Cal pulled her to him, as if reassuring himself she was okay. “Baby, did you know that Raven took down a gunman after you left?”

“What?” The papers and folders dropped to the floor. “Is she okay? What happened?”

Everyone looked frantically at Dalton. Ah, hell, this was ridiculous. He’d have to do this in one shot. “Sydney! Brady! Get over here!”

The architect and office manager came hurrying out of their offices. “What is it?” they asked in unison.

“Just so you all know the same exact story, something happened last night at My Place.” He explained all the details, answering questions and slowly going over the events as he knew them. Morgan and Sydney looked sick. Cal immediately stroked his fiancée’s back with soothing strokes, holding her against him. Tristan took a few steps toward Sydney, reaching out to gently place a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t pull away, eventually leaning a few inches toward him.

“I’m calling her now,” Morgan announced. “She can stay with us if she doesn’t want to be alone.”

“She’s out with her aunt. She’ll be back home tomorrow. When I left her this morning, she seemed in good spirits. Raven is tough.”

Suddenly silence descended. They all stared at him like he’d gone ugly.

“What?” he asked in puzzlement.

Cal cleared his throat. “Umm, dude. You said you left her this morning. Meaning you spent the night. Right?”

Ah, shit.

They looked hungry for the dirt, but damned if he was telling them the details of his personal life. “I was just checking on her.”

“Late at night after closing? Early morning, when you like to sleep till noon?”

“I don’t sleep till noon! Not since I was sixteen.”

Morgan jabbed a finger in the air. “You’re deflecting. Look, Dalton, I adore you both and think you’re an amazing couple, but, just . . . Well. Just—”

“What?” he demanded.

“Go slow,” Tristan cut in. “You’ve been hot for her for a long time, and you jump into these relationships that seem to blow up, and we just don’t want you to screw this one up. Like the rest.”

“Or hurt her so she doesn’t want to see us or make her cocktails. I’m getting good at poker, too,” Sydney said.

Fuming, he glared at his family and friends, who were supposed to have his back. The only one who didn’t seem to speak was Cal. He just studied Dalton’s face thoughtfully, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Unbelievable. They still treated him like the big bad fucking wolf, ready to eat poor Little Red Riding Hood. Well, his Red could kick his ass just like she had the gunman’s. If he tried to tell them she was holding all the power in this relationship, they wouldn’t believe him.

“Thanks for looking out for me, but I got this. I won’t ruin your poker or cocktails or break her heart. Okay? If anyone needs me, I’ll be out at the Sullivans’, building their new deck. Oh, and your snakewood came in, Morgan. I dropped it off at the house. Tristan, I took care of the supplier in Vermont. And here’s the bill for My Place, Sydney. I put it on monthly installments.” He thrust the papers into her hand, ignoring her guilty look. “Guess that’s it for the screwup.”

“Dalton—”

“Don’t go—”

“Hey, dude—”

He walked out of the office and didn’t look back.

He needed some damn air.

Dalton drove out to the Sullivans’ place, looking forward to losing himself in his work. The colonial was bright yellow, with pretty white shutters and a small, manicured front yard. The older couple had saved for a while to finally install a deck, and Dalton was going to make sure the wait was worth it. The old screened porch had been badly constructed and was leaking air, so he’d ripped it down and was now replacing it with a half-covered open deck with benches. He’d decided to use Trex for the floor for easy maintenance, but the rest of the structure was a gorgeous cedar, one of his favorite materials for a deck.

He walked up the curved stone pathway toward the back. The job was halfway done, and he intended to spend next week finishing it up so the couple would be able to enjoy the deck for the rest of the summer. Art Sullivan raised a hand to him, riding on his mower, motioning at him to make himself at home.

Dalton walked the area, donning his safety gear while he powered up his band saw. Then jumped back.

“Hi.” The woman stood a few feet from him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No problem, I didn’t see you.” He frowned. The Sullivans had no children, so he wasn’t sure what this woman was doing in their yard. “Can I help you?”

She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes. Her hair was long and straight, and held streaks of cedar and honeycomb timber colors. She was on the short side, with killer curves and huge hazel eyes. Dressed in white shorts and a pink T-shirt that declared JUICY, she could’ve easily been eighteen. “No, I’m Charlie. I’m Art’s niece. I’m staying here for a bit while I look for my own place. I just moved here.”

“Oh, welcome to Harrington. Are you trying to stay in the dorms or closer to the campus?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and grinned. “I’m done with college. Graduated a few years ago. I know, I look like I’m barely legal, right?”

“Sorry, you do look young.”

“I get carded all the time. Everyone says I’ll be happy twenty years from now, but it’s a bit embarrassing when I’m looking for a job that requires leadership.”

He grinned back. “I bet. What do you do?”

She jerked her head toward the deck. “That.”

Dalton frowned. “Build decks?”

“Rehab. I’m an addict. Not the drugs, just construction. Kind of like that show on HGTV, actually. I like to tear down houses, or parts of houses, and rebuild them on a strict budget. I’m a bit of a miser, so I like to save lots of money. Another characteristic that’s not too much fun. Umm, there I go again, telling my life story to a stranger ’cause I’m desperate for company.”

“No, that’s amazing. So how come you’re not doing this deck?”

She motioned to her uncle on the mower. “I don’t mix family with work. They’ve been supportive, but Uncle Art still can’t wrap his head around the fact his only niece used to reject Barbies for a hammer and nails. It’s better this way. I need to work on my résumé.”