A Rebel's Protection: A BBW & Bad Boy

Romance (Heartland Heroes: Rebel

Autos Book 3) Lana Love
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A REBEL’S PROTECTION
A BBW & BAD BOY ROMANCE
LANA LOVE
LOVE HEART BOOKS
Copyright © 2023 by Lana Love

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For more books by Lana Love, please visit:
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 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue

About Lana Love

C HAPTER 1
 CLAIRE

I smile as I pull up to Grandma's cozy Craftsman bungalow. I've always loved this house.
Climbing the front steps, I smile as I anticipate my grandmother’s warm embrace. It’s been
too long since I’ve been home.
But when she opens the door, my smile fades.
“Grandma! What happened?” I ask, stepping inside and hugging her gently.
She has a huge bruise on her cheek but waves it off like it’s nothing. When she winces, I know it’s
something big.
Gently grasping her arm, I guide Grandma to the faded floral couch in the living room. The familiar
scents of lavender and worn furniture remind me of when I lived with her.
Grandma glances anxiously out the window, then turns to me. “Oh, just some bad kids in the
neighborhood. They knocked me over trying to take my purse. I'm fine, though, dear.”
I help Grandma to the couch, and she sits gingerly. My heart clenches at seeing her hurt. “Are you sure
you’re okay?” I ask, reaching out to take her hand in mine.
“I’ll be fine. This neighborhood just isn't safe anymore. Those kids lurk around at night. I’ve seen
them cutting through my yard to the alley out back. I’ve yelled at them, but it doesn’t do anything.” She
gestures toward the front door. “I'm worried they might break in. I miss having Henry here with me.”
I miss Grandpa, too. This house is certainly more than she needs, but I know that if I suggest selling
and moving someplace smaller, she’ll say no immediately. She’s said before that she intends to pass
this house to me when she’s gone.
Anger at the kids and frustration that the neighborhood has declined like this overwhelms me. How
come she’s never told me this when I’ve called? I squeeze her hand. “Don't worry, Grandma. I'll take
care of it.”
“Thank you, Claire. You’re a good girl,” she smiles. “Are you back home for good?”
I hesitate, unsure how to answer. Since I went to college, I haven’t returned to Jefferson much. For
years, Grandma would come to visit me, but she’s getting older. Her eyesight isn’t what it was, so she
avoids driving, especially at night. I’ve missed being in Jefferson, but settling down here would mean
I’d have to face the.
Sensing my unease, Grandma squeezes my hand. “It's alright, dear. You don't have to decide now.”
I nod and plaster a smile on my face. “Let me take care of you. I'll make us some tea.”
I fill the kettle in her cozy kitchen and grab two of Grandma's favorite mugs. Chamomile for her, Earl
Grey for me. Waiting for the water to boil, I glance out the window above the sink. My heart aches at
seeing this once-vibrant neighborhood looking faded and neglected, with overgrown lawns and
houses in serious need of fresh paint.
I smile as I walk back to the living room with our steaming mugs of tea. I’ve been away too long.
She smiles gratefully. “You take such good care of me. Thank you, dear.”
I kiss the top of her soft white hair. “I'm going to fix up the house so you’re safe. I promise.”
After we finish our tea and Grandma settles in with one of her soaps, I go outside to assess the
situation. The flimsy locks on the doors and single-pane windows offer no security. Plus, the fence
looks ready to topple over the next time there’s a windstorm. A fierce protectiveness rises in me as I
walk to my car.
I'm going to fix this. Now.

“MISS , can I help you with something?” I turn to see an older man in one of the orange vests the
employees wear. He introduces himself as Earl and listens as I explain the situation with Grandma’s
house.
“Hmm, let's see what we can do,” he says, leading me down the aisles.
Earl gestures animatedly as he describes various options—deadbolts, alarm systems, motion-sensor
lights. My head spins trying to absorb it all. I want to secure Grandma's house quickly, but his torrent
of suggestions overwhelms me. How am I supposed to know which type of deadbolt is the best? If I
have to hire contractors, I’ll be paying that off for years…
“Which of these is most important?” I ask Earl desperately. “I'm not sure where to start.”
He thinks for a moment. “Tell you what. Why don't I write up a list you can take home and look over?
Then come on back with any questions. Don’t forget, you don’t have to do it all at once.”
I thank Earl and nod. “That would be great. Thank you so much.” While doing it all in pieces would
be fine in another situation, I’m scared about choosing the wrong thing to fix first, not to mention some
things I can’t do on my own, like wire an alarm system.
“Claire?” a familiar voice calls from the end of the aisle. “Claire Matthews? Is that you?”
I know who that is. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Slowly, I turn to see Quincy Walker
smiling brightly at me. He looks just as I remember—tall and muscular, with piercing green eyes that
still make my knees weak.
My heart stutters as memories come flooding back.
We were inseparable in high school…until he joined the Army without telling me. I always knew
that’s what he wanted to do, and I supported it. But I was crushed when the day after we graduated, he
announced he was leaving for basic training the following week. No warning, no sharing his plans
with me, no nothing. He made me feel like I didn’t matter in his life.
Yet seeing him now, memories of our connection resurface. He knew me better than anyone,
especially after I had to go live with Grandma after my parents were killed in a car accident.
I can’t deny that I want to know how he’s been. I hear snippets from my friend Tessa, but I know
they’re biased because she blacklisted him when he broke my heart. Though Jefferson is a small town
and I know she sees him around.
No. I can't go down that road again. I take a deep breath and force those thoughts away.
“Quincy. Wow. It's been a long time,” I say as evenly as I can.
“Yeah, how are you? What brings you here?” He seems genuinely glad to see me, which catches me
off guard.
His familiar smile still makes my heart race. I remember his strong arms wrapped around me and how
it felt like we were a single unit and ready to take on the world. In all the years since we broke up,
I’ve never felt that kind of security and unity with anyone.
“I’m here to visit Grandma for a while. I'm just getting some things to fix up her house.”
“It's great to run into you, Claire.” His warm eyes hold mine, and he reaches out as if to touch my arm,
but I flinch. His eyes crease with pained surprise, and he steps back.
“Well, I should get back to...” I gesture vaguely toward the service desk, where Earl is looking at us
patiently, a piece of paper in his hand. Ugh, I sound like a wooden idiot, but I have no idea how to
talk to him. I want to talk to Quincy, but a voice in my head screams that it’s a terrible idea.
“Right. Sure.” Quincy looks disappointed. “It was nice to see you. Tell your grandmother I said hi.”
“You too,” I reply softly. With a last lingering glance, I turn and walk away before my emotions
overwhelm me.
I move toward the service desk, my head spinning. Seeing Quincy has dredged up so many intense
emotions. But I remind myself that I need to focus on Grandma, not revisit the past.
“Claire, wait up,” Quincy calls after me. I reluctantly turn to face him. “Are you back in town for
good?”
I hesitate. “I'm not sure. It kind of depends on my grandmother.”
Concern furrows his brow. “Is everything okay with her?”
I debate for a moment, then explain about the mugging and her neighborhood. “She's pretty shaken up.
Her house isn't very secure, so I'm trying to fix it up for her.”
Quincy listens intently, his warm eyes filled with care. Grandma loved him, too, and was as hurt as I
was when we broke up.
“I'd be happy to help with your grandmother’s house,” he offers earnestly. “She was always kind to
me, even after you left for college. Whatever you need, I’ll make it happen. What I can’t do, I know
guys who can. Just say the word.”
His enthusiasm surprises me. I had no idea he was in contact with Grandma after I left. I'm touched by
the offer, but letting Quincy back in feels risky.
Yet doubt creeps in when I glance at Earl's lengthy list of security suggestions. Can I handle all this
alone? Grandma's safety is what matters. Don't I owe it to her to accept help, even from Quincy?
“Okay,” I finally say. “I'd appreciate that. To be honest, this is too much for me to tackle on my own.”
Quincy's face lights up. “Don't worry. We'll get your grandmother’s house all fixed up. You remember
Jeremiah? He’s part of a security company now and can help with an alarm system. And my buddy
Greg works over at Swinton Construction. We'll figure this out together.”
His eagerness gives me hope, despite being unsure if he’s genuinely going to step up for this. I want to
believe people can change.
“Give me a call tomorrow, and we can discuss a plan. Here's my number.” I take Quincy’s phone and
enter my phone number, hyper-aware of the electricity when our fingers brush.
“Cool. I’m glad to see you, Claire.” Quincy’s eyes are filled with emotion as we say goodbye.
C HAPTER 2
 QUINCY

