Trying to work was pointless, she finally admitted. No way was she going to be able to concentrate. Her gaze shifted to the noticeably silent phone on the corner of her desk. She had half expected Lucas to call and didn’t know what she would say to him if he did. But the fact that he hadn’t was beginning to really tick her off.
What had happened at his house after she left last night? Did he crawl right back into bed and sleep like a baby? No worries? No thoughts about her or them or what might be happening inside her body right at this minute? Was he really that cold? Was he so unemotional he couldn’t even be bothered to call and say, “Hey, you okay? How’s the baby?”
“He’s right. Women aren’t logical,” she mused, pushing out of her chair to walk into the kitchen. “But how are we supposed to be logical when dealing with men?”
Her own kitchen was much smaller than the one at Lucas’s house. But it was cozy and familiar and on this foggy, gray morning, it felt like sunshine with its white and yellow walls.
She filled the teakettle at the sink, set it on the stove and turned the fire on underneath it. While she waited for the water to boil, Rose leaned back against the counter, folded her arms over her chest and wondered what she was supposed to do now.
“Excellent timing,” she murmured. “Why didn’t you do some thinking last night when it might have helped? Because,” she added ruefully, “you were too busy feeling to want to do anything rational.”
Oh, terrific. Not only was her world sort of crumbling down around her, but now she was also talking to herself. That couldn’t be a good sign.
Plus she was exhausted. She had been up all night. Every time she had closed her eyes, she saw Lucas. Heard his voice. Felt his hands on her body.
If she had managed to fall asleep, no doubt her dreams would have been in 3D with surround sound. So instead, she’d spent the last several hours cleaning her house until it was shining and then watching infomercials on television. Now her eyes felt like two marbles left out in the sun too long and fatigue dragged at every muscle.
Steam pushed out the spout of the teakettle, making an ear-piercing noise that shattered her thoughts and got her moving again. She took the kettle off the flame, poured the boiling water into her waiting teacup and idly stood there while the lone decaf tea bag brewed. She’d had so much coffee during the night her stomach needed a caffeine break. Besides, tea was soothing and damn it, she needed to be soothed.
Or, at the very least, she told herself silently, commiserated with. Gripping the mug, she walked to the phone on the counter, picked up the receiver and hit number three on the speed dial. She sipped at her tea while the phone rang, then winced when Delilah’s slurred voice demanded, “Who is crazy enough to be calling me at this hideous hour?”
“Sorry,” Rose said quickly. “Really, sorry, Dee. I didn’t even look at the time.”
She did now, though, and cringed. Five o’clock in the morning. “Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Go back to sleep.”
“Sure,” Dee said with a groan. “That’s gonna happen. What’s going on?”
“Have you got an hour or two?” Rose asked on a sigh. Before Dee could answer, though, she shook her head and said, “It’s nothing that won’t wait. We’ll talk later. I can’t do this on the phone, anyway. I’m really sorry.”
“Rose!”
But she hung up, feeling as though she was batting a thousand. Sex with a client, followed by a big fight and ooh, maybe pregnant. And then finally, she’d awoken her best friend. Maybe she could find a puppy to kick and make everything perfect.
“Okay, that’s it. You need to get out of this house for a while.” She grabbed her bright pink sweatshirt off the back of a chair, picked her keys off a hook by the door and, carrying her tea with her, headed for the front door.
She stepped out into the damp, cold mist of the fog and a few steps from the house, she was lost in it.
Eight
Lucas was grateful to have somewhere else to focus his mind. He’d been up for hours, thinking over what had happened with Rose, and he needed a damn break before his brain exploded.
“You sure you want to do this now?”
Lucas turned off the engine and glanced at Sean. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” his brother said, taking a sip of his extra-large latte. “You look like you want to punch somebody, is all. And since I don’t want it to be me and since if you punch Warren we could get sued, I just thought you might want to wait a while. Cool down from whatever’s got your jets firing so hot.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Lucas muttered.
“Okay, then,” Sean said with a shrug. “Let’s start the show.”
They were at Long Beach harbor, not far from Terminal Island. Mostly, this area was filled with naval vessels and the cargo ships that sailed in and out of the harbor every day. The air was cold and smelled like fish and diesel oil.
It was almost six in the morning and people were already moving at the King Construction yard. The security guard at the gate had opened it for them the minute he recognized Lucas’s SUV. Now the car was parked beside the warehouse-size building that stored the company’s tools and machinery. Men and women— King Construction didn’t discriminate against women on a work crew—moved around the building and surrounding yard, talking, laughing, getting their gear for whatever projects they were on.
Every morning, the working crews would come here, to the warehouse, to get what they needed for the jobs that started precisely at eight. A lot of construction firms didn’t store their equipment in one central location. But the Kings figured it was easier to protect their investment in the tools this way and it gave all of their workers a chance to get to know each other. Friendships on a job site made the work go better.
And, Lucas told himself, this way he had known exactly where he could find Warren. Sure, he could have fired the man over the phone but that was damned impersonal. The least he owed someone who worked for him was a face-to-face when that job was ending.
“Hey, Sean!” someone called out. “Come on over here and settle a bet for me!”
Sean glanced at Lucas. “You handle this on your own?”
Rolling his eyes, Lucas snapped, “Yes, Mom. I think I can handle it.”
“Without hitting him?”
“Go away, Sean.”
“Right.” Still, he gave Lucas another worried glance before moving off to where three of their crew were holding a loud debate over football.