Mourning Wood - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,3

right across the front of my T-shirt. Pretty boy.

“Yup. Dig out your work boots. I’m gonna need all the manpower I can get.”

He snorts. The mere suggestion that he owns anything besides loafers and brand-name tennis shoes is hilarious.

“I actually came by to talk to you about something.” He’s still grimacing as he peers into each of the doors, one after the other.

“Oh?” I peek my head into the master at the king-sized bed that’s beckoning me, dying a little inside as I walk away.

“Yeah.” He follows me back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the little wood breakfast table. “I know you’re literally just pulling into town, but Kate’s got a friend in a bit of a bind.”

I retrieve two beers from the box on the top shelf of the ancient fridge, literally the only thing besides dog food I bothered to pick up on my way in. After sliding one over to Beau, I whip out the chair across from his and straddle it. “She need a date to Christmas dinner or something?”

He laughs. “Not that kinda bind. Do you ever stop thinking with your dick for even a few minutes?”

“Not if I can help it.” I wink, popping the tab on my Bud Light. “What’cha got?”

“All right, so her friend hired this crew to update their family’s chapel… She paid cash.” His head shakes with disappointment. Pretty sure I already know where this is going. “They ran out on her halfway through the job.”

I hiss. “That’s tough…but what’s it got to do with me?” I hope he doesn’t think I’m about to restore a whole fucking church as a favor to his wife, no matter how much I like Kate.

“Well, the Daigles are a pretty influential family in this town. It would be a great contract to land for your first local project.” He drums his fingers, worrying his lip between his teeth.

Contract. Now we’re talkin’. My interest is piqued now that I know it’s a paid job. “What’s the catch?”

His victorious smile seems a little premature, taking into consideration I haven’t agreed to anything yet. “I actually took the liberty of stopping by and hashing out the details with Hank, the owner.”

What the hell? He better not have already volunteered me for anything. “You did what?”

“I didn’t want anyone else snagging the position ahead of you.” His blasé shrug proves he’s not the least bit sorry.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure people are just lined up to take over a half-cocked job at some broke church.”

Beau slings his briefcase up onto the table and opens it, completely disregarding my tirade. “This lays everything out in black and white.” He slaps a stack of legal papers in front of me, open to the last page. “Basically, they’d need you to self-finance, allowing them to make monthly payments on the labor portion for two years. In exchange you could brand every pew with a metal plate with your information. Leave your business cards at the front desk. Stuff like that.”

I take the paper, glancing over the terms. I don’t bother with reading the whole thing. If Beau drew them up, I know they’re legit.

“Look, this place gets tons of traffic,” he urges. “It’ll be a great jump start for your business here.”

I nod, tapping the pen rapidly. It’s not like I’m hurting for money. I still have a good chunk sitting in the bank. If it’ll get my name out, and help a friend of Kate… “You know these people, right?” I quirk a brow. “Cuz I’m not looking to get chained to a bunch of whack jobs.”

“Extremely well,” he assures me. “Great people.”

I take in the light bead of sweat on his forehead and slight shake in his voice. “Then why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

He shrugs, popping the top on his beer and taking a long swig. “No clue. You know I’d never suggest anything that wasn’t in your best interest.”

I’m positive he’s up to something, but I also know that if anyone on earth would be looking out for me and mine, it’s this man right here. So, despite the niggling worry in the back of my mind, I throw caution to the wind, and sign on the dotted line.

It’s not yet six in the morning when I roll to a stop at the address Beau scribbled down on a fast-food napkin for me before leaving in an Uber late last night. His drunken scrawl ain’t easy to read.

I place