The Woodworker Read online

  I sighed, knowing that I’d lost the fight. And to be fair, Rick had offered me a great deal, one that I knew I wouldn’t match anywhere else. I did just need the bedroom for the short term, and even if he turned out to be a disgusting pervert, well... I could lock the door, spend most of my time out, and work on getting myself out of that living situation as quickly as possible.

  I still wasn’t happy about how this had turned out, but maybe I could make things work to my advantage. After all, although it wasn’t ideal, it was still a room, and I’d gotten a heck of a good deal in terms of pricing.

  Of course, that just raised the spectre of what else this Rick character might be after, if he didn’t care about money... but hopefully that would never come up. If it did, I could deal with it when it emerged.

  After Lisa answered Rick’s invitation for me, he’d pulled out a business card and, flipping it over, jotted down an address on the back. “Here’s my house,” he told me, passing over the card. “I’ll be here for a few more hours, but then you can come over. I’ll leave the front door unlocked, but if you ring the bell, I’ll come out and give you the grand tour.”

  A couple hours gave me enough time to return to the cheap motel, retrieve my few belongings and check out before they put any more charges on my poor, overworked credit card.

  Before leaving the farmers’ market, however, Lisa surprised me with another unexpected hug. “Look, I know that things feel really hard for you right now,” she said softly as her arms squeezed my midsection tightly. For once, I was happy for my boyish figure; it kept her from risking suffocation against my chest. “But they’ll turn around. I felt horrible when I left my job to become a wife, but it was just an adjustment. I got used to it in time, and you will, too.”

  A little part of me wanted to pedantically point out that the two situations weren’t remotely comparable, but I held my tongue. Lisa was my closest friend, one of the few women who didn’t resent me for putting my corporate career ahead of some of the more traditional feminine pursuits. I knew that she meant the best for me, even if she sometimes didn’t consult with me before making said decision. I remembered the time she made me a dating profile without asking me beforehand...

  “Thanks, Lisa,” I replied, hugging her back. “And hey, if this guy does turn out to be a creep, I’ll just take you up on that offer of your couch, instead!”

  “Say the word and it’s yours,” she promised. “But maybe this guy turns out to be a total sweetheart!” She winked at me, a gesture that looked very foreign on her. “He was kind of cute, wasn’t he?”

  I could have found Rick attractive... until he opened his mouth and proved that he was an ass who clearly appreciated poking his nose into business that didn’t concern him. “Nothing’s going to happen there, Lisa.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying!” Lisa checked her watch, winced. “Look, I’m going to be late getting Shay to soccer practice if I dally any longer. Talk to you soon, okay? Text me tonight?”

  “Will do,” I replied.

  Lisa left, and I did the same. Back at the motel, I explained to the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter that I was checking out, and eventually managed to get my point across. I collected my things, returned the flimsy key card, and hoped that I wouldn’t find another night charged to my credit card.

  I hoped for a long drive to let me prepare myself, but it only took ten or fifteen minutes before my phone’s GPS informed me that I’d arrived at the address given to me on the back of Rick’s business card. I peered out through the windshield of my little car, looking up dubiously at the property.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t what I now saw before me. I’d anticipated that Rick would have a typical bachelor pad, a house looking on its last legs and appearing in imminent danger of collapsing at any second. The lawn would probably be mostly bare dirt and weeds, perhaps with an assortment of empty beer cans scattered across it for decoration.

  Instead, Rick’s address looked charming, like something out of a design catalogue. The house was small but ornate, in the classic Victorian style, with plenty of intricate woodwork and carvings decorating its exterior. Climbing out of my car and stepping up onto the front porch, running my hand over the detailed wooden spindles, I remembered the man’s woodwork on display at his artist’s booth. Clearly, he’d put some time into working on his house, perhaps perfecting those selfsame skills.

