Plans had a way of falling apart where Daisy Taylor was concerned.
I parked in the driveway and sat for a minute, hands on the wheel, watching the sky lighten over the mountains. The cabin was dark. Cal had already left for his early shift, which meant Daisy was alone in there, sleeping in the room with the window that faced the back deck.
The deck I was about to tear apart and rebuild.
I'd thought about backing out and telling Cal I was too busy and finding him someone else. But Cal had asked, and I owed him more than I could ever repay. Not because of the second chances he'd given me over the years. Because of her.
He'd forced me to walk away from her eight years ago, and I'd hated him for it. But I'd also understood. He'd been protecting her the only way he knew how. And maybe, in some twisted way, he'd been right. She'd left Hollow Peak and built a life. Gone to school, had a career and got engaged to some idiot who let her get away.
I didn't know the details of how the engagement ended and didn't want to know. But she was back now, and she was hurting, and the least I could do was build her uncle a deck without making things harder.
I grabbed my toolbox and headed around back.
The existing deck was worse than Cal had described with rotted and warped boards and support posts that were more hope than structure. A wonder the whole thing hadn't collapsed under someone's feet already. I started documenting the damage, making notes on what needed to be replaced versus what could be salvaged.
The sun came up. The sky turned gold, then blue. I lost myself in the work, measuring and marking, pulling up the old boards to see what was underneath.
I heard the back door open around seven.
I kept my eyes and focus on the board I was removing, the satisfying creak of old nails pulling free.
"You're early."
Her voice was sleep-rough and so familiar it hurt.
I straightened and turned.
Daisy stood in the doorway wearing a robe, coffee cup in hand, hair tumbled over her shoulders. She looked soft and warm and thoroughly unimpressed by my presence.
"I wanted to get started before it got hot," I said.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. She just stood there, watching me with those whiskey-gold eyes.
"I'm leaving for work in an hour," she said. "Try not to make too much noise before then."
"I'll do my best."
She turned and went back inside. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
I stood there for a long moment, crowbar in hand, heart pounding.
This was going to be a long few weeks.
***
By noon, I'd torn up half the deck and sorted the lumber into keep and discard piles.
The work was good. The kind of labor that let you turn off your brain and lose yourself in the rhythm of it. Measure, cut, fit, secure. Problem, solution. No room for thinking about the woman inside the cabin, the one who'd left an hour ago without another word.
I'd watched her go as she walked to her car in scrubs and sneakers, hair pulled back, looking competent and professional and nothing like the girl I remembered.
The girl I remembered had been soft and open. Quick to laugh, quick to touch and quick to press her body against mine like she couldn't stand the space between us.
This woman was different. Harder. Guarded in a way that made my chest ache because I knew I'd done that to her. I'd let her believe I didn't care.
I wondered what else that city guy had done to her. The one with the suit and the ring. The one who'd had her for four years and somehow managed to lose her.
He was obviously an idiot to do that.