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Not in this house.
“Move,” Jon demanded.
“He’s dead. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not worth it. Not in a million years.”
A surge of anger gave Jon new strength. He wrenched his brother to the side. Shoved past him and into the hall and out the door.
The air was cool on his face, the grass still damp from the morning dew. He dropped the bag on the ground and stood half-turned away from the house, chest heaving from the exertion, aware of his brother in the open doorway, watching him.
This wasn’t about his father. Jon refused to let him hold that much power over him. He was simply making the most of the house. Fulfilling its potential. It was what he did—he was a builder. He made homes for people. Until recently he’d co-owned a construction company in Toronto. This was business as usual.
His gaze found the recycling bin, filled to overflowing with various liquor bottles.
Too many bottles for one person. Way too many.
He swore. Ran a hand through his hair, fisting his fingers in it and pulling so tightly that it hurt.
Why couldn’t Tyler have left him here to rot, or whatever it was he was doing? Why couldn’t Tyler have left him to battle it out on his own with the ghost of a dead man?
He laughed, a short, hard bark of bitter amusement.
If this really was a battle, according to the tide of bottles spilling onto the lawn, he was making a pretty poor showing. He was in full retreat, utterly routed, on his way to surrender.
Tyler’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“Let’s patch it up and sell it. Then never look back.”
Jon knew his brother was right but he hated the understanding in his voice. He twisted from under his brother’s grip. Moved away from him.
“We should focus on the kitchen, knock it off first. The bathroom won’t need too much time if we stick to the original layout.”
Carefully not looking at his brother, he strode toward the house.
CHAPTER ONE
March
GABBY WADE BELTED OUT THE chorus to Sinéad O’Connor’s classic “Nothing Compares 2 U” as she pulled into her usual parking spot in front of T.A. Furniture Designs, her voice echoing loudly in the small space. She waited until the final notes of the song had faded before turning off the ignition with a contented sigh.
There was nothing better than a really good angst-ridden ballad to kick off a Monday morning, and no one was better at it than Sinéad. Gabby grabbed her bag then twisted to collect the jumbo box of doughnuts from the backseat. The smell of chocolate and strawberry wafted to her as she walked toward the showroom door. It was barely eight o’clock, so the entrance was still locked, and she balanced the box on her knee as she struggled to get her key in the lock. The doughnuts nearly hit the dust before she got the door open, but she managed to keep her grip on them. Not that it would have made much difference to the guys—they would probably eat cardboard if it had chocolate frosting on it. A little gravel would hardly put them off.
She locked up behind her, then passed through the showroom, making a mental note to rearrange the display sometime this week. Even though she was officially only the office manager, she’d been stepping into sales a lot more lately and a static showroom wasn’t doing anyone any favors.
Heaven knew, Tyler was too distracted these days to notice those kinds of things. It was just as well she had his back.
The sharp whine of a power saw hit her as she entered the workshop. Dino was ripping some red gum, and Paul was setting up the router to bevel the edge on a cherry dining table. Carl was marking up some wood, squinting like crazy because he still refused to admit he needed glasses.
“Morning, boys,” Gabby hollered over the noise.
Dino grunted without looking up, while Carl ignored her altogether. Paul glanced up briefly, throwing her a token wave. She waited for his brain to register what she held in her hands.
One cat-dog, two cat-dog, three—
His head whipped up again and his mouth curled into a sweet smile. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes, my gallant prince, it is. Two dozen of Krispy Kreme’s finest for the fairest gentlemen in all the land.”
The saw stopped abruptly. Suddenly all eyes were on her.
Nothing like refined sugars and fats to get a man’s attention.
“Gabby, you’re a gem.” Dino started toward her, dusting his hands together.
“What he said,” Carl echoed, his eyes on the box as he followed in Dino’s footsteps.
“Try to leave some for Tyler and Kelly,” Gabby said.
Paul took the box from her hands. “Of course. We’re not animals.”
Dino had a doughnut in each hand.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said.
Dino laughed sheepishly as she turned toward her office. Then, as though it had only just occurred to her, she swung around.
“I almost forgot—we really need to get that boardroom table out tomorrow. So anything you guys could do to finish it would be really appreciated.”
Dino froze midbite. “So these are bribe doughnuts? Nice. How cheap do you think we are?”
“I got chocolate custard, your favorite.”
Dino’s aggrieved look faded a fraction. “Fine. We’ll do what we can. But no promises.”
Gabby hid her grin as she walked to her office. If she knew Dino—and after three years of being Tyler’s office manager, she was pretty confident she did—the table would be ready for the afternoon’s deliveries. And all it had cost her was a trip to Krispy Kreme.
United Nations, eat your heart out.
She pushed open her office door—and froze.
A complete stranger—a man—sat at her desk, his back to the door as he used her computer.
She stared at his broad shoulders, strong neck and close-cropped dark hair. What the hell was he doing in her office? Making himself at home in her chair?
“Um, excuse me …?” she finally said when she’d gotten over her initial surprise.
He held up an imperious hand, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to see who it was. “Won’t be a minute.”
She stared, incredulous, as whoever-he-was continued to tap at the keyboard.
Was he for real?
“Of course. Make yourself at home. Maybe you’d like a coffee while you’re at it?”
