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She’d been grieving and damning Greg Adams, the happy-go-lucky ex, all that time. She’d been void of desire. In fact she had made up her mind that it would be a very long time before she’d let a man get close, if ever, because only a fool wouldn’t be afraid to trust a man again. It would risk a broken heart. The very idea that someone thought she’d settle for a married man bit deep.
The kind of guy in her very distant future had not resembled Paul Haggerty in any way; Paul was more like a brother to her. Now Conner Danson… That was another story. If he wasn’t such an ass, he would be irresistible.
This surprised her. Conner was nothing like the kind of man who had attracted her before. He was nothing like Greg, which should have probably recommended him, except for that ass thing. There was also the fact that Leslie was determined to paste her confidence back together without the assistance of a man.
Greg had been, still was, movie-star pretty with dark hair, beautiful hazel eyes flecked with gold, a trim build with strong shoulders and arms and a smile that made girls tremble. He was fussy about what he wore and drove, and his two primary goals in life were to be rich and prominent. Leslie suspected his new lawyer wife had tipped him on how to rat-hole some money because he still looked pretty well-off despite escaping alimony, and while they’d been married, he’d always brought home enough money to afford all the things he wanted.
During their eight-year marriage, she’d gotten used to women flirting with him, yet she’d never doubted his fidelity, never. Greg had been amused by flirtation; clearly he enjoyed it, but it never seemed as though he’d act on it. A very attractive waitress once wrote her phone number on the check, even though they were dining together. He had looked at it, laughed, crumpled it and said, “As if.”
Conner was a whole different kind of guy. Pretty hardly described him—Conner was taller, broader, stronger. He didn’t have those classic good looks but rather willful brown hair that he kept short, a square jaw, crystal-blue eyes that peered suspiciously from behind thick lashes. He had a cute dimple in his left cheek and a nice smile, though not a frequent one, and he could effect a powerful scowl. The mustache and goatee gave him a mysterious air; he stroked it as if he wasn’t quite used to it. He was much more rugged than Greg, but then he was a construction worker and he looked like one—jeans and steel-toed boots and a ton of testosterone. She’d seen him wearing the tool belt and even though she’d been around a million tool belts, he’d worn his especially well. He looked, frankly, as if he could tear the door off a car if he needed to.
Leslie had worked around construction workers for the past ten years, and, while they came in all shapes and sizes, there was something about Conner that gave her shivers. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It might be the way he couldn’t seem to lie or cover up; what passed through his brain shot out of his mouth. He thought she was doing the boss and couldn’t just act as if he didn’t notice? She’d been watching him around the job; she couldn’t help it. He would be almost somber until something amused him, and then his face lit up—same reaction, his feelings kind of bubbled to the surface. He couldn’t seem to hide his stunned amusement that a guy would divorce, remarry, knock up his new wife and expect the ex-wife to be okay with it all. What balls. Very straightforward. Uncomplicated. Yes, that was it—he seemed uncomplicated. After Greg, that was so inviting.
Oh, man, the last thing she needed was to get attracted to some construction worker who was temporary at best.
Then her eyes widened. Maybe the best thing in the world would be a temporary construction worker. No expectations. No disappointments. No one to get in the way of her mission to rebuild her confidence and self-esteem.
Conner followed Leslie at a distance so as not to blind her with the headlights of his truck in her rearview mirror. And he thought—boy, was she pissed. That was probably a good thing because he should really get over it, the attraction. He’d been warned by Brie, no relationships during this hiatus.
But the more sense he talked into himself, the more he wanted to get closer to that tough, hardheaded broad. The more he wanted her, in every physical way. Stupid idea. His life was just too complicated.
Four
Despite his caution, Conner caught a few minutes with Leslie every day that next week. And she grew more agreeable around him until finally she smiled at him and that caution melted like butter in the hot sun. He was back in her good graces.
With that awareness, he agreed quickly when, at the end of the week, Dan said, “Come on, let’s head for the office. Les made cookies. Bring your lunch.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
When they got inside, Dan put his plastic lunch bucket on the table and immediately headed down the hall to the office Leslie used. She followed him back out to the kitchen.
“Hi, Conner,” she said.
“Leslie,” he said with a nod.
She pulled a canvas tote out of the refrigerator and began to empty the contents onto the table—a half sandwich, an apple, a yogurt, a container of green tea. “How’s it going over there?” she asked, tilting her head in the direction of the two houses they’d been working on.
“We’re finishing up bathrooms this week,” Dan said. “We might take a couple of days next week, but that shouldn’t hold up work on the exterior. Paul mentioned a remodel in Redway that he wants to tackle next. What did he say to you?” Dan asked.
“He said we’re moving the trailer pretty soon. He’s got a sixty-five-hundred-square-foot custom home northeast of Virgin River ready to pour.”
Conner knew what that meant. It would be a long time before he’d be working on the interior of that custom job. Probably months. He might even be back in Sacramento to testify before it came time to do the custom house on the same property as the trailer. He wouldn’t be running into Leslie unless he drove to wherever that trailer was located to pick up his check. Even that wasn’t necessary. Paul would readily bring paychecks to Jack’s.
“Things have really improved since you’ve been here, Les,” Dan said, nodding at the big plate of cookies covered with Saran on the plywood table.
“I know,” she agreed. “Cookies and moderate cleanliness.”
“And paperwork on time, like estimates and contracts. I’m so damn glad Paul finally got around to hiring full-time office help.”
“It’s nice to work with Paul again. Even for a little while.”
“A little while?” Dan asked.
She ripped open her yogurt. “I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s just that my parents are in their late sixties and one of these days… Maybe I should say one of these years they’re going to need me. Right now they’re in great health, never slow down for a second, and Grants Pass isn’t very far away so we can visit each other frequently. But they’re sixty-eight, I’m their only child, I assume I’ll have to return to Oregon.”
“What’s your best guess?” Conner blurted out. “Months or years?”
“I promised Paul six months, maybe more,” she said. “Unless there’s an emergency back home, of course. And…excepting emergencies…I’m not going to leave him high and dry. Vanessa would kill me.”
Conner flashed his dimple in a smile, but he looked down at his sandwich. That gave him something to work with. Yes, sir.
Six months. He was a patient man. Most of the time.
“Didn’t I hear you’re planning a wedding?” she asked Dan.
“Not exactly. What we’re planning is a marriage. Cheryl and I have been together a couple of years, this past year dedicated to finishing our house together with a little help from friends. We’re in now, though still finishing things, and should be done by June. Then Cheryl wants a nice, quiet, private ceremony while we’re on our way up to the San Juan Islands for some serious