According to Design Read online

  “No, we lost him a couple of weeks ago after an extended battle with AIDS. Things haven’t quite returned to a normal routine around here. Before he became ill, these were the last pieces he created. We keep this display to honor his gift and support his battle with the illness,” Marissa said as she traced a finger along one of the support columns.

  “I’m sorry to hear about his passing. I can visualize the drifting waves in this one,” Keegan said and pointed to one glass and clay item.

  “Patrick called it Windswept.”

  “I wish I could afford one of these unique pieces, but I moved here almost a month ago so money is a bit tight.”

  “Really? Then let me offer a special welcome to Shore Breeze to you. What do you do?”

  “I’m the new science teacher for the ninth and tenth grades along with some part-time work with the sheriff’s department. I arrived in time for teachers to get ready for the new school year. Lots of meetings, set-ups and getting to know the curriculum before the students start.”

  “Wow. That sounds like you have a lot on your plate. What department with the sheriff?”

  “Forensics. My other love along with science, but mostly in chemistry. One of my fathers is a brilliant CSI and I followed in his footsteps.”

  “Good luck with both positions and I hope you come to love our little town.”

  “From what I’ve seen of it this last month, I already do.” Keegan stopped when the bell tingled by the door.

  “Hey, Mari, got the order for you and Wyatt,” a teenager called out. He held up and waved a bag. His ball cap and T-shirt had the logo for Vita Pita.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Marissa said and walked over to the teen.

  As he looked at the display, Keegan slid his hands into his pockets and meandered to the other side of the gallery. A sign welcoming guests to visit the studio hung above an opening. Due to the machinery, supervision was required for any visitor. He’d check it out—there had to be someone in there who would do the supervising, right? By the opening, he’d swear loud music was playing somewhere. Double doors waited at the end of the hallway. When he pushed one handle, he grunted at the weight and the burst of sounds. The doors and the connecting walls had to be insulated to keep the gallery space quiet and undisturbed. He stepped around the door then let it close behind him.

  The heat and noise struck him first. The noise was loud rock and alternative music blasting through speakers, along with the bangs of metal hitting metal.

  Keegan stopped at the sight of the huge two-story space, which was almost like a warehouse with a forge dominating the center. Shelves wrapped around the walls and were filled with all kinds of materials. Massive machines filled the floor space along with worktables.

  In the middle of the room, not far from the forge, a man worked and fought with the metal.

  Keegan’s jaw dropped at the sight of the six-foot plus frame dressed in faded jeans, heavy work boots, a tattered T-shirt, and a leather apron. He licked his lips when he watched the fabulous muscles in the artist’s arms, shoulders and back clench and work as he pulled and curled the bar. Not far from the artist stood a growing structure with an interior frame. Different pieces of metal were ready to be either formed or attached to the structure.

  “Holy fuck,” Keegan muttered as his cock responded. A pulse deep in his belly thumped. This was more than a craving for the drugs—this was a purely different kind of need.

  Well hell, if I’d known he was here during my first visit, I would have hung out here all day. Gorgeous eye candy.

  In between the sounds of the loud music, Keegan could hear the man arguing and cursing the metal bar.

  “Come on, you little fucker, cooperate and curl. Curl, you son of a bitch.” He heaved his whole weight against the stubborn piece. “There you go. Got you now.”

  Keegan grinned while he listened to the odd shift from cursing to coaxing.

  “Found your way back here, huh?”

  Keegan jumped, startled by Marissa’s voice. He held a hand to his chest.

  “Sorry,” Marissa said with a chuckle.

  “No problem. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have wandered away from the gallery,” Keegan admitted.

  “I had a feeling you would be here. At least you remained in the doorway,” Marissa said. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah, he is…” Keegan flushed and looked at Marissa. “You weren’t talking about him.”

  “Not really, but yeah, he’s a fine piece of work. Too bad for me, he swings your way.”

  “If I knew he was back here during my first visit…” Keegan trailed off with a shake of his head.

