Thunderstruck. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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Harrison was looking forward to a long shower and a cold beer. Southern California’s current heat wave would make working at his foster parents’ ranch in Sheridan, Wyoming, next week a treat. He peeled off his T-shirt as he walked into the master bedroom on his way to the shower.
This was the room he’d used almost exclusively while living in the house he was renovating. He kept the furnishings minimal—a queen bed on a metal rolling frame, collapsible shelving for his clothes, one floor lamp, a small TV and a computer desk on wheels so he could sit on the edge of the bed to type. He unfolded a TV table for meals.
When he began a renovation, he brought basic furniture, linens and kitchen supplies. All of it fit in his construction trailer once he was finished. Then he’d haul it to the next house and start all over again.
Damon loved flipping houses. He’d always gravitated toward construction work, and turning a trashed house into a showplace was immensely satisfying. The moment when he handed over the keys to the new owner gave him a rush of accomplishment that he hadn’t found in anything else.
Passing the desk, he refreshed his laptop screen out of habit. Sure enough, there was an email from Phil Turner. Phil was a Sheridan carpenter who’d agreed to help him build a log cabin at Thunder Mountain Ranch over Fourth of July weekend.
Ordinarily, he preferred to work alone, but he could only spare a week to build the cabin, which wasn’t enough time to do it right without help. His foster mother, Rosie, had recommended Phil, and Damon had exchanged emails with him for a couple of weeks. Phil was giving them a head start by ordering the materials and preparing the site.
After all their communications, Damon was confident they’d be on the same page and ready to go when he arrived in Wyoming. Working solo meant he hardly ever talked shop with anyone. Until now he hadn’t realized he liked doing that.
He and Phil had discussed the project in depth. They’d settled on a concrete foundation, which would be poured today so it would be cured by the time he got there on July second. Phil seemed to have exacting standards, which made sense. After all, Rosie had recommended him.
When Damon arrived, the building permits would be approved and the electric box installed. All the materials would be on site, along with a rented forklift and a compressor. Phil had been good about sending pictures, so he’d probably emailed one of the concrete foundation.
Damon opened the email and downloaded the attached picture. The foundation looked perfect, exactly as he would have wanted it, with sill logs laid in squared-off precision around the perimeter to anchor the walls. The cabin wouldn’t have any plumbing, the same as three others that had been built on Thunder Mountain Ranch years ago. No plumbing made construction a whole lot easier and cheaper.
Damon had been fifteen when he’d moved into the first cabin along with Cade Gallagher and Finn O’Roarke. About a year after Rosie and Herb Padgett had started a foster program at the ranch, they’d realized that their five-bedroom house would soon be bursting at the seams. Damon, Cade and Finn were the oldest boys and the ones who’d been at the ranch the longest, so they’d had the privilege of occupying the first cabin.
Remembering move-in day still gave him a charge. The three of them had been so excited, even though they’d had to trek out to a bathhouse instead of going down the hall like they’d been used to. The taste of freedom was far more important than indoor plumbing.
A couple of years before that, they’d sneaked into the woods at midnight and enacted a blood brother ceremony around a little campfire. They’d called themselves the Thunder Mountain Brotherhood—still did, in fact—and on that first night in the cabin they’d carved their TMB logo on a beam over the doorway. Good times.
But now Rosie and Herb had financial problems that could force them to sell the ranch. The Brotherhood, along with Cade’s girlfriend, Lexi, had proposed launching Thunder Mountain Academy, a coed residential program for kids sixteen to eighteen who were considering a career involving horses. The seed money was being raised through Kickstarter, a crowdfunding program.
They’d decided a fourth cabin would allow them more housing flexibility when they began accepting students. Damon was the obvious person to build another one, and he was glad to do it. Initially, he’d budgeted two weeks, but the wrong tile had arrived for his current project and screwed up his schedule.
Good thing Phil had been available to supervise the critical first stages of construction. Damon studied the picture again. That must be Phil’s shadow stretched across the troweled concrete. Damon wondered if Phil had long hair. Either that or he’d draped a bandanna over his head before putting on his hat to shield his neck from the sun.
Didn’t really matter. Damon didn’t care if a man had long hair or short if he could do the job. Judging from their email discussions, Phil was competent and thorough.
Clicking the reply tab, Damon crouched down and typed out a response.
Looks great. Never thought to ask. Can you work on the Fourth or do you have plans?
He doubted Phil was waiting for a reply. He’d put in a long day.
But as Damon started to leave, a click alerted him to an incoming email. Phil was probably catching up on email after work the way Damon usually did. With the hour time difference, Phil might have polished off his first beer already.
Assuming he was a beer drinker was a safe bet. Many construction guys were, and Phil seemed to fit the profile. Damon pulled the computer table over to the edge of the bed and sat down to read his reply.
I can work on the Fourth, but Rosie’s planned a big barbecue for that night, so we might need to wrap things up by four or so.
Damon typed an answer.
Suits me. But I’ll be watching my alcohol intake so I’ll be bright and bushy-tailed on the fifth.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
Understood. He who drinks a fifth on the Fourth will not go forth on the fifth.
Damon chuckled.
LOL.
Then he added a more personal note because he was feeling so good about this collaboration.
It’ll be great to finally meet you.
Same here. Well, I’m off to watch my favorite cop show.
Talk soon.
Damon sent the response and turned off the computer. Now that he’d heard from Phil, he didn’t need to leave it on. This time crunch had played hell with his social life, and he currently had zero women expecting him to call, text or email. Just as well. Time to take that shower, sip that beer and watch his favorite cop show.
* * *
PHILOMENA TURNER SMILED as she shut down her email program and walked into her cozy kitchen to take the tuna casserole out of the oven. Rosie had given her the recipe last year and now she made it at least once a week. Rosie was getting such a kick out of this plan to show Damon Harrison that girls could be professional carpenters, too.
Phil had helped trowel a slab of concrete today with as much expertise as any of the men out there. Then she’d operated the forklift when it was time to lay the sill logs. But after a shower, she’d dressed in a floral silk caftan for an evening at home. If Damon could see the person he’d been emailing for two weeks, his jaw would drop.
She agreed that the shock on his face when they met would be fun to watch, but she wasn’t surprised by his assumption that she was a man. As the only child of her widowed construction-worker dad, she’d spent all her life around guys like Damon. His attitude was typical, and Phil’s choice of profession was not.
In some ways she felt a little sorry for him, but not too sorry. According to Rosie he’d leaped to the conclusion that the local carpenter was a man even before hearing her name. She forgave people who made that mistake when they called Phil’s Home Repair and thought she was the receptionist.
But to give the devil his due, Damon’s idea of exchanging