Page 53 of Love Bound

Shit.

The more commonplace the morning routine, walking to Weaver's Grocery store, reading the paper, bringing in wood, having the electricity flick back on, the two of us hurrying to turn off lights, the radio, resetting clocks on the microwave and stove, the more aroused I grow.

Just getting close to her, feeling her near me, leaves nerves firing. At one point, when she leaned forward at the kitchen sink to look out the window and announce another truck had pulled up at The Inn with two guys in it, her breasts moved slightly under her tight T-shirt, her hair catching sunlight again, and I couldn’t breathe. Oblivious to her power over my erratic vitals, and mistaking my gasp for something else, she asked if I needed a Percocet.

After dressing quickly and shrugging on a heavy coat with Claire's help, I leave her sipping coffee and walk the short distance to meet up with Nic and Bryce. I’m almost glad for the relief.

In another few minutes, I would have carried her back to the bedroom.

***

"You sure did a number here," says Nic.

The four of us had turned off the few lights left on in The Inn after the power came back on and now we're standing in the third-floor attic bedroom, looking at the hole in the roof. Ice and snow have filtered in, and we brought up plastic bins to scoop as much out as possible.

Bryce Tucker, a big guy, taller and broader than me and Nic, stands in a winter down jacket, hood up, an earring flashing from its depths. "Fuck me. And she found you? She's a cucumber."

She's anything but cool, I want to tell him.

Pulling back the hood, Bryce grabs a broom from the corner and starts jabbing at the pieces of wood jutting down.

"And the roof's still coated in ice." Jackson Sterling's question is more of an statement. For a kid, he has a lot of confidence.

"I’ll tether from the chimney," says Bryce, rubbing his short, clipped beard. A man of few movements, he continues with his hands stuffed in pockets. "Plate that with some flashing—"

I make a face at Bryce.

"—Shit yeah, a lot of flashing. We got our blackjack and thirty-pound felt and I brought shingles."

Nic bends over suddenly and holds up the piece of rebar, still dark red and wet with blood. He kicks ice away from where I landed two days ago and blood seeps into the ice. His spidey senses are tingling, causing him to treat this like a crime scene.

Bryce wipes his face and his glance from the rebar to me is as dark as his eyes. "Is she like an EMT?"

"Vet," I clarify.

Bryce tilts his head back a little. "What branch?" Bryce is ex-Seal, though he trains like he's still in boot camp. The guy's a machine.

I shake my head when Nic cuts me off. "She's a veterinarian."

"Her name's Claire. Claire Russo," I say.

Now Nic and Bryce share a smile. Jackson claps my on my good shoulder.

"You don’t say," says Nic.

"He said the last name," says Bryce.

"Yeah he did," chimes Jackson.

"I got that." Nic is a little too smug.

***

It takes the three of them about two hours to patch the hole. I'm frustrated because there's not much I can do. Bryce climbs up like a pro, tossing a lead around the chimney while he stays with the ladder. Using clips, he makes sure the line and he are both secure and then starts prying up shingles. In beat Jackson's right beside him.

Young, dark and handsome, the kid cuts a figure against the sky. He's smaller than the rest of us, but nimble as a goat. I've seen him do a high wire act, securing a suspect on a building ledge, that was scarier than hell to watch. The guy has some innate sense of where his body is in space.

Four cuts with the circular saw and there’s a nice flat spot to gum up the flashing with blackjack. Nic tosses Jackson the felt and flashing before the hole is closed. I belay hammer, nails, extra blackjack, and some silicone caulk. Nic carries up the box of shingles, not a lightweight job, but he makes it look simple. The guy is slim but strong. To anyone watching, it probably just looked like three guys working on a roof.