The Carpenter's Daughter (11 page)

I swallowed. “No.”             

Her eyes moved from me to Jesse and then back again.

“Sarah lives in Minden.” Jesse shifted from one foot to the other and then took a small step away from Laine. “She’s a framer. Her dad owns a contracting business, and she’s volunteering with us this weekend.”

Laine, who had kept her focus glued to him, glanced back to me with subtle relief. “Oh. How nice.” A bright smile spread over her face as she returned her attention to Jesse. “So, do you want to meet Sophie?”

And that’s my cue.
I turned away on my clompy boots and wandered across the grass. How long did I need to stay before my departure wouldn’t be deemed rude?

Jesse

Another miscalculation. Two actually. I should have taken Sarah out to that Texas barbecue place downtown.

She’d come to some wrong conclusions. So had Laine. How had I landed in the middle of this pickle jar? See? I got women about as well as I comprehended math.

“This”—Laine reemerged from her parents’ home with a bundle wrapped in soft pink—“is Sophie.”

Now what? I glanced across the yard and tried not to gulp. No wonder Sarah had skittered away. She probably hated me right about now. Thought I’d drug her here to make her feel awkward and dumb. Maybe even assumed the little bundle of life cooing in Laine’s arms was mine.

Nausea turned in my stomach.

Dragging my attention back to Laine, I focused on her four-month-old daughter. “She’s beautiful.”

It was true. Little Sophie Fulton had her mother’s light complexion and blue eyes. A bunny-soft tuft of brown hair covered her tiny head. A genetic trait I would guess originated with her lousy father, though I couldn’t say for sure, because I’d never met the guy.

My fists balled at my side as my thoughts passed over the man who’d left this baby girl without a daddy. Miserable excuse for a man.

“Would you like to hold her?” The baby was already against my chest before Laine finished the question.

I liked kids. Shane’s girls were some of my favorite people in the world. But this was awkward. My eyes drifted back to the corner of the yard where Sarah had retreated, near the big lilac bushes that marked the property boundary. Mack had found her and stood talking to her. Probably in an attempt to keep her off the roof.
Bless him.

“She likes you, Jess.” Laine’s smile softened her voice.

With a small inhale, I refocused on the tiny scrap of a girl in my arms. She studied me, her mouth moving. I grinned as she pushed a fist into her mouth. I did like kids, and this one didn’t deserve the life that was thrust upon her.

“Have you figured out what you’ll do?” I kept my gaze on Sophie, tracing her face with my index finger.

“No.” Laine’s voice dipped, and I could feel her sag at my side. “Stay with Mom and Dad for now. That’s all I know.” She brushed her daughter’s downy head and then rested her fingers on my arm. “I’m still praying for a miracle, I guess.”

I chanced a connection of our eyes, which I shouldn’t have. She wasn’t talking about her ex-fiancé’s return. At all.

Darting away from her implication, I studied the baby again—because what else was I supposed to do? Involuntarily, I pondered Laine’s implication. Two months ago, I honestly might have considered her unvoiced plea. Because I didn’t think innocent children should pay for their DNA donors’ irresponsibility. And I did like Laine. She was a nice girl who got herself tangled up with the wrong kind of man. But now…

I sought a glimpse of Sarah. Still hiding out by the bushes, she didn’t even make eye contact with Mack while they talked. I imagined the conversation was about as fluid as a dry creek bed during a three-month drought. That boat just don’t float.

I’d pushed her alone out into the desert. Man, I was such an idiot.

What was my deal with this girl? I’d literally bumped into her, and in the three weeks’ time of simply knowing she existed, something in me had changed.

Sophie squirmed, and I looked down in time to see offense contort her little face. Her bottom lip quivered as a squall erupted from her belly.

“I think she wants her mama.” I shifted to hand her back, careful to minimize contact with Laine. I’d already managed to plant ideas I didn’t intend. Didn’t need to water them too.

Laine pressed Sophie against her shoulder and placed a kiss near her miniature ear. “She’s a good baby. We had shots yesterday, though.”

