Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

It couldn’t all have been good, though, he thought, recalling the defensive panic in her eyes when they’d first met and Red’s comment: “She’s got reason to be skittish.”

What had Hannah seen and felt to put that wounded, angry look in her eyes? And who had inflicted that pain upon her?

His hands flexed at his sides, wanting to cradle her smaller frame, to soothe and support—similar to the urge he’d had to comfort Ruby. The need to protect something—or someone—good and innocent. To replace some of the violence and pain he’d thrown into the world with something well-intentioned and whole.

The questions hovered on his tongue, but he held them back and kept his hands still by his sides. Guessing from first impressions that Hannah was a private person and knowing he had no right to pry.

Hannah studied him, those beautiful blue eyes roving over his chest, abs, and hands, before she motioned toward a twelve-foot ladder that was propped against the side of the roof. “There’s a pair of gloves on the bottom rung for you. They might be tight, but they’re the biggest size we have.”

Travis walked over to the ladder, retrieved the work gloves, and tugged them on. He flexed his hands twice, loosening the leather.

“Too tight?” Hannah asked.

“No.” He smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

Her attention lowered to his mouth and lingered, then her chest lifted on a swift breath as she turned away and stepped carefully to another exposed beam. “Then get up here. You’re burning my daylight.”

He smiled wider, watched her silky ponytail swish across her back as she knelt on two beams. He studied her confident movements as she hooked the claw of the hammer around a nail and tugged.

Hannah didn’t want him here—she’d made that obvious—but she liked looking at him. And he had to admit, he enjoyed looking at her. Those soulful eyes, that cute nose, that stubborn chin, and those pink, kissable lips would pull any man in. Her fresh-faced, no frills appearance somehow made her more appealing and feminine than any woman he’d ever seen dressed to the nines.

She seemed sincere, honest, and good. All things he wished he could be.

“Oh, sh—” The hammer slipped, smacked against a beam and, judging by the expletive Hannah failed to silence, hit her finger, too. She brought her finger to her mouth, then lowered it and glanced over her shoulder at him, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just smacked the stew out of my finger.” She shrugged. “Should’ve kept the profanity to myself though.”

He stifled a laugh and climbed the ladder. “It’s okay. I’ve heard”—and said, he ruefully admitted—“worse.” After easing his weight onto the two beams nearest him, he eyed her waist and asked, “You don’t tether?”

“No.” She repositioned her hammer and tugged at the nail again. “I haven’t gotten around to picking up a harness. It costs money I’d rather not spend at the moment.”

“Do you have ropes? I could rig something up for y—”

“I said I don’t tether.” She pounded the nail harder. “I’ve used ropes before, and all they do is get in the way and slow me down.”

They’d also keep you from falling. Travis kept his mouth shut, thinking it’d be better to keep that thought to himself, considering her stubborn mood.

“I’ll grab you ropes, though, if you’d like to use them?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” If she was going without them, he would, too.

She stopped tugging at the nail and frowned at him. “You think I’m going to fall, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say tha—”

“You didn’t have to.” She refocused on the nail and yanked at it harder. “I know what I’m doi

ng. I’ve done this kind of work before on two of our cabins and I’ll have to do it again on a third cabin roof before summer. I could do it in my sleep. Besides”—she ripped the nail free from the board, blew a breath to lift her bangs off her sweaty forehead, and narrowed her eyes at him—“isn’t that why Red arranged for you to be here? To fetch help for me in case I fall?”

His smile slipped, the lighthearted feeling vanishing. “Yeah. I guess that’s the gist of it.” He spotted a drill on a tray attached to the top of the ladder. “What’s the detail?”

A confused expression crossed Hannah’s face. “The what?”

Travis stilled, recalling the frequent assignments of labor he’d been given in prison, when a dark, depressing day inside his cell was exchanged for a few hours spent outside beneath the sun on work detail, each step of which was outlined explicitly. Hannah would be familiar with none of this, and his stint in prison was the last thing he wanted to explain today.

He cleared his throat. “I mean, the details of the job. What would you like me to do first?”