The Best Part of Me (5 page)

She grabbed her coat and turned abruptly, her ponytail swinging behind her as she walked out of the small barroom to the front door of the restaurant. Ewan's eyes slid down her back to her ass. There wasn't much of one there, but whatever she did have looked good in her tight jeans.

He heard the front door slam shut and watched as she looked both ways before crossing the street. Quinn held her jacket above her head to keep from getting rained on. She stopped at an old black Honda that was parallel parked on the opposite side of the road, yanked open the driver's side door, and slid in. The headlights came on as she started the ignition. Her left turn signal blinked, and she slowly pulled out of her parking spot right before she put on her brakes to let a couple of girls with the world's tiniest umbrella cross the street in front of her.

So it wasn't his imagination the other night, the woman did have claws.

But she also had goodness underneath that temper of hers. Ewan bet she never exceeded the speed limit or made an illegal no-turn-on-red right turn either. She probably drank eight glasses of water a day, flossed her teeth every night, and said prayers before every meal.

In other words, she was everything he wasn't.

She strived for excellence, while he strived for anonymity. Her world was sunshine, rainbows, and yellow sweaters. His reality was a dark pub, long hours, and the never-ending smell of stale ale. Even that ugly bruise around her eye did nothing to mar her vitality.

As he looked across the street to see another car try to parallel park into the space Quinn had vacated, he remembered the way her eyes had flared when she suggested he pull his head out of his ass.

And then he actually did smile.

It was midmorning and she was already sweating. Since when did it start to get this hot in New England in early May?

Quinn dropped a cooler full of ice and bottled water on the ground beside the porch.

As promised, Mr. Sheen from the lumber mill had dropped off her cedar the night before, so she was all ready to start putting the posts in for her pergola. It was a good thing too, because it'd been dry all week, and they were calling for sunny skies and warm temperatures the next couple days. Her cement would be set in no time.

So far her week was moving right on schedule. After her trip to the antique store on Sunday to get the two gas lanterns she'd found online (and the regretful incident in the West End Public House), she'd started the cleanup of the garden shed. It was an utter mess, but she'd already decided it would be her favorite project in the entire backyard. With a little love, it was going to be a quaint little house perfect for potting and storing all her aunt's outdoor tools.

The faux gas lanterns were made for the shed and added the perfect amount of rustic appeal to the English cottage style design. Apparently, her uncle had built it for her aunt as a present over a decade ago, knowing how much her aunt loved to garden. Over the years, it had fallen into disrepair. But once Quinn got done with it, it would be perfect.

It was halfway done, but with the delivery of the lumber, she had to temporarily abandon the shed to concentrate on the pergola. She stood over the pile of wood trying to come up with a plan. The pieces were immensely heavy, and getting them to each of the holes she'd dug the previous week was going to be tough. Not to mention getting them to stay vertical long enough to pour cement around them.

She decided that she would haul each post next to a hole and leave it there. After putting on her gloves, she picked up the end of the nearest post and began to drag it. Her arms and back muscles strained, and her hands kept slipping around the dense wood. She'd gotten halfway to the hole when she lost her grip and fell right on her ass. After dusting herself off, she started pulling again. Finally, she got it where she needed it and dropped it.

Dear Lord, this was going to break her back. She might have to do half the holes today and the other half tomorrow. After her third attempt at the second post, she reached the hole and threw it down.

“Shit,” she hissed as the post barely missed her right foot.

“Did you just say
shit
?”

Quinn looked up to find Ewan standing next to her woodpile.

There were some people in this world who were blessed with good looks. Some of these people did things that made them worthy of such a blessing. Surgeons who saved lives. Social workers who helped children who'd lost their way. Teachers who instilled a sense of self-worth into their students.

Then there were the people who seemed to be shit human beings yet they still walked around looking as scrumptious as a shiny red apple. Defense attorneys who knew beyond a reasonable doubt that their defendants were guilty but fought to get them acquitted anyway. Sleazy politicians who had mistresses at every campaign stop. Acquisition managers who didn't lose any sleep at night after putting hundreds of hardworking people out of work.

At this point, knowing what little Quinn knew of Ewan McKenna, she'd lump him into the latter category.

Dressed simply in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, he was gorgeous. He was a mix between classic James Dean and enticing, come-hither Colin Farrell, and it was impossible not to hold her breath when her eyes locked on to him initially. Too bad his attitude couldn't match his looks.

She was bent over with her hands on her knees trying to recover from overexertion. When she was able to stand back up, she made her way over to grab the next post. She was curious as to why he'd grace her with his presence but decided to ignore him.

She took a deep breath and pulled up the next board. She started to back away with it, when she lost her grip.

“Need help?” he asked casually.

She pulled in an angry breath through her nose as she bent to pick up the post. So that was why he was there: to tease her.

“No, I don't need your help.”

“It looks like you need some help.” His calm Irish brogue danced through her head like a pesky butterfly.

She glared at him. “I didn't say I didn't need help. I don't need
your
help.”

Ewan watched her struggle with the wood. After a minute, he walked over to the porch and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“I won't change my mind, so you might as well leave.”

Despite the warning, the idiot just sat there watching her. She felt his eyes lingering on her as she struggled, and it made her nerves tingle. Quinn tried to shake out her arms before they began to cramp up. She picked up the post again and this time was able to make it near the hole before dropping it.

Three down, nine to go.

All with an audience apparently.

After ten minutes, she'd placed one more post. She was about to collapse where she stood, and it took nearly all her effort just to walk to the cooler. After grabbing a bottle, she groaned as the cold water poured down her throat.

“How's it going?” Ewan asked from his position in the shade. Looking comfortable and relaxed, he was leaning up against the side of the house with his hands in his lap.

