Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters (18 page)

As Gabe was lowering the bucket with his tools to the ground, he noticed a long black car pulling into the driveway. A
limousine
? Was it finally time? This was the wrong neighborhood for a limo, unless it was about Mr. Will’s estate.

A man in a suit that probably cost more than Gabe’s whole wardrobe stepped out of the limo, carrying a briefcase. The man was middle-aged, his hair thinning but still with color, his tie bright red, shiny enough to be silk. The suit was Italian cut, in the latest style. But it wasn’t Mr. Will’s attorney . . . at least not the one he’d been introduced to last fall. Still, he probably was a lawyer. He remembered Mr. Will’s lessons about meeting new people.
Notice clothing always, Gabe. People speak through clothes. Listen to what they tell you. But remember–clothes do not make the man. Clothes are just words. The strength of the words is in the people.

“Excuse me!” He yelled the words up to be heard over the traffic and insects. “
Habla Ingles
? Are you Gabriel Silva?”

It made him chuckle as he unhooked his safety harness from the static line. Will Greene’s voice came into his head again.
No blinks, Gabe. Be firm, meet his eyes. No matter how you are dressed at the moment. Make your clothing.

He kept his gaze locked on the other man’s, taking his measure. He shouted back in reply. “Yes, I’m Gabriel, and I speak English.” With a little Cajun accent, which he had worked hard to perfect. It was likely why people used the French pronunciation of his name. It was a long way from a being teenager who arrived as a stowaway, who couldn’t speak anything but his native tongue. “But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t speak Spanish. I’m from Brazil. We speak Portugese.”

That made the man blink, which amused him. Dark skin didn’t automatically mean Mexican, especially in Louisiana. In fact, when he wasn’t working in the sun all the time, his skin was almost pale.  While the man was deciding what to say next, Gabe tested the ladder to make sure the feet hadn’t shifted. He really should attach a ladder to the wall to reach the roof. Maybe next year.

That was when he saw the shiny black stiletto heel slide out of the limo. The leg that followed was bare of hose, but the calf muscle said the woman was a runner or at least a fitness buff.

He watched while the rest of the woman exited the vehicle. She was wearing a pair of white capri pants and a sleeveless shirt. But what drew his attention was the summer hat, broad brimmed white with a patterned black and white ribbon. A gust of wind from the coming storm hit his back, nearly blowing him off the roof. It caught the hat and tried to pull it off her head. The hair underneath was the color of beach sand. She reached up to hold it on, and looked up. Their eyes met and her lips opened. It was the same expression. The very same. Gabe’s breath stilled at the same moment his heart started to race.

It was her. The woman in the photograph.

~*~

“I
t’s just around the next corner, Miss Greene.”

Sophie nodded, not really listening to the lawyer, instead spending her time looking out the window to get a feel for the neighborhood. Despite his age, the man in the nice suit across from her was just an associate, and she’d only just met him. She’d expected her grandfather’s regular attorney, one of the partners in the most exclusive law firm in town, to be the one to accompany her today. She’d been a little disappointed that he’d pushed the meeting off on someone else—especially since she’d made an appointment. Well, okay, that was a lie. She wasn’t a little disappointed, she was a lot pissed.

“I still don’t understand why we have to drive to the location before signing the paperwork, Mr. Bandy. I’ve seen pictures and my grandfather told me the motel was well maintained. I’m also a little confused why Seth wasn’t in the office for our appointment.”

The attorney gave an apologetic shrug and tapped one finger on the armrest of the broad seat. She couldn’t tell whether the gesture  was from impatience or nervousness.  “His trial yesterday ran over. The Judge insisted on another day to finish. He had to cancel all appointments. But since you were coming from out of town, he asked me to fill in. Visiting the site beforehand was requested by your grandfather. We’re simply ensuring his instructions are complied with.”

Really? That was interesting. Well, Grandpa Will did tend toward the dramatic. He liked to put on a show.
Okay, I’ll let this play out. See what he wanted me to see.
“Very well. Thank you for following his wishes, then.”

