The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(19)

Thereafter, Frankie had raised Joy and kept White Caps alive. She’d also lost a fiancé in the process. Lost her life, in a way.

Alex had gone back to racing, but he was different at the helm. What had once been reckless passion got turned into an icy, focused control that left him utterly unflappable. In the shutting off, the cooling down, he was transformed from a good sailor into one of the greats.

So many America’s Cup trophies had been brought home because of his leadership. So many laudations, so much awe, until he was worshiped as The Warrior. Meanwhile, Frankie and Joy had been here. Fending for themselves, unsupported by him. They must have assumed he’d forgotten about them, but he never had. He’d thought of them always.

Just done jack about it.

Even now, with him here at home, his sisters haunted him. They were ghosts just as Cassandra was, born out of his failings as a brother, a friend. A man.

Alex took his hand off the desk.

There was a time when he had disdained his father for wanting to live such a simple life. Now, he was fairly certain that when Ted died, he’d shaken St. Peter’s hand with few regrets.

For a man to have been a good father and husband, to have taken care of his own, to have loved his community and had the quiet respect of neighbors and friends, that was a life led well, led with honor.

Far better than what Alex had to show for himself.

All those trophies and plaques he’d won were in a storage unit in Newport.

Unlike his father, the culmination of his life’s accomplishments was nothing more than a ragged landing pad for dust.





Chapter Six




The following day Cassandra met the crew she’d hired at the site and took them through the house. She’d culled the men’s names from Frankie who had used each one in some capacity or another over the years. They were middle-aged, strong and grateful for the winter work because by definition construction was seasonal this far north. After November, with all the snowstorms and cold temperatures, it was difficult to do much outdoors beyond ice fishing or hurrying home.

Plus, White Caps was a cush job. With the windows and the doorways sealed with plastic, and a propane heater blaring like a jet engine, the place was warm and out of the wind. The only possible determent was having a woman for a boss, but none of them seemed to have a problem with that. At least not on their first morning together.

If any of them did develop an attitude, she’d handle the problem the way she always did. She knew houses from their concrete basement slabs to their roofing nails and all the wall studs and floorboards in between. After having discussed the project thoroughly with Frankie, studied the plans until midnight last evening and been at White Caps since six this morning, she also knew this particular building. She understood exactly what had to be done and in what order.

So there was no question that she couldn’t answer. No problem that she couldn’t reason out logically. No obstacle to progress that she couldn’t surmount. That knowledge, coupled with how hard she was going to work, would cure any testosterone-laden God complex that might crop up.

And lunch brought in with some frequency wouldn’t hurt morale, either.

She glanced down at her clothes, thinking of Alex’s comment the day before. The blue jeans, fleece and parka she was wearing were from Freeport, Maine, not Madison Avenue. Dressed in all this L.L. Bean, she wondered whether he could see her with a hammer now.

Cass looked at the men and gestured around the decimated kitchen.

“We’re starting here. The counters and cabinets need to be stripped out. Appliances, too. Sheetrock goes. Do not remove any of the joists in the ceiling, even though they’re burned out. I need to do a structure eval on the second story before I decide whether we’ll replace all of them or some of them.” She pointed to the floor. “The hardwood is strong enough to support you, but it’s all got to go. We’ll wait until the space is clean before we take it up. Dumpster is arriving at ten.”

Tim, a squat, dark-haired guy with an easy smile, nodded. “You want the electrics capped?”

She nodded. “Fuse box is shut down in the cellar. Gas and water are off, as well. At nine, a generator’s coming so we can run the power tools and lights. Lunch is on me today and it’s coming at eleven-thirty.”

“What are we eating?” he asked.

“Subs.”

“Nice.”

She returned his smile and looked at the other three. Lee, Greg and Bobbie were nodding with approval.

“Any questions?”

“Do the subs come with chips?” Lee said with mock gravity.

She smirked. “Yes. Frito’s or Ruffles, your choice. How about any questions on the house?”

They shook their heads.

“Let’s get to work. I’ll be upstairs checking the floor stability.”

*

Alex fished around the duffel bag, holding a towel at his waist.

No boxers.

He eyed his laundry pile. He didn’t mind going bareback in his jeans and he’d work out buck naked if he had to, provided Spike wore a blindfold. But socks were an issue. His feet were always cold, and there was no way he could sleep in dirty socks.

It looked as if he would have to go to Gray’s.

And if he happened to run into O’Banyon and had to tread on the guy’s toes a little? Well, that would just be a flaming pity, wouldn’t it?