Maverick vs. Maverick Page 5

  She hated that a simple story about his grandpa could make her see him in a different light. She wanted to hate Walker Jones III and his evil empire for how it had mismanaged the Just Us Kids Day Care. Except that was hard to do that when Walker got all sentimental talking about building a birdhouse. “That’s...sweet.”

  “You say it like you’re surprised.”

  “Maybe I am a little.” Okay, a lot. For two months, she’d been sending letters and leaving messages for this faceless evil man in a corporate office. But now that Walker was here and in the flesh, she couldn’t quite muster up the same feelings of animosity.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking. I’m not this horrible corporate monster who only cares about the bottom line, you know.” He picked up the next piece of wood. “In fact, let me prove it to you.”

  “Prove it to me? How?”

  He waved the wood at her, then grabbed a handful of screws. “Let me help you construct these.”

  Working all day side by side with Walker Jones? Having him distract her and make her forget that he was the enemy, not a man she wanted to kiss? Lindsay shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m suing you, and we shouldn’t be talking to each other.”

  “For one, you’re suing my company, not me personally. And for another, as long as we don’t talk about the day care or the lawsuit, we should be just fine.” He put out his hand. “Deal?”

  She hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t work with him, especially not with the pending lawsuit, but there were few people in the room, and all these booths to build, and given her track record so far, there wasn’t much chance that Lindsay could build them herself. And maybe if she spent some time with Walker she could figure out what made him tick—and use that to her advantage in the courtroom next week.

  “Deal.” She shook with him, and that same zing ran through her. Clearly, it wasn’t an anomaly. Which meant Lindsay might just be making an incredibly big mistake.

  But then Walker let her go and started talking about the best method of assembling the booths, and she realized he must not have felt the same jolt. He was being detached and businesslike and doing exactly what he’d promised to do—helping. She had nothing to worry about, as long as she could keep herself in check. Which she could easily do, she told herself.

  “Okay, so this piece goes here?” she said, picking up another short one. Work on the booth and forget about the way his touch had seared her skin, yup, that was the plan.

  “I’ll hold it together. You’ll drill a pilot hole first, then sink the screw.”

  “Me? Drill a what?”

  “Here, change out the bit to a drill bit.” He showed her how to loosen the chuck then slip in the new bit and tighten it again. “If you drill a pilot hole, it keeps the screw from putting as much pressure on the wood and you have less chance of splitting the wood.”

  She did as he instructed, using just enough pressure to drill the narrow pilot hole, then back out the bit and change it out for a Phillips head. She poised herself over the two pieces of wood, a little hesitant. “And now we try this again. You sure you have a good hold on it?”

  “It’ll be fine. Just remember to go slow and keep even pressure on the drill.”

  She did as he said, and when the screw sank into place, Walker let go. The two sides of the booth held together, perfectly perpendicular. “I did it.”

  Walker grinned. “You did. Great job.”

  Confidence filled her chest. Maybe this wasn’t such an impossible project. Of course, she was only on the first booth, but still... “Can we do the next piece?”

  He chuckled. “Yup. Same idea as before. Ready?”

  She grabbed another screw, then hoisted the cordless drill. Right now, she felt like a superhero. She had only built a tiny portion of one booth—with Walker’s help—but there was something deeply satisfying about building anything with her own hands that gave her a sudden burst of self-assurance. “Yup.”

  “You do a mighty good impression of Bob Vila,” he said, “only you are way prettier than him.”

  That made her laugh and flushed her cheeks. Twice now he’d complimented her on her looks. But she told herself the words meant nothing, and she should take his remarks in stride. “I should hope so,” she said, laughing them off. “Though if I grow a beard, we might up end up looking like twins.”

  “Trust me. No one would ever mistake you for Bob Vila.”

  “Thanks.” She ducked her head, hoping he hadn’t seen how the flattery pleased her, despite her resolve. Or how tempted she was to keep looking into his blue eyes.

  They worked together for a few minutes. Walker was a patient, easygoing teacher who coached her from time to time and made the whole process ten times less stressful. He held the pieces while she connected them, the two of them falling into an easy, unspoken rhythm. They would bump up against each other occasionally or just be within a few inches of each other. Every time he brushed up against her, her heart did a little flutter flip. And then her head scolded her for her reaction.

  Soon as the booths were built, she was going to put some distance between herself and Walker. This...attraction she felt for him would lead nowhere good.

  In almost no time at all, they had framed the first booth. “Let’s get that plywood on,” Walker said. He hoisted the heavy piece into place, then handed her the drill. “Just screw down each of the corners, and then we’ll put a few more screws along the longer sides to give it more stability.”

  She did as he said, but her focus kept sputtering. She was acutely aware of the muscles in his hands, the dark scent of his cologne, the broad expanse of his chest and how very, very good he looked in jeans. “There. I think we’re done.”

  They both stepped back and took a second to admire their work. The booth stood tall and straight and ready for business. A sense of pride washed over Lindsay. “We did it.”

