Soldier, Handyman, Family Man. Lynne Marshall

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter Three

      “Hey, Peter, give me a hand,” Mark said that Wednesday afternoon, as he prepared to sink the white posts for the brand-spanking-new Prescott Bed-and-Breakfast sign.

      The teen sat on the front porch playing a handheld video game and didn’t bother to look up.

      So he made his loud tooth whistle. “Dude!”

      Finally, Peter’s head bobbed up.

      “Come help.” It wasn’t a question.

      “I don’t know how.”

      “So you’ll learn.”

      Reluctantly, Peter put down his device and padded in his flip-flops across the grass toward Mark. “Like I said, I don’t know how to do this stuff, and we’re supposed to have another surf lesson.”

      “We’ll make up for that tomorrow.” He watched the kid hide his disappointment. “I promise.”

      That got a better response.

      “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

      Over the next hour Mark showed Peter how to dig a hole, set an anchor, use an electric drill—which he especially liked—place washers and install a nut. Peter had obviously never so much as hammered a nail, but the how-to approach seemed to capture his interest enough. At least he tried.

      “See that pile of wood over there?” Mark pointed to the grassy yard across the road, between the hotel and the beach.

      “Yeah?”

      “That’s going to be a gazebo, and I want you to help me build it this weekend.”

      “Me!” The kid’s voice cracked and his eyes nearly bugged out.

      “Yeah, you need experience hammering nails, and I can teach you how to use more power tools, a crosscut saw, table and band saw, you name it. What do you say?”

      “Why?”

      “Because knowing how to do a few useful things will build your confidence.” Which he needed. And will come in handy for your mother, too. “Like learning how to surf.”

      “What if I don’t want to?”

      “Surf?”

      “No. Help.”

      Not an option. Think fast. “Think of it this way. Our hotel is right on Main Street, the biggest road that leads straight to the beach.” He glanced up the road lined with palm and fruitless olive trees, small local businesses, storefronts and, in the distance on a hill, the local high school. “All the girls come this way to the beach, and they’ll see you building stuff. They’ll notice you. Might open some doors.”

      Peter stood staring across the street at the pile of wood, then glanced up toward what passed as the town center, small as it was.

      “It’s better than babysitting your sisters, isn’t it?” Mark noticed the click in his expression from on-the-fence to makes-perfect-sense. Whether it was the girls or not dealing with his sisters, Mark had sold him on the proposition, and though the last thing he needed was a novice assistant, he wanted to help the kid. Maybe he’d find out something new about himself, feel better and, like he’d said, be more confident. Or, he could smash his finger with a hammer, get the mother of all splinters and never want to go near wood again. It was a gamble, but worth the risk.

      A half hour later, after a few finishing touches on the posts, and with plans to meet Saturday morning to begin building, they’d hung the B&B sign.

      “It’s beautiful!” Laurel called from the porch, her eyes bright with excitement. It was obvious she’d made a conscious effort not to hover over her son while he helped Mark, but from a safe distance she’d followed the whole process. “I’ve got to take a picture.” She whipped out her phone and rushed down the yard toward them.

      “You get in it, and I’ll take the picture,” Mark offered.

      “Oh.” Her hand flew to her hair. “I wasn’t planning on—”

      “You look fine. I’ll get a few shots and you can choose the best one, then put it on Facebook.”

      “I’m not crazy about social СКАЧАТЬ