The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(25)

He’d loved surprising her with extravagant birthday presents on New Year’s Eve, always trying to top himself. The culmination had been the year before. For her thirtieth, he’d rented the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the night and they’d strolled around the galleries arm in arm until they’d ended up in front of a table set for two. She’d been thrilled, thinking they’d spend a quiet evening together in front of her favorite Rembrandt, but then people had burst out into the room, friends and business associates of Reese’s, all wishing her a happy birthday.

She’d told him that she’d loved it, of course. Because that was what he’d wanted to hear.

God, she’d kept so much from him, hadn’t she?

“Ah, boss?”

“Sorry, Tim. What was that?”

“We gotta real problem with Chunk.” He pointed to the corner. “The back’s bolted into the wall, and we can’t open it to get in with wrenches, because the firemen jumped all over the thing. We tried taking the doors off, but the hinges are all bent and the crowbar’s not getting us anywhere.”

Cass looked the cabinet over. It was directly across from the blown-out window in the alcove.

“Tim, how good’s the traction on your truck?”

“The best. She’s sporting a V8 under the hood and I got the chains on.”

“Good. Back your beast around. I saw some rope in the barn. We’re going to liberate Chunk.” She jogged outside and bypassed the shop, using a door that went directly into the barn. Weeding through the machines, she found the thick, coiled length she’d tripped over that first day and dragged the dead weight through the snow back to the house.

Ten minutes later they had the rope wrapped around the belly of the cabinet.

“Run this out to your truck, Tim. When I give you the signal, I want just a little gas. Keep it light or we’ll shred the wall. All we need is to strip the screws so the thing’s detached, okay? We don’t want to pull it out onto the lawn.”

Tim smiled. “I got a soft foot. Don’t you worry.”

“Wait for my signal.” She looked over at Lee, Greg and Bobbie, who were taking bets on whether Chunk or the Ford F-150 was going to win. “Stay back, boys.”

She whistled and got out of the way. The rope tightened, strained and the cabinet was gently ripped from the wall. She waited until it was far enough out and whistled again. The rope went slack.

“Perfect.” She reached down to untie the cabinet as the men high-fived each other.

She glanced up and smiled, only to see Alex standing in the kitchen’s doorway. Furious.

“Tell your men to leave,” he said. “Now.”

The crew fell quiet as she got to her feet. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Or we’re going to do this in front of them.”

Cass frowned, but before her mouth could jump ahead of her brain, she checked her watch. It was quitting time, anyway.

“Okay.” She nodded at Tim. “Great work with your truck. Thanks. Listen, let’s just leave this until tomorrow.”

The guys glanced at Alex. Looked back at her.

“You sure about that, boss?” Tim said, staring right in her eyes.

“Yes. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As car doors were shut and engines started, she and Alex stayed quiet, the tension flowing between them like the blue arc of a welder.

When the guys had pulled out, she said, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

As if the source of his ire was so flipping obvious? “I’m not a mind reader, Alex. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

He jabbed his finger to the floor. “Using this rope.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought. He gets territorial over a thirty-foot coil of nasty, dirty rope? Sure, she might have asked him, but the damn thing was no worse for wear.

She rolled her eyes and stepped past him. “You can have it back. We’re finished.”

As she bent down and started gathering the thing up, he grabbed her arm and snapped her body to his. Her ponytail swung around and landed between them.

“Did you think what would have happened if it broke?”

Cass pulled against his hold. Got absolutely nowhere. “It was strong enough.”

“Luck, not planning.”

“Will you let go—”

“I saw a man lose an eye when a rope just that size snapped on a mooring. Caught him right in the face. He thought the damn thing was strong enough, too.”

“I was standing—”

“Not far enough away.” He jerked her even closer. “Now, listen up. You’re the contractor, not one of the workmen. I want you to cut it out with the hands-on stuff.”

Cass took a deep breath before she told him to shove it. “Look, Alex—”

“You’re not picking up another hammer. Or a crowbar. Or so much as a nail. Do we understand each other?”

Not in the slightest, she thought. No way was she going to stand for this heavy-handed, macho steak-head power trip of his.

She rose up on her tiptoes so she could get in tighter with his eyes. It was like using a step ladder to get level with a rooftop, but at least she made it to his jawline.