T he leather seat creaks beneath me as I shift across from my brother, Jeremiah. His office at
Ghost Security is sleek and modern, nothing like grease-streaked Rebel Autos where I
work. My brother looks polished in his designer suit, but it can’t hide his muscles or the tattoos on his
chest from his time in the Army.
He and the other guys of Ghost Security provide a mix of services, from computer and site security to
bodyguards. Jeremiah co-founded the company with one of the guys he served with, and then they
brought in several other men. Now, they handle security throughout the Heartland region and up and
down the West Coast—or anywhere if the client foots the bill.
“So let me get this straight,” Jeremiah says, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his leather office
chair. “You want me to help Claire's grandmother? Claire, as in your ex, Claire?”
I brace myself for the inevitable teasing. We may not be kids anymore, but he’s still my big brother
and he knows exactly where my soft spots are. “Yeah. I want to make sure everything's secure at her
place. A security system, maybe new locks. It sounds like she could use a fence, too, but I know that’s
not what you do.”
Jeremiah raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah, I am,” I say, feeling defensive. “We ran into each other at the hardware store.” I give a casual
shrug. I know I’m not fooling him, but maybe I’m trying to convince myself that seeing her wasn’t as
meaningful as it was. Seeing her made me remember what we had and how I’ve never found a
shadow of that with anyone else.
“Uh-huh.” Jeremiah leans back in his chair and regards me with a smirk. “And how is Miss One Who
Got Away these days?”
“I don't know,” I reply, avoiding his gaze. “I only saw her for a few minutes. You can’t catch up on
years that quickly.”
The truth is, I can't stop thinking about the way her face lit up when she saw me, then how that look
was overshadowed by distrust. It wasn’t surprising, but I thought maybe all the years would have
dulled those memories for her.
Seeing her made me realize what’s missing in my life, but I'm not about to admit that to my brother.
He’d tell me I’m too caught up in the past.
“You got plans to date her again?” Jeremiah asks, leaning forward and staring at me intently.
“What? No.” My denial comes out too fast and too defensive.
Jeremiah laughs and raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re lying to yourself, bro.”
I scowl at his teasing. I've spent years trying to get over her, trying to convince myself our breakup
was for the best. But one look into those bright blue eyes and seeing her lush body, and I knew I was
still absolutely crazy about her.
If I told Jeremiah any of that, he’d never let me live it down. If Claire leaves town again, I don’t want
my brother reminding me about it and building on the pain I’d already be enduring.
“It was random running into her after all this time,” I say casually. “I don't think she'd want to rekindle
anything. Not after the way I ended things.”
Jeremiah gives me a knowing look. “Still beating yourself up about that, huh?”
I rake a hand through my hair and look around my brother’s office. “Why wouldn’t I be? I was a
fucking fool. I didn't appreciate what I had back then. I was young and stupid and full of ego.”
“That you were,” Jeremiah agrees. “But people change, little brother. If you still care about her,
maybe it's time to swallow that foolish pride of yours and tell her.”
I shift uneasily in my seat. The idea of being emotionally vulnerable, especially to Claire after all I've
put her through, makes me uneasy. But Jeremiah's right—if I don't take the risk, I might lose my chance
at real happiness.
What if it’s too late? The not knowing is terrifying. But so is the thought of living with regret, of never
trying to right my biggest wrong.
I clear my throat and change the subject. “Anyway, about helping her grandmother out...”
Jeremiah sighs and shakes his head, seeing straight through me. But he doesn’t push me further or say
anything about me steering the conversation to safer ground.
“Have Claire call me, and we'll set up a time for me to swing by and check things out. I’ll make time
for this,” Jeremiah says, subtly reminding me how busy he and the rest of the guys at Ghost Security
are.
I nod, trying not to betray my nerves at the thought of talking to Claire again. “Yeah, I'll let her know.”
“So, you coming out to the Roadhouse tonight?” Jeremiah asks as I stand and pull my coat on. “I heard
Jenny's back in town, and she’ll undoubtedly have a bunch of her friends with her. You know they’re
always up for a good time. It’d get your mind off Claire.”
He winks, but I shake my head. He’s not wrong about Jenny and her friends being party girls, but a
night of no-strings sex doesn’t sound appealing. I don’t want to forget about Claire. “I'll pass.”
Jeremiah stares at me incredulously. “Did I hear you right? You're turning down a night out chasing
guaranteed tail?”
“What? I can't want a quiet night at home?” I ask evasively.
“Quiet night, my ass. Who are you, and what've you done with my brother?” Jeremiah laughs.
I force a smile, trying to play it cool. Jeremiah's right—this isn't like me at all. Since Claire left, I've
filled the hole in my heart with empty flings and one-night stands. Now that I've seen her again, all
that seems hollow. The only woman I want is Claire.

AS I DRIVE HOME, memories from high school fill my mind. Claire and I cramming for exams together,
her head on my shoulder. Slow dancing at prom, our bodies pressed close. The first time I said, “I
love you.” I whispered it nervously in the moonlit bed of my pickup truck, cuddled under an old wool
blanket as we stared up at the stars and the Milky Way.
I was so sure she was the one. Then I got scared and threw it all away.
After I got kicked out of basic training, I came home ready to crawl across town on my hands and
knees to apologize to Claire and make things right.
But Claire was gone.
I've dated plenty of women since, but I've never let myself get attached. The truth is, I got scared to
open myself up to that kind of hurt again. I’ve broken a lot of hearts because I never returned the
affection offered to me. Charming women into my bed for a one-night stand was easier than risking
real intimacy.
I want to be a better man. Yet there’s never been a woman other than Claire who’s made me want to
be that man. If Claire is staying in town and will have me, I’ll do everything I can to win her over
again.
Before I can overthink it, I grab my phone and dial her number. My heart pounds as it rings.
“Hello?” Her familiar soft voice fills me with longing. I want to hear her voice soft in my ear as I
hold her. I want to be the one who holds her every night, stroking her back as I listen to her recount
her day.
“Hey, it's me,” I say, my stomach in more knots than it ever was in high school. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” Claire inhales, and I sense she’s trying to decide whether to talk to me. “Grandma and I
just had dinner. We’re going to watch one of her DVDs. What’s up with you?”
“Not much,” I say, suddenly scared to talk to her. What if she says no? I’m not sure I could handle her
rejection. “I talked to my brother, and he’ll put in a security system and camera for your grandmother.
He said to call him, and he’ll schedule a time to come out.”
“Thank you so much, Quincy. I appreciate this. You know how much Grandma means to me. I want her
to be safe.”
I smile as I listen to Claire. Her voice radiates happiness, and even though she can’t see it, I puff out
my chest with pride that I’ve done something—anything—to make her happy again.
“I’ll come out with Jeremiah and look at the fence and the house. I’ve also talked to my buddy Greg,
and he’ll help however is needed.”
Claire’s voice catches in the way it always did when she was trying not to cry. “This means the world
to me, Quincy. Thank you.”
This time, I vow not to let her slip away. I'll do whatever it takes to regain her trust and her heart.
Being a better man starts today.
C HAPTER 3
 CLAIRE

S o let me get this straight—you ran into Quincy?” my friend Tessa asks, her eyes wide with
surprise as we sit down for brunch.
I stir my coffee, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, it was totally random. We were both at the hardware
store.”
“Uh-huh.” Tessa arches an eyebrow knowingly. “And how was it to see him?”
I resist the urge to spill everything—how seeing him made my heart race like old times, how badly I
wanted to fall into his arms and feel his touch. Instead, I shrug and say, “It was fine. He seems the
same as he ever was. “
“Claire, you know that’s not true,” Tessa says, making me squirm with her direct gaze. It was always
hard to fib to her. “And how did he act when he saw you?”
“It was fine. It's not like you’re thinking,” I say quickly.
Tessa shakes her head, seeing right through me. “Are you still carrying a torch for him?” she asks
pointedly.
I stir my coffee again, avoiding her gaze. If I'm honest, a part of me has never fully gotten over
Quincy. He was my first love. I’ve never loved anyone since him. I’ve barely even dated since I left
Jefferson.
Not that I can admit that to Tessa. I’m not ready to hear everything she has to say about Quincy when I
haven’t even figured out how I feel about him. It’s been years since we saw each other, but I never
would have predicted how intense it was to see him for a few minutes. It made me yearn for
something that ended between us a long time ago.
“He offered to help fix up Grandma's place, if you can believe it,” I admit.
“He did what?” she asks, clearly surprised. “Are you taking him up on this offer?”
“Well, kind of. He said he was going to talk to his brother and some guy who works construction.
I’m… I’m honestly not sure if he’s going to follow through. In case it doesn’t work out, I haven’t told
Grandma yet. Either way, I’ll figure out how to keep her safe, but having help would make it easier.”
Tessa considers what I’ve said and nods. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure how far I’d trust him, either.”
Tessa asks about my grandmother, and I'm grateful for the change of subject. We make plans to get
together again soon, and she promises to bring a casserole over.
As we part ways, Tessa makes me swear to call her after I see Quincy to dish all the details. I protest
that nothing worth reporting will happen, but the look she gives me makes it clear she's not buying it.
Maybe she can see I'm not as over Quincy as I try to tell her. I don’t know—yet—if I can trust him,
but I do know he has a lot to make up for if he wants me to consider giving him a second chance.
I’m not going to let him break my heart a second time.