  Just as he’d promised, the doorknob turned easily in my hand, and the front door opened smoothly and soundlessly inward. Most older homes tended to get squeaky, protesting doors as the house settled and the doorways shifted, but Rick must have adjusted his door to solve those issues. I stepped inside, wondering what other unexpected details I’d find.

  “Hello?” I called out as I advanced down the front hallway, finding a small living room on my left, a combined library and study on my right. Straight ahead, the hallway ended with an open doorway leading into a surprisingly spacious kitchen at the rear of the house.

  I heard footsteps behind me, turned to find Rick descending down the stairs from the second floor. “You actually showed up,” he said, sounding surprised.

  I planted my feet wide, hands on my hips. Power pose, just like I’d use to bolster my self-confidence before a board meeting or presentation. “Of course I did. Is this place really yours, or did you scam it from some poor grandmother?”

  He chuckled. “It’s mine. Been working on it for years.” He turned, climbing back up a couple steps. “Your bedroom is up here.”

  I put my foot on the first step, but stopped as my fingers landed on the main post of the stairs’ handrail. “Wow,” I exclaimed, amazed despite myself. “Did you make this?”

  He looked back at the intricately carved central post. It rose with fluted curves, decorated with carvings of birds. They stood out from the rest of the wood, almost as if they were on the verge of flying out of the wood and into true existence. “Yeah, that’s one of my favorite pieces in this place. It’s called a newel, by the way.”

  “Newel?” I repeated.

  “That big support beam for the handrail. This one’s a great example of deceiving simplicity – the smoothness of the main post suggests that I did it on a lathe, but that would have taken off the raised birds. Had to do it all by hand, put in a lot of care to make sure it was even all the way around.”

  I didn’t understand half the words he’d used, but Rick clearly considered woodcarving to be more than just a casual hobby. “It’s amazing,” I admitted honestly.

  For an instant, his smile looked genuine, rather than mocking. “Thanks.”

  Following him upstairs, he pointed out my bedroom, towards the rear of the house. We passed his bedroom, the master, as we headed back, along with the bathroom. Rick had left his bedroom door half open, and I glimpsed a large bed inside, with messy, unmade sheets and dirty clothes tossed carelessly on the floor. In that regard, at least, he seemed like a typical bachelor.

  “And here’s yours,” Rick finished, pushing open the door to the second bedroom.

  It... it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, I begrudgingly had to admit. The bed was smaller, but the room seemed clean enough, although it could use another dusting. A window looked out onto the house’s small but well-maintained back yard, and a cornflower blue dresser showed the little flourishes of Rick’s knife, or chisel, or whatever tool he used for carving. The bed had a solid oak headboard and felt pleasantly firm when I pressed down on the sheets.

  I turned back to the doorway to find Rick leaning against it, one eyebrow raised as he watched me. I felt a brief blush of heat and irritation as I realized he’d probably been checking out my butt again. “Surprised that it’s not a torture dungeon?” he asked.

  I covered the blush with a cold glare. “Very surprised. Is there a lock on the door?”

  He reached out and flipped a deadbolt on the door shut, then open. “Installed it just for you, milady.” His cocky tone made the sarcasm clear. />
  Maybe I had misjudged this guy. Rick’s offer had seemed too good to be true at first, but now I did have to admit that he’d been nothing but honest, at least so far. If I was going to be staying here for a couple of weeks as I got my life back together, it wouldn’t hurt to extend an olive branch, even if it meant swallowing my own pride.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Come again?”

  That earned him a brief glare, before I smoothed out my features again with an effort. “I said, I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I was... probably a little rude, at first. Maybe we could start over?”

  His eyebrows stayed raised, and I waited for the smart-ass retort. Apparently he did have a bit of self-restraint, and I saw him swallow that first comment.

  “We can start over,” he gave in. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rick Morgan.”

  I nodded, held out my hand. “Eileen Davies.”

  “Eileen, not Ellie?” He ignored my hand.

