sunday. Bill, it’s a well-loved building.”