I PULL open the heavy front door, the hinges creaking, to find Quincy standing on the worn welcome
mat with a taller, broader man who can only be his brother Jeremiah. I always heard about Quincy’s
older brother, but Jeremiah was already serving in the Army by the time I really got to know Quincy.
“Hey, come on in,” I say, stepping back to allow them space to enter.
Quincy's eyes light up when he sees me. “Thanks for having us over. This is my brother Jeremiah, he’s
one of the owners of Ghost Security.”
Jeremiah steps over the threshold and offers me his hand. “Nice to meet you, Claire. Quincy's told me
a lot about you.”
He winks as we shake, and I blush as I wonder what Quincy has told his brother. As I lead them into
the house, I can’t decide if I’m flattered that he’s clearly talked to his brother about me, or not.
“Likewise,” I say, feeling flustered. “Come on through.”
Grandma looks up as we all enter the living room, where she’s sitting in her favorite floral armchair,
working on a crossword puzzle. She looks up and sets down her book and pen, smoothing the skirt of
her blue gingham dress as she stands up with some effort.
“It’s nice to see you again, Quincy. It’s been a long time.”
“It’s good to see you again, too, Mrs. Woods. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Grandma smiles and waves her hand. “These things happen.” Grandma turns to Jeremiah and smiles
at him warmly as he gently shakes her hand.
“Grandma, this is Jeremiah, Quincy's brother,” I introduce.
“Well aren’t you a strapping young man,” she teases. “It’s very nice to meet you, dear.”
“The pleasure's mine, Mrs. Woods,” Jeremiah replies politely, smiling at my grandmother. “Quincy
tells me you're in need of some help securing this old place of yours. I'm happy to take a look around
and make some recommendations.”
Grandma's eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles up at tall Jeremiah. “Please, call me Cecily. That
goes for you, too, Quincy. No need to be formal with me. It would be wonderful for you two to help
out. It's just me here these days, and now Claire, too,” she nods at me, “and the house is getting harder
to manage.”
“Not to worry, we'll figure out a good plan,” Jeremiah assures her kindly.
Grandma gestures for us all to follow her. “Let me give you a little tour then.”
As we trail Grandma through the house I once called home, I look at it through new eyes, seeing the
signs of age and disrepair. The wallpaper is faded and peeling in spots, revealing the cracked plaster
beneath. The hardwood floors are scuffed and worn, creaking under our footsteps. Many of the
windows no longer seal properly, leaving rooms drafty and not secure against the kids who run
through her yard.
Jeremiah makes notes in a small, leather-bound notebook, carefully checking all the windows and
their latches, and then checking all the exterior doors.
When we step out the back door into the overgrown yard, Jeremiah examines the rotting fence boards
and trees obscuring the property line.
“I would also suggest trimming these trees, and replacing the fence,” he murmurs, jotting something
down.
As we tour the outside, Quincy stays close by my side. Now and then his hand lightly grazes my lower
back, sending flutters of desire through me. When we pause on the back porch, he leans in close.
“Hope it's not too weird, that I came, too,” he says under his breath. “I want to help make sure your
grandmother is safe.” His green eyes are filled with sincerity.
“Thank you,” I murmur back with a smile I can't contain. His thoughtfulness means so much.
Being near him like this, our arms brushing, I can't stop remembering how things used to be between
us. A flush creeps up my neck when my mind remembers the intensity of our teenage make-out
sessions. What I wouldn’t give to kiss him again…
After I finish walking around the property with Jeremiah and Quincy, and Jeremiah has made more
notes, we all go inside. As we all sit down in the living, Grandma pours coffee and passes a plate of
cookies.
“Thank you, Mrs… Cecily,” Jeremiah smiles as he takes a cookie.
“You’re very welcome,” Grandma says, leaning back into her chair and sipping on her coffee.
“Based on what I saw, I'd recommend installing a video camera security system to monitor the doors
and windows,” Jeremiah explains. “We can set it up so that any time someone approaches the door or
a motion sensor light comes on, you'll get a text with video of what's happening. That way you can see
who's on your property even if you're not home.”
Grandma clasps his large hand in both of her gnarled ones gratefully. “Bless you, we surely
appreciate any help you can offer.”
“Of course. Keeping you safe is what’s important here. I also remember how this neighborhood used
to be.” Jeremiah says sincerely. He glances between Quincy and me with a hint of a knowing smile.
“You talk it over and let me know whatever security upgrades you decide on.”
“I can tell you now that we don’t need to discuss it,” Grandma says without hesitation. “I accept
whatever you recommend. When are you available to install this system?”
Jeremiah nods and looks at his phone. “Let’s see. I can bring a guy out and we can knock this out in an
afternoon. How about Thursday?”
“That quick? That would be wonderful!” Grandma’s face lights up with surprise and gratitude, and it
mirrors how I feel. This is all happening so much quicker than I could have imagined, and it’s a relief
to know Grandma’s house will be safer sooner than later.
“Right. I have you on my calendar. We’ll get you squared away.”
As I’m holding the door open for Quincy and Jeremiah, Quincy stays back. “I’ll catch up with you in a
minute,” he calls out to Jeremiah, who holds up his hand in acknowledgment.
“Look. I heard what he said about the fence and trees. I’ll call my buddy at Swinton Construction, and
I’ll work out a time for us to take care of that. Sound good?”
“That sounds amazing,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. “I’ll look forward to hearing from
you.”
Quincy grins at me and my heartbeat quickens. Watching him meet his brother on the sidewalk, I
realize that I can’t wait to see Quincy again.
C HAPTER 4
 QUINCY

T he garage is filled with the stench of motor oil and the grind of power tools. I'm neck-deep
under the hood of an old Chevy when Wes saunters over.
“Sooooo,” he drawls, leaning on the car. “What’s this I hear about you being chivalrous with a
woman? It’s not like you to do anything other than fuck and run.”
I scowl, not looking up. “Fuck off.” I’m not in the mood for this today. The only thing I want to think
about is Claire and working out how to win her over. I don’t need shit from Wes and the others.
“Ooh, someone's touchy!” Wes laughs, making me tense up. I don’t like being the butt of jokes, even if
I was the first to tease the other guys when they met the woman who made them rethink everything.
“C'mon, give us details,” Clark chimes in from the next bay. “Did you get some action or what?”
The other guys stop working to listen in eagerly. My face burns with frustration, and I slam the hood
down.
“It's none of your goddamn business,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh, you hit a sore spot!” Roman hoots.
The other guys laugh, and I clench my jaw. I've given these assholes plenty of shit about their
relationships. Now they're taking full advantage to get payback. I finally get why they all got so bent
out of shape when I teased them, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me. I’m not used to feeling
vulnerable like this, and I haven’t even told these yokels how much I yearn for Claire.
I stand up, my fists clenched. It’s not like I’d take a swing at one of my co-workers, but I can’t help it.
I don’t want to hear them trying to talk shit about Claire. She’s not like any other woman I’ve ever
met. These guys haven’t met her, but they’d understand if they did.
“Leave him be,” Mack barks, sensing how on the edge I feel.
The guys grumble, but get back to work. I know this won’t be the last of it.
I nod at Mack in thanks. Having him step in defused what might’ve become a bad situation. At least
one person here isn't a complete dickhead.
After my shift, Clark grabs my shoulder before I can bolt out the door. “No hard feelings, man,” he
says, chastened. “Let me buy you a beer.”
“It’s okay. I’ll pass,” I reply tersely, in no mood to spend more time with these guys. I need some
space for myself.
As I drive away, I try to calm down. Blowing up won't help. But their teasing brought back all the
insecurities I've been trying like hell.
I'm not usually one for self-reflection, but I need to figure out what I want from Claire. Seeing her
made me remember what true happiness and connection felt like.
I want to make things right between us. But the thought of losing her again terrifies me. Our
relationship crashed and burned last time because of my stupid choices.
It won't be easy. I've spent years building emotional walls to keep from getting hurt again. But if I
want another chance with Claire, I have to knock those walls down. I have to take the risk and put my
heart on the line.
This time, I need to man up and be honest with her about my feelings.
And pray that I don't fuck things up between us forever.

