Chapter 1
Brandon Falco shook hands and said good-bye to his third interviewee of the day. Without an office of his own right now, he was conducting business in his favorite coffee shop. He shuffled through his papers and sighed; trading free rent in exchange for help with the remodeling had seemed like a great idea at the time, but he wasn't too impressed with any of the guys who'd shown up today, plus he still felt weird about letting a mundane stay at the house that had been his grandmother's. All Grandma Joan's stuff had been packed up and divided among Brandon's many relations, but he still worried that something at the house might give the clan's secrets away.
The next guy scheduled had emailed Brandon a resume: Summer Wild was his name. His parents must have been old-school hippies. It looked like Summer had done carpentry from one end of the country to the other, three months here, six months there, never sitting still. Probably following Phish with all the other nostalgic Deadheads , Brandon thought. Or maybe Leftover Salmon was his band... or even The String Cheese Incident. Brandon shuddered. Why did the jam band scene always sound like a fridge that needed cleaning?
Brandon came back to earth with a start, to find a tall red-haired woman standing at his table. A tall, beautiful red-haired woman, with her head tilted quizzically to the side. “Mr. Falco?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Yes?”
“I'm Summer Wild.” The woman held out her hand.
Brandon felt the room tip sideways. What? Who? After a moment the woman started to pull her hand back, disappointment on her face, and Brandon made a desperate grab for her. “Sorry! Sorry. I'm just not good with surprises. I was expecting someone more... male?” Brandon looked down at her hand, realized he was still holding it, and regretfully let it go. This was more than just confusion – the surprising Summer was having a strange and powerful effect on him.
“I get that a lot,” she said with a sad and tired smile. She sat down in the seat across from him.
“Can I get you a coffee or anything?” he asked, still trying to regain his bearings. Was the table trying to float away?
“No, I'm fine.”
Summer was wearing sturdy jeans, a white shirt that hugged her luxurious curves, and an old corduroy blazer. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, but wisps were escaping all around her face. She had two silver hoops in each ear, and Brandon could see just the tantalizing edge of a tattoo near her collarbone – a leaf? A letter? The tip of a wing?
And how long had he been staring, anyway? He coughed. “So the project! The remodeling project. It was my grandmother's house. She was an amazing person, just amazing, but after my grandfather died she didn't like to spend a lot of time at home. She was always busy with her other interests, and let all the maintenance go.”
“Really? What interests?”
“Oh, hiking, fishing, that sort of thing.” Grandma Joan had been an osprey shifter whose deep-water dives were legendary – and who just didn't see any point in vacuuming.
“Cool. So what kind of work do you need done?”
“The studio had a leaky roof, so I had to gut that completely. The wiring and subfloor are good to go now, but I need all the finish work done. That's where you'll be staying – where you'd be staying if you got the job.” Brandon winced at his slip-up, and tried to pull his attention away from Summer's rosebud lips as he rambled on. “The main house mostly needs minor repairs, floors refinished, that sort of thing. There's wallpaper, so much wallpaper; I don't even know what kind of paste they used, but it's evil.”
Was he really going to offer her the job because of a sudden and inexplicable crush? Oh yes he was, he absolutely was. He had a vision of picking her hand up again, turning it over, and pressing a kiss into her palm, tasting her skin.
What the
Brandon Falco shook hands and said good-bye to his third interviewee of the day. Without an office of his own right now, he was conducting business in his favorite coffee shop. He shuffled through his papers and sighed; trading free rent in exchange for help with the remodeling had seemed like a great idea at the time, but he wasn't too impressed with any of the guys who'd shown up today, plus he still felt weird about letting a mundane stay at the house that had been his grandmother's. All Grandma Joan's stuff had been packed up and divided among Brandon's many relations, but he still worried that something at the house might give the clan's secrets away.
The next guy scheduled had emailed Brandon a resume: Summer Wild was his name. His parents must have been old-school hippies. It looked like Summer had done carpentry from one end of the country to the other, three months here, six months there, never sitting still. Probably following Phish with all the other nostalgic Deadheads , Brandon thought. Or maybe Leftover Salmon was his band... or even The String Cheese Incident. Brandon shuddered. Why did the jam band scene always sound like a fridge that needed cleaning?
Brandon came back to earth with a start, to find a tall red-haired woman standing at his table. A tall, beautiful red-haired woman, with her head tilted quizzically to the side. “Mr. Falco?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Yes?”
“I'm Summer Wild.” The woman held out her hand.
Brandon felt the room tip sideways. What? Who? After a moment the woman started to pull her hand back, disappointment on her face, and Brandon made a desperate grab for her. “Sorry! Sorry. I'm just not good with surprises. I was expecting someone more... male?” Brandon looked down at her hand, realized he was still holding it, and regretfully let it go. This was more than just confusion – the surprising Summer was having a strange and powerful effect on him.
“I get that a lot,” she said with a sad and tired smile. She sat down in the seat across from him.
“Can I get you a coffee or anything?” he asked, still trying to regain his bearings. Was the table trying to float away?
“No, I'm fine.”
Summer was wearing sturdy jeans, a white shirt that hugged her luxurious curves, and an old corduroy blazer. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, but wisps were escaping all around her face. She had two silver hoops in each ear, and Brandon could see just the tantalizing edge of a tattoo near her collarbone – a leaf? A letter? The tip of a wing?
And how long had he been staring, anyway? He coughed. “So the project! The remodeling project. It was my grandmother's house. She was an amazing person, just amazing, but after my grandfather died she didn't like to spend a lot of time at home. She was always busy with her other interests, and let all the maintenance go.”
“Really? What interests?”
“Oh, hiking, fishing, that sort of thing.” Grandma Joan had been an osprey shifter whose deep-water dives were legendary – and who just didn't see any point in vacuuming.
“Cool. So what kind of work do you need done?”
“The studio had a leaky roof, so I had to gut that completely. The wiring and subfloor are good to go now, but I need all the finish work done. That's where you'll be staying – where you'd be staying if you got the job.” Brandon winced at his slip-up, and tried to pull his attention away from Summer's rosebud lips as he rambled on. “The main house mostly needs minor repairs, floors refinished, that sort of thing. There's wallpaper, so much wallpaper; I don't even know what kind of paste they used, but it's evil.”
Was he really going to offer her the job because of a sudden and inexplicable crush? Oh yes he was, he absolutely was. He had a vision of picking her hand up again, turning it over, and pressing a kiss into her palm, tasting her skin.
What the
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