I smiled but leaned a tad backward. “All babies cry, so I’m told. No worries. I’m not offended.”

With her eyes glued to me, I couldn’t miss the hope in Laine’s stare. Oh heavens. What had I done? And what did I do now? My throat went dry, and I tried to clear it.

I guessed the silence gave Laine the answer she didn’t want. Her posture drooped as her look fell to the deck. “I should take Sophie in. She’s due a bottle.” Her steps were heavy as she covered the distance back to the house.

Wasn’t I the biggest jerk? If women had thought bubbles drifting over their heads, I would have been a lot better off. And so would they. I lifted my hat and pushed a hand through my hair. How had I not seen this coming?

Sarah was planted by the shrubs, alone. Mack had gone to fill his plate. Good thing I didn’t hope for more than friendship with her. One blind step and I’d shot any chance for more to…Antarctica. Tugging my hat snug down to my burning ears, I stepped down from the deck and headed to her side.

“Whatchya doing here by yourself?”
Brilliant, Jess. Make her feel like the unidentifiable spare part and then ask why she’d run off on her own.

Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know anyone.”

“Not gonna either, standing twenty feet from everybody.” Did I sound like Dr. Phil? I felt like one of those annoying sports analysts who could only ever say why a particular athlete would
not
be successful. Total jerk.

Her single short glance told me her thoughts ran right alongside the same path.

“I’m not really that hungry.” She started moving toward the back gate. “And I’m actually pretty tired. I’m gonna go.”

“Wait, Sapphira.” I tugged on her arm, and she stopped. I glanced to my hands and drew a lungful of air. “I’m sorry. I know that was really awkward. I didn’t expect… Anyway, I’m sorry. Laine and I have known each other for two years. She was supposed to get married last May, but two weeks before the wedding, she caught him cheating. She called it off, and he left. She discovered she was pregnant a couple of months later.”

Sarah listened without a show of emotion. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Jesse. This isn’t my thing, and I still have those plans to look over.”

I readied a grin as I searched for something…charming? Hold up
.
Had I been manipulating her? I shoved my hands into my pockets as my shoulders slumped. “Can I walk you back?”

“The town’s not that big. I can find my way.” She started off again and then stopped. Her head bent forward, and I saw a sigh roll off her shoulders. “Will they think I’m rude?”

Good work, Jess.
“No.” I took two steps toward her. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

She nodded but remained motionless. Like she needed me to let her off the ledge I’d hung her on.

“See you tomorrow, carpenter-girl?”

Her head tipped back, and she studied me, and once again emotion cleared from her expression. “Framing’s done. No changes to the floor plan. I’m not needed.”

Not a very promising answer. “Roof’s still got work.”

“I’m pretty sure you can handle it.” Without another breath, she left me standing in stupid dismay.

I stared after her for who knows how long. Next thing I knew, Mack was next to me, his rough chuckle rumbling low in his chest.

“Kind of funny to see you squirm, Chapman.”

I glared at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

He let that laugh loose out in the open. “Didn’t even see it coming, did you?”

“Did you?”

“You’re too nice, boy.” He shook his head. “Young ladies and their mamas see you in all your sainthood and start looking for a preacher. You’re caught blindsided.”

True. Except the sainthood part. I was exasperatingly ignorant with the rest though. “Could have warned me.”

“You’re too busy trying to calculate the Sarah Sharpe equation.”

I blew out a breath. “I’m not calculating anything. Just trying to figure her out.”

Mack’s laugh bellowed across the yard. A moment later, I heard what I’d said and snickered. It was funny.

Except what I’d done to Sarah today wasn’t so amusing.

“Look, Mack. Don’t be making a thing out of this, okay? Sarah’s…” Sarah was what, exactly? A mystery I needed to solve? A wounded creature I thought I needed to fix? A woman I was compelled toward?

Yes. But no to the last part. Because it couldn’t be like that.

“You be careful with that one.” Mack crossed his arms and took a step closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s not the kind that’ll bounce back, if you know what I mean.”

I wanted to pretend that I didn’t. “That’s not where I’m going with her.”