I' M SPRAWLED on my lumpy couch in my apartment when I call Jeremiah. I look around my apartment
while the phone rings, realizing this is another part of my life I need to get together. Dishes in the sink,
clothes piled around, empty beer bottles on the coffee table? That’s not what I want Claire to see.
“Hey bro, what's up?” Jeremiah answers. I can hear him get up and close his office door.
“You working late again?”
Jeremiah puts me on speaker, and I can hear him typing as he talks. “Yeah. Client had a cybersecurity
breach. It’s all hands on deck tonight. What’s up?”
“Not much. Are you still clear tomorrow to install the security system out Claire’s grandmother’s
place tomorrow?”
“Yup, I’ll be there,” he replies. “I already told you that you don't need to tag along.”
“Come on, man. I want to,” I insist. “For, you know...emotional support and stuff.”
Jeremiah barks out a laugh, and the sound of typing stops. “Emotional support, my ass! You just want
an excuse to see Claire again.”
My face gets hot even though Jeremiah can't see me. “What? No way, it's not like that.”
“Uh, huh,” Jeremiah says skeptically. “Then what's it like, bro? You hoping to rekindle that old flame?
Or you just looking to get laid by your old flame? Bang the girl who got away?”
I bristle at his implication. “Don't talk about her like that. Claire's not some conquest.”
“Then what is she?” Jeremiah challenges. “Come on, level with your big bro. I thought you always
said she was just another small-town chick.”
I rake a hand through my hair in frustration. There was a time there I was lying to myself and anyone
who would listen, that when Claire broke up with me, I was the one who dodged a bullet. “Yeah,
well...I was wrong. Claire's not like those other girls. She's...”
I trail off, trying to find the words. I can picture Jeremiah leaning back with his feet on his desk,
smirking as he waits for me to continue. The asshole always did like watching me squirm.
“Claire's the real deal,” I finally mutter. “The kind of girl you’re proud to bring home to Mom, not just
fuck in the backseat of your car. She’s the kind you settle down and build a life with. Claire always
was.”
There's a brief silence on Jeremiah's end. “Whoa. Look at you getting all serious and sentimental. She
really did a number on you back then, didn't she?”
His voice has lost its mocking edge. He was already away in boot camp by the time I met Claire and
we started dating, so he didn’t see much of what happened between us. Yet he knows when something
is bothering me. As much as we rib each other, Jeremiah's my brother. He knows me better than
anyone.
I clear my throat and shift the conversation back to the matter at hand. “What time tomorrow?”
Jeremiah tells me to meet him at 1 pm.
After we hash out the security plan, Jeremiah asks, “So if Claire ends up sticking around here, you
thinking of trying again with her? For real this time?”
I shift uncomfortably on my lumpy couch, buying time by picking at a fraying thread on my tshirt. Do I
want that? A real relationship, putting my heart on the line again with the only woman who ever truly
broke it?
“I dunno. Maybe,” I finally reply, going for nonchalance. “I mean, if she's interested. Which she
probably isn't.”
Jeremiah makes a thoughtful noise. “You might be surprised, little brother. From everything you've
said, it sounds like you two have unfinished business.”
I feel a spark of hope at his words, but try to tamp it down. No use getting ahead of myself. For all I
know, Claire sees me as nothing but an ex she'd rather forget.
“Yeah, well, we'll see, I guess,” I mutter evasively.
Jeremiah launches into a new topic, mentioning he needs to hire an office admin for his security firm.
“You know anyone good?”
I snort out a laugh. “You really want me to send one of my many exes to work for you every day?
That's just asking for trouble. You know.”
Jeremiah chuckles. “Good point. Remember that bartender from O'Malley's? What was her name,
Candy?”
I wince. Yeah, probably better not to have girls like Candy around a professional workplace. Not that
Jeremiah needs to be told that. He’s always been the smarter of the two of us.
But then I remember Claire mentioning she might stay in town. “What about Claire?” I suggest
tentatively.
“Hmmm.” Jeremiah pauses, considering it. “You think that's a good idea? Mixing business and your
own personal agenda?”
“I don’t have an agenda!” I protest. But even as I say it, I know it's bullshit. Of course, part of me
hopes that if Claire is around more, we can rekindle what we once had.
Still, I play it casual with Jeremiah. “I think she said she needs a job. Doesn't have to be anything
serious.”
“Alright, I'll run it by her tomorrow and see if she's interested,” Jeremiah agrees after a moment.
We chat for a few more minutes, then Jeremiah ends the call when one of his guys needs him.
I toss my phone aside and stare at the ceiling, realization creeping over me. Every decision I make
lately involves Claire.
And I like it.
C HAPTER 5
 CLAIRE

I sit in the creaky wicker chair on Grandma's front porch, watching Quincy and Greg install a
new fence around Grandma's property. The old chain link fence was sagging so badly, they
barely had to make any effort to pull up the posts and haul it out.
Jeremiah and one of his co-workers came out yesterday and installed a security alarm, complete with
cameras around the house that send an alert to our cell phones when triggered.
Quincy and Greg have their sleeves rolled up as they dig holes for the new wooden posts, sweat
glistening on their tanned, muscular arms. I find my gaze lingering on Quincy as he easily lifts a post
over his shoulder, his biceps flexing.
“Quincy is a nice young man. I always thought you two were good together,” Grandma says next to
me. “Easy on the eyes, too,” she adds in a conspiratorial whisper, giving me a playful nudge with her
elbow.
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. Trust Grandma to openly comment on Quincy's attractiveness.
But she's not wrong—he looks good out there, tan and sweaty in the afternoon sun. The way his damp
white t-shirt clings to his chest makes my mouth go dry.
“Maybe you should give him another chance, dear,” Grandma continues gently. “People make
mistakes when they're young, but it doesn't mean they can't grow and become better versions of
themselves.”
I bite my lip as I watch Quincy. It's true he's been nothing but thoughtful and helpful since I came back
to town. Checking in on Grandma and getting others to help fix her house.
He was the reason I left town. I didn’t go to college right away, but I road-tripped across the US and
picked up jobs here and there. There wasn’t anywhere I wanted to settle down, so eventually, I
enrolled in college and earned a degree.
“I don't know, Grandma,” I reply with a conflicted frown. “How do I know he cares this time? That
he's not just saying what he thinks I want to hear?”
Grandma reaches over and pats my hand reassuringly. Her skin is paper thin but still warm and
comforting.
“You have to look at his actions, not only his words,” she advises. “That boy clearly still has feelings
for you. He is working hard to impress you. Why on earth would he be doing all this for us
otherwise?”
I consider her perspective as I watch Quincy and Greg work.
Quincy pauses to take a long swig from his water bottle, tipping his head back as his Adam's apple
bobs while he swallows. I'm momentarily transfixed by the corded muscles in his neck and how his
jaw clenches. Desire flutters through me, and a flush creeps up my neck that has little to do with the
heat from the early-summer sun.
Seeing him work so hard to help Grandma, it's making me consider that maybe Quincy has changed
over the years and matured into a man I could trust.
Grandma seems to read my uncertain thoughts, giving my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Follow
your heart, Claire,” she advises wisely. “It won't lead you astray. You've been through so much, and
it’s natural to be cautious. But part of healing is being brave enough to open yourself to love again.”
My heart knows she’s right, and I’m tempted to let Quincy back in, to trust that what we have could be
even stronger now. It's comfortable when we're together and it reminds me of how good we were
before.
I glance back to where Quincy is still working, now laughing with his buddy over some shared joke.
The sound of his laughter, so free and joyous, makes my heart race. Watching him, I soften. If I listen
to my heart, it’s telling me to give him another chance.
Needing to steer my conflicted thoughts to solid ground again, I bring up my concerns about the costs
of all these repairs and upgrades to Grandma's property. I know it must be adding up fast between the
new fence and the fancy alarm system Quincy's brother installed.
“I'll need to stick around town for a while and get a steady job to help pay this off,” I say.
Grandma's face instantly lights up, and she looks at me like she knows something I don’t. She clasps
my hand eagerly. “Does this mean you'll stay in Jefferson, dear? Not run off again to who knows
where?”
I bite my lip, mulling it over. If I stayed in Jefferson, would I be constantly torn up seeing Quincy
around town, if nothing happens? Trapped longing for the past?
Sensing my hesitation and internal debate, Grandma gently says, “Having you close again would make
me so happy. But you should only stay if it feels right in your heart, not just for me.”
I nod slowly, appreciating her wisdom and selflessness as always. “Thanks, Grandma. I need some
time to think it all through. You’ll be the first to know when I decide.”
She pats my hand again and gives me a knowing smile. “You'll make the right choice for you, dear
heart.”
Quincy approaches the porch steps, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He gives us
a tired but enthusiastic smile.
“Well, what do you ladies think?” he asks eagerly. “The new fence is coming along nicely, huh?”
I take in the sight of him standing there, dusty and sweat-soaked, but looking satisfied and proud of the
progress and hard work. My breath catches for a hot moment and I bite my lip, trying to hide the
power of my reaction to Quincy.
“Claire, would you be a dear and fetch us some more iced tea?” Grandma asks, fanning herself with a
fan I embroidered with her name one year when I was at summer camp.
“Of course,” I say, standing up from the creaky wicker chair, grateful for an excuse to slip away
inside and collect myself.
In her cozy kitchen, I pour sweet tea into chilled glasses and take a deep breath to steady my hands
before picking up the tray to head back outside. I need to stay cautious, protective of the fragile hope
blossoming inside me. No matter how good it feels to let Quincy in again, I swore I'd never give him
the power to hurt me like before. Not without being sure he's truly changed.
When I step back onto the porch, Quincy, Greg, and Grandma are chatting amiably as they sit in the
shade. Grandma laughs brightly at something Quincy says, her eyes glinting with joy. Seeing her
delight warms my heart and makes me reconsider my lingering doubts about Quincy's sincerity.
“Oh Quincy, you and Greg here have been such a blessing today,” Grandma says warmly, patting his
broad, dusty hand. “Reaffirming this old woman's faith in the kindness of community. It’s good to see
you again, Quincy, and I hope I’ll be seeing more of you, like the old days.”
Quincy ducks his head bashfully at the praise and shrugs his muscular shoulders. “Aww, just glad I
could help. When Claire explained what was going on, I knew I had to do what I could to help out.”
“Ma’am, we’re more than happy to help,” Greg says, then takes a long drink of his tea. “It’s a shame
what’s happened in this neighborhood. I’m more than happy to help keep you safe, because I’m
assuming you’re like my grandparents, who didn’t want to leave the house they’d made all their
memories in.”
Grandma smiles and nods, then refills Greg’s glass of sweet tea. “You are absolutely right, Greg. I’ll
not go from this house willingly. One day,” she turns to me, “this will be Claire’s.”
My heart swells with affection for my grandmother. I can’t imagine being here without her, but that’s
something I’ll deal with when that time comes.
“What Quincy says is true. He offered as soon as I told him about your situation, Grandma. I didn't
even have to ask.”
Grandma pats Quincy's hand again and winks at me over the top of her glasses. “Well, don't let this
one get away again, you hear? A good man like this is hard to find.”
I blush fiercely at her unsubtle matchmaking, avoiding Quincy's gaze. But I can see his pleased grin
out of the corner of my eye.

