Becket's Last Stand
"What are you doing?"
Courtland Becket said something unlovely under his breath as the hammer came down hard on the side of his thumb rather than the small brad he was tapping into place.
"Cassandra, how many times have I asked you not to sneak into my workshop without knocking?"
"Dozens, I suppose," she said, hopping up onto the workbench, her slipper-clad feet crossed at the ankle and swinging back and forth tantalizingly close to Courtland's face as he sat on his work stool. "You know I don't listen when you bluster."
"I do not bluster," he said, tapping the brad home and then inspecting the finished project that had occupied him for most of the morning. "There. Done. What do you think?"
Cassandra leaned forward and took the thing from him, held it up in front of her. "Very fine workmanship, Mr. Becket, as always. You do exemplary work. What is it?"
He took the thing back, prepared to show her. "It's for Rian, to help him on with his boots. Look—these two hooks go into the loops at the top of either side of his boot. The hooks are connected to this handle. Rian positions his foot in the boot as best he can, and then attaches the hooks, then pulls. H ... read full excerpt from: Becket's Last Stand ebook
