Following an afternoon of painting eaves, Damon Harrison was
looking forward to a long shower and a cold beer. Southern
California's current heat wave would make working at his
foster parents' ranch in Sheridan, Wyoming, next week a
treat. He peeled off his T-shirt as he walked into the
master bedroom on his way to the shower.
This was the room he'd used almost exclusively while living
in the house he was renovating. He kept the furnishings
minimalโa queen bed on a metal rolling frame, collapsible
shelving for his clothes, one floor lamp, a small TV and a
computer desk on wheels so he could sit on the edge of the
bed to type. He unfolded a TV table for meals.
When he began a renovation, he brought basic furniture,
linens and kitchen supplies. All of it fit in his
construction trailer once he was finished. Then he'd haul it
to the next house and start all over again.
Damon loved flipping houses. He'd always gravitated toward
construction work, and turning a trashed house into a
showplace was immensely satisfying. The moment when he
handed over the keys to the new owner gave him a rush of
accomplishment that he hadn't found in anything else.
Passing the desk, he refreshed his laptop screen out of
habit. Sure enough, there was an email from Phil Turner.
Phil was a Sheridan carpenter who'd agreed to help him build
a log cabin at Thunder Mountain Ranch over Fourth of July
weekend.
Ordinarily, he preferred to work alone, but he could only
spare a week to build the cabin, which wasn't enough time to
do it right without help. His foster mother, Rosie, had
recommended Phil, and Damon had exchanged emails with him
for a couple of weeks. Phil was giving them a head start by
ordering the materials and preparing the site.
After all their communications, Damon was confident they'd
be on the same page and ready to go when he arrived in
Wyoming. Working solo meant he hardly ever talked shop with
anyone. Until now he hadn't realized he liked doing that.
He and Phil had discussed the project in depth. They'd
settled on a concrete foundation, which would be poured
today so it would be cured by the time he got there on July
second. Phil seemed to have exacting standards, which made
sense. After all, Rosie had recommended him.
When Damon arrived, the building permits would be approved
and the electric box installed. All the materials would be
on site, along with a rented forklift and a compressor. Phil
had been good about sending pictures, so he'd probably
emailed one of the concrete foundation.
Damon opened the email and downloaded the attached picture.
The foundation looked perfect, exactly as he would have
wanted it, with sill logs laid in squared-off precision
around the perimeter to anchor the walls. The cabin wouldn't
have any plumbing, the same as three others that had been
built on Thunder Mountain Ranch years ago. No plumbing made
construction a whole lot easier and cheaper.
Damon had been fifteen when he'd moved into the first cabin
along with Cade Gallagher and Finn O'Roarke. About a year
after Rosie and Herb Padgett had started a foster program at
the ranch, they'd realized that their five-bedroom house
would soon be bursting at the seams. Damon, Cade and Finn
were the oldest boys and the ones who'd been at the ranch
the longest, so they'd had the privilege of occupying the
first cabin.
Remembering move-in day still gave him a charge. The three
of them had been so excited, even though they'd had to trek
out to a bathhouse instead of going down the hall like
they'd been used to. The taste of freedom was far more
important than indoor plumbing.
A couple of years before that, they'd sneaked into the woods
at midnight and enacted a blood brother ceremony around a
little campfire. They'd called themselves the Thunder
Mountain Brotherhoodโstill did, in factโand on that first
night in the cabin they'd carved their TMB logo on a beam
over the doorway. Good times.
But now Rosie and Herb had financial problems that could
force them to sell the ranch. The Brotherhood, along with
Cade's girlfriend, Lexi, had proposed launching Thunder
Mountain Academy, a coed residential program for kids
sixteen to eighteen who were considering a career involving
horses. The seed money was being raised through Kickstarter,
a crowdfunding program.
They'd decided a fourth cabin would allow them more housing
flexibility when they began accepting students. Damon was
the obvious person to build another one, and he was glad to
do it. Initially, he'd budgeted two weeks, but the wrong
tile had arrived for his current project and screwed up his
schedule.
Good thing Phil had been available to supervise the critical
first stages of construction. Damon studied the picture
again. That must be Phil's shadow stretched across the
troweled concrete. Damon wondered if Phil had long hair.
Either that or he'd draped a bandanna over his head before
putting on his hat to shield his neck from the sun.