“S O HE REALLY JUST CAME OVER AND did all these repairs? Quincy actually followed through?”
I nod enthusiastically at Tessa. “He really did. He and Greg showed up first thing this morning with
all the tools and lumber already loaded in his truck. I honestly can't believe how much they got done
today.”
“Wow,” Tessa says, looking impressed. “Guess those biceps are good for more than just flexing at the
bar.”
We share a laugh, but I quickly grow more solemn. “I don't know how I'm going to pay for everything,
though. The materials, new security system, all these fixes...it must be costing a fortune.”
Tessa waves her hand as if this isn’t a true concern. “I know you’ll figure it out.”
I nod, resolved to find a way to handle the costs that doesn't mean allowing Grandma to drain her
limited funds.
Tessa gives me a searching look. “Speaking of Quincy, did he help just out of the goodness of his
heart? Or is there something else going on there?”
I bite my lip, considering the question. “I think he genuinely wanted to help. But...” I trail off,
emotions swirling.
“But you still have feelings for him,” Tessa finishes knowingly. After being best friends since
kindergarten, she knows things without me having to say them.
I throw my hands up in a helpless gesture. “I don't know! He hurt me so bad, Tess. I swore I was done
with him.”
“Hey.” Tessa scoots closer on the sofa and puts a comforting arm around me. “It's okay. Just because
you still care doesn't mean you have to get hurt again. Protect your heart first.”
I nod, knowing she's right. Loving Quincy again feels as inevitable as breathing, but I refuse to be
careless this time.
Still...seeing how kindly he treats Grandma, I know there's good beneath the brash reputation Tessa
says he’s had the last few years. The way he looks at and touches me is always gentle and
affectionate. He makes me feel like I’m the most important part of his world.
C HAPTER 6
 QUINCY

I 'm under a busted Chevy, humming along to a country song on the radio, when Wes saunters
over, leaning against the car.
“So gotta ask, man—what's the deal with you and this babe you’ve been helping? It’s Claire, isn’t it?”
he asks with a smirk. “You're going all out helping her grandmother. Isn’t she the one you dated in
high school? Got it bad for her again, huh?”
I scowl and tighten a bolt harder than necessary. “Just trying to be a decent guy. And enough with the
questions! What's it to you?”
Wes holds his hands up in mock defense. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t realize you were so touchy about it. You
can sure serve it up, but you don’t like to take it.”
Roman laughs as Wes walks away. “Kid's finally growing up. Told you meeting the right one would
change things. If he makes this work, we’ll have to stop calling him Kid.”
“That’ll be the day!” Mack roars in laughter.
“Damn straight, you’ll stop calling me Kid. I’ve never liked that in the first place.” I bristle at their
teasing, but I can't deny they're right. Being around Claire has shifted something in me. Made me want
to be better. “I’m going to take an early lunch,” I call out, not waiting for anyone to try and stop me.
It hits me at lunch, waiting for my burger—I can't be happy unless Claire's part of my life again. I
need to be vulnerable and explain what made me sabotage our relationship after we graduated high
school.
I grab my phone to text her, but stop. Too impersonal. This needs to be a conversation.
Heart pounding, I call her. “Hey, can we talk tonight?”

I PACE ANXIOUSLY outside the diner where we first shared milkshakes as teenagers. This was always
our place. I rub my palms against my jeans, checking my fingernails to make sure I got all the car
grease cleaned off.
When her car pulls up, I swallow hard. This won’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be worth it if it was.
Claire steps out, looking uncertain. “Hey, Quincy. What’s up?”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “There are things I need to say to you.”
Claire crosses her arms protectively, but nods for me to continue.
“Let’s go get a table,” I say, opening the door for her.
Our knees bump under the scratched Formica table as we settle into our seats. A bolt of desire
pierces me, making my knee bounce under the table. I can’t even put into words how I’ve missed
having her in my arms, feeling her soft body pressed against mine.
“First off, I was an idiot for how I acted when I joined the Army. Thought I didn't need anyone. But
the truth is, I should've included you in that decision. You deserved that.”
Claire's expression softens, and her eyes fill with sadness. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter to
you.”
“You did. So damn much,” I say, my voice ready to break. “But I was scared. Of needing someone.
Needing you.” I look down, ashamed. “I thought distancing myself would hurt less than sticking
around and inevitably losing you later. And my dad was riding me to enlist and serve, which you
knew I wanted, too. The Walker men are military men, so even thinking about not serving voluntarily
would have…saying my dad would have been pissed is an understatement. But I also wanted you, and
I was scared of what it would mean if I didn’t enlist. When it came time to choose, I fucked up and
made the wrong choice.”
Claire looks at me, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Seeing her emotions so exposed brings out a
fierceness in me that tells me this is right. She’s the woman for me. I don’t even talk like this to my
brother.
After we order, I meet her eyes again. “You were the best thing in my life, Claire. Leaving you was
the biggest mistake I've ever made.”
Claire is quiet, taking this in. I hold my breath, terrified I've said too much.
Finally, she speaks. “I wish you'd told me all this back then.” A tear runs down her cheek.
I take a shaky breath and lean across the table to wipe it away. I've revealed my biggest regret about
the past. But if I want a real second chance, Claire needs to truly understand all the foolish
insecurities that led to my mistakes.
“There's more I should explain about back then,” I say hesitantly. “Stuff I don’t like talking about.”
Claire nods, a patient look in her eyes. “Okay. I'm listening.”
I exhale and continue. “So you may have heard I never got through basic training. I was kicked out
halfway through because I landed wrong during a training exercise, and it shattered.”
I pause for a moment to steady my emotions. Maybe having this talk in public wasn’t the greatest idea.
“Coming from generations of military men, it crushed me,” I explain. “The Army was supposed to be
me continuing the legacy of the men in my family. When I came home, I felt lost. Worthless.”
Claire's expression fills with sadness. She reaches across the table and lays her hand comfortingly
over mine.
“Quincy, why didn't you tell me any of this?” she asks softly.
I stare down at our hands, ashamed. “When I came home, you were gone. I was too stubborn to find
you, and your friend Tessa just shut me down. She’s protective of you.”
I look back up at Claire, meeting her blue eyes with an intent gaze. “But the worst decision I ever
made was leaving you. These years without you in my life have haunted me, Claire.”
Her eyes glisten, but she stays silent, letting me continue my long-overdue apology.
My voice cracks with emotion. I clasp Claire's hands tightly and stare intently into her eyes, willing
her to truly hear me. “But I'm begging you, Claire, please give me a chance to make things right
between us. Let me prove I've grown into the man you deserve.”
Claire looks uncertain as she gently withdraws her hands from mine. “I don't know, Quincy...you
really hurt me when you left. I loved you so much. Then suddenly, you were gone.”
Her voice wavers with restrained hurt. I ache knowing I caused that pain.
“You're absolutely right,” I say wretchedly. “I should have talked to you and included you in the
decision to enlist. But I was only thinking of myself. I was too pigheaded to ask for help or lean on
someone else.”
I rake my hands through my hair, frustration at my younger self mounting. “It was the stupidest, most
cowardly thing I've ever done. And it's haunted me ever since.”
Claire wraps her arms around herself, seeming to fold in on herself protectively. “It's not just that you
left...it was how easily you tossed me aside after I gave you my whole heart. I felt so betrayed.”
Seeing her closed-off body language, I'm desperate to break through her lingering doubts. To make her
truly understand how deeply I've regretted losing her.
I slide out of my side of the booth and move to Claire's side, kneeling on the cracked linoleum floor
beside her. I gently grasp her hands again, meeting her uncertain gaze unwaveringly. “Leaving you
was the biggest mistake of my life, Claire. I swear to you, I never stopped loving you.”
Claire's eyes glisten with restrained tears. She starts to look away, but I cup her cheek, guiding her
gaze back to mine.
“It was always you, Claire,” I profess ardently. “No one else has ever come close to what we had.
What we could have again if you give me another chance.”
I search her eyes, heart pounding wildly. Claire stays silent for endless moments.
Finally, she whispers, “Do you really mean all that, Quincy?”
Her voice is thick with emotion. I cling to the spark of hope I see in her eyes.
Still kneeling, I clasp both of Claire's hands. “I mean every single word. I know I screwed up badly
in the past, but I've grown since then. Tell me what I need to do—anything—to prove myself to you.
I'm asking for another chance to be the man you deserve, Claire. Please.”
The tense set of Claire's shoulders finally relaxes. She nods slowly, eyes shining with tentative
warmth.
“Okay. I'm willing to give this—to give us—another chance.” She strokes my cheek tenderly. “No
more hiding things, though. We need honesty when hard things happen.”
Relief and gratitude wash over me in dizzying waves. Unable to form words, I stand and pull Claire
into my arms. I kiss her urgently, pouring all my suppressed longing into it.
Claire responds eagerly, her fingers tangling in my hair. Our kiss deepens, and the people in the diner
cheer and clap. Holding Claire against my body is the best feeling in the world, and I never want to
let go.
“Always.”
C HAPTER 7
 CLAIRE