He did glance up and she found herself staring into a pair of dark gray eyes.
“Tyler said I could jump on to check a few things. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”
His voice was low and deep, a subterranean rumble along her nerve endings. Between it and those eyes and the shape of his jaw and face, it wasn’t hard to work out who he was: Jon Adamson, Tyler’s brother.
He turned to the computer and Gabby found herself staring at his shoulders again. He was bigger than Tyler, broader. She knew he was older by a year or so, too, but apart from that, the only things she knew about Jon were that until recently he’d been living in Canada, that he’d missed Ally and Tyler’s wedding because of some business commitment there, and that the past few months he’d been in Woodend while he renovated the family home prior to sale. Correction, she knew one other thing—he was rude. Because surely even the most insensitive person could guess that invading somebody’s personal space then virtually ignoring them when they discovered you was not exactly the way to go about winning friends.
She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. And waited.
And waited.
After what felt like an age, Jon hit a key on her computer and pushed away from the desk.
“Thanks for that,” he said as he stood.
He was a little taller than Tyler, and now that he was facing her she noted further similarities and differences between the brothers. His cheekbones were pronounced like Tyler’s but sharper, and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper. His jaw was the same strong, sure arc, his chin as determined, but his eyes were a much darker gray, the color of storm clouds instead of Tyler’s unusual quicksilver.
Her gaze swept his body, taking in his pristine white T-shirt and his equally crisp-looking jeans. Both new, unless she missed her guess. Only his boots looked well-worn. She refocused on his face, noting his clean-shaven jaw and the military neatness of his buzz cut.
He looked … newly minted somehow. But in a raw, spare kind of way.
She was aware of him checking her out, too, and for a crazy second wished she was wearing something other than a faded T-shirt and jeans and that she’d gone for a proper haircut instead of trimming her fringe with the nail scissors this morning.
She shook the thought off quickly—all signs pointed to the fact this man was an ass, and she didn’t give two hoots what an ass thought of her.
Not even one hoot.
“You’re Gabrielle, right? Jon Adamson.” He offered his hand.
She let him hang for a moment before sliding her hand into his. It seemed only fair, since he’d kept her hanging.
“It’s Gabby.”
His palm swallowed hers, and she felt the roughness of calluses against her own soft skin.
“You all finished now?” she asked. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Like I said, Tyler didn’t seem to think you’d mind if I used your office for a few minutes. But if I’ve stepped on your toes, I apologize.”
His tone was very even, very calm. As though she was the one who was out of line here. She felt herself bristling even more and was forced to admit that maybe she was overreacting a little. After all, he’d simply borrowed her computer, with her boss’s permission. Nothing to get her panties in a twist over.
Except …
He was too big and too strangely familiar, and yet not, and she felt … invaded and a little overwhelmed by his unexpected presence.
She wanted him gone. Wanted her space back.
“I was a little thrown, that’s all.”
“Again, sorry if I stepped on your toes.”
He moved out from behind her desk and she took a hasty step to the side to avoid brushing against him as he headed for the door.
She watched as he strode away, his broad shoulders dipping from side to side like a cowboy as he walked. Only when he was gone did she take a seat in her chair. It was warm from his body and she shifted, feeling invaded all over again.
Why he couldn’t have used Tyler’s computer, she didn’t know. Or at least Tyler could have given her a heads-up, told her he’d loaned her office to his brother.
Can you hear yourself? Anyone would think you were eighty-two, not thirty-two. Next you’ll be talking about young people today and how things were different in your day.
Gabby took a deep breath and let it out. She’d already acknowledged she’d overreacted. Yes, Jon could have handled the situation better, too, but she was blowing the whole incident out of proportion. It was a blip on the radar, nothing to get worked up over. He was probably only visiting the workshop for a few minutes, using the excuse of checking out his brother’s business to abuse the facilities. The odds were good she’d never see him again.
Launching her email program, she started reading the latest batch of orders and enquiries, absently running her fingers through her short dark hair. She was about to respond to a complicated request from one of their corporate customers when Tyler appeared at her door, a mug of coffee in hand.
“You got a minute?” He propped a shoulder against the frame. As usual, he was dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, the color a perfect foil for his silver eyes.
It was impossible to look at him and not think about his brother. The resemblance was that strong.
“As in a genuine sixty seconds? Absolutely. Anything more than that and you’ll be paying me overtime tonight.”
“Dream on,” Tyler said with a snort of amusement.
He sat in her visitor’s chair, his big body loose and relaxed. Gabby studied him for a beat, fascinated despite herself by the change in him over the past year.
The easy laughter, the softness in his eyes, even the way he moved—Tyler was a new man since he’d met and married Ally.
Happier. More content. Less single-minded and closed off.
It was good to see. No, it was better than good—it was great. Tyler deserved some peace and comfort in his life.
She frowned at the wistful note to her own thoughts.
That’ll be enough of that, young lady.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “I wasn’t joking about being snowed.”
“You can work through lunch.”
“Your turn to dream on. You know nothing gets between me and my food. Come on, spill. Quit chewing up my valuable time.”
“It’s no biggy. I need you to add my brother to our insurance policy.”
Gabby sat a little straighter. “What?”
“Jon. My brother. He’s going to be helping out here at the workshop for a while.”