  “Don’t blame you.” She winked and reached behind him to flick a switch that raised and lowered the volume of the music. “Only way I can alert him.”

  “What is it, Mari? I’m dealing with a pain-in-the-ass piece of iron.”

  “Wyatt, you got a visitor,” Marissa said. “I also have lunch.”

  “Visitor? Don’t recall a visitor’s appointment. Leave the lunch on the table.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s all grump and no bite,” Marissa said to Keegan.

  Keegan licked his lower lip again when the artist turned away from the clamping station where he worked to bend and curl the iron bar.

  Wyatt removed his gloves in answer. He left the bar and headed over to where Keegan stood. “I’m Wyatt McBride.”

  “Keegan. Keegan Donaghue.”

  “Would you like a tour or something?”

  “No, no, I don’t want to disturb you. I can see most of it from here and you appear quite busy. Perhaps another time,” Keegan said.

  Marissa dug into his lower back with her elbow.

  Keegan shook his head. He glanced back. Wyatt tilted his head. A flush colored Keegan’s cheeks at him getting caught.

  Wyatt chuckled. “I’m always working back here on one project or another. This particular bar is being a pain in the ass. Excuse my language.”

  “I hang around cops and hear much worse.”

  “Cops, huh? Are you a law officer?”

  “No, I prefer forensics. I like putting a crime scene puzzle together.”

  “Interesting way of looking at it.”

  “I enjoy looking at the world in a different way.” Keegan pointed back toward the iron bar. “What seems to be the trouble with the bar?”

  “Not quite sure. Think I need to heat it up again and get it more malleable. Sheer brute strength isn’t working this time around.” He pressed his hands to his lower back and stretched.

  Keegan swallowed hard again. He checked out the magnificent inked sleeve covering Wyatt’s left arm. Oh crap, he’s gorgeous and inked. I’m so screwed.

  “I wandered by your gallery earlier, but this time decided to venture deeper inside,” Keegan said. “Your work is intriguing and gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. Are you visiting Shore Breeze?”

  “No, I moved here and started working at the high school,” Keegan said. “Had some free time so I wanted to walk around and see where things were located.”

  “Oh, welcome to town then. Wait,” Wyatt said and made a rolling motion with his hands. “Backtrack a moment. High school? Weren’t you talking about forensics and cops earlier?”

  Keegan chuckled and rocked back on his heels. “I’m a bit of an oddball when it comes to jobs. I’m doing both.”

  “Both?”

  “Part-time school teacher and forensics detective for the sheriff.”

  “That’s got to be a crazy schedule. Heh, wonder if you’re going to have my nephew in your class. He’s going to enter the high school in the next week or so as a mid-year transfer.”

  “I’m getting used to it, but I like being busy.” Keegan paused at the mention of a nephew, not a son, and wondered how that worked. “Perhaps he could become one of my students. I teach ninth and tenth grades.”

  “You must be busy to do all that.” Wyatt tilted his head back and forth. “He’s transferring
in as a freshman. You might see him in class.”

  “I don’t like being bored and sitting around,” Keegan said. As for being bored, it isn’t a good thing if it equals thoughts drifting to craving Oxy and getting high. Can’t go there. He slid one hand into a pocket and fingered the year sober coin he’d received from the rehab clinic. The touch of it helped ground his racing thoughts. “I noticed some of your work is displayed up north.”

  “I visited Shore Breeze for Pride Week and that was it. I left my home in the north and never left. Fell in love with this sleepy little town.”

  “Pride Week?”

  “Hmm. Happens in the spring. The celebration packs this town to where you feel like a sardine at times. Not a spot on the beach is open for anyone to plop their ass on the sand. Every type of LGBT flag you can imagine flies all over the place. Never had a better time or felt more welcome. So, I moved.”

  “Do you get much business with the gallery?”

  Wyatt tilted his head at the odd question, but answered, “Believe it or not, yup, as do all the other stores around here. Marissa says we’re advertised in Pensacola and other big towns to draw visitors across the bridge and find this little place.”

