“That’s right,” Julia said. “Trying to get more women into the business.”

  “I would love to see that happen,” Chloe murmured.

  I nodded. “You and me both.”

  “But listen, you guys,” Julia said. “I want to tell you what else that clown said to Linda.”

  “Tell us,” Chloe said.

  “After he told her she’s beautiful, he asked if she was a natural blonde.”

  “He did not!” I said.

  “Was he joking?” Chloe asked.

  “No. And then he took a bunch of selfies with her, like they’re friends or something. He’ll probably show them to people and try to convince them that she’s his girlfriend. He’s a presumptuous jerk.”

  “Yeah, I’m betting he hears that a lot,” I said.

  “And Linda’s so nice, she wouldn’t think of stomping on his instep.”

  “Not like any of us,” Chloe said with a laugh.

  I had to laugh, too. According to one of our high school gym teachers, stomping on someone’s instep was one of the primary ways of fending off an attack.

  I patted Julia’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’s only here for two weeks.”

  “Two whole weeks?” Julia said, and pressed her hand to her forehead. “Just kill me now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After the workshop, Mac agreed to stick around for coffee with some of the attendees. I went on home to feed the animals and get started on payroll for my crew.

  By the time Mac got home, I was finishing a glass of wine and watching TV.

  “I’ll have some of that,” he said, pointing to my wineglass. “Give me just a minute to put my stuff away.”

  “Okay.” I walked into the kitchen and pulled the bottle of Chardonnay out of the refrigerator. I grabbed a glass and filled it for Mac, then poured myself another half glass.

  I waited for Robbie and the cats to smother him in welcome barks and head bumps, then handed him the glass. “Here you go.”

  “Bless you.” He took it, but before he took a sip, he leaned in and kissed me. “You didn’t miss much after you left.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I would hate to miss another neurotic scene starring Lewis.” I led the way back to the living room, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch with our feet touching.

  “I’m afraid every scene with Lewis will be neurotic,” Mac said. “The guy sucks the air out of the room.”

  “I know. He demands attention by being a jackass.” I pondered the idea. “My dad had a friend who used to say, ‘Any attention is good attention.’ He was talking about his teenager who acted out sometimes to get noticed. And even if it earned him a smack on his arm, the kid was happy because at least someone was paying attention to him.”

  “That’s exactly what’s happening here.” Mac sipped his wine, then shook his head in frustration. “And I really hate to keep talking about these people. It sucks the air out of our room.”

  “Then let’s not talk about him anymore.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea.” He set his glass down on the coffee table. “You’re pretty smart.”

  “Yes, I am.” I swirled my wine, then sighed. “Look, I’m not about to tell you what to do.”

  He smiled. “But?”

  “But if I were you, I wouldn’t hang around them. Their energy is just too toxic.”

  “Another good idea. And that won’t be a problem because after tonight, they’re on their own.” But then he winced. “Except I already promised to lead them in a writing exercise in a few days.”

  “I’ll bet you made that promise before you got to know Lewis.”

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “The rest of the group is okay. I liked them all. Except, well, Brian hangs on Lewis’s every word, so that’s hard to watch sometimes. But otherwise, they’re not bad people. They’re smart. And they’re good writers, all in all.”

  As usual, he would try to make the best of a weird situation. But I’d seen the look of concern on his face. The writers’ retreat had been a labor of love for him, and I didn’t like to know that he was so worried about it. I reached for my wineglass and took a last sip. “When are you doing the writing exercise with them?”

  “In three days. I plan to do it on the beach at sunset.”

  “I should come with you.”

  “To protect me?” he asked wryly.

  “If I have to.”

  Now he smiled broadly. “I would love that.”

  I moved over to his side of the couch and wrapped my arms around him. “Then I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I was up early the next day and joined Mac in the kitchen, where he had already fed our little creatures and made the coffee.

  “You’re becoming an early riser with this book,” I said, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

  “For some reason, this story’s been waking me up at four o’clock every morning. But it’s a good thing. I can get the work done early and then hang out with you all afternoon.”

  “I like that idea.”

  Because Mac was one of the founders of Homefront, he spent a lot of time with the project manager, setting up interviews on different news programs around the country. His fame as an author helped with their fundraising efforts, and he helped with his hands, too. He had planted gardens, moved furniture, painted houses, and pitched in with various administrative stuff. The best part about that was that he was able to spend his days at Homefront, which meant that we could see each other throughout the day.

  I sat down at the kitchen table, and Robbie immediately barked for more attention. I patted my lap and he leapt up. “Good morning, sweetie,” I said, giving him a hug and then rubbing his belly.

  Mac poured himself a second cup of coffee. “So tonight’s the night, right?”

  I had to exhale slowly. “Yeah. I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

  “I don’t, either. You’re the absolute best choice to teach this class. And it’s really going to help a lot of people.”

