Page 3 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter Two

FRANK

Matthias was right. This place is a mess. In my defense, I swear it didn’t look this bad last night.

Also, in my defense, it was dark and I was in a hurry.

Besides, there are three other guys on my team. And sure, I was the last one here, but, at worst, that only makes it half my fault.

I’m also the first one here this morning.

Not because I’m the hardest worker or anything.

Far from it. It’s because I beg Sam for extra hours, and he indulges me.

He’s a good boss and pays well. Not amazing, but it’s good money, and the hours are stable.

Better than I’d get in a coffee shop or retail.

Plus, I don’t have to play nice with cranky customers.

Sam deals with them while I lift shit and put things together.

Even pulling extra hours, I barely manage to scrape together the money to pay my tuition and eat. Let alone pay off other debts or save up to move out of my parents’ basement. It’s a constant struggle, and I’m thankful for every little bit I can get.

I examine the yard, cataloging the tasks for the day. First up: get organized. The rest of the guys will be here in an hour, which gives me enough time to start rearranging things. That way, when they arrive, we can begin the real work.

I grab my work gloves and dive into rearranging our materials.

Space will be tight for a while, but with a little creativity, we’ll have enough room to start tearing things apart.

The small deck that exists off the back of the house will be the first to go.

Once it’s out, we can start putting in the new one.

That’ll use up a lot of the lumber and give us more room to work on the rest of the projects.

It’s a big list too—new porch, paving stones to create a patio and path, a fire pit, and a gravel garden.

That last one is new to me, but Sam says they’re an environmentally friendly option that clients are increasingly requesting.

I guess that means I’m back on research before we get to that part.

When I started this job, I was a skinny kid with no experience.

I convinced Sam to let me try, promising I’d put everything into learning the necessary skills.

Admittedly, for the first month, everything was close to nothing.

Each day, I’d leave work, go home, watch YouTube videos, and read how-to guides to catch up with the rest of the crew.

A year later, I’m not winning any awards, but I’m pulling my weight.

I’m nearly done moving things around when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I’m being watched.

Right on time. I knew Sam would be by to check things out for himself. The owner’s some sort of VIP customer. Not sure I see it. The Craftsman house is nice. Better than anything I’ve ever lived in, but it’s no mansion .

I keep working, hoping my dedication continues to convince Sam that what I lack in skill can be made up for with my work ethic. It must be working because he hasn’t fired me. Yet.

“You’re either a very organized thief or a highly devoted employee.”

I lower the brick in my hands to the ground and turn around, ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind.

The beast of a man standing on the front porch makes my jaw drop.

He’s got a broad chest that stretches his white button-down shirt perfectly, not to mention the tight suit pants that hug his tree trunk thighs.

Yes, please.

“Are you robbing me?”

I manage to tear my gaze away from his body and meet his eyes. “Why would I be robbing you?”

“Well, you’re in my yard before seven, helping yourself to supplies.” He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

“Did you expect the materials to turn into a deck by themselves magically? Perhaps with the help of lawn fairies?” Why am I taunting the sexy man? Even new me can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

“No, I expect the company I hired to do that work. You know, the one that shows up at seven-thirty.”

“I’m on Sam’s crew,” I say matter-of-factly, biting my tongue to keep from saying anything more.

“Are you now?” He takes a few steps toward me, his breath creating a small cloud in front of him.

Isn’t he cold? It’s that part of early fall when the mornings are frigid, but it still warms up to a respectable temperature by mid-morning.

I’m out here in a sweatshirt and gloves, but I’m working up a sweat.

He’s got nothing but that thin top on. I know because it’s practically see-through.

“I start early.”

“And why’s that?” He moves a little closer, and I take a step back.

The closer he gets to me, the less my brain seems capable of functioning, which does not bode well for my brain-to-mouth filter.

Sam will kill me if I get too mouthy. This is why I’m not in a customer-facing position. Well, one of many reasons.

“None of your business.”

“My yard. My business.”