He dipped his head and nodded, just as the car turned and bounced over a curb. She looked out the heavily tinted windows. The Starlight Motel apparently hadn’t changed much from when it was built, likely in the late sixties. The tall sign bore a striking resemblance to the old Stardust Casino sign in Las Vegas. The hotel was painted the same shade of blue as the bottom of public swimming pools. It wasn’t a bad color for the building style. The white trim was clean and she didn’t spot a single bit of rust staining around the soffets or drain pipes. She’d have to check the room interiors, but so far, she was liking what she saw. A little dated, but that was easily fixed.
I’ll have to keep on the maintenance people after I take title to the property.

When the limo came to a stop, Mr. Bandy stepped out and called to a person on the roof. The words were muffled from the soundproofing of the limo and Sophie couldn’t see who he was speaking to from her angle inside the wide back seat. She scooted to the door and put out one leg. Walking in heels didn’t come naturally to her. So she had to test the ground with her foot before she was willing to put her weight on it. Man what she wouldn’t give to be back in her work boots. But the law office appointment demanded certain social norms. The capris were at least pants, but of the upper-class-acceptable kind that Grandpa’s attorney was accustomed to seeing. Sophie had to at least pretend she was part of the Greene empire, that she fit into the family she was born to, even though she’d always felt like an outsider. As far as her siblings were concerned, she might as well have been adopted as an adult. She shared nothing in common with Beatrice (Bunny to her friends) or Trevor or Milton. She worked with her—ugh!—
hands
, and had no servants to speak of. Only Grandpa connected with her. Only he
got
who she really was.

She missed him terribly.

Whatever the man had said took Mr. Bandy by surprise. He was trying to come up with a response. She looked up and caught the eyes of the man standing there. One muscled arm was holding onto the top of an extension ladder and the sun glinted off the hardware on his safety belt. His pale blue eyes drilled through her. Holy mother of all that was good. He was
real
. The man in the photograph from Grandpa’s office wasn’t an image from the past, as she’d long believed. He was a living, breathing man. The wind from the coming storm pulled at his sweat-soaked work shirt, as though even the elements wanted to free the rippling muscles she knew lay underneath.

Oh, that picture. Two years ago that it had appeared on Grandpa Will’s shelf next to his desk. She’d been drawn to it immediately. Grandpa Will was a skilled photographer. He changed out his photos often, so she looked around each time she visited. The way he managed to catch light and shadows was nothing short of mastery. He could take an old homeless woman sitting outside a grocery store and turn her into a goddess of a by-gone era that people would pay money to see.

It had been such a simple photo—just an ordinary workman taking a break. But the light in the black and white print caught the water in the bottle he had to his lips, touched the hammer held loosely, comfortably, in his other hand. Made them shine like divine instruments. His eyes were closed, taking in the sheer pleasure of cool water, while sweat left his body in rivulets down his bare chest. She’d had to touch the photo to prove that the drips of sweat weren’t really moving. “Who is he?” she remembered asking Grandpa.

Grandpa Will had just smiled, sitting behind his desk in his tailored suit, looking every inch the billionaire he was. “That’s the man who taught me everything I know about what’s real and important.”

Sophie had imagined he was someone from Grandpa’s youth, a fellow entrepreneur who had started out an empire working long summer days in the hot sun. Grandpa had noticed when she couldn’t take her eyes off the picture. He’d offered it to her to take home and she’d agreed. It was just a small snapshot, so he sent her the image by email and she’d had it blown up to a twenty by forty and framed it. She imagined him to be the workman of the Greek gods—Hephaestus’s younger, sexier brother. Any number of visitors to the motel she managed in Texas for her Grandpa had offer to purchase it for the art that it was. But she couldn’t sell it. In her mind, it would taint it somehow. The beauty, the power, couldn’t be owned . . . or controlled.

She blinked and realized she was watching his body. What would he think of her for staring so long? This wasn’t a photo. It was a person. But her staring had made him smile. His eyes raked her body from high above. Knowing; raw. It startled her and her eyes dropped to the ground, suddenly uncomfortable.

Sophie felt abruptly overheated and heavy in the still air. The wind had stopped completely, as though waiting, ready to pounce. Even Mr. Bandy noticed. “Are you feeling well?”

“It’s the heat,” she lied weakly. “I should get out of the sun.”