M y heart races as I look into Quincy's eyes, feeling an overwhelming love for him that leaves
me breathless. The passion of our kisses sends a jolt through my body, filling me with hope
and electricity.
His voice is husky as he says, “Come home with me?”
I squeeze his hand, my fingers intertwining with his. Without hesitation, I reply, “Yes.”
Quincy grins and pays for our dinner even though we never even touched it. I can feel his excitement
as he leads me to his car, promising we'll pick mine up in the morning because he doesn't want me out
of his sight.
Quincy speeds through the empty streets of Jefferson, his hand is warm in mine, our fingers entwined.
Every few minutes, he glances at me, his eyes glowing, a smile tugging at his lips. “I can't believe
you're here with me.”
I squeeze his hand, joy and longing swirling inside me. “I'm here. I'm really here.”
As he drives, Quincy pulls me in for kisses every time we stop at a red light. Desire pools in my core
with each searing kiss. At one point, we kiss for so long that the driver behind us lays on their horn,
and we laugh as Quincy shifts gears and drives through the intersection. Quincy looks at me with his
sparkling green eyes and speeds home as if nothing else in the world matters.
“God, Claire,” he murmurs, his grip on the wheel tight. “I can't believe this is real. I’ve wanted you
for so long, but I never thought I’d see you again.”
“It’s like that for me, too,” I whisper, my chest swelling with happiness. “It feels like a dream.”
Quincy squeezes my hand. “Promise me something,” he says. “Promise me that we'll face it together,
no matter what happens.”
“Of course,” I reply without hesitation. “I promise. And you promise that you’ll always talk to me.”
“Oh, Claire. Always. I swear on everything that I’m not going to make that mistake again,” he says,
his voice tight.
As we pull up to Quincy's apartment building, my heart is pounding with anticipation. The night ahead
holds so much promise, and I can hardly wait to experience it all with him. We may have been apart
for years, but our love has never wavered, and now we can make up for lost time.
My heart aches with love for this man. “We have all the chances in the world now. I'm not going
anywhere.” I brush my lips against his, savoring their familiar warmth and softness. “Take me
upstairs?”
Quincy's eyes darken with desire. “Thought you'd never ask.”
We tumble out of the car and race up the stairs to his apartment hand in hand, laughter bubbling from
our lips. The future stretches out before us, ours for the taking.
As soon as we're inside, Quincy presses me back against the door, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.
He runs his hands greedily over my body before settling them on my hips and pulling me hard against
him. I can feel the long, hard length of his arousal and I whimper into his mouth.
My nipples pinch painfully beneath my thin camisole top, straining to feel Quincy’s touch and tongue.
Quincy growls softly when he notices, then dips his head to capture one between his teeth over the
fabric. I arch into him helplessly, craving more contact.
“Bedroom. Now,” he commands gruffly against my ear.
Taking my hand, he leads me through the dark apartment, our path lit only by slashes of moonlight
across the floor. The seconds it takes to reach his room feel endless, my whole body thrumming with
want.
As we enter the shadowy bedroom, I’m momentarily blinded when Quincy turns on the light. I
reflexively reach for the switch on the wall to turn on the lights. But Quincy's hands cover mine,
stopping me.
“Leave it on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His hands trail down my arms, leaving
goosebumps in their wake. “I want to see every inch of you.”
My cheeks flush with a burst of embarrassment and angst. It's been years since Quincy has seen me
fully naked. I'm heavier now, fuller in the hips and thighs. What if he's disappointed?
Sensing my hesitation, Quincy tips my chin up, forcing me to meet the intensity of his gaze in the
dimness. “You are even more beautiful now than you were at eighteen, Claire. Lush, feminine curves
in all the right places. Tonight, I plan to worship each and every one of them. You have nothing to
hide.”
His words send a spike of heat straight between my legs.
Quincy's eyes soften. He brushes a strand of hair back from my face tenderly. “You are everything I've
ever wanted, Claire. I love you. Let me show you how much.”
His simple declaration makes my heart expand with love. I know that he’s telling me the truth.
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Quincy begins to undress me. His fingers graze each new patch of
exposed skin—my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the dip of my waist, the spread of my hips—as
he unbuttons my blouse, unzips my skirt.
I TREMBLE under his attentive touch, a flush spreading down my neck to my chest.
At last, I'm down to just my underwear. Quincy slides the straps of my bra off my shoulders, then
sinks fluidly to his knees before me. He presses a soft kiss just below my navel, above the waistband
of my panties.
His large hands span my hips as he hooks his fingers gently under the elastic and begins to pull the
delicate fabric down my thighs, my knees, my calves, until I can step free.
I stand fully naked before him now, my curves fully illuminated by the light. When Quincy looks up at
me from the floor with pure reverence, as if I'm a goddess deigning to grace him with my most
intimate form, I understand that he loves me exactly as I am.
“You take my breath away,” he whispers fervently. “I'm the luckiest man in the world.”
He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses up the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, making me shudder with
delight. When he reaches the juncture between my legs, I gasp and clutch his shoulders to remain
standing. He kisses me close, but not touching, my core, and I writhe with desire for him.
“Please,” I moan, running my hands through his blond hair.
“Lay down for me, baby,” Quincy murmurs, his voice gravelly with desire. I crawl onto the rumpled
bed, my heart pounding and every nerve in my body on fire with desire.
Quincy's eyes blaze as they rake over my naked form. “So damn beautiful,” he says reverently.
He strips off the remainder of his own clothes unhurriedly, holding my gaze. I bite my lip as my eyes
hungrily take in his muscled body. The man looks like a statue you see in a museum. Desire coils hot
and urgent inside me.
At last he crawls onto the bed, bracing himself above me on his forearms. I whimper softly as his
hard, thick cock presses hotly against my belly. Instinctively I arch my body toward his, needing to be
one with him.
“I'm going to make love to you all night long,” Quincy promises huskily, his lips brushing mine in a
feather-light caress.
“Please,” I whisper, shivering with anticipation. After so many long, empty years apart, I'm finally
back exactly where I belong—safely ensconced in Quincy's strong arms, enveloped by his warmth,
laying aching and willing beneath him in his bed.
I cry out in blissful relief as he enters me in one long, smooth glide, stretching and filling my aching
core completely. This, my body says, this is what’s always been right.
“Oh god, baby, you feel incredible,” Quincy groans as he begins to move, lowering his mouth to claim
mine in a tangle and demanding kiss. Slow, deep thrusts at first, dragging along my inner walls
maddeningly. I groan into his mouth as our bodies move together in a hot synchronicity.
He shifts my hips to just the perfect angle and hits that sweet spot inside me, the sensation so intense
stars burst across my vision. I dig my nails into the flexing muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him
tightly as waves of pure euphoria crash over me again and again.
“Never wanna stop,” he pants harshly against the delicate skin of my neck. His body shakes above
mine, his breathing jagged as he pumps deeper inside of me. “I want to stay buried inside you
forever.”
His hips move urgently against mine and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding
him as close as humanly possible. My body thrashes against his, hungry for more of him. I need to feel
him deeper, harder. Everything I have is for Quincy.
“Don't hold back, give me everything,” I urge him passionately, holding onto him tightly as our bodies
crash into each other, lust burning into love.
Quincy's eyes blaze down into mine for a suspended moment. Then his body seizes and stiffens as he
drives into me faster and deeper, groaning as I cry out his name.
“I’m so close! I’m coming!” My voice echoes in his bedroom as my body shakes, and then shared
ecstasy crashes over us at once, leaving both of us breathless and weak and clinging to each other.
Quincy collapses heavily on top of me afterwards, his heart thundering against my chest as we
struggle to catch our breath. I stroke my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, overwhelmed by
love and satisfaction.
When Quincy rolls off of me with a groan, I immediately miss the feel of his strong body on top of
mine. But then he tugs me close, curling my body against his side and holding me there securely.
“I love you so damn much, Claire Matthews,” he whispers fervently against my temple, punctuating
the declaration with a tender kiss. “That’s never gonna change.”
I smile up at him softly, tracing the beloved and familiar lines of his handsome face with my
fingertips. “I never stopped loving you, not really,” I confess. “Deep down I knew it was always you,
Quincy. You're it for me. Always were, and always will be.”
His eyes glow with emotion and he captures my lips in a kiss brimming with promise and passion.
“You're my forever girl, Claire,” he vows when we finally separate, a bit breathless. “My always.”
My heart swells near to bursting. I snuggle even closer, perfectly content wrapped securely in his
embrace.
I laugh, tracing a finger down Quincy's bare chest. “Well, we have all night to get reacquainted. And
the rest of our lives, for that matter.”
Quincy's eyes darken with desire, and he captures my hand, bringing it to his lips in a gesture both
playful and reverent. “Don't tease me, woman.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Who says I'm teasing? That’s a promise.”
Quincy groans low in his throat, a distinctly masculine sound of appreciation. He rolls me beneath
him once more and settles his weight between my thighs. His green eyes burn into mine and Quincy
props himself up on one elbow to gaze down at me, his expression soft but serious. “Does this mean
you're staying in Jefferson for good now?”
I hear the hint of vulnerability in his question and I reach up to cup his stubbled cheek in my palm
reassuringly. “Yes,” I tell him without hesitation. “Your brother already offered me an office job. I
was planning to accept if things worked out between us...” I bite my lip coyly. “And I'd say they
worked out pretty spectacularly, wouldn't you?”
Quincy huffs out a laugh, relief breaking across his handsome face. He kisses me sweetly. “Damn
right it did. I love you, Claire. I always have, even when we were apart, and I always will. You're it
for me.”
My heart swells with emotion, and tears of joy prick the corners of my eyes. I reach up to cradle his
beloved face between my hands. “I know,” I whisper. “And I love you too, Quincy. You’re my
always.”
No more words are needed after that. Our hearts have made an unbreakable promise.
I’m home.
 EPILOGUE