  “Ellie is the nickname that Lisa gave me, but no one else really uses it.” I kept my hand up.

  He looked down at it, shook his head. “And you’re a total corporate bitch, aren’t you, Ellie? I can tell from the man-grip you used on me last time.”

  “Excuse me? Corporate bitch?”

  Rick must have sensed how badly he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “Not in a bad way, necessarily,” he quickly added. “I just never got into the corporate world. Kind of the opposite, in fact. Made it my goal to never hold a job where I needed to wear a tie. Would probably kill myself if I had to suck up to some fat, idiot boss.”

  This time, I was the one to hold back a biting retort. “So, what do you do instead?” I asked instead, after a short silence that I hoped he didn’t notice.

  If he did, he chose to ignore it. “Come on downstairs,” he encouraged, stepping out of the doorway of the second bedroom. “I’ll show you.”

  He did have a cute butt, I had to admit, looking at how his carpenter’s jeans fit him. Immediately, however, I squashed that thought. Although he’d proved to not be a complete ass through and through, I should still keep my distance from Rick.

  Dropping my bag of clothes and other assorted belongings on the bed, I followed him downstairs, out through a door in the kitchen and into the garage.

  “This,” Rick said as I stared around, struck speechless for a second, “is where I do my work.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rick

  * * *

  Maybe my impulsive decision to invite this woman to stay at my house for a couple weeks wasn’t going to be a total disaster, as I’d first imagined.

  She was definitely everything that I’d guessed when I first met her – the classic, stereotypical corporate bitch, through and through. Plenty of uppity attitude, none of which I deserved, and she looked at everything in my house with a judgmental eye that searched hungrily for any shortcomings.

  But maybe she wasn’t all awful; at the very least, she seemed to have some appreciation for my art.

  “You do all of this?” she asked, turning in a slow circle in my garage-turned-workshop, her eyes darting from one piece to another. Some of the pieces were finished, waiting to be brought over to Niall’s gallery and put up for sale. Others were only half-finished, or even barely beginning to take shape as the first features emerged from the blocks of wood.

  I nodded. “Yeah, have been working in wood for years.”

  “And what do you do with them?”

  “Sell them, mostly. I do a couple pieces here and there for commission, but most of them sell. Heard of Walsh Art Gallery, in downtown?”

  She frowned, putting a little furrow briefly in her forehead, before her expression cleared. Her ponytail looked too tight, but it at least revealed that clear forehead, balancing the strong features of her face. “I might have wandered past it, once or twice before.”

  “I’m good friends with the owner, Niall Walsh. He features my work, and I sell a lot to tourists, or parents of university students here who stop by for a souvenir that doesn’t have a college logo printed on it.”

  In response, she picked up a coaster, turned it towards me so I could see the University of California logo carved into it with my CNC mill. I grinned, shrugged. “And some of them want a souvenir that does have a college logo on it. Might as well sell to both groups, right?”

  She put the coaster back down, continued moving around my workshop and examining the pieces. While she was turned away, I couldn’t help sneaking another quick look at her ass. She wore the same jeans and shirt that she’d had on at the farmers’ market this morning, but the loose clothing couldn’t hide the trim lines of her body. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a chore having her staying over. Especially if I could convince her that the living room was the best place for her to practice some yoga...

  “Do you sell these online, as well?” she asked.

  I blinked, my thoughts temporarily interrupted. “What? No.”

  “Why not?”

  I had to stop and organize myself to answer. “I don’t deal much with computers, and I don’t think that people would want to buy my art online.” Why would anyone choose to buy a piece of art through a computer screen, when they couldn’t pick it up, run their hands over the burl, experience the wood and why I’d given it a particular form?

  Eileen, however, just shrugged. “You’d be surprised,” she commented. She picked up a mostly finished carving of a stag. “You could probably make a lot more money if you put up an online store. Some of these are pretty nice.”

