Page 16 of Take The Risk

That had been only the beginning. Ty came out a few minutes later, looking surprised to see me and his dad talking. When he met us on the stairs, I blurted out, “I told Dalton I wanted you to do my house.”

Ugh, talk about awkward, I thought, adding this to the list of things I needed to figure out how to get control of. Granted, I tended to be awkward when I talked most of the time anyway, so I doubted there was a cure.

Ty’s lips twitched, like he didn’t know if he should smile or keep his face neutral. “I’m glad.” There was a wealth of warmth in those words, which made my awkwardness feel less embarrassing. A little anyway. “You’ll be in good hands. I promise.”

As if to prove my brain was a crazy-assed place to be, my attention dropped to his hands and the rough calluses that had slid against my skin when he held my hand under the water. “Oh, I know,” I said without thinking, my mind already getting lost in a story in my head, figuring out the way I could describe the male characters’ hands.

There was a pregnant pause from the men, and I cringed. “I didn’t mean it like that! Like how it sounded. I just meant I knew I was in good hands—that my house was in good hands.” Sure, Phoebe, ramble. That’s going to make this less creepy.

My mother’s censure when I was a child clanged in my head. “Phoebe, you have to pay attention. The world in your head is not the real world. Grow up and stay in the real world.”

Ty’s face came into focus, looking slightly bemused. I didn’t dare look at Dalton’s. Instead, I gestured to the papers in his hand. “So how bad is it?”

To my absolute relief, neither man said a word, allowing the abrupt change of subject. It was also the beginning of the worst choice I’d made all day.

My house was a homicidal maniac biding its time to kill me. Dramatic? Yes. True? Also, yes. I guess there had to be a God because there was no other explanation for why the house hadn’t given in to its killing urges since I’d moved in.

By the time I was done packing my office stuff into boxes that Ty and Dalton loaded into my car for me and directing them on getting the clothes Lachlan and I would need (our bedrooms were too dangerous to go into), I had reached my limit for the day.

Neither Dalton nor Ty knew why Jerome had let me think it was okay to stay.

After some calls, they’d found out Jerome had left work suddenly and wasn’t answering his phone. They were going to keep looking into it, but I had my own problems to contend with in the form of Louise, Cady-Jo, and Helen.

Apparently, the Maplehurst gossip mill also included as part of its fodder the fact you booked into a hotel in the neighboring town because yours doesn’t have one for an extended stay.

I shouldn’t have been surprised they’d heard about the murder manor, as I was now calling it. But their sudden appearance and insistence we stay with Louise, who had two vacant guest rooms, along with Alex’s frightening seal of approval, were a roller-coaster twist I wasn’t prepared for. I at least learned why Alex was all good that I stayed with Louise. Her great-aunt, Aunt Edith, who thought meddling was something you spread you put on toast, and her knife in the form of the team of investigators that worshipped at her feet had done a little digging. Then there was the call from my publisher—which had been the asphalt under my roller blades—and I didn’t know how to skate, leaving me here. In Louise’s house. Talking to Alex on the phone and considering eating the whole tub of Ben and Jerry’s I’d seen in Louise’s freezer.

“How did Lock take the change?” Alex asked, refocusing me back on her and not my need for cold, sugary, chocolatey goodness.

“Surprisingly well.” And there was another shock to my already electrified system. Lachlan not arguing, losing his mind, or worse, negotiating the terms of any change was almost terrifying.

Alex snorted. “On what planet?”

“On the planet where Ty speaks some kind of language only my son understands.” I couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

“Umm…” A tap, tap, tap sounded as she poked the phone. “I require an explanation here.”

I lay back against the pillows on the bed and yawned. “Do you really?”

“You’re not taking my needs seriously again,” she accused.

Making sure I sounded as put out as possible, I gave in. “Fine. Ty came by after dinner with the contract for the work on the murder manor. Lachlan was gearing up for one of his little argue-fests—” I was rather impressed he hadn’t launched into it earlier, but I suspected that had something to do with Louise’s twins and Scarlette, who’d stayed for dinner before running across the street to go home. “—he heard Lachlan start in with me and slid in so smoothly I hadn’t realized he was doing it until Lachlan was hanging off his every word—”

“Have you ever considered the engineering principles of an airplane as they apply to a house?” Ty asked, kissing Louise’s cheek before she left.

“What do you mean?” Lachlan cocked his head to the side.

Ty looked at me in question, his hand gesturing to Lachlan where my son couldn’t see. I nodded, somewhat relieved I had a reprieve from Lachlan’s coming argument. Even if it was for only a minute.

Ty sat down next to Lachlan, flipping the papers he’d brought over so the blank side was facing up. Clicking his pen, he began to draw. “An airplane’s load path is like this. The wings are like hands, the body a ruler. You put the ruler on the top of your hands, which is an upward force.” He waited a moment to ensure Lachlan didn’t have any questions. “Now let’s put a box on the ruler. There are opposing forces now.” He drew on his diagram.

“The box would be pushing downward, while the hands, which would be wind, push upward.” Lachlan hunched over more.

Ty gave him an impressed look. “Exactly. Housing load structures are similar.” He started to draw another diagram. “With houses, the support beams are the upward load force, but they also have to distribute the load equally—”

“The load bearing has to support the force at the heaviest point through direct connection.”

Ty sat back. “That’s exactly right.”