The sound of a female’s voice calling from above had him lift his gaze to a balcony on the second floor near the back. The morning sun glistened behind her, and he squinted, unable to see her features clearly. Her dark, almost-black hair was a riot of waves around her head, shading her face, keeping her in the shadows. She had thrown on a long, multi-colored kimono-type robe, but it hung open in the front as though she’d raced outside, not bothering to tie the belt. Her sleep shorts were just that—short. He had no idea how tall she was, but her toned legs seemed to go on forever. Her tight top showed off a trim waist and the curve of her breasts, leaving little to the imagination.
She grabbed the sides of the kimono, jerking them together, now making his continued imagination go into overdrive. Sucking in a quick breath, he was struck by the statuesque woman on the balcony. Slammed with a bolt of lust, he wished he could see her face.
“It’s too early in the morning to be disturbing other people’s peace! Can’t you do this later?” she called down.
It wasn’t that her voice was strident or unpleasant, but considering he and his crew had been up before dawn, her complaint wasn’t met with joy. His lust was now doused, and he growled, “Sorry about the noise, but some people have to work for a living, ma’am.”
Her chin jerked back, and she huffed loud enough for him to hear her from the distance.
“Work for a living? I assure you, I work for a living, too!”
“Then you’ll understand that not everyone can have a nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday, right? So, pardon me if I don’t care about your beauty sleep, and I’ll get on with my job.”
The sound of another huff and then a door slamming met his ears as he turned away to see Nate and Andrew grinning up at him.
“Damn, boss. You’re gonna frighten off all the pretty customers like that!” Nate laughed.
“Just leaves more for us,” Andrew threw out with a wink, rubbing his hands together.
“She’s not the customer,” Griffin groused. “Just a princess who thinks the world dances to her tune.”
“Well, she can be my dance partner anytime,” Nate said, picking up the last load of lumber and placing it gently onto the pile, making as little noise as possible.
Still grumbling, Griffin jumped down from the bed of his truck. “Cover it with a tarp and wrap a chain around it. Make sure to lock the gate behind you.” Climbing behind the wheel, he waited until the others joined him then pulled onto the road, gunning his engine just a little more than necessary, ignoring the snickering coming from the passengers.
“If you two don’t mind, we’ve got work to discuss.”
“Sure, boss,” Andrew replied.
As they drove several blocks to their current job, he reviewed the schedule for finishing the two houses they were working on. “We’re down a man since Roscoe was in the ER, so there will be some overtime coming. I want everyone to make sure they take all their equipment with them each evening, and for fuck’s sake, lock up all the materials. I’m sick and tired of having shit stolen.”
“What was taken last time?” Nate asked.
“Two days ago. Tucker house. Jack called when he got there and said half the lumber was missing. When Bob got there, he realized two nail guns were gone also. I’m bleeding fuckin’ money, so everyone has got to lock their shit up if they leave it and take with them what they can.”
“Damn,” Andrew cursed, his sigh matching Griffin’s.
“I’m going to start putting in the new contracts that our materials and equipment can be left inside the home where possible, including the portable generator. If not, we’ll have to carry it with us each day.”
More grumbling came from the others until they reached their destination, a restored Victorian home in the heart of the city. Another contractor had installed new plumbing and electricity, and Capella Contracting was almost finished with the interior woodworking on the floors, stairs, mantles, and doorways. Now, they were on the last stages of the exterior. Arriving, he saw his other two employees, Bob and Jack, already at work.
Soon, the sound of the generator drowned out conversations as Griffin worked the lathe, turning the wood into spindles and balusters for the porch. His irritation over the woman from this morning eased as he settled into the rhythm of his work. He’d already created the smaller spindles and connected them in the intricate pattern to form the decorative eaves. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he stepped back and eyed the project as a whole.
He knew his crew thought he was just looking at the individual parts they had restored to the house, which was true, he was. But he also looked at the home. The home that had held families for numerous generations.
Before he started a project, he always did a historical search on the property. For one, it helped him know what architectural design would be in true keeping with the original. But the other, more private reason was it helped him imagine the original owners and subsequent families that called the property home.
Standing on the sidewalk, looking toward the front of their current restoration, he knew the original home was built in 1871, right after the Civil War. He took a moment to imagine the family and the excitement they must’ve felt when the house had been completed and they moved in. He knew the economy of the times, the education level of the patriarch, even the manner of dress the lady of the house would’ve worn.
Yeah, my crew would be shocked as shit if they knew everything I thought about when working on these homes. They simply knew he’d been in the Army as a carpenter, earned an associate degree in American history at the same time, and then worked as an apprentice for a custom home restorer when he returned, later taking over the business and making it his own. They had no idea he imagined the original owners, wondering if their spirits could see how the house was returned to its glory.
The vibration of his phone in his pocket jerked his thoughts back to the current century. Pulling it out, he shook his head as he answered. “Hey, Marcie. What’s up besides all those kids of yours?”
“Very funny, brother dear, but I can’t say you’re wrong.”
Hearing the shouts of kids in the background, there was no way she could deny that her kids were up and going strong on a Saturday morning.
“Bill is taking Bill, Jr. to soccer, and I’m trying to load up Tommy and Jenna for their game at a different park. I’m meeting Chelle there, also. I have no idea where Bert’s kids are playing today. Anyway, the kids are clamoring to see their Uncle Griff, so stop being antisocial and come for dinner sometime.”
“I’m not antisocial, I’m working!”
“Well, you don’t work twenty-four-seven, so let’s plan something soon. I’ll see who else I can get. Mom’ll love it. Oh, shit—Tommy, stop teasing your sister! Gotta go. Bye!”
She disconnected before he had a chance to say goodbye. Dropping his chin to his chest, he studied his boots for a moment. Griffin may have been the oldest sibling, but Marcie took her duties as the oldest girl in the family seriously. Only a year younger than he, she’d always assumed the role of big sister with ease, just like he’d become the man of the family at the age of twelve. A flash of the woman he’d seen in the ER the previous night ran through his mind. He knew many of the reasons why women stayed with a man who slapped them around. He’d seen the verbal abuse from his dad to his mother. But the instant their dad turned his anger physical, she’d found the courage to send him packing, even if that meant money to take care of five kids was tight. Wonder if the lady in the ER will ever do that or if she’ll keep being some man’s punching bag?