He recognized the tone, shook his head at it. "You did your part, Rafe. The money you sent back made a difference." Eyes shadowed, Jared stared out the grimy window. "I'm thinking of selling the place in Hagerstown." When Rafe said nothing, Jared moved his shoulders. "It seemed practical to keep it after the divorce. The market was soft, and we'd only built up a couple years' equity. Barbara didn't want it."
"Still sore?"
"No. The divorce is three years past, and God knows it was civilized. We just didn't like each other anymore."
"I never liked her."
Jared's lips quirked. "I know. Anyway, I'm thinking of selling, hanging out at the farm for a while, until I find the right place."
"Shane would like that. So would I. I missed you." Rafe swiped a grimy hand over his grimy chin. "I didn't realize how much until I got back." Satisfied with the repointing, he scraped his trowel on the edge of the bucket. "So, you want to put in some honest labor on Saturday?"
"You buy the beer."
Rafe nodded, rose. "Let's see your hands, city boy."
Jared's response was crude, simple, and uttered just as Regan stepped into the room.
"Nice mouth, Counselor," Rafe said with an easy smile. "Hello, darling."
"I'm interrupting."
"No. The guy from the gutter here's my brother Jared."
"I know. He's my lawyer. Hello, Jared."
"Regan." Jared found an empty can of soda and doused the stub of his cigar. "How's business?"
"Picking up, thanks to your little brother. I have some estimates, figures, suggestions, paint and fabric samples," she said to Rafe. "I thought you'd like to look them over."
"You've been busy." He crouched again, flipped over the top of a small cooler. "Want a drink?"
"No, thanks."
"Jare?"
"One for the road. I've got another appointment." Jared caught the canned soft drink on the fly, then took his sunglasses out of his pocket. "I'll let you two get down to business. Nice to see you again, Regan."
"Saturday," Rafe called out as Jared left the room. "Seven-thirty. That's a.m., pal. And lose
the suit."
"I didn't mean to chase him off," Regan began.
"You didn't. Want to sit down?"
"Where?"
He patted an overturned bucket.
"That's very gracious of you, but I can't stay. I'm on my lunch hour."
"The boss isn't going to dock you."
"She certainly will." Opening her briefcase, Regan took out two thick folders. "Everything's in here. Once you have a chance to look through it, let me know." For lack of anywhere better, she set the files across two sawhorses. She looked back over her shoulder, toward the hall. "You've certainly jumped right in."
"When you know what you want, there's no point in wasting time. So how about dinner?"
She looked back, narrowed her eyes. "Dinner?"