Didn't really matter. Damon didn't care if a man had long
hair or short if he could do the job. Judging from their
email discussions, Phil was competent and thorough.
Clicking the reply tab, Damon crouched down and typed out a
response.
Looks great. Never thought to ask. Can you work on the
Fourth or do you have plans?
He doubted Phil was waiting for a reply. He'd put in a long day.
But as Damon started to leave, a click alerted him to an
incoming email. Phil was probably catching up on email after
work the way Damon usually did. With the hour time
difference, Phil might have polished off his first beer already.
Assuming he was a beer drinker was a safe bet. Many
construction guys were, and Phil seemed to fit the profile.
Damon pulled the computer table over to the edge of the bed
and sat down to read his reply.
I can work on the Fourth, but Rosie's planned a big barbecue
for that night, so we might need to wrap things up by four
or so.
Damon typed an answer.
Suits me. But I'll be watching my alcohol intake so I'll be
bright and bushy-tailed on the fifth.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
Understood. He who drinks a fifth on the Fourth will not go
forth on the fifth.
Damon chuckled.
LOL.
Then he added a more personal note because he was feeling so
good about this collaboration.
It'll be great to finally meet you.
Same here. Well, I'm off to watch my favorite cop show. Talk
soon.
Damon sent the response and turned off the computer. Now
that he'd heard from Phil, he didn't need to leave it on.
This time crunch had played hell with his social life, and
he currently had zero women expecting him to call, text or
email. Just as well. Time to take that shower, sip that beer
and watch
his favorite cop show.
* * *
Philomena Turner smiled as she shut down her email program
and walked into her cozy kitchen to take the tuna casserole
out of the oven. Rosie had given her the recipe last year
and now she made it at least once a week. Rosie was getting
such a kick out of this plan to show Damon Harrison that
girls could be professional carpenters, too.
Phil had helped trowel a slab of concrete today with as much
expertise as any of the men out there. Then she'd operated
the forklift when it was time to lay the sill logs. But
after a shower, she'd dressed in a floral silk caftan for an
evening at home. If Damon could see the person he'd been
emailing for two weeks, his jaw would drop.
She agreed that the shock on his face when they met would be
fun to watch, but she wasn't surprised by his assumption
that she was a man. As the only child of her widowed
construction-worker dad, she'd spent all her life around
guys like Damon. His attitude was typical, and Phil's choice
of profession was not.
In some ways she felt a little sorry for him, but not too
sorry. According to Rosie he'd leaped to the conclusion that
the local carpenter was a man even before hearing her name.
She forgave people who made that mistake when they called
Phil's Home Repair and thought she was the receptionist.
But to give the devil his due, Damon's idea of exchanging
emails prior to his arrival had been brilliant. Not only did
they have the preliminary work on the project finished,
they'd also developed a mutual respect as professionals.
Whatever blind spots he might have about the role of women
in construction, he obviously knew his trade. Judging from
his comments, he knew that she did, too. That would help
erase any potential prejudices about women wielding power tools.
She dished out some casserole and poured the wine before
taking both into the living room. Last year she'd refinished
a coffee table that could be raised to dining table height.
She refused to eat on a fold-up TV tray.
When she'd bought this cabin in the woods on the outskirts
of Sheridan five years ago, the place had been a disaster
both inside and out. It had sat empty for more than a year
while varmints and weather had taken their toll. Now she
could look around and feel pride in everything she saw.
The log walls had been recaulked. Because they were a foot
thick, they didn't require insulation, but she'd replaced
the single-pane windows and had hung a new door, a
hand-carved beauty she'd found at an auction. New
appliances, new bathroom fixtures and a bright blue
galvanized metal roof had been pricey but worth it.
The rock fireplace had only needed to be cleaned out and
capped to prevent critters from getting in. In winter she
used it all the time, but in the summer she arranged dried
flowers and pinecones on the grate to keep it from looking
lonesome. Little touches like that made a house a home, and
she'd loved feathering this nest, the first she'd ever owned.
The furniture was secondhand but sturdy. She'd re-finished
the wood and taught herself to reupholster anything that had
a cushion. Because she'd worked so hard on each piece, they
felt more hers than if she'd bought them new.
