LITMIR.BIZ

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how many times.

      Or how much, each time, she thought as she caught her haggard expression in the rapidly fogging mirror over the double vanity, a little more of the deadness around her heart she’d mistaken for stoicism had sloughed off, leaving in its place something tender and new and raw and frighteningly vulnerable. She really wasn’t upset with herself simply because she’d had sex with Eli. It was what having sex with Eli had done to her that had left her shaking. And shaken.

      Tess stood and stripped, daring to trace with a trembling hand the still-reddened patches left by Eli’s late-day stubble across her belly and thighs and breasts. Who was this person who’d ceded so much control to another human being? Who’d known, at the time, exactly what she was doing? And who the hell was the man she’d allowed such power over her?

      Worse, though, she thought as she jerked her gaze away from her reflection and stepped into the pounding shower, was that, mixed in with the regret…

      Was the really scary feeling it could happen again.

      Chapter Three

      No less pissed than he’d been an hour before, Eli stormed through the shop’s door, the whining of table saws and pounding of hammers piercing his sleep-deprived brain. Yeah, Tess could play the “it’s not you, it’s me” card all she wanted, but she couldn’t wait to get out of Eli’s house, could she? To put her “mistake” behind her. True, maybe nobody could make you feel like dirt unless you let them—and maybe, considering their past, Tess wasn’t totally out of line feeling the way she did—but that’s exactly what he felt like. Dirt. Worse than dirt, like something disgusting on the bottom of somebody’s boot.

      But what Eli couldn’t for the life of him figure out was why Tess’s reaction was getting to him so bad. Wasn’t like he expected anything more. Or less. And for sure it wasn’t the first time he’d had a go-with-the-flow moment, even if the last one had been a while ago. Still. For somebody who’d been singing the no-strings song for a whole lot of years now, the last thing he’d expected was to…

      Was to feel something for somebody he had no business feeling anything for. Not after all this time. Not after what he’d done. Not after one freaking night, for God’s sake. What those feelings were, he couldn’t even begin to sort out. But being with Tess…it just wasn’t what he’d expected, that’s all.

      Just like getting his nose whacked out of joint wasn’t what he’d expected, either.

      “And what got up your butt?” his father launched at him as Eli strode across the dusty floor to the “kitchen”—a microwave, hot plate and coffeemaker set up on an old card table.

      “Nothin’,” Eli muttered, grabbing the coffeepot and sloshing some into his mug. “Just didn’t sleep good last night.”

      At least it wasn’t a lie. Especially after Tess passed out, and, instead of crashing, too, Eli found himself watching her sleep, hardly able to breathe through the “What the hell was that?” shock. Now, though, Eli didn’t have to look at his father to see the what-now? squint. A squint not without cause. Not after some of the boneheaded stunts he and his brothers had pulled over the years. How his parents had survived raising four boys was nothing short of a miracle.

      “You got troubles, son?”

      Forcing a smile to his lips, Eli looked back at the old man. Jowly, balding and paunchier than was probably good for him, Gene Garrett may not have been as physically commanding as he’d once been, but that steely-blue gaze still lasered right through a person, even behind his glasses. His boys might not always agree with him, but not for a second would any of them think of disrespecting him.

      “Nothing that’s gonna cause the world to stop spinnin’,” Eli said, clapping his father’s shoulder before heading back to his own area of the shop, where a massive, carved headboard awaited staining. His father followed him, his arms crossed high on his chest. Eli glanced over.

      “I’m okay, Pop. Really.”

      “No, it’s not that.” His father’s gaze veered to the bed. “Guy called this morning and canceled.”

      “What? He can’t do that, this is custom—”

      “I explained all that, and he said he knows it means forfeiting the deposit and all, but…he said he was real sorry, but this just isn’t a real good time to be spending big bucks on a headboard.”

      On a rough sigh, Eli dropped onto a nearby stool. “It hasn’t been a good time for a while now. I mean, what the hell?” He scrubbed a hand along his jaw and let out another sigh as he glowered at the almost-finished piece. “It’s not like I can just toss it in the back of my truck and go hawk it out on the highway, like Thea Griego does with those awful painted coyotes of hers. And don’t you dare start up about how if I was led to make this thing, then it’s gotta find a home.”

      “Patience has her perfect work, son,” his father said, then smiled. “And God knows your mother and I have had ample opportunity to prove that particular passage over the years.”

      Sighing, Eli wagged his head, then got up and snatched a manila folder off the battered desk in the corner of the room. “You see this? It’s my order folder.”

      “Looks a mite on the thin side.”

      Eli opened it and turned it upside down. A single sheet of paper fluttered to the gouged, sawdust-smeared floor.

      “That was the bed, I take it?” his father said.

      “Yep.”

      “Then there’s somethin’ else better waitin’ in the wings, you’ll see.” Before Eli could groan, Gene added, “But we’re doin’ okay—you know what they say, when folks aren’t buying new homes, they remodel. So we can always use you over on this side of the shop.”

      Eli glared at his father’s back as he walked away. Yesterday, he’d been happy as a damn clam. Now the clam had just been shipped off to hell in a handbasket…a trip Eli’d taken a time or two before in his life.

      Except now he realized it was up to him, whether it was a one-way trip or not. He could sit here and stew, or he could act like a grown-up and actually do something about it. Or at least try. Not about the canceled order, maybe—at least, not now—but about Tess? Yeah.

      “Anybody got a phone book?” he yelled to the world at large. Seconds later one flapped to his feet, sending up a cloud of wood dust. With a nod to Jose, one of their employees, Eli snatched it up, elbowing off the cobwebs. Two years out of date but good enough. He flipped open the thin book, found Tess’s number, then dug his cell phone out of his shirt pocket before he lost his nerve.

      Maybe last night was a one-time thing—and maybe that’s all it should ever be—but that didn’t mean he and Tess Montoya didn’t have a few things to clear up between them.

      Like, now.

      Toweling her hair, Tess stared at the ringing landline as though she’d forgotten it was there, since nobody called her on anything but her cell anymore, prompting her to wonder why she even kept the darn thing—

      “You gonna get that or what?” her aunt yelled from down the hall.

      “No,” Tess yelled back.

      Seconds later, Flo appeared at her door, phone in hand and speculative look on face. “It’s Eli Garrett,” she said, conveying a wealth of questions in three words. Because not only would Flo undoubtedly remember Tess’s Eli phase, she would know Tess’s and Eli’s dealings since then had been virtually nonexistent.

      Still, Tess played it as cool as a woman in a towel with recently applied beard burn across much of her person could. “Now what on earth do you suppose he wants? We haven’t even spoken in years.”

      “I’m sure I have no idea,” Flo said, handing over the phone. With a pointed look at Tess’s abraded neck.

      “Hot

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