Bobbing her head, Nicole nibbled on her lower lip; something he was beginning to understand meant she was mentally working out a situation.
“These,” she pointed to the dentil patterned cornices, “will be easy to replicate.”
“Easy?” Not a word he often heard around restorations.
“Well,” one corner of her mouth tipped upward, “time consuming, but I’ve done it before. The corbels on the other hand, those might need to have molds made and use plaster instead of wood.” She spun around to face him. “How close do they have to look?”
From behind them, Morgan’s voice carried. “Close enough not to be noticed when riding by on a galloping horse.”
Nicole dipped her chin as her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Chuckling, Morgan raised a hand at her. “Sorry, something my dad used to say that his mom always said. It doesn’t have to be exact, just close enough so they look the same on a quick scan from a distance.”
Her head bobbing again, her lips pressed tightly together, Nicole studied the pieces a moment longer, carefully running a single finger down the carved edges. “Okay. I can do this.”
Morgan’s gaze darted over to Ryan’s. Without words, he knew what his brother was thinking. The same thing he was. Mike had said his sister was better than him. They were about to find out if Mike was spot on or blowing hot air.
The fine teeth of the dovetail saw bit into the salvaged cedar with a high-pitched, rhythmic whistle. Nicole kept her elbow tucked, her stroke long and even, letting the tool do the work. This was the kind of work that others found tedious and she found profoundly rewarding. The gentle strokes, careful measuring, the art of bringing the old craftsmen back to life. Not everyone had the patience for such details, but she thrived on it. The door creaked open, but she didn’t bother to look up. The slightest distraction could cause a slip of the hand and ruin a hard day’s work.
“We seem to have misplaced a ledger on the salvaged hardware,” Ryan spoke from the doorway. “I don’t suppose you happened to have seen anything like that in here?”
“Top drawer of the desk, right-hand side.” She finished the stroke and set the saw aside, blowing a stray curl of wood off the bench. “I moved it so I wouldn’t spill on it.”
Ryan nodded, stepping in closer, looking at the intricate scrollwork of the corbel she was using as a template. “You’ve got a steady hand. That’s a tricky radius to match by eye.”
“It’s about following the grain.” Her fingers traced the age-darkened wood. “The wood usually tells you where it wants to go if you’re patient enough to listen.”
“Listen?” A hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Never heard it put quite that way.”
Rolling her neck from left to right then back the other way, she bit back a wince. “Didn’t realize how long I’ve been hunched over.”
“You should be careful about that.” In one swift move, he’d stepped behind her and placed his fingers firmly on her neck.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to pull away and insist she was fine, except the man had fingers that felt like heaven. Before she could form a clear thought, the tension in her shoulders was evaporating and she had an overwhelming urge to lean into his hands and start purring like a kitten with a belly full of cream.
“I’m also supposed to give you a heads-up.” His fingers continued to swirl gently against her, using more pressure when finding a knotted muscle. “The camera crew wants to get some shots of you working on the restoration pieces.”
A simple sentence that suddenly had Nicole remembering she was at work, in a job where she had yet to prove herself, and those magic fingers belonged to her sort-of boss. Clearing her throat and taking a long step forward, she slid out from under his reach. “Thank you, that, uh, feels much better, and I’ll be ready for the film crew. Anything special I should know?”
“Not really. They stay out of the way mostly, until they can’t see then they’ll drive you nuts looking for a better angle.” He smiled, sending a sparkle to his eyes. “And remember, they’re everywhere and you never know what will be filmed.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Sorry. I was just remembering the time my brother put his foot through the ceiling because he missed a rafter. The film crew got just enough to hit what they called viewer gold.”
“Note to self, don’t step through the ceiling.” His smile widened and an odd sensation fluttered through her. She’d worked with lots of good looking and sometimes even charming men; why was this guy having such an effect on her?
“And on that note, it’s almost time to break for lunch. Hungry?”
When she focused on a fun project, it was easy to lose track of time. Right about now the unexpected rumble of her stomach reminded her that she’d skipped breakfast and settled for lots of hot coffee. “Starving.”
Walking down the wooden sidewalks toward the end of Main Street where Molly’s food truck was parked, Nicole felt as though she had stepped back in time. Yes, many of the refurbished buildings had modern conveniences that weren’t around a couple hundred years ago, but everything still felt very old and very… alive. “You know, from the little I saw of the show, I thought of this place as a backdrop. Like the town existed to make the brothers look good. But being here…”
“It has a life of its own,” he finished for her.
“Exactly. Mike always said it was more than the cameras showed, but I didn’t get it.”
“And now?”