  “We did.” He turned to her and smiled. “Seems we can work together for the common good.”

  She laughed. “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Trust me, I won’t.” He waved toward the pile of wood, and the teasing mood evaporated. They were back to all business about the booths. “How many more to go?”

  “Nine.” She perched her fists on her hips. The pile of wood seemed awfully high, and the number of hours left to work awfully low. As much as she wanted to get rid of Walker so she would stop noticing his hands and his cologne, she knew she couldn’t finish this job on her own. “Think we can do it?”

  “Are you inviting me to stay and help?”

  Was she? All she knew was that she had a lot of booths to build and working with Walker wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. She might even call it...enjoyable, if she was feeling charitable. “Turns out you’re kind of handy to have around, Walker Jones.” She wagged a finger at him. “Just don’t expect any of this to influence how I go after you in court next week.”

  “Still a bulldog, huh?”

  “Of course.”

  He grinned again. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, Ms. Dalton.”

  “Me, neither,” she said, then turned to the next booth. Because the last thing she needed was to let down her defenses and fall for the man who was going to be sitting on the opposite side of the courtroom in a few days.

  Chapter Four

  Walker hadn’t planned on it. Not at all. But it happened. He liked Lindsay Dalton. She was beautiful and funny and smart, but most of all, determined. He liked that best about her. The way she didn’t back down from a challenge, didn’t find a task too daunting. They were traits that would serve her well in court—

  Which was a definite disadvantage to him.

  If he was smart, he’d steer clear of her. In fact, every part of his brain was telling him to walk away. Right now. But something kept him there, even
as he fed himself the fiction that he was merely trying to gain a better understanding of the opposing side, as part of maintaining his edge over her. So he kept on building the booths with her, one after another, like an assembly line of wood and screws.

  But every time she got within a few inches of him, his entire body went on high alert.

  Yeah, he was attracted to her. Very much so. He kept trying to pretend all he was here for was building the booths and good community relations and researching the opposing counsel, but really, he’d stopped caring about the festival a long time ago. All he wanted was more time with Lindsay.

  “So, did you grow up around here?” he asked.

  She arched a brow. “Is this small talk or investigating the opposing counsel?”

  She was smart, too, and he’d do well to remember that before he got tripped up on his own plan.

  “Neither.” He sat back on his heels. “I’m interested in you. Genuinely interested.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “We can’t... I mean, we shouldn’t...”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, Lindsay. Just whether you grew up around here.” It was the first time he’d used her given name, and it rolled off his tongue with ease. A little flare of surprise lit her eyes, which told him she’d noticed the name, too. He’d done it only to gain an edge, no other reason.

  “And just because I answer your questions doesn’t mean I want to marry you, either,” she said.

  He laughed. “Is everything with you an argument?”

  That made a grin quirk up one corner of her mouth. “My mother would say I was born ready to argue.”

  “My mother said the same thing about me. She used to say I’d argue about the color of the sky on a cloudy day. I was the difficult one, according to her.”

  “Hmm...” Lindsay put a finger to her lips. “I might have to agree with that opinion.”

  “Ah, but you hardly know me.” He leaned in closer to her, and against his better judgment, inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume, watched the tick of her pulse in her neck. “I’m not as bad as I seem on paper.”

  “Maybe you’re much worse.”

  He could tell that it was going to take a whole lot more than some beer and booths to impress the lawyer. She was a challenge, and if there was one thing Walker loved, it was a challenge. “Just give me a chance, that’s all I ask.”

  “It won’t change anything, Mr. Jones. I’m still taking you to court.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He connected the next two pieces, then tried again. Reminded himself he was here to get to know her, as an opponent, nothing else. “So...did you grow up around here?”

  She laughed this time. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  “I suspect neither do you.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She handed him the next board, then jiggled a few screws in her palm. “Yes, I did grow up here. The Dalton family is as much a part of Rust Creek Falls as the earth the town sits on. I went away for college and law school, and for a brief time, I thought about moving to the city once I got my JD, but I love it here. It’s...home.”

  A soft, sentimental smile swept across her face. Her eyes took on a dreamy sheen. Walker almost felt...jealous.

  He’d never loved anything or anyplace as much as Lindsay Dalton clearly loved this town. What would it be like to come home to a place like that? To feel like you belonged?

  In that cold, perfect museum his parents had called a home, he had never felt like he belonged. With his father judging everything he said and did, and his mother involved in every cause but her own children, Walker had hated his childhood home. His brothers were the only thing that had made it tolerable. When he’d gone to his grandfather’s, where life was simple and the rules were light, he’d felt happy. Like he was meant to be there, building things in the garage his grandfather had turned into a woodshop. The way Lindsay talked about Rust Creek Falls made him think of the scent of his grandfather’s cologne, the way the woodsy smell blended with the scent of wood shavings. That gravelly voice giving him wisdom about life and girls, while the sandpaper scritched along a plank of wood.