  “Your workshop helps, too.”

  “My workshop is fun and interesting and semieducational,” he said. “But yours is more than that. You’re teaching people the actual skills that will help get them good-paying jobs.”

  I sipped my coffee. “Maybe that’s why I’m nervous. There’s a lot riding on this.”

  He took a couple of eggs from the refrigerator. “Scrambled eggs and English muffins okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  He cracked the eggs into a bowl and began to whisk them. “Did you convince Chloe to join your class?”

  “I think so.” I smiled. “I told her she could criticize my performance afterward.”

  He grinned. “She won’t be able to pass that up.”

  “Who could?” I took charge of the English muffins, separating them with a fork and popping them into the toaster oven.

  After adding some fresh chopped herbs to the egg mixture, Mac poured it into a frying pan. He topped the eggs with a few crumbles of goat cheese—our latest obsession—and covered the pan. In a few minutes, it would become a tasty open-faced omelet.

  As we sat down to eat a few minutes later, he frowned. “I forgot to tell you something that happened last night.”

  “What is it?” I felt the brush of soft fur against my leg and knew that the cats had come to join us. Robbie was already sitting next to my feet, as usual.

  “You know that I stayed afterward to talk to everyone.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the writers ended up staying, too. While we chatted, Travis and Parks put all the chairs away. And when they were done, they joined us. And the first thing Sheri did was compliment Travis on his short story.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “These eggs are delicious, by the way. They’re so creamy and light.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “I’m getting pretty good at that.”

  “Yeah, you are. Oh, but finish what you were saying. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No problem. So right after Sheri spoke, Annabelle jumped in, and she raved about Travis’s story, too.”

  “It was a really good story,” I said.

  “Absolutely. I’d love the chance to get it published, but that’s a conversation for another day. Anyway, as soon as Annabelle finished talking, the little guy, Hugh, told Travis that, yeah, he liked the story, but something was a little off. He called the whole thing anachronistic.”

  “What?”

  “Basically, it means the language is inconsistent with the time frame or the setting. Hugh said it was old-fashioned.”

  I frowned at him. “But that’s part of Travis’s charm. He’s an old-fashioned guy. It’s what makes the story uniquely his.”

  “Exactly,” Mac said. “So right after that, Kingsley tells Travis that he noticed there were two places where he used the passive voice. He says, ‘You might want to watch that in the future.’ ”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said with a scowl. “Did you want to punch him?”

  “As much as I wanted to take my next breath. I was about to tell them all to shut up, but before I could say a word, Lewis had to jump in with his two cents. He says, ‘If you’d like to see a good example of a strong active voice, I would recommend that you read my book.’ ”

  “Oh my God.” I buried my face in my hands. “They’re all horrible.”

  “Yeah. And at this point, Travis was looking completely dejected.”

  “But why? He must know their opinions are worthless.”

  Mac sighed. “He may be a kickass ex-marine, but he’s understandably insecure about his writing. And he’s not the only one.”

  “Well, despite his insecurities, he was brave enough to read it out loud.”

  Mac frowned. “Which gave everyone a chance to take potshots.”

  “Poor guy.” I took a bite of my English muffin. “He’s tough on the outside, but he has a fragile heart.”

  Mac reached over and squeezed my hand. “I probably shouldn’t have told you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Because when I see Travis today, I’m going to give him a big hug and tell him how awesome his short story was.”

  He smiled. “Coming from you, that’ll make his day.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I made good on my promise to give Travis a hug when I found him helping our electrician run conduit within the frame of house number thirty.

  “Morning, boss,” he said.

  “I don’t want to interrupt the work, but I had to tell you how amazing your story was last night.”

  “Aw, thanks, Shannon.”

  “My guys are always going on and on about the stories you tell at lunch, but I’ve never had the chance to hear any of them until last night. You are really talented.”

  He shrugged self-consciously. “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “Well, I mean it, and I wanted you to know. I’ll see you later.” I walked away before his cheeks could turn any pinker.

  It was all true. Travis had become quite a hit with my crew members, who had begun to gather around him at lunch to listen to his adventures.

  According to my crew guys, Travis had done some traveling after he left the Marines. He mainly paid his way by working on construction sites wherever he landed next. He’d spent time working on the Alaska pipelines and had helped build irrigation systems in Africa. When he couldn’t find a job, he surfed and played guitar for anyone who would listen.

  He was a remarkable guy, a real character. And most importantly, he was strong and willing to work hard. I was lucky to have him on my crew.

  * * *

  * * *

  At the end of the day, I grabbed Sean and Johnny, and got them to help me set things up for my class. In the main meeting room, we fashioned three wide tables using sturdy sawhorses and thick plywood boards. I placed two of my tool chests, along with my power drill and pneumatic staple gun, on top of the sideboard, giving me easy access to everything once I began to give my tools and rules talk. The larger tool chest held many of my pink tools and I thought the women would get a kick out of that.