I carry the large platter of hamburger patties and hotdogs across the backyard lawn, inhaling
the savory smoke coming from the grill that Jeremiah is heating up. Grandma wanted to host
this end-of-summer picnic in our backyard, and as a thank you to our friends for helping secure the
house over these past few months.
“Here’s the first batch,” I say as I put the platter down on a small table next to the grill, and then wrap
my arms around Quincy and give him a hug. Ever since we got back together, he’s been a rock of
support for Grandma and me, and has helped with numerous small projects around the house. His
commitment to my Grandma, and also to our renewed relationship, has been unwavering.
“Mm. You feel good.” Quincy places his hands over mine and leans into me, and everything in the
world feels so perfectly aligned that the happiness of it all just takes my breath away. What we have
now is better than anything I could ever imagined. Every minute of every day, our connection deepens
and becomes more unbreakable.
The sound of Grandma tutting at us makes as laugh. “It warms my heart to see you two lovebirds
together again. I’m so glad you came to your senses and gave this handsome young man a second
chance.”
“Grandma!” I exclaim, my cheeks suddenly aflame. She may be from an older generation, but she still
has a little giddyup in her and sometimes says things I wish she wouldn’t.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on my Claire. She had every right to be wary of me. I didn’t do right by her in
high school, and I’ll always regret that.”
My breath catches in my throat. We’ve worked together and resolved everything from our past, but I
know it still bothers Quincy about how he behaved back then. “We’ve moved past that, Quincy. You
know how much I love you. What matters is how we are today, and you show me your love every
moment we’re together. I couldn’t be happier than I am now.”
Quincy gives me a tender kiss, and the familiar deep pull of desire makes my soul content.
“I should let you get back to the grill,” I murmur, knowing that if we get too caught up in ourselves,
Grandma will start tutting about guests arriving soon and everything not being laid out properly.
“I love you, Claire,” Quincy says, giving me another hug before I head back inside to get another
platter of food.
“Just set the platter right here on the picnic table, dear,” Grandma instructs as I come back out.
The chipped wooden table I remember from my childhood is loaded with Grandma's secret-recipe
baked beans, pasta salad, bowls of potato chips, and a veggie tray with carrots and celery. Mason
jars of sunflowers line the center of the table. My stomach rumbles as Quincy puts the first batch of
burgers on the grill and the scent of them wafts across the backyard.
“You have everything under control there, young man?” Grandma calls out to Quincy, who’s starting
to grill hot dogs.
He grins and smiles. “Sure do! First batch will be ready by the time people start showing up!”
“Good man,” Grandma says, then turns to me. “You did the right thing with Quincy, Claire. It’s such a
joy to see you two together and happy again. You’re making this old woman happy.”
“Oh, Grandma,” I say, a tear rolling down my cheek. I gently give her a hug. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Hey hey hey!” We turn and see Jeremiah and Greg come through the gate, holding up a couple of six-
packs.
Soon, the yard is filled with laughter and all of the people important to us. All of the men of Rebel
Autos, save Mack, have their arms around the women they love.
“Yo, Mack,” Quincy calls out, raising a beer in Mack’s direction. “It’ll be your turn next!”
All the guys laugh and agree, but Mack shakes his head. “Confirmed bachelor. You grease monkeys
know that.”
“Man, you say that now,” Roman says, pulling his wife Marsha closer, the look in his eyes gooey with
love. “I used to think I was happy on my own, raising my girl. But when I met Marsha… I was fucking
done for.”
Marsha giggles, her eyes filled with bright love, and gives him a kiss.
Mack grunts and rolls his eyes, but I can see a hint of smile on his face. He may be gruff, but the more
I get to know him, the more I see he has a good heart. He just hasn’t found anyone to share it with.
“Well maybe if I find another woman who likes classic cars as much as I do. Maybe.” Mack arches
his eyebrow and drains his beer and motions for Wes to hand him another.
Everyone fills their plates buffet-style and soon the backyard is filled with laughter and lively
conversation as we eat. Across the lawn, the ivy climbing the back of the house sways gently in the
late summer breeze.
The lawn is still slightly overgrown, but the fresh coat of cloud-white paint makes the old house look
crisp and renewed. Gone is the sagging chain link fence, replaced by sturdy wooden boards that
Quincy and Greg built. The once-tangled trees have been neatly trimmed back from the roof and
windows.
After we finish eating, Grandma taps her glass with a spoon to get everyone's attention. As she slowly
begins to push up from her chair, Quincy moves to her to help her up. When she’s standing, she places
her hand over his and smiles warmly.
“It gladdens my heart so much to see you all here. This place feels like a true home again. I can never
express my thanks adequately to you, Quincy, Jeremiah, and Greg, for all that you’ve done to help me
be safe again. When you told me you were covering the cost…” Grandma’s voice catches and my
heart beats faster, “that was an unexpected and generous gift. And to you, too, Quincy for all the
continued work you’re doing around the house.” Grandma’s eyes glisten with tears, but she continues.
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You are all a blessing.”
“No thanks are needed,” Jeremiah says. “You’re part of the family, and we take care of our own.”
“Here, here,” all the men say, raising their drinks. “To family!”
Mack gives Quincy a playful nudge. “Gotta say though, never thought I'd see this rascal being so
domesticated!”
Quincy chuckles, the tops of his cheekbones flushing slightly. He slips an arm around my waist and
plants a quick kiss on my temple. “What can I say? Claire brings out the best in me.”
The pure, unrestrained love shining in his green eyes as he gazes down at me makes my heart swell
with surety that I made the right choice with him. Being near him like this, interacting with my family,
it feels right. Natural.
Grandma was right. People can change if given the chance. And some couples are destined to be
together, even if they have bumps in the road and have to find their way back to each other.
Quincy stands from the picnic table, tapping his beer bottle nervously to get everyone's attention.
“I, uh, actually have something an announcement to make myself,” he says, his voice wavering
slightly. All eyes turn to him.
He sets his plate aside, wipes his palms on his jeans, and takes both of my hands in his larger,
calloused ones. His green eyes meet mine, heavy with emotion.
“Claire, you're my entire world. After getting you back in my life again these past few months, life
just makes sense. Before you came back, I didn’t know what I was living for, but I know now. I’m
living for you, for us.”
He pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. His thumbs rub small, soothing
circles over the backs of my hands. Glancing around the backyard at our assembled friends and
family, he straightens his shoulders resolutely.
“Being with you again has made one thing crystal clear—you and I, we're meant to be together. Some
connections transcend time, withstand storms. What we have is one of them.”
My vision swims with tears at his heartfelt words. Never breaking our shared gaze, Quincy slowly
sinks down to one knee before me in the grass. From his pocket he produces a small black velvet box,
cradled delicately in one palm.
Another random document with
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 The method of erection, so far as the side frames are concerned,
is the same as for the first example of travelling gantries. Stability is,
however, gained by cross-bracing as shown in figure, thus making
strutting unnecessary. The platform can be laid by placing short
boards 9 in. by 3 in. across the runners when the platform is narrow.
It is more usual, however, to place joists 10 in. by 2 in. across, and
on these to lay the boards longitudinally. The joists average 2 to 3
feet apart, the braces are about 2 in. by 7 in. On the outside of the
scaffold, parallel to the sills, balk timbers are placed forming a
‘fender’ to prevent the vehicular traffic from injuring or disturbing the
erection.

