The Rancher and the Rock Star by Lizbeth Selvig

Author:Lizbeth Selvig [Lizbeth Selvig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-01-31T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“WHAT KIND OF wood are you after?” Gray asked forty-five minutes later, as Ed drove through rows of stacked lumber, and Dawson took in the surroundings with reluctant curiosity.

“Birch. Be finer-grained for sanding, and it’ll look a little lighter than oak. There.” He pointed to a stack of pale boards and stopped his truck.

Out of habit, Gray glanced warily out the windshield. A handful of people shuffled down the aisle, but they weren’t paying attention to Ed’s ten-year-old Dodge pickup. Gray wore an unadorned white T-shirt and jeans, and a UCLA baseball cap pulled low over his brows. He dug a pair of empty, Clark Kent glasses frames from his pocket and settled them over his nose.

The cords of Ed’s neck stood out from the effort of holding back laughter. “Where’s the fake mustache, Mr. Bond?”

Dawson sputtered like a choking engine. “Not all that funny. Dude, he actually used to have one.”

“Don’t knock it.” Gray adjusted the fake glasses. “In a crowd, it comes in handy.”

“Yah, and I’m sure it’s real handsome,” Ed said. Dawson snickered again.

“You two are getting far too much enjoyment out of each other.” Gray yanked the handle and flung the door wide, ignoring the residual laughter as they all climbed out.

Under Ed’s tutelage, Gray and Dawson sorted through a dozen four-by-eight sheets of wood. After friendly debates and plenty of random laughter, five sheets meeting Ed’s exacting standards were loaded into the truck bed. Gray had forgotten all about fake glasses and mustaches until a voice startled them all from behind.

“That you, Ed?”

Gray turned involuntarily with the others and his heart hit his toes at the sight of linebacker thighs and curled ginger hair. Mr. Lucky Charms himself.

“Yah, Dewey,” Ed replied.

“Hey, Dawson.” Dewey spoke but super-glued his gaze to Gray’s. “This is your dad?”

“Yeah. Bummer, huh?”

Dawson took a subtle step toward Gray, and he caught a glint of steel in his son’s eye. A wave of gratitude rippled through his surprised heart.

“David, isn’t it?” Dewey put his hand out, but a challenge rode his gaze, once again as if he were about to suggest pistols at dawn.

“Right.” He caught a glimpse of Ed’s amused eyes and accepted Dewey’s handshake, a crushing grip full of blatant aggression.

“Still at Abby’s?”

“She’s still putting up with us,” Gray acknowledged.

“ ’At’s right, Dewey,” Ed’s voice soothed. “And Sylvia and me are watchin’ closely.”

Dewey’s brows folded into one feathery line. “You’ve seemed familiar all along.”

“He gets that a lot. It’s the pits.” Dawson curled his lip.

Ed clapped Gray on the back and turned him toward the lumber stack. “It was good to see you, Dewey. We gotta get home before the wimmenfolk know we’re gone. Come on. Quit yakkin’ and shut that tailgate.”

“Nice to see you again . . .” Dewey’s eyes narrowed to green slits. “You sure I haven’t seen you somewhere? Other than Abby’s?”

“Pretty sure,” Gray nodded.

Nervousness jogged down his spine. He’d spoofed his way through enough situations to know when a ruse had worked and when it hadn’t.

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