  I wouldn’t be demonstrating any power saws for the first few weeks, so Sean and Johnny had carried in enough precut lumber for the women to make the first project I’d be showing them.

  A few minutes after the guys took off, Julia came in carrying several large shopping bags. “I’m glad you’re here. You look all set up and ready to go.”

  “I think I am,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m great. And I have a surprise.” She set the bags down and pulled a few things out.

  “What is that?”

  She held one of them up. “Aren’t these great?”

  I blinked, then laughed. “You brought everyone a tool belt?”

  “Well, yeah.” She smiled. “And they’re pretty nice, too.”

  I picked one up. “They really are. I like the camo style.”

  “I figured since everyone’s ex-military, they would approve. I had to choose between these or a pink belt, like the one you use.”

  “Don’t scoff. There’s a very good reason why I use pink tools.”

  “What is it?”

  “My guys don’t steal them.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “Oh, that’s brilliant.”

  “Works for me.” I examined the camouflage tool belt more carefully. It was well made with a two-inch-wide belt and a sturdy buckle. There were four main pockets, eight smaller pockets, plus a couple of sleeves and two hammer loops. “This will do the job.”

  “You probably have a bunch of these, but I did bring one for you.”

  “Really?” It might’ve been a simple tool belt, but I was touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thanks. I can use it to show everyone what to put in the pockets and the best way to wear it so you don’t get dragged down.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She chuckled. “My dad gave me my first tool belt when I was six years old. He loaded it with tools, and I just about fell over from the weight.”

  I laughed. “Chloe and I had a few of those moments, too.”

  “Hey, will she be here tonight?”

  “Yes. She may not stay for the whole class, but she’ll be here.”

  “Great!”

  “Are you staying for the whole two hours?” I said.

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  “I’m glad. The more women we have who actually know construction, the better it will be for the newbies.”

  “I absolutely agree.” She tucked her shopping bags under the sideboard. “Linda should be here in a few minutes with her mosaics. I’ve got to run down the hall for a quick meeting, but I’ll be back before the class starts.”

  “See you then.”

  Julia got as far as the doorway and turned. “Here’s Linda now.” She stopped to say hello to her friend, then took off. Linda Rutledge approached carrying a small toolbox and an artist’s portfolio tucked under one arm.

  “Hi, Shannon,” she said cheerfully. “I was hoping to get here early enough to show you some of my work.”

  “We have time,” I said. “How are you doing?”

  “Great. I’m so excited about your class.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “I think it’ll be fun.”

  “Where would you like me to set up?” she asked.

  “How about right here?” I indicated the nearest plywood table.

  “Perfect.” She set down her toolbox and opened her portfolio case, spreading a dozen color photographs out for me to see.

  “Oh wow,” I said. “These are beautiful.”

  “Thanks. The photographs are easier to carry around,” she explained. “But I also brought a few actual samples of some things I worked on recently.” She pulled out two pieces of unframed artwork mounted on backer board.

  “These colors are amazing,” I said. “Like something from Van Gogh’s sunflowers.”

  “I did a whole series of Van Gogh–inspired pieces. I love working with bright colors.”

  “You’ve managed to duplicate his brushstrokes with the placement of your glass and tile pieces.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “That was fun.”

  “And this one is completely different.” I switched my attention to her second project. “It looks like an underwater world with all those shades of blue and green, and the seagrass wafting in the waves and the tortoise swimming by. It’s beautiful. Like a painting.” I looked at her. “You’re really good at this.”

  “Thanks. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

  “I have a stonemason on my crew who does stuff like this on a larger scale. You know, stone walls and patios and driveways and such, with lots of design elements, curlicues, whimsical creatures.”

  “Is that Niall?” she asked.

  “Yes, Niall Rose. You know him?”

  “We’ve met. His sister, Emily, introduced us after she found out about my mosaics.”

  “Emily’s one of my dearest friends, and Niall is engaged to another friend.”

  “Jane,” she said.

  I had to laugh. “I feel like we’re just a few degrees of separation from each other.”

  “Life in a small town. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  “It really is.” I stared at the artwork as an idea began to form.

  “Well, I’ll get this out of your way.” She stacked the photographs and the mosaic boards, ready to slip them back into the portfolio case.

  “Linda, I wonder if you’d be interested in working with us. Now, it’s not exactly the Louvre, but I was thinking that your mosaic art would be fabulous as the backsplash in some of the kitchens we’re working on.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, so far we’ve just been using run-of-the-mill tile work for the backsplashes. But we’d really like to give each house a unique touch, something that sets them apart. You’ve seen the different Victorian flourishes we’ve added to the outside, right?”