“Right.” One eyebrow quirked up, and Mack held a long look on my face. “You’re not good at this, Jesse, so trust me on this one. Your head and your heart aren’t agreeing with each other, and someone’s going to get hurt. I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay. But that carpenter girl—”

“No one’s getting hurt.” I scowled, holding Mack’s stare for two more breaths before I strode away.

Something was definitely wrong with me.

Sarah

I thought going home would fix everything. Too bad I couldn’t develop some kind of selective amnesia. I’d forget the weekend, along with this frustrating quest that nagged me every single waking moment.

Who am I? And is that who I want to be?

Questions I couldn’t answer. Answers I needed to find.

I was going crazy. The only way to make this Ferris wheel stop was to nail down that solution.

Jesse Chapman had only complicated everything.

Logic hadn’t weighed down that fanciful daydream I didn’t want to admit to replaying. A lot. The one where he noticed me as a woman, not just as a carpenter with a fast hammer.

Where logic had failed, Laine had stepped in. Pretty, feminine, and very noticeable. Nothing like me.

Pop. Good-bye, daydream. Hello, reality.

I had packed up as soon as I got to the hotel. Figure that—paid for one night’s stay and stayed for less than a day. Waste of time. Waste of money. Waste of foolish emotion. Maybe that’d teach me.

Or not. Because apparently I couldn’t voluntarily develop amnesia, and Jesse’s green eyes and smile wouldn’t budge from my stubborn imagination. Home fixed nothing.

Maybe work would. I buried myself in some files.

Dad was still working in Kearney. I’d been there for three days earlier in the week, installing Sheetrock after we got the building dried in. We hung the drywall abnormally fast, and then I didn’t have anything to do because the electrician hadn’t finished the second half of the building. I could’ve gone back and mudded what I’d already installed, but it made more sense to do it all at once.

A whole day to do nothing but think. No thank you.

I shuffled through Dad’s upcoming projects, selected a medium bid—a renovation of an old main-street hotel in Aurora—and opened the project file. Clearing the abandoned space would take some time. The three-story brick building had been left to decay for four decades. Some would see the neglect and call it hopeless.

Jesse wouldn’t.

Yuck. Go away.

I studied the project proposal. The plans weren’t complicated. Most of the interior walls would remain the same. They’d need stripped to the bones to update the electrical and plumbing and then resupported, but the new design maintained most of the original integrity.

It was a job I could take on. With a small crew, I could do it. Without Dad.

My pulse leapt into overdrive, and my fingers tingled. I’d never stepped out on my own. Not for anything bigger than installing a new floor for a local homeowner. Dad had never asked me to, never hinted that he wanted me to. But perhaps that was because I wasn’t one to put myself on a ledge, so to speak.

I’d led a crew of amateurs on Saturday. Got the job done. Granted, setting walls for a cracker-box house wasn’t the same as taking on a whole renovation, but…

I closed the file. My head had been full of dumb ideas. Time to stay on the firm ground of reality.

Leaning back in my desk chair, I stared out the square window across our shared office. I had a material order to submit. Time cards to calculate. Paychecks to print. Lots of stuff to do.

I shifted my weight forward and propped my arms on my desk. My laptop sat open, waiting for me to become productive. Catching my reflection in the screen, I stared at the girl looking back at me. She had dark-blue eyes shaded by a sweat-stained old hat.

I peeled the hat off, and my hair fell forward. I ran my fingers through the almost black strands, shaking them at their roots. Didn’t help much. Maybe a shower would.

With one decisive motion, I pushed from the desk and stood. Payroll could wait—I had nothing else to do with the rest of the afternoon anyway. My long strides took me out the door and to my truck. In less than five minutes I’d driven the ten blocks from our steel building where we worked to our little bungalow where we lived. No. Slept, and sometimes ate. I didn’t have a life.

Steam drifted around me as I washed with my drugstore-brand shampoo. After removing the dirt and grease from my hair, I shut the water off and towel dried myself. Clothing next. What should I wear? I hadn’t worn more than three articles of my new clothing since I’d gone shopping with Darcy.

