Her gaze fell on the one corner that held her most precious memories. A few of her father’s paintings were propped up against the wall, covered with a canvas cloth. They’d been held for her when she returned home, but Raven hadn’t been able to look at them. She’d quickly covered them up, but kept them in her living room so they were always near. It was as if a part of her father’s soul was with her, but the idea of looking at his most valued visions broke her apart. His betrayal still seethed through her, raw and overwhelming. One day, maybe she’d be able to reveal them and completely forgive him for leaving.

One day.

The sun crept up, sliver by sliver, bathing the hills in various shades of color. She watched in silence as another day came to be, and wondered if her father would be proud of the woman she’d become.

The pain accompanying the thought made her push the question aside.

Didn’t matter. She needed to make a decision on how to deal with the Pierce brothers. Maybe if she had some closure it would help erase the nightmares. Maybe if she dug a bit deeper, she’d be able to restore her father’s reputation and ease her own tortured memories.

Maybe Dalton Pierce was the key to it all.

The itch settled between her shoulder blades. She’d been able to retrain it toward more positive outlets, but the lack of physical intimacy was beginning to erode her sanity. She’d always been a woman who craved touch, and it had been way too long since she’d been hugged or stroked. She’d sold her motorcycle to funnel more money into the bar, and stopped having affairs with men who were bad for her. She’d given up smoking and recreational drugs.

Raven sighed, finished her coffee, and went to change. There was only one thing left to do to rid herself of the restlessness.

Go beat the crap out of a punching bag.

Chapter five

You need to get me the snakewood.”

Dalton jerked back. He stared at the plans for the elaborate chest that would serve as the focal point of the living room and shook his head. “Impossible. Do you think I’m a magician? Plus, it’s very difficult to work with, especially with multiple carvings.”

Morgan lifted her chin and stared up at him with the familiar stubborn expression that had made his brother Cal fall hard in a tangle of limbs. His future sister-in-law was ruthless when it came to building and decorating houses, and possessed a creative vision that consistently surprised him. They’d gotten close over the past year and spoke the same language of love: wood.

“Of course it’s difficult to work with,” she retorted. “But you could do it justice. The ripples of red wood with black is stunning. It’ll pull the entire room together, and I’ll be able to stare at it without ever getting bored.”

“I don’t know. It’s still risky with a large piece like this.” They stood on the lot where they’d broken ground on Morgan and Cal’s new house. Set atop a high hill overlooking the town of Harrington and the harbor in the distance, it was a beautiful piece of property perfect for starting a life together. Dalton loved being involved in every facet of creating a house that would be their forever home. Morgan gave him a wide range to use his creativity, and he felt this would be one of his masterpieces when it was finished.

Excitement slithered in his blood. He caressed the glossy page she’d ripped out to show him, and he itched to get his hands on the material. Snakewood grew in South America and was pretty damn rare. Plus almost impossible to get ahold of.

Almost.

Her lips curved in a smug smile. “I knew you couldn’t say no to the challenge. I have a contact in South America, but I use him sparingly. He’s stubborn. Hard to deal with. But I bet you could get him to find it for us.”

His mind sifted through a rush of images. He saw a sturdy trunk with individual carvings on the side trim and one perfect symbol on the top. The texture and pattern would demand something simple but powerful. His heart galloped and his head swelled with the rush of adrenaline, and suddenly Dalton knew he needed to have it or die.

“You’re right.”

Morgan lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I know. I usually am.”

He laughed at her self-assurance, and a wave of affection came over him. He grabbed her into his arms and spun her around, messing up her clean white linen suit and neat bob. She fought him, calling him a Neanderthal like his brother, but she began laughing and hung on hard. He let her down gently on her white kitten heels and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

She let out a breath, wiping off the sawdust that seemed to cling to him 24/7. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Dude, get your own damn woman.” Dalton turned to watch his brother Cal stride across the room, tugging Morgan protectively to his side. She lit up, and her body softened naturally against him, as if they were a complete unit already, better together than apart. Dalton had never seen his brother so in love with a woman, and so comfortable with the emotion. His throat got a bit scratchy when he watched the easy way they dealt with each other, from fighting to cooking to building houses side by side. And Morgan had brought something they’d all been missing into the crew.

A sense of real family.

When Morgan came into their lives as the designer in charge of a celebrity’s new house construction, Cal began to change, and by the end of the job, they’d gotten engaged. But Morgan belonged to all of them now. The kitchen that had once been ghostly and silent was filled with cooking, laughing, and joy. She’d welcomed Dalton and Tristan into her heart along with Cal, and Dalton would always love her for that gift she’d bestowed.

He grinned and cocked his head. “I have more than one woman to keep me busy, Cal,” he said. “But just remember: if you screw this up, I’ll marry Morgan myself.”

Cal glowered. “Just keep your dick away from the inspector’s daughter and we’ll be good to go.”

Morgan coughed delicately. “Goodness gracious. Your brother is capable of handling his job. Why don’t we leave Dalton to his own business? And his dick.”

Dalton hooted with laughter. Morgan was a polite Southern-born charmer with a spitfire living underneath. Hearing her curse in that pretty little accent cracked him up each time. “Glad to know someone around here respects me. Anyway, I have my eye settled on one woman I can’t seem to thaw.”

“The bartender?” Cal groaned. “I love My Place. Plus, she makes the best damn cocktails. You gonna screw that up for me by getting involved with her?”

Dalton rocked back on his heels. “Always thinking of yourself, big brother?”

Morgan tapped a nail against the curve of her lip, her arm around Cal’s waist. “I like Raven. But she’s not the type to tangle with, Dalton. There’s something about her that tells me she’s not as hard as she pretends.”

“I just want to get to know her better. She swings hot and cold. Most of the time I get the impression she resents me for some reason. Does she ever talk to you about us, Morgan?”

Her silvery blond bob swished back and forth. “No. I remember when she told us to get out of her bar, but she never mentioned it again. She’s always nice to me, but she definitely holds back.”

“Maybe no man’s ever been her match before,” Dalton said thoughtfully. “I don’t scare easy.”

“Unbelievable,” Cal said. “Sure, why find a woman who’s willing when it’s more fun to find one that hates your guts?”

“Didn’t you have that same experience with Morgan?”

Cal glowered. Morgan laughed. “He got you, Charming,” she drawled.

“Princess, I knew you were hot for me from day one,” he said. “It was just a matter of time.”

She jabbed him with her elbow, but Cal didn’t even flinch.

Dalton grinned. “I offered my services to renovate her bar. It’s a beautiful piece I’ve been wanting to get my hands on. Could be a great project for Pierce Brothers.”

Cal nodded, his face flickering back to business mode. “Hmm. A restored antique bar would be a nice advertisement for the company. Seen by a variety of people, too. What did she say?”