Page 62 of Enemies with an Earl
Ash chuckled. “I gave up a long, long time ago, Bentley.”
Sam shot them both his most dazzling smile. “I’m a perfect angel. I have no idea what you oafs are talking about.” And then he sidled up next to Bentley. “I can show you a rather effective way of silencing me later, if you’re so inclined,” he whispered. A strangled sound came from Bentley, and Sam bit his lip against his grin.
Sam headed in the direction of the cottage’s front door. “Let’s go. What are you two waiting for?”
The stable master beat him to the door, and Sam stepped in after him. He surveyed the damage with a low whistle.
“My thoughts exactly,” Barrow murmured.
The right side of the cottage where the branch had fallen was a mess. The wooden planks on the floor were still wet in the small kitchen, which had taken the brunt of the wreckage. Sam took a few steps forward. Soft too. There hadn’t been much inside the cottage since it was no longer used, but the few chairs, the table, and a bench were all covered in a sludge of debris.
“Well, first things first. We need some temporary supports put up,” Sam said, attention on the ceiling.
Ash stepped up to his side, following his gaze. “I’m surprised it’s still up there.”
The tree branch had broken clean through some of the rafters and damaged a beam. The support beam in question was sinking low in the middle, bowing precariously, with large fractures through the wood.
A couple of men walked in with temporary supports. Sam, Bentley, and Ash worked with the men to clear the area of the ruined furniture so they could erect the four pieces of timber that would act as a support until they could acquire a new beam.
“We need to rip up these wooden planks too. They’re a death trap with how slippery they are. Let’s get them out of the way before we get the supports up,” Barrow ordered.
The men grunted—a few groaned—their agreement. With so many bodies working hard, it didn’t take long for the small space to heat up. Before long, most were down to their shirtsleeves. Sam ran the back of his arm across his forehead. It came back streaked with grime. Dust was flying, sticking to their skin.
He glanced over at Bentley, who was currently assisting one of the tenants with carrying the ruined table out of the cottage. His face was covered in a light coating of dust, his freckles nowhere to be seen. His amber curls were tight with sweat, lawn shirt sticking to his sweat-soaked figure. How was it possible for a man to be so tempting when he was covered in filth? Sam wanted to eat the man. He let out a nearly inaudible whimper.
“Stop.”
Sam’s gaze shot to Ash. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your face says otherwise.” Ash chuckled softly. “You’re in so much trouble, Sam. If Bentley is anything like his sister…” He clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You stand absolutely no chance, mate.”
They put up the temporary supports and gathered around the dilapidated beam. This wouldn’t be a simple task. The beam was extremely heavy, about Sam’s hand in diameter. They needed to knock it free from where it was secured without it cracking and falling on someone.
Barrow handed Sam a mason’s hammer. “You think you can get this thing loose?” Barrow jerked his chin toward the mortise and tenon joint.
The beam was cut at the ends to have a protruding tongue of wood to fit into the matching slot of the vertical support. If Sam could knock the tongue out of the mortise, they could wrestle the damaged beam free and replace it when they had a new one made. For now, the various temporary supports would hold the structure.
“I can take a few swings,” Bentley murmured. Sam’s stare snapped to his left, not having realized Bentley had approached.
Barrow eyed Bentley up and down. “If you two alternate, we’ll have that ol’ thing down in no time. Not often we have someone close to your size, Thorne.”
They worked the joints loose with a hammer and chisel and then set up a ladder under one side of the beam. Sam climbed up, Bentley holding the ladder steady while Sam took the first swings. The timber creaked on the initial blow. Large clouds of dust burst into the space with each impact. But the thing barely budged. Sam swung until the muscles in his shoulder burned like they’d been pressed with a cattle iron. He lowered the hammer to Bentley, who took it immediately. He shook his arm out as he stepped down.
“Hope you have better luck than I did,” Sam said raggedly.
Bentley met Sam’s gaze, amber eyes gleaming. “I’m sure you loosened it right up for me.”
Sam’s jaw slackened. Had Bentley just made anaughty jest? Bentley winked and then popped onto the ladder. Bloody hell. The man was making it too easy to forget all the reasons why Sam didn’t like him. Sam wasn’t so sure there were any reasons left.
He shook off that thought and held the ladder steady. He took advantage of his position and took in the gorgeous man above him. Bentley’s strong thighs flexed as he braced his body before each swing. The linen of his shirt, sheer from sweat, stretched taut every time he launched his arm forward. Every so often, he gave those amber curls a rough shake, angrily tossing them out of his eyes. Sam’s hand itched to be able to do the task himself.
Bentley landed a particularly punishing blow, and the beam shifted a good inch. Progress! The beam gave another creak. Bentley paused and stretched his neck from side to side.
“Want to switch?” Sam asked.
Bentley shook his head and poised for another swing. Definitely not a soft-handed idle lord. Not even bloody close. He landed another blow, and a soft crackling threaded into the heavy breathing and encouraging cheers from the crew. Sam’s gaze flew to the center of the beam, the fracture in the wood larger than before.
“Lord Bentley,” Sam said urgently. This wasn’t going to work. The beam was too close to—