I found the overstuffed bag of new duds on my closet floor right where I’d thrown it after that trip. With a quick shove of my hand, I grabbed the first bundle of fabric available and tugged it free. Some kind of pants. I snipped the tag off and stepped into the legs. My nose wrinkled. Were they supposed to reach only three inches below my knees?

Standing half dressed in the middle of my brown-and-blue room, I rewound my mind back to the shopping trip. Had I tried these things on?

Yep. Darcy called them adorable, and not pants. Cappers? Capers? Capris. She’d called them capris. Who knew clothing could be technical?

Okeydokey. Bottom was covered. I giggled. Puns always amused me.

Next contestant. My hand disappeared into the plastic bag and reemerged with something pink. Pink? I actually bought something pink? Holding it by a seam, I let gravity unroll it. A shirt. Blouse. Something.

“You wear it on top,” I mumbled to myself, and then I pushed the neckhole over my head. Arms next, and then it draped over my waistband. And now I was dressed. How ’bout that? Same process—almost—I went through every morning. With a pivot on the ball of my foot, I pulled my closet door open to find the full-length mirror that had been in my room when we’d moved in some twenty years ago.

Whoa. Not the same result I got every morning. The startled woman in the mirror snapped her mouth shut and took another pass over my new duds. Huh. I didn’t look nearly as manly in
pink
.

I grinned as warmth lined my chest. I ignored the image of Jesse’s smile.

My gaze settled on my face. I didn’t have Laine’s peaches-and-cream complexion. But my eyes were blue. A quick spin away from the mirror, a few small steps to the bathroom, and an easy rummage through the sink drawer produced the small bag of makeup that had sat untouched for three weeks.

I focused on my eyes, because that was all I could remember. After smudging a charcoal pencil over my eyelids, I brushed my lashes with inky black liquid. I couldn’t help staring into the mirror.

Sapphira.

What would he think?

I didn’t care—much. I was stunned. It took a small hunt to find my blow-dryer, but after five minutes of hot air, a careful combing, and a couple of failed bobby-pin placements, I did another personal inspection.

Couldn’t be me.

But it was.

Maybe I could take on that renovation. That woman in the mirror may just have more in her than I’d imagined.

***

“Sarah?” Dad’s voice boomed from the back door. “Are you home?”

Oh no. What time was it? I hadn’t done my paperwork. Guess it’d be a late night.

Biting my bottom lip, I glanced back to the mirror. What was I doing?

“Sarah?”

I swallowed. “Yeah, I’m here. Hang on a sec.”

I searched the bathroom, suddenly frantic. Sweats? Jeans? A baggy shirt? Nope. Towels. Nothing to put over my girly-clad body but towels. That would be ridiculous. I sucked in a lungful of air. It didn’t make me brave.

I turned the knob on the door and shuffled a timid exit into the hall.

“Are you sick?” Dad hadn’t rounded the corner from the kitchen yet.

“No.”

After stepping into the hall, he froze. Except his eyes, which inspected me head to toe. Shock. Then confusion. And finally…anger?

“What are you doing?” he barked.

My throat swelled as heat flooded my face. “I needed a shower.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you wearing?”

My gulp didn’t clear that painful lump. “Clothes?”

His jaw worked back and forth, and then his Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice dropped to a low snarl. “What’s on your face?”

I couldn’t look at him anymore. Staring at the floor, I blinked against the hot wetness in my eyes.

“What are you trying to do?”

I swallowed as betrayal saturated me. I was a daddy’s girl. Didn’t look like one—because I looked butch—but I was. His opinion, or in this case, disapproval, sank into me like a nail into soft wood.

“Nothing, Dad.” I squared my shoulders, because good posture projected a good image, a hard worker. Dad said so. But I couldn’t look him in the eye.

He began to turn away and then stopped. “Is this what Darcy told you to do?” He scowled as he scratched the rough hairs on his chin. “Did she say you needed to turn into”—he stopped, his eyes grazing my appearance—“into Barbie?”

From butch to Barbie. That was quite a leap. “No.”

