Read Online Secrets and High Spirits: Secrets, Book 4 by Lou Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lou Harper
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laughter was easy to hear. He made a mental note to talk to Teag about soundproofing.
However, once he turned the sander on, its steady buzz wrapped him in a cocoon. He was only peripherally aware of Teag and the Boys stomping around, tossing crap out the back windows into the Dumpster parked right below. From time to time, they poked their head through the door, checking on his progress, but otherwise left him alone. It was not a bad way to spend the morning.
As Bruce predicted, even after its top layer had been removed, the hardwood showed its past history. He turned off the machine and paced the room, keeping his eyes down, inspecting the boards. Aside from some lighter and darker patches, the hardwood was in good shape—no water damage, no rot. He found only one spot where the floor had a fist-size hole, filled with a plaster-like substance. Odd.
He heard footsteps and knew they were Teag’s even before looking up. Teag was the only one in the bunch—aside from Bruce—who wore boots. They made him so mouthwateringly butch. Bruce tucked all those thoughts away. “This is where the bar used to be.” He motioned at the long, curved path in the wood that was much lighter than its surroundings.
Teag stopped close enough for Bruce to get a whiff of his scent—sweat and soap with a pint of paint thinner. Teag was the only person Bruce knew who could make the combination smell sexy. “About the same place we’re putting ours. How cool is that?” He beamed, unaware of Bruce’s sudden preoccupation.
“Serendipity.” He offered up the first word floating to mind. He took a few steps sideways, out of sniffing range.
“Fate,” Jem interjected. The Boys joined the party, taking in the sight of the newly stripped floor. Bruce felt gratitude for their diverting presence.
“What’s this?” Teag asked, tapping the toe of his boot at the spot Bruce had just been wondering about too.
“Not sure,” Bruce replied. He stepped closer and got on his knees for a better look. “Looks like someone replaced this part once upon a time.” He traced his fingers over two parallel cuts about a foot apart.
“And left the hole there?” Teag asked doubtfully.
“Maybe the hole happened later. Maybe when the first idiot tiled over the hardwood.” The section in question sat smack-dab in the middle of the light patch marking the long-ago bar, so it must’ve been left undisturbed as long as the Blue Parrot had been in business. “Hm, can I have that?” Bruce reached for the scraper in Jem’s hand. Once he had it, he jabbed the pointed corner of the tool into the material filling the hole. It gave with some reluctance, crumbling like dry plaster.
Teag, Olly and Jem got down on their haunches and watched Bruce digging and chipping at the thing. He didn’t have to dig long—he uncovered a sturdy metal ring no more than an inch deep. The ring seemed secured to the wood itself.
“A handgrip?” Teag asked, voicing their shared bafflement.
The Boys buzzed like an excited beehive. Words like secret and treasure flew around, along with repeated requests that he pull the damn thing already.
Bruce dallied just to wind them up, but finally he caved in. “Here goes nothing.” He stood, took a wide stance and, bending down, got hold of the ring. His first couple of tugs proved fruitless, and it seemed he was more likely to rip the handle out of the wood. But at his third try, something else gave, and a rectangular section of the floor inched up like a cork from a bottle. A few more tugs, and it popped out all the way.
“What the…” Teag reached inside and pulled out an object covered in dirt. He grabbed the rag hanging from his back pocket and started wiping. “It’s a cocktail shaker,” he said in disbelief.
“A strange one,” Olly noted.
And it was. Shiny as silver where Teag had wiped the dirt off, dirt caked into a strange design of circles and squiggly lines crudely etched into its surface. Red wax covered the
However, once he turned the sander on, its steady buzz wrapped him in a cocoon. He was only peripherally aware of Teag and the Boys stomping around, tossing crap out the back windows into the Dumpster parked right below. From time to time, they poked their head through the door, checking on his progress, but otherwise left him alone. It was not a bad way to spend the morning.
As Bruce predicted, even after its top layer had been removed, the hardwood showed its past history. He turned off the machine and paced the room, keeping his eyes down, inspecting the boards. Aside from some lighter and darker patches, the hardwood was in good shape—no water damage, no rot. He found only one spot where the floor had a fist-size hole, filled with a plaster-like substance. Odd.
He heard footsteps and knew they were Teag’s even before looking up. Teag was the only one in the bunch—aside from Bruce—who wore boots. They made him so mouthwateringly butch. Bruce tucked all those thoughts away. “This is where the bar used to be.” He motioned at the long, curved path in the wood that was much lighter than its surroundings.
Teag stopped close enough for Bruce to get a whiff of his scent—sweat and soap with a pint of paint thinner. Teag was the only person Bruce knew who could make the combination smell sexy. “About the same place we’re putting ours. How cool is that?” He beamed, unaware of Bruce’s sudden preoccupation.
“Serendipity.” He offered up the first word floating to mind. He took a few steps sideways, out of sniffing range.
“Fate,” Jem interjected. The Boys joined the party, taking in the sight of the newly stripped floor. Bruce felt gratitude for their diverting presence.
“What’s this?” Teag asked, tapping the toe of his boot at the spot Bruce had just been wondering about too.
“Not sure,” Bruce replied. He stepped closer and got on his knees for a better look. “Looks like someone replaced this part once upon a time.” He traced his fingers over two parallel cuts about a foot apart.
“And left the hole there?” Teag asked doubtfully.
“Maybe the hole happened later. Maybe when the first idiot tiled over the hardwood.” The section in question sat smack-dab in the middle of the light patch marking the long-ago bar, so it must’ve been left undisturbed as long as the Blue Parrot had been in business. “Hm, can I have that?” Bruce reached for the scraper in Jem’s hand. Once he had it, he jabbed the pointed corner of the tool into the material filling the hole. It gave with some reluctance, crumbling like dry plaster.
Teag, Olly and Jem got down on their haunches and watched Bruce digging and chipping at the thing. He didn’t have to dig long—he uncovered a sturdy metal ring no more than an inch deep. The ring seemed secured to the wood itself.
“A handgrip?” Teag asked, voicing their shared bafflement.
The Boys buzzed like an excited beehive. Words like secret and treasure flew around, along with repeated requests that he pull the damn thing already.
Bruce dallied just to wind them up, but finally he caved in. “Here goes nothing.” He stood, took a wide stance and, bending down, got hold of the ring. His first couple of tugs proved fruitless, and it seemed he was more likely to rip the handle out of the wood. But at his third try, something else gave, and a rectangular section of the floor inched up like a cork from a bottle. A few more tugs, and it popped out all the way.
“What the…” Teag reached inside and pulled out an object covered in dirt. He grabbed the rag hanging from his back pocket and started wiping. “It’s a cocktail shaker,” he said in disbelief.
“A strange one,” Olly noted.
And it was. Shiny as silver where Teag had wiped the dirt off, dirt caked into a strange design of circles and squiggly lines crudely etched into its surface. Red wax covered the
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