The Construction of Cheer - Liz Isaacson Page 0,41

her birthday, and Bear had scratched that phone call off his list.

With her house freshly fumigated and inspected for termites, Mother had been back in the cottage for a couple of days now, and she had no reason to come down to the homestead. She rarely drove anywhere by herself anymore anyway, and Zona had confirmed that she was out in the bullpens and wouldn’t go home to get Mother for the luncheon.

Bear’s heartbeat skipped, and he wasn’t even sure why. Something huge felt just out of his reach, and he wanted it so badly. He supposed that could be the reason why.

Finally, Bishop’s big black truck came rumbling down the dirt lane that led up to the southern sector, where the cabins and Mother’s cottage were located, and Bear’s muscles spasmed as his need to get down the steps to the truck kicked into gear, but he told himself not to move a split-second later.

Bishop pulled into his normal spot in front of the homestead, and he looked at Montana, who rode in the passenger seat.

Bear hadn’t even met her yet; he’d only heard of the woman Bishop had hired and who’d been working on the cabins with him every day this week. He watched as Bishop got out of the truck and waved to him. “You want to come see?” He gestured to the back of the truck, and Bear allowed himself to go down the steps now.

Montana got out of the passenger side, and Bear met the two of them at the tailgate.

“First off,” Bishop said. “Montana, this is my oldest brother, Bear. Bear, this is your new construction manager, Montana Martin.”

“Manager?” Montana asked at the same time Bear extended his hand toward her to shake.

“Oh, you’re the manager,” Bear said. “From what Bishop tells me, your talent exceeds most we’ve had out here.”

She put her hand in his and shook firmly. Bear sure did like that, and he could see exactly why Bishop liked this woman. Not only did she have the blonde and blue-eyed features he loved so much, but she was strong, with personality and drive. She wasn’t one of the simpering women he’d brought home in the past, and Bear had the very distinct feeling she’d teach Bishop exactly how she wanted him to treat her.

Not that Bishop wasn’t a perfect gentleman with the women he went out with. He was—that was the problem. They wanted someone with more alpha-male qualities, and they broke up with Bishop and then expected him to chase them. To show up with flowers and dinners and beg them to have him, that there was no one for him but them.

The problem was, Bishop didn’t do that. And when he didn’t, those other women found him weak, or took his ability to give them space as him saying he wasn’t interested in them.

Bear had never told Bishop that, and he never would. But this Montana…she’d already ignited something inside Bishop that made him fight for what he wanted. Just his glaring and words at the meeting had told Bear that.

“I thought this was a temporary job,” Montana said, looking at Bishop. “The cabins and the Ranch Home.”

“Well, those two things could take a while,” Bear said, looking away from her as a clank sounded. Bishop had opened the safe, and Bear’s mouth was suddenly full of cotton.

“Here they are.” Bishop took a box out of the safe that Bear recognized instantly. He got thrown back in time thirty years, and he could remember distinctly when his father had made this box.

“Oh, wow,” he said reverently, taking the box from Bishop. He looked at his brother and found his eyes shining the same way Bear imagined his were. “Daddy built this box the day he showed me how to use the table saw,” he said. “I was fifteen years old, and we spent the afternoon in the wood shop together.”

Bishop’s throat worked, and Bear knew Bishop had had plenty of afternoons like that with Daddy. He’d taught all of his boys to work with wood, but none loved it more than Bishop. None had more talent than Bishop. None had bonded to their father over shavings and carvings the way Bishop had.

“He made it for Mother’s birthday,” Bear said. “He said she was going to love it, because she loved to keep and store little trinkets.” He lifted the lid and looked at the stack of letters inside. He sucked in a breath, because he honestly hadn’t believed they’d