She'd chosen shades of green and blue because those were her
favorite colors. Besides, a blue-eyed redhead looked good
against a backdrop of those colors, so why decorate her home
with something that clashed? She'd considered every aspect
of this house carefully, from the area rugs on the wooden
floor to the framed photos of the Big Horn Mountains on the
walls.
After much inner debate, she'd bought a king bed.
Ironically, she'd never shared it with a guy. She'd had two
semiserious boyfriends since moving here, and in both cases
she'd always ended up at the guy's apartment whenever they
spent the night together.
Each had come up with a different excuse. One had insisted
his bed was the best in the universe, and the other one had
thought his shower was a great place for sex. She had a
different theory, though.
Her construction abilities might be intimidating to some
men, and her expertise was very much on display in this
house. That insight had come after her last boyfriend had
tried to talk her into selling her cabin and moving in with
him. No, and hell no.
She'd begun to think of the cabin as a test to find out
whether a man could accept who she was. So far she'd had no
likely candidate to substantiate her theory. Damon certainly
wouldn't qualify even though she had the distinct impression
that Rosie was matchmaking.
Otherwise, why show Phil a bunch of pictures of the guy, who
was surfer-boy gorgeous with his sun-bleached hair and
laughing gray eyes? Phil appreciated nice abs and a great
smile as much as the next woman. But according to Rosie,
Damon avoided getting attached to anyone or anything, a
trait Rosie had called a damned shame.
Phil loved Rosie, but not enough to tackle her fixer-upper
of a foster son. House renovations were one thing. People
renovations were a whole other issue, and Phil had no talent
for it. Either a guy was right or he wasn't, and from all
indications, Damon fell into Category B.
* * *
Waiting for Cade on the sidewalk outside the Sheridan
airport felt like dรฉjร vu, but at least the circumstances
were better this time. Cade had picked Damon up less than a
month ago when they'd all thought Rosie had suffered a heart
attack. Fortunately, she'd had something not nearly so
critical, a condition called broken-heart syndrome.
Apparently, the thought of losing Thunder Mountain Ranch had
created symptoms very similar to a heart attack. Even though
the diagnosis had been less dire, everyone who loved Rosie
had vowed to do what they could to save the ranch.
Consequently, Damon was flying to Sheridan for the second
time this summer.
Cade pulled up in his trusty black truck, the same one he'd
been driving for at least ten years.
Damon hopped in, dropped his duffel at his feet and grinned
at his foster brother. "Are you and Lexi engaged yet, bro?"
A month ago Cade had been reunited with Lexi, his high
school sweetheart, but there were issues.
"Don't start with me." But Cade grinned back and offered his
hand for the ritual Thunder Mountain Brotherhood handshake.
Damon closed the passenger door and buckled up. "I have your
wedding present all picked out. I'm just waiting for Lexi to
pop the question."
"Don't hold your breath." Cade tugged on the brim of his
battered Stetson and put the truck in gear. "I had no idea
what it was like waiting for someone to propose. Every guy
should have to go through this, because let me tell you,
it's hell."
"I'll bet. She still likes you, though, right?"
"Most of the time. But there's a lot I don't understand
about women."
"I'm sure we could all say that." Damon knew for a fact that
Cade and Lexi loved each other, but five years ago Cade had
left town after telling Lexi marriage wasn't for him. Now he
was back and ready to tie the knot but Lexi wanted to hold off.
"She might be waiting until after the Kickstarter deadline,"
Cade said, "to make sure Thunder Mountain Academy is a go
before we make any plans. But September first seems like
forever. I almost regret saying the decision was up to her.
But I said it, so now I have to stick by it."
"Maybe you should take her to a fancy hotel in Jackson Hole,
drink a bunch of champagne and talk her into it."
"That's either manipulation or coercion or both. Not doing it."
"So maybe I should talk to her and put the bug in her ear."
"Don't, bro. This has to be her idea. If you start making
suggestions, you could mess things up."
Damon sighed and leaned back against the seat. "Then I'm out
of ideas. I know how to get them into bed, but I've never
tried to get them to the altar. I only have one piece of
advice. Plenty of orgasms."
Cade laughed. "Got that covered."
"Then you're doing all a man can do."
"In fact, I spend most of my nights at her place, FYI."
© 2003-2026