  “Good to know,” Keegan said and glanced to look for Marissa, but she’d left them at some point in the conversation. “I should umm…let you get some lunch and back to your work.”

  “Oh, yeah, lunch would be good.” Wyatt stepped to the side and grabbed the bag with one grimy hand. “I would shake hands, but I’m a mess.” He gestured to his sweaty, blackened outfit. “Nature of working with metals, glass and fire.”

  “Is it hard work?”

  “At times it can become harder than anything, but it’s what I enjoy doing. I couldn’t see myself sitting behind a desk.”

  “Or in front of an easel?”

  Wyatt dragged his fingers through floppy, sweat-soaked dark-blond hair.

  Keegan checked out Wyatt’s inked sleeve. A glorious dragon wrapped around Wyatt’s upper arm and shoulder. The main design on his arm was a spiral of gradually increasing sizes of rainbow-colored stars winding a path from his wrist to his shoulder. The stars cut through a dramatic tree of life with black birds flying from the branches. A phoenix curled around the trunk and his inner arm. Lotus flowers rained down from the phoenix’s tail feather. There were a few hidden images, but he couldn’t make them out. Part of him wanted to strip the man so he could inspect the entire sleeve and see what else he had inked. He also wouldn’t mind checking to see how ripped Wyatt’s body was under his clothes.

  “…always welcome any time back here,” Wyatt said, but Keegan hadn’t heard the beginning part.

  “Pardon?”

  Wyatt grinned, his teeth a flash of white amid the grime and sweat. “Letting you know you’re welcome here any time—just stay where you’re standing unless I’m escorting you. Too many machines can harm someone if they don’t know what they’re doing and the forge can get damn hot.”

  “Oh, right. Thank you. I’ll make sure to come by another time,” Keegan said and backed out of the area.

  With a deliberate drop of his gaze over Keegan’s body, Wyatt smiled in a lazier fashion. “I hope you do, Keegan Donaghue.”

  Caught in the power of Wyatt’s sensual pull, Keegan swallowed hard as his body thumped with desire. He couldn’t follow through, not now. Not at this point in his life. He needed to get his feet steady underneath him. He turned and left both the workroom and the gallery, his mind racing with thoughts and sensations.

  Chapter Two

  Still intrigued by the visit by the shy newcomer, Keegan, Wyatt forced himself to return his attention to his work.

  Shit, can’t get him off my mind.

  It had puzzled him when he’d seen the almost too-slender frame. Then there were those haunted golden-hazel eyes. What had Keegan faced in his past to cause that look? While Wyatt wanted to know more, his body responded in a slow, languid fashion. After his long-term relationship with Ethan had ended five years ago, Wyatt didn’t want to rush. He realized he’d rather create a friendship and emotional bond with someone before he felt sexual attraction. Somewhere, he’d read about a certain sexuality—called demisexual—where this emotional bond was prominent. He wasn’t sure if it described him, but it gave him a start to understanding what was happening in his brain. As for Keegan, well, perhaps Wyatt could hunt him down and ask for a date. The town wasn’t that big.

  With the decision made, Wyatt hummed to himself, not quite in tune with the loud music. In his usual uniform of tattered shirt, faded jeans and thick ass-kicking boots, he stepped back from the finished base of the massive dolphin sculpture. He set aside the arc welder used to weld the remaining pieces of the infrastructure. At least he didn’t have to bend and curl any more of those damn iron bars.

  They had been a bitch and half to work with, but hell, they were gorgeous when fused to create the support he wanted for the statue. Though no one would see the supporting frame, he remained adamant of its strength. The hammered steel and molded glass of the exterior held the beauty of the piece, but it would be nothing without the frame. Emile would be proud of his work.

  He removed the helmet then the thick leather gloves. He grabbed a handkerchief from a pocket to mop the sweat from his forehead. He yanked off the faded green Eagles ball-cap then dragged fingers through the damp locks, which flopped across his face. The strands almost touched his shoulders. He should cut his hair soon. It’s either a cut or a ponytail to keep this hair out of my face. With a grumble, he grabbed a water bottle and emptied it over his head and neck.