  Damn. Now he was getting all sentimental. If there was one thing Walker had learned, it was that sentimentality didn’t mix with business. Or lawsuits.

  “So what about you?” she asked. “Did you grow up in Tulsa?”

  “Nope. In a nearby city, Jenks. My family has never been the small-town type and neither have I. Honestly, I have no idea how people live in a place like this. It’s so...claustrophobic.”

  “Then why open a business here?”

  “It made sense on paper.” He shrugged. “There are few child care options in the immediate area, it’s centrally located and can draw from other towns, and the building needed minimal changes to convert it to a day care.”

  She looked skeptical. “In other words, the entire decision was based on numbers, not emotions?”

  “Is there another way to make decisions?” Walker said. “I’m not going to run my business based on how cute Main Street is.” He put a sarcastic emphasis on the cute.

  “I’m not talking about cuteness,” Lindsay said, her hackles up, fire in her eyes. “But when you open a business in a place like this, you have to realize that it’s not just another storefront in a row of strip malls. Any business that operates in Rust Creek Falls becomes part of the fabric of the community.”

  He scoffed. “Fabric of the community? This is a business, not a knitting circle.”

  As soon as he said the words, he realized he was undermining his goal of pretending to be one of the people of Rust Creek Falls. If he let his disdain for small-town life show, everything he’d done so far would be undone. “But this town seems like a really great place to live.”

  “It is,” she said. “You’ll see that if you stay here for a few days.”

  I doubt that highly. “I’m sure I will.” He gave her a smile that he hoped said he wasn’t the evil small-town-hating ogre she thought he was. “I guess I’m a little out of touch with what it’s like to live here. I live a couple miles from the corporate headquarters in Tulsa.” He didn’t add that he would bet a thousand dollars that Lindsay lived in some kind of homey place with a wide front porch, the diametric opposite to his fifteenth-floor apartment decorated in glass and chrome. Everything about this town seemed like something out of an episode of Little House on the Prairie, except with the modern conveniences of electricity and wireless phones.

  They worked for a little while, the conversation falling into a lull.

  “So, is it just you and your brothers?” she asked after they assembled another booth. “Autry, Gideon and...Jensen, right? And I’ve seen Hudson around town now and then.”

  She’d done her homework. “Yes. Even though I have a bunch of brothers, my parents weren’t exactly...parentish,” he said. “My dad worked a lot and my mother was involved in her charities. We were more often with the nanny than with them.”

  “That’s...awful.”

  “It’s a childhood. We all have one.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter.

  “I grew up on a ranch,” Lindsay said as she held the two legs of the booth together and waited for him to attach them to the brace. “Horses, pastures, big family dinners, the whole nine yards. I still live there now, just while I’m establishing my career.”

  He finished the next booth and reached for the plywood countertop to install. “I couldn’t imagine living with anyone in my family. Working with my father is more than enough together time. He can be a little...hardheaded.”

  Hardheaded was putting it mildly. Walker Jones II had high expectations for all his sons, but he reserved the highest for his namesake. Walker had done his best to live up to that family mantle, but the times when he had tried to go his own way, his father h
ad lectured him like he was two years old again. The older Walker got, the more he butted heads with his father, over everything from the type of coffee in the conference room to the directions the corporation should take going forward. His phone buzzed all day with texts and emails from his father—which Walker did his best to ignore. As he reminded his father often, Walker was a grown-up who didn’t need to be ordered around. But his father rarely listened—to anyone.

  Lindsay laughed. “Hmm... Jones family trait?”

  “Maybe.” She had a really sweet, musical laugh. For a millisecond, he forgot she was the opposing counsel.

  He’d done that at the courthouse on Friday, too. When he’d seen her with the baby, he’d seen a softer side, a gentler dimension to the no-nonsense lawyer. There’d also been a degree of tension between them, ever since they started working side by side. Half of him wanted to kiss her—and half of him thought he should back away before he got even more connected to the one woman who wanted to ruin him.

  He stood and turned and realized they were out of plywood. This was it, he told himself. His opportunity to leave. So why was he not moving? It was if his feet weren’t listening to his brain.

  “We’ll need a few more sheets to finish up the last few booths,” Walker said. “Do you know where the supplies are?”

  Where did those words come from? He was supposed to be leaving!

  She nodded. “Everything’s being stored in that room behind the gym. Four pieces of plywood is a lot to carry, so maybe I should come help you.”

  Oh, that wasn’t good. It meant she’d be spending more time with him, even if it was only the few minutes it took to get the plywood. Being alone with her was definitely not a good idea. But he didn’t say no.

  They crossed the gym, with her leading the way. She had on jeans and a T-shirt, her hair back in a ponytail again. She looked like the kind of woman who curled up on the couch at the end of the day with a movie or a book. It was so foreign to Walker’s life. His evenings were often spent reading reports or answering emails or analyzing financial data. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched more than ten minutes of television.