“Fine, thanks,” she said through clenched teeth. She was one post away from having a heart attack, but she wasn't about to let him know.

Finally her curiosity got the better of her. “Why are you here exactly? I'm sure you have much better things to do than to watch me kill myself with manual labor.”

“I dropped something off for your cousin.”

Quinn shook her head. “And what are you still doing here?”

Ewan tilted his head, regarding her quietly before he answered, “I wanted to see how long you'd make it before you quit being stubborn and let me help you.”

She took another swallow of the ice-cold water. “Wouldn't helping someone be counterproductive to your existence? I mean, helping is an act of kindness. I thought you were resolved to being a dick.”

She could have sworn she saw amusement in his eyes, but his mouth was still set in a straight line. He shrugged as he stood and pushed away from the house. “I guess I woke up on the right side of the bed this morning.”

He'd probably gotten laid or something. Well, thank heavens for small favors. Whoever he'd bedded down with last night had really taken one for the team.

I'm sure he made it worth her while…

Quinn shook the thought out of her head. “Oh, wait, let me guess. If you don't help me and I end up smashing my hand between two of these immensely heavy posts, I wouldn't be able to wrap my hand around a pint of beer and spend my money in your pub?”

He walked toward her, looking all indifferently perfect. When he stopped in front of her, she had to tilt her head pretty far back to maintain eye contact. He practically blocked out the sun.

“You could always use a straw.”

She blinked in surprise. “Did you just make a
joke
?”

The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. She wouldn't call it a smile, but it was getting closer to a real human emotion resembling amusement. She couldn't help herself; she started to laugh. Maybe it was the heat or the fact that her body was defying physics by still remaining upright, but she got the distinct impression he was extending an olive branch.

She meant to toss her empty water bottle into the cooler, but her twitching and spent arm muscles refused to cooperate. The bottle missed by a mile.

“Really, Ewan,” she started as she bent down to grab the next post. “I got this—”

A pair of big hands beat her to it. Ewan hefted the post over his shoulder and carried it to the next hole. Quinn wanted to say something. She really did. But she didn't even care at that point, because it meant she wouldn't have to move those last boards herself.

She stood next to the woodpile, watching him go back and forth. If sex were a living thing with arms and legs, if it could breathe, eat, and talk, then it surely would look like Ewan McKenna.

Quinn had never seen anything quite so wonderful as Ewan strolling across the yard doing manual labor. She was seeing everything in slow motion, the way he lifted each piece of wood as if it weighed nothing at all. Every time he turned around from dropping a post in place, he would wipe his big, strong hands on his faded jeans that hugged his toned thighs. He had defined muscles in all the right places. The flat plane of his chest showed clearly through his thin white T-shirt. His shoulders were broad and strong, and every time he reached down to pick up another post, the short sleeves of his shirt would ride up to reveal his straining biceps.

But his butt—oh, God, his butt—was his pièce de résistance.

It really wasn't fair. She was completely depleted, drained of all energy, and her mental commentary of Ewan's picture-perfect body was not helping her catch her breath.

“What's next?”

Quinn snapped out of her trance in time to see Ewan standing before her with his hands on his hips. He wasn't even sweating. Giving in to defeat, she exhaled slowly. “We have to pour cement into the holes so we can set the posts.”

Ewan nodded and grabbed one of the bags of cement mix and dumped it in a nearby bucket Quinn had dragged out from the garden shed. Quinn used the hose to fill the bucket once Ewan had poured out half the bag. She picked up the handheld cement mixer she'd rented from the supply store. Ewan took it from her shaking hands and mixed the cement himself.

“You seem to know what you're doing. Have you done anything like this before?” she asked over the loud hum of the power mixer.

“I've poured cement before if that's what you're asking. But I've never built a pergola.”

She nodded slowly, watching as he mixed the cement.

Moving quickly and efficiently, he placed the first post in the hole and used a level to make sure it was exactly vertical.

“Can you hold this post?” he asked her.

Quinn nodded and dragged her feet to where he stood. Their fingers touched for a moment when he handed over the post. She looked up and found him watching her with a troubled expression.

“You gonna make it?”

She slowly nodded her head, entranced by his indigo eyes. Up close, he wasn't so scary. He might act like he couldn't care less, but his eyes told a different story. There was an intensity in them that should have scared her, but instead she found herself falling into them. Literally.

She suddenly realized he was gripping her shoulders to hold her upright. Embarrassed, she straightened and held the post.

“Sorry,” she muttered, taking the level from where he had it pinned under his arm. She held it up to the wood and leveled it. “We better get that cement poured before it sets.”

He turned and hefted the bucket of wet cement and filled the hole around the post. They worked quickly and quietly, setting all twelve posts in a quarter of the time it would have taken Quinn to do it on her own. In fact, she knew there was no way she could have done it on her own.

It was past lunchtime, and an afternoon nap was probably in the cards. She grabbed two water bottles and handed one to Ewan.

“Are you hungry? Can I make you a sandwich or something?”

He unscrewed the cap and shook his head as he drank.

“Thanks for your help today. I really appreciate it.”

“Don't mention it.”

“You're quite good with this manual labor stuff, you know. You have steady hands. I bet you'd be great in landscape or construction.”

“I'm not much for the outdoors. I prefer dark, musty barrooms,” he replied. There was humor in his eyes even though it didn't turn into a smile.

“I love the outdoors, probably from the millions of camping trips my parents took me on when I was little. I could probably live in a tent if I needed to.”

“I've been camping three times in my entire life and that was three times too many.”

“You probably don't hike either?”

He shook his head.

“You don't know what you're missing.” She smiled.