Hearth Stone by Lois Greiman

Author:Lois Greiman [Greiman, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-01-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“Two hundred thousand should cover it.”

Mr. Anderson’s statement was punctuated by the sound of Hunter’s steady hammering, but he was pretty sure he had heard the other man correctly.

“Two hundred thousand,” Sydney said. The words sounded a little breathless.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dollars.”

“Or thereabouts.”

“For a barn.”

He nodded. Lean as a white oak rail, the man had his designer jeans hitched low on practically nonexistent hips. His hair was coifed in a swanky do Hunter had seen on a hundred well-dressed hipsters in LA. “All new construction,” he said and flashed a flawless smile. “Raw materials don’t come free, you know.”

“I see.”

Where was she going to get two hundred thousand dollars? Hunter wondered. She couldn’t even afford a decent mattress. He glanced up from the nail he was pounding. In the last three days, spring had come in earnest. Fresh-melted snow hustled along every gully, singing its way toward unseen oceans. A meadowlark, raucous with joy, sang from a rotting post near a just-budding white willow.

But the rest of Gray Horse Hill didn’t look quite so fresh. The house was largely unfinished and the wooden barn yawned like an open crypt. Everything needed painting and renovating and redoing. Speaking of which . . .

“We’re going to need more lumber,” he said and abandoned his job to take the few steps that separated them.

Sydney turned at the sound of his voice. “I beg your pardon?”

“Found more dry rot around the windows.”

“Hello,” Anderson said and shifted his well-shod feet. “You must be . . . Mr. Wellesley?”

“No,” Sydney said.

Was her answer a little quick? Hunt wondered and refrained from scowling.

“This is Mr. Redhawk, my . . .” She paused momentarily, making him rethink the wisdom of that scowl. “. . . employee.”

“Well, aren’t you the lucky dog,” Anderson said and turned toward Hunter. “My boss weighs in at about three hundred and fifty pounds. ’Bout half of that is body hair.” He flashed a mouth full of pearly whites and thrust out his hand. “I’m Anderson. Moses. But they call me Moss.”

“Hunter.” They shook while Hunt reminded himself there was no reason in the world he should want to crush the other’s palm. It only took a moment for him to force his glower away from the contractor and back toward Sydney. “Maybe you could make a trip later this morning.”

“Hey.” Anderson spoke again. “Aren’t you Verdell’s brother?”

Redhawk turned back toward him. “One of them.”

“Yeah. You’re the guy who moved off to L.A. after—”

“You’re thinking of Jesse.”

“What?”

“My other brother. Jesse.”

“Really? I thought sure it was—”

“He’s still in Burbank.”

“No kidding. Well . . . This is a nice place, too. You planning to keep your horses here?”

Hunter scowled.

“I saw you racing at the fairgrounds once.” Anderson shook his head. “That was some crazy stunt.”

“The horses belong to my family,” Hunter said.

“Were all those boys your brothers then?”

“Ai.”

“So your other brother . . . what’s his name?”

Hunter waited several beats before speaking. “Tonkiaishawien.”

“Yeah.” Anderson shook his head, but didn’t chance the pronunciation. “He’s out of treatment?”

There was no reason in the world he should be irritated by this little bastard, Hunter realized.

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