Bandy’s brow was beaded with sweat and dark stains were appearing under his dark suit jacket. He nodded. “I agree. We can wait for Mr. Silva in the office.” He waved his hand and pointed to the clearly labeled door. “We’ll meet you inside.”

Sophie followed him hurriedly, trying to keep from looking at the workman. His name was Silva. He had a
name
. It was disconcerting. Her heart started to pound for no good reason. Maybe it
was
the heat.

The blast of chilled air that hit her when the attorney opened the door took her breath away. Her eyes sought out the temperature controller on the wall, safely locked inside a plexiglass box so guests didn’t fiddle with it.
Seventy-four? Really? It feels like sixty.
Her mind was working on what her eyes were seeing versus what her body was feeling, when the door opened behind her. The heat from outside hit her like a blast furnace, so maybe she really was having symptoms of heat stroke. She turned her head instinctively. Mr. Silva was standing there, taking up the entire doorway. He’d taken off the patterned head scarf to reveal the same damp, curly hair as in her picture. But his eyes weren’t closed now and the intensity in them made her whole body shiver. There was no denying he was staring at her, almost as though he recognized her from somewhere.

Mr. Bandy spoke, and it startled her. “Is there somewhere we can all sit down?”

All? “Is there a reason why we need to
all
speak?”

Silva spoke up, his voice a low tenor, nearly a baritone. It was the voice she’d imagined he had. He stepped a little closer. The breeze from the vent blew the scent of clean sweat, a grassy cologne and roofing cement toward her. She knew she was strange, but the smell of roof tar was like heaven. “Yes, I would like to know this as well. May I ask for an introduction?”

Bandy blinked, as though confused. “I’m sorry. I presumed you knew each other, since you both held the same position at Mr. Greene’s hotels and . . . well, his LastWill being what it is.”

That made Sophie look at Silva again and then at Mr. Bandy. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. I’m just here to inspect the property and look over the accounting before I take over the hotel.”

That made Silva laugh. “Before
you
take over the hotel? I’m afraid you’re confused, Miss. The Starlight belongs to
me
.”

Now Bandy looked truly nervous. “Oh, my. I wasn’t aware that Seth hadn’t discussed the terms of the Will with you both.” He looked around the room. “Are we alone here? Can we lock the front door for a moment?”

Silva made a low little growl and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He locked the door and then strode firmly behind the desk, taking a position across from them—the wooden reception desk giving him an edge of authority. “So tell me. Will Greene made it very clear when we visited Seth Goodman’s office that he was leaving this motel to me.”

Sophie felt her back straighten. Handsome or not, this was her inheritance and she wasn’t giving it up easily. “And he told me the same thing, in the same place. We signed papers. Did you?”

Those eyes turned to her, now glittering with barely suppressed anger. “We did.” They both turned, nearly simultaneously, to the attorney. “Let me read the Will.”

Bandy’s tone was apologetic when he spoke. “I didn’t bring a copy with me. I presumed you’d already read it. But I do have with me letters for both of you, written by Mr. Greene before he passed.” He reached into the side pocket of his briefcase and pulled out two of the wide parchment envelopes she recognized well. They were definitely from the stock in his office, larger than a regular envelope. Grandpa had liked that people could always pick out his letters when he mailed them, even if he had to put extra postage on every letter.

Dearest Sophie
. She ran her fingers over the ink, feeling the deep impression Grandpa’s Waterman pen always left in the paper. She heard as Silva opened his own envelope and began to read. Her note was short but left her stunned.

Sophie, please forgive me for leading you a little astray. I know I promised you the Starlight, but I promised it to Gabe too. I’d like to say it was a weak moment when I did, but it wasn’t. I truly think either of you would run it well. But you have very different visions for it and I would ask that you keep an open mind. If you haven’t read my Will, there’s a restriction against selling your half, except to Gabe,  for 5 years. He is likewise restricted. So, please—work together, for my sake. You’ve managed, but never owned. Nor has he. I’ve taught you both all I can, but some things you’ll have to learn first hand. Teach him the things he couldn’t learn from me. Remember what I told you about him. Trust me. Love, Grandpa.