All Jacked Up (Rough Riders #8)(73)

It’s been three years. Get over it. You’ve got a chance to have a better, fuller life.


With Keely McKay? Despite her sexual appeal, the sweetness she masked beneath insults, her thoughtfulness, her ambition, her sly sense of humor and her tendency to give all of herself to those she cared about, Keely was not the type of woman he expected he’d spend his life with. She’d never leave Wyoming, never venture far from her family, which led him to believe she had a narrow view of the world.


Any narrower than yours?


Jack admitted spending the last few weeks with Keely and her family and friends proved his life was empty outside of working hours. No real relationships. No group of male buddies to invite over to catch a Broncos or Rockies game.


The one solid friend he’d kept throughout the years was Carter McKay. Jack figured after Carter married Macie the friendship might cool. But if anything, they’d gotten closer. Carter and Macie welcomed him into their life. In the last six years he’d enjoyed every moment spent at their house in Canyon River with their three wild boys.


Maybe you aren’t as allergic to the notion of home and hearth as you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you are.


Then again, maybe Carter continued their relationship because of Jack’s ability to track down art commissions. If that perk ended, would Carter still call him? Or worse, what happened after the engagement with Keely went south? Would Carter blame him and cut all ties?


That thought absolutely paralyzed him.


The intercom buzzed and his heart rate rocketed. He depressed the button. “Yes?”


“A Keely McKay here to see you sir.”


“Thanks. Send her up.”


He paced, feeling edgy and nervous in his own skin.


Two brisk knocks. Jack opened the door, took one look at her beautiful face and everything inside him calmed. “Hey. Come in. How was the drive?”


“Uneventful.”


She skirted the plain white wall dividing the entry foyer from the living space. In the living room she wandered to the floor to ceiling windows. “The years I lived in Denver I always wondered what the view looked like from up here.”


“And?”


“Still makes you feel far away, doesn’t it?”


He didn’t quite know how to respond to that.


Keely meandered to the dining room, which didn’t have a table, but a drafting table, a Bowflex and weight sets. She moved through the kitchen. Her gaze swept over the breakfast bar. The double sink. The double ovens. The built in dishwasher. The island with a Jenn-aire range inset into a marble countertop.


The sub-zero refrigerator. She didn’t say a word—good or bad—as she rounded the corner and headed down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.


Jack’s whole body went on full alert.


She poked her head into the main bathroom. He could almost hear her assessment: nothing fancy.


Boring white walls, white sink, white toilet, white tub/shower combo and white tiled floor.


She entered the second bedroom, which served as Jack’s office. Two oversized drafting tables lined the longest wall. A mahogany desk anchored one end of the room. He’d converted the walk-in closet with shelves for storing building plans and to house his collection of books on restoration as well as photographic books. The only wall not covered in shelf space was plastered with an enormous map of the U.S. dotted with colorful pins.


“These pins are where you’ve done restoration projects?”


“Yes.”


“What a cool way to see all you’ve accomplished.”


Jack smiled. Keely would see it as a positive. Whenever he was frustrated with project plans, he saw the pins denoting finished projects and it motivated him to continue.


“This is a great space and all cozy with books, but where do your clients sit?”


“I don’t bring clients to my home, Keely.”


She faced him. “But you don’t have another office someplace?”


“No. Most of the initial business is conducted over the phone. I travel to where I’m needed, hence no need for a formal office space. A PO box, an Internet connection, a phone and I’m good to go anywhere.”


“Oh. Well, I thought…” Her eyes darted away. “Never mind.”


“What?”


“I thought since you’re a historic preservation specialist you’d have a funky, cool office in a nifty building you restored. With pictures of the work you’ve done. Nothing fancy, just…”


“Something besides an overfilled second bedroom in a modern condo in Denver?”


She blushed. “I guess.”


“I had an impressive office when I worked in Chicago. Evidently the conference table in the meeting room was a favorite place for Martine and Baxter to f*ck, so I’m soured on formal office suites.”


“You don’t have to snap at me, Jack, for asking a simple question.” She wheeled around.


Jack caught her wrist as she stormed into his bedroom. “Sorry. My place isn’t anything remotely cool… Basically it sucks and I’m embarrassed. There’s no personality and I’ve lived here for three years.