  Did she understand the level of craftsmanship needed to shape the antlers of that stag, knowing just how far I could stress and stretch the wood before it broke? “I’m not interested in making more money.”

  That made her turn to look at me, eyebrows raised. “And yet you’re renting out your spare bedroom to a stranger.”

  “For next to nothing,” I countered. “Maybe I just had a moment of insanity. Us creative types are prone to those.”

  She sighed, put the stag back down on the workshop counter. “I’m just saying. There’s a big business opportunity here that you’re missing. If you made enough from selling art to get this house, imagine how much more you could make if you actually developed this into a real business.”

  “Thanks.” My tone definitely didn’t match the word, but I found myself quickly souring towards her. Real business? What was I doing now, just playing for fun? “But I’m not interested.”

  “I’m serious, though.” Why was she so interested in this, refusing to drop it and let things go? “You’ve got a whole little gig going here. Don’t you want to grow it?” She took a step forward towards me, spreading her hands and looking up at me. She was quite tall, almost able to look me directly in the eye. “I could help-“

  “Right now, I just need to be left alone to work.” The retort came out a little sharper than I’d intended, and I saw the words cut into her. Still, she’d been asking for it a bit. I didn’t need her help to get any better. Dammit, I was happy with how I currently lived! I’d told the same thing to Niall, and I’d continue telling anyone else who tried to meddle with my life – that was just fine, no thanks to anyone else!

  I saw Eileen’s face close down immediately, and she lowered her hands as she stepped back. “I guess I’ll go get unpacked in my room,” she said, a little softer than she’d been speaking before. She brushed past me, leaving only a lingering hint of soft, flowery perfume in her wake.

  Shit. Apparently, I’d pissed the woman off. Even though I’d done absolutely nothing wrong, hadn’t asked for her help in the first place, she’d probably still find some way to make me suffer for that slight, imagined or not. I’d find that she trashed my room, or left a ton of her crap piled up in the bathroom, or yelled at me about the emptiness of my fridge, or something ridiculous along those lines.

  Whatever. Already, I found myself regretting that stupid, impulsive choice to offer her a bedroom in the first place. We hadn�
�t even set a date when she’d move out! I’d given some woman an open-ended invitation to inhabit the second bedroom in my house, and I wasn’t even getting to sleep with her!

  “Maybe I shouldn’t do any work now,” I muttered to myself, looking around at the array of woodworking power tools, all of which were capable of seriously maiming or otherwise injuring me.

  I knew, however, that I’d settle down once I fired up a saw or sander, once I got to work. I picked up the stag, turning it over and running down the mental list of other additions that needed to be made before the carving would be considered finished. I reached out, picked up a small whittling knife that I used for detail work, sat down on my stool with the stag on the workbench in front of me.

  Just as I’d known, the carving helped keep my hands busy, gave my mind a chance to organize the mess of thoughts inhabiting it. This hadn’t been the best first exchange with Eileen, but it wasn’t going to be impossible to repair.

  And besides, I added to myself, if she was being driven crazy by coexisting in the same personal universe as me, well, wouldn’t that just push her to move out sooner? The earlier she left, the quicker she’d be free of me – but more importantly, the faster I’d be free of her.

  I’d go back into the house later, around supper time. I’d see what she was doing, if she’d already gone ahead and fucked with my place to get revenge for me blowing her off. If she had calmed down and wouldn’t fly off the handle at me, maybe we could lay out some plans, some sort of contract for when she’d pay me for staying here, how long she intended to stick around before getting out of my hair.

  Most of the stag was already complete, but I carefully pulled the small but razor-sharp knife blade down along the rear forelock, peeling off thin little slivers of wood that tumbled down to form a carpet on the floor. Carving was a delicate process; it was all about knowing exactly how far I could push before crossing the line, ruining the piece. Each little sliver that I cut away made the sculpture more delicate, more beautiful – but just one little sliver too far, and the piece would be ruined. Once wood had been removed from a piece, there was no way to restore it.