Page 11 of True Ruin

“Two months?” Campbell echoed, wiping a bead of sweat from his jaw with his shoulder. “We’ll be lucky if we finish in three. I was hoping to have the final shots in the darkroom before the holidays, so we could use them in the marketing spreads.”

Justin didn’t look up from the blueprints. “We promised tenants a winter move-in. Retail on the ground floor, residential upstairs. We’re already behind on framing.”

“And demo,” Ransom muttered.

“And plumbing,” Dallas added under his breath, glancing at the exposed pipes.

“And patience!” Luca shouted as he tore past again, the wisest of them all.

Dallas blew a strand of damp hair off his brow, his breath coming thin from exertion—and from trying to figure out where the hell he fit in any of this. His ankle throbbed, and he was minutes from needing to get off it again. He hadn’t planned to help with construction—he’d come to snag quotes and background for the story Halpern wanted—but Justin had handed him a hammer before he could invent an excuse to leave. Another trap. His brother was a genius at setting them.

Though he didn’t mind the labor. His kind of reporting was physically grueling even on a good day, and he’d decided years ago that being worn out was easier than being wound up.

And yet, the longer he stayed, the more his old dreams for this town and these people came into focus, sharp as one of Campbell’s photographs. They’d talked about renovating themill back in the day, but now Dallas was part of it. Whatever the fuckthatmeant.

The thought had barely landed when Gabi Wilder stepped through the open loading door and scattered every other one in his head. Sunlight poured in behind her, wrapping her in a bright, breath-stealing glow.

Her hair was piled into a messy bun, probably the kind she wore while baking. Before he could stop it, a fantasy flashed through him: his fingers sinking into flour-dusted strands, his mouth finding hers as he pressed her beneath him, sugar on his lips, her taste in his mouth. Even in a ratty flannel shirt layered over a tee and faded jeans, she carried an effortless elegance that sent a jolt of lust straight through him. Apparently, he had a thing for classy women, because he blanked on what he was doing, nearly smashing his fingers with the hammer.

Christ. One look at her and his brain short-circuited.

Gabi’s son, Sam, trailed behind, dark hair and boyish bounce, doing a little dance around her like he couldn’t decide which direction to run in first. Luca and Kit slowed at the sight of him, then immediately tried to lure him toward whatever trouble they had brewing around a stack of scrap wood. Gabi rested a hand on his shoulder, nerves flickering in the tight pinch around her eyes. Dallas figured she was here to talk business with Campbell and had no one to watch Sam while she handled it.

He pushed gracelessly to his feet, bracing himself against a nearby support beam as she took in the scene. Heat flickered through him when her gaze lingered a beat too long before darting away—too quickly to be casual. Reaching for his crutches, he closed his hands around the grips and settled the pads beneath his arms, picturing the things he could do to her.

And the sounds she’d make while he did them.

Before desire could land him in trouble, Sam mercifully raced over, zeroing in on his crutches and poking at them with fearless curiosity.

“Whoa,” Dallas said with a laugh, steadying himself. “These are my magic sticks.”

“I’m Sam,” the boy said, delighted, still staring at his crutches.

Dallas lowered himself onto a nearby stack of lumber, his ankle protesting, bringing them nearly eye to eye. “What are you working on?” he asked, gesturing to the scrap of blueprint Sam clutched in his fist.

Sam held it up like a trophy. “Mr. Ransom said I get to help with ‘dimensions,’ whatever those are. Numbers, I bet. I like math at school, but I’m only nine, so it’s pretty boring still. Not like the stuff I’ll get in middle school. Real math and everything.”

“I’m no good at math myself. It was my least favorite subject in school.” Dallas shot a glance at Ransom, who shrugged as if to say,Sure, whatever keeps him busy.Tapping the blueprint, he said, “Having this makes you the most important guy here, unless you wanna help me locate studs.”

Sam nodded so eagerly his hair flopped over one eye.

Dallas laughed, relieved to have something concrete to focus on. “See those lines on the floor? They show where the new walls are going. Since I can’t do everything with a busted ankle, your job is to be my assistant. I’ll handle the tape, and when I tell you where, you make an X.” He tossed a fat piece of chalk to Sam, impressed when the kid caught it on the first try.

Beaming, Sam raced toward the first spot, all business now that he had a mission.

Gabi crossed to them, her attention shifting between her son and Campbell. Rising gingerly to his feet, Dallas settled onto his crutches and gave her a reassuring nod. “Go,” he said, tipping his chin toward Campbell. “I’ll keep your little guy occupied.”

She smiled, a relieved curve of near-perfect lips. She was more petite than he’d recalled, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. “I’m guessing you came to do a story,” she said, nudging a scrap of lumber with the toe of her Reebok. “And got stuck doing this instead.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I must be an easy sell.”

And because life had a sense of humor, his T-shirt rode up as he shifted, baring a strip of his belly above his waistband. Her gaze dipped. Cool air skimmed the exposed skin, but it felt more like the drag of her fingertips.

Dallas didn’t make a move unless he was reasonably sure she’d meet him halfway. Not with Gabi. But her gaze lingered on the bare strip of his stomach, her chest lifting on a stolen breath. Up close, he remembered that her eyes never stayed one color—brown in shadow, almost gold when the light caught them. Years had passed. Their lives had split apart and rebuilt themselves without the other.

Didn’t matter. He still wanted her.

Maybe more than he had any business wanting anyone.