“Sam makes the schedule. If you don’t like it, talk to him.” I turn around and grab the brick I’d set down. “I need to get back to work.” It’ll be easier to defend myself later if I shut up now.

I move brick after brick from the middle of the yard to the stack I have going against the fence.

It’s possible I put on a little show while doing it, making sure to stick my ass out more than strictly necessary each time I bend over.

But hey, it’s good for my form and my back.

I have no idea if he’s into men, but the way he watches me makes me think he’s at least curious.

Who does this guy think he is anyway? Coming out here and questioning me about my motives?

If I was going to rob him, I certainly wouldn’t start with a stack of bricks.

If he’s going to hire us to do a job, then he needs to let us do the damn thing.

Just because he has a chiseled body and the perfect amount of stubble doesn’t mean he can come out here and start making demands.

It kills me not to turn around and look at him, especially when I can feel his eyes boring into my back.

The job is slow-going, but once I finish the bricks, I move to the oversized paving stones.

They’re a beautiful bluestone, but they’re also heavy enough to be a two-person job.

I’m not backing down now, not with Mr. Hot Shot watching.

Before long, my muscles burn under the strain of repeated movement.

There’s no way I’m slowing down. Nope. I get through a whole four of those pavers before I’m forced to stop and catch my breath.

Everything aches, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day.

It took me a while to adjust to this level of manual labor.

The first month, I could barely move in the morning, every fiber in my body screaming from the previous day’s work.

After a few months, I finally got to the point where I no longer hurt every single morning.

I shuck off my sweatshirt, using the material to wipe the sweat away from my brow. It’s still chilly, but I’m overheating after that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matthias turn and go back inside.

Show’s over. I return to work, focusing on lighter materials until the rest of the crew arrives. They can have the big stuff; I’ve earned a break. I’m moving some of the tools around the side of the house, out of the way, but easily accessible when the sliding back door whooshes open again.

What now? Can’t I do my extra hour in peace? That’s one of the main benefits, aside from the money. Getting an hour to myself is a rarity. As much as I love the eye candy, I miss the quiet. It’s too early for anything else.

Which is exactly what I’m about to say when he thrusts a water bottle at me.

It’s a trick, right? If I take it, then he decides I’m weak. Or needy.

“Take it.” He presses it to my chest. The cool condensation on the outside of the bottle soaks through my t-shirt, overpowering the last of my restraint.

I clasp the bottle, my fingers brushing up against the back of his hand.

How is his skin that soft? It’s clear he’s no stranger to the weight room, but I didn’t expect him to feel so smooth.

I wonder if the rest of him is that silky?

Nope, not gonna go there. I clear my throat and mumble my thanks as I remove the cap and down the bottle in one go.

“Are you showing off, or did you not bring any water?”

Can I pick both? “I forgot it.” A common occurrence. By now, I should have a system in place, but I keep forgetting to implement one. At least the other guys usually bring enough to share. Plus, Sam drops by with a cooler of water and other drinks when we have big jobs like this.

He takes the empty bottle from me and shakes his head.

I’m sure he’s going to give me a lecture, but he turns and walks back into the house instead.

I stand there like an idiot for a few minutes.

I’m simultaneously turned-on and annoyed by this guy.

First, he accuses me of stealing, then he does the sweetest thing in the world by bringing me water.

Now he’s stormed off, mad at me for not bringing my own. I’m getting emotional whiplash.

I’m about to start on the next pile of materials when he comes back, carrying a big black water bottle, one of the nice metal ones that supposedly keeps things cool all day.

“When you’re done, leave it by the back door.” His voice is soft, but his tone is commanding enough to send a shiver down my spine

“I’ll be fine without it,” I say, but my hands betray me and grab his offering. Traitors.

He huffs and heads back into the house, closing the door behind him. The lock clicks before I lose sight of him. Well then, the sexy beast apparently has strong feelings about me dying of dehydration in his backyard .

Benji appears in my periphery, signaling that it’s time for the day to officially start. At least the hard work will keep my mind off the morning’s craziness.

MATTHIAS