He’d been the one to call Aunt Darcy, told her what happened at Subway and probably begged her to take me shopping. Where was this hypocrisy coming from?

Boldness streaked through my chest, and I tipped my chin until our eyes met. “No. Darcy didn’t tell me to change on the outside. She said what mattered was inside. But I don’t feel right inside.”

His jaw worked as his dark eyebrows hooded his eyes. “Why? Sarah, we have a good life. What is it you want? A boyfriend? Catcalls at work?” He jammed a hand through his hair and then flung it into the air. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

Me neither. Thanks for the help.

I often wondered if my mother had a soft, submissive kind of personality that finally got worn out. My quiet, take-it-as-it-comes approach to life didn’t come from my dad. But at that moment, the brazen tell-it-like-it-is Sharpe trait came rolling to the front and started growing like Jack’s beanstalk in the moonlight. “Look, you sent me to Omaha. You sent me to shop. I’m a grown woman, Dad. You can’t expect me to cower and comply every time you scowl. At twenty-one, I’m plenty old enough to wear makeup. And if I want to paint my nails, what’s it to you? ’Bout time I figure out who I am, and if you don’t like it, you can look the other way.”

“You think you’re going to find who you are in a bottle of face paint?” His voice inched up in volume with every syllable. “Good gravy, Sarah, if you don’t know who you are before you paint your face, how do you expect to find yourself in a costume?”

“A costume?” I shouted back. “Maybe flannel and boots have been my costume all these years. You made me into who you wanted. Probably the son you didn’t get. But maybe I’m not who you hoped.”

“At the moment, I’m pretty sure you’re right.” An angry stare held mine, and then his features softened. Not with regret, but with something much worse. “The last thing I wanted was for you to turn into
her
.”

The blow came hard, splintered with scorn.

***

I didn’t know what people did in flights of fury—hadn’t had one before. Sure, I’d been mad before, but not like this, and not usually with my dad. So I stormed out of the house, yanked my pickup door open, and climbed in. After jamming my keys in the ignition, the diesel rumbled to life, and I shifted into reverse.

Evidently I was going somewhere.

In a town where there was more livestock than people, options were limited. Bowling. The Pioneer Museum, which was closed. The Circle K corner store. And The Crossing, which was the bar across the tracks. I took the last selection.

I’d been there a few times with my dad and Uncle Dan. They’d knock back a couple of beers, and I’d nurse a “fruity chick drink,” as they put it, and we’d share a couple of baskets of hot wings. The life of a carpenter’s daughter, I guessed.

I’d never gone solo. Dressed as a woman, complete with makeup and ballet flats. Had not the burn of anger propelled me, I would have stopped short of tugging that wooden door open and turned my pickup back toward home. Thus the term “flight of fury,” I figured.

Entering The Crossing, I threw my shoulders back and strode straight to the bar.

“Cosmo.” I thought that was what I’d had before.

Joe stood behind the counter and cocked one eyebrow. Probably got the dumb thing wrong. Or maybe I’d been rude?

“Please.”

His mouth tipped up in a crooked grin. “Papa-less tonight, huh, Sharpe?”

Cute. Not only was I butch, but I couldn’t go anywhere without my daddy. My life kept getting more pathetic. I clamped my mouth shut and let the simmering anger temper my gaze.

“Whoa.” Joe held up his hands. “Whoever set you cross must have been some kind of crazy. I’ve never seen you with emotion.”

“Just get me a drink.”

“Right.” His eyes shifted to the doorway, and his forehead scrunched. “Will I be in trouble?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Dad filled the entry. Peachy. We could continue our disagreement right there at the bar.

After a pointed glare to my dad, I returned my attention to Joe. “Do you need my ID? I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my
father’s
permission to drink.”

“Sure.” Joe grabbed a stemmed glass. “Take it outside if it gets rough, okay?”

So flattering. I waited with one foot propped up on the scuffed brass bar running along the base of the cabinetry and both hands jammed onto my hips, any moment expecting my dad to interrupt my effort at not looking at him. One minute ticked by. Then two. No Dad leaning over my shoulder. Joe slid my drink across the counter.