  “Damn, that feels good,” he muttered. He sighed in pleasure as water dripped down his spine under his shirt.

  With another shake of his head, behaving like a dog would to shed water, he shoveled his hair back. He jammed the cap in place, turning the brim backward so it would fit under the helmet, and he’d let the remaining droplets of water dry on their own to cool him down. He tucked the bandana back in a pocket then leaned against the worktable behind him. He picked up a different refillable water bottle and guzzled half of the chilled water.

  As the alternative rock music pulsed and filled the workroom to almost ear-bleeding volume, Wyatt tilted his head in rhythm. He mouthed the lyrics to the latest X Ambassadors song. Unable to help himself, he shook his ass, twisted and danced. It was a little difficult in the heavy boots and thick jeans, but he managed thanks to years of practice. At times when he shifted to actual singing, his voice cracked on a couple of notes. Yeah, he could never do karaoke, not even smashed. He stopped at the table, tapped his toe to the beat and picked out a few pages from the pile of sketches.

  After he’d returned to Shore Breeze, he’d accepted a commission for the massive metal and glass sculpture for the Shore Breeze High School in the form of their mascot—a dolphin. He wanted to make it spectacular and for the students to be proud of their mascot. He drew three different angles from the top, side, and front of the dolphin leaping through several waves. After he received approval, he broke down each angle into more detailed drawings. With a few taps of his fingers on the table to follow the beat, he picked up a pencil and refined one of the sketches. He pulled a few more sheets over that revealed the multiple shapes and pieces required for this section. Along with the fabrication, he would scavenge the warehouse and junkyards for accents to fit in along with fusing colored glass and altering the metal with heat to bring out the brilliance he desired.

  Double-checking the work on the frame, Wyatt chose several sheets of stainless steel from a prepared pile waiting on flats and shelves. The steel ended up being more complicated to work with than wrought iron. No matter the difficulty, he adored the variety of the colors and finishes he could bring out at different temperatures. A glance around the expanded workroom at the back of the Fire Glass Studio reminded him how he remained alone in the vast space. He could crank the music loud and not worry about hurting anyone.

  He wouldn’t mind seeing the c
ute newcomer, Keegan, standing in his doorway, though. That had been a pleasant moment to stop and find such a delectable offering.

  After taking another drink, he pulled his head out of the interior muck. “Back to work, bud. You’re on a deadline.”

  With a Sharpie, he outlined the shapes that he wanted to form an image of—a rolling, breaking wave around the leaping dolphin. He decided to create more than one dolphin since they always traveled in pods. It would be a way to reveal the solidarity and support the student-body and faculty loved about the school.

  Once he marked up the new sheet of marked steel, he hefted it to a nearby table. He tugged on the gloves then replaced the stifling helmet. A flip of the visor protected his eyes from the brightness, and he lit the plasma arc cutter and followed the line. He repeated the procedure to create multiple shapes from the large sheet.

  He freed himself from the helmet. It was the one thing he truly hated about working with metal, using all of the heavy protective gear. A check on the edges told him they were a little rough. He tugged on a different set of eye protection and refined things with a grinder saw and tin snips. He heated, bent, and plied the material into the formations. When nothing worked, he used good old brute force to get the depth he desired.

  His music lowered in a way to alert him.

  At the notification, Wyatt flipped the switch. He removed the gloves and goggles. Marissa entered the workroom. Unlike his grimy self, Marissa was smartly dressed in a pencil skirt and elegant top in soft colors. She’d matched it with high heels and the perfect accessories, make-up and hairstyle. He never knew how ladies did that.

  “Hey, Mari, what’s up?”

  “Sorry to bug ya, but Warren is on the phone. I figured you would want to talk to him,” Marissa said.

  “Thanks. I’ll take it in the back office,” Wyatt said as he set everything on the table. “By the way, you look great today.”

  Marissa laughed. “You said that when you came in this morning.”