Front Elevation
 End Elevation
Fig 11.—Gantry or Elevated Platform over Footpaths

Stagings.—Stagings are erected in a manner similar to travelling

gantries, but are carried more than one storey high (fig. 12). It is a
form of scaffolding rarely seen, more especially since the
introduction of the Scotch derrick system. The timbers are erected to
the height of the first runner in the same manner as the frames in fig.
11. In order to carry the scaffold higher, horizontal pieces are laid
across the scaffold, over the standards, and are made to project 9 or
10 feet on each side of the runners.
 On these beams, uprights, as in the first tier, are raised, being
connected in like manner, longitudinally by transoms. The rising tiers
of standards are strutted by timbers a a, rising from the projecting
portion of the beam called the footing piece, which serves in the
samemanner as a footing block. The footing piece is supported by
struts, b b, rising from the lower standards. The struts b b are in two
pieces, being bolted to the sides of the footing pieces and uprights.
This allows the shores a a to pass between them.

Front Elevation Cross Section

Fig. 12.—Example of Stagings
Strutting within the bays formed by the standards is carried out on
each tier with the exception of the top, where braces are fixed, as
shown at c.
On the top runners rails are laid for a traveller.
In constructing the foregoing square timber erection, note should
be taken of the following points:—
That the uprights of the upper tiers should stand immediately over
those of the lower tiers, in order to prevent cross strains on the
runners.
 That the timbers should fit as evenly as possible, as thereby the
whole erection is rendered more stable.
That joints between the runners should occur immediately over the
standards.
The several parts of this structure, if for temporary purposes, can
be connected by dog irons; if for a more permanent use, by bolts and
straps.

Pole Scaffolds
Bricklayers’ Scaffolds.—A bricklayer’s scaffold consists of a
series of upright poles or standards, to which are lashed horizontal
poles, termed ledgers. The ledgers and the wall of the building carry
the putlogs, on which boards are laid to support the workman, his
material, and tools (fig. 13).
The standards are first erected, and may stand singly or in pairs.
In a repairing job, unless of great height, and where there is no great
weight of material, single poles are sufficient.
Where double poles are required, the first pair are erected of
different lengths.
The short pole is termed a puncheon. The difference of length
allows of a lap in connecting the succeeding poles.
The lap should equal half of the full-length pole. The standards are
placed 6 to 8 feet apart, and from 4 to 6 feet away from the building.
 Fig. 13.—Elevation of Pole Scaffold
The butt-ends are embedded about 2 feet in the ground, which
affords some resistance to overturning. If they cannot be embedded,
they should be placed on end in barrels filled with earth tightly
rammed. As the building rises additional poles are added, being
lashed to the standards already erected.
If the standard is a single pole, the second pole, having a lap of 10
or 15 feet, stands upon a putlog placed close to the first pole for that
purpose (fig. 14).
The inner end of the putlog is securely fastened down to the
scaffold or inserted into the building.
If the standard is double, the rising pole is placed upon the top end
of the puncheon, and afterwards others are placed on end upon the
lowest free end of the standards already fixed.
 Fig. 14.—Method of Fixing Rising Standard
As the standards rise, they are spliced or ‘married’ together with
band ties.
At a height of 5 feet, this distance being the greatest at which a
man can work with ease, a ledger is tied across the standards to
form a support for the working platform.
Where a single pole is insufficient in length to form a continuous
ledger, two are joined in one of three ways.

Fig. 15
 In the first they are lapped over each other as fig. 15. This method
gives a strong connection, but prevents the putlogs being laid evenly.

Fig. 16
The second way provides that the ledgers shall lap horizontally
side by side. This allows of evenness of line for the putlogs, but is
not so strong (fig. 16).
 In both of these methods the lap should cover two standards, and
not as shown in fig. 17.
The third manner of connection (fig. 18) is the best. The ledgers
butt end to end. Underneath, a short pole is placed crossing two
standards. The tying at the standard embraces the double ledger. A
band tie is run round the supporting pole and the ends of the ledgers
where they butt.
Great strength is obtained in this way and the putlogs can be
evenly laid.
Additional ledgers are fixed as the work proceeds.

Fig. 17
On the ledgers, and at right angles to them, putlogs are laid,
resting outwardly on the ledgers and inwardly on the wall, where
header bricks have been left out for their reception.
 Fig. 18
The putlogs, which are placed about 3 or 4 feet apart, should be
tied to the ledgers and fastened by wedges into the wall. This is not
often done, but at least one putlog to every tying between standard
and ledger should be so treated.
Where the putlogs cannot be carried by the wall owing to an
aperture in the building, such as a window, they are supported by
bearers fixed as shown in figs. 19 and 20.
Fig. 19
 Fig. 20
By wedging the inner end of the putlog into the wall, some stability
is given to the scaffold, but the connection cannot be considered
satisfactory, as the putlog would draw under very little strain. Greater
stability can be gained if the outer frame of the scaffold is supported
by one of the three methods given as follows.
 Fig. 21.—Shores and Ties for Dependent Scaffolds
A shore or tie can be fixed between the erection and the ground as
shown in fig. 21, or, if there are openings in the wall, supports can be
fixed as ties shown in the same diagram.
The ties or struts should be placed to every third or fourth standard
at about 25 feet from the ground, and their fastenings made good.
Additional ties should be carried within the building at a greater
height where possible. The stability of the scaffold under loads and
cross wind pressure, depends greatly upon the ties or shores, and
their fastenings should be well made and kept in good order. The
historical instance of the mechanic who, to escape a shower of rain,
stood upon the inner board of the platform, and by leaning against
the building pushed the scaffold over, should have no opportunity of
recurrence.

Fig. 22
To stiffen the scaffold longitudinally braces are tied on the outside
of the scaffold in the form of a St. Andrew’s cross (see fig. 13).
They start from the lower end of one standard and rise obliquely
across the scaffold to near the top, or some distance up a standard
in the same run. Tied at their crossing-point, connections are made
to all the main timbers of the scaffold with which they come in
contact. Braces are fixed in all exposed situations, and generally
where the scaffold is more than one pole (30 feet) in height.

Fig. 23
The only exception to effective bracing being carried out is where
the building, being of irregular form, creates many breaks and
returns in the scaffolding. It is obvious that where a scaffold butts
against or breaks with a return wall, the tendency to lateral motion is
lessened.
The boards, which are placed longitudinally across the putlogs,
can be laid to lap or butt at their ends. When lapping, one putlog only
is required to carry the ends of two series of boards (fig. 22).
When butting, two putlogs are required placed about 4 inches
apart (fig. 23).
The second method is the better, as the boards are not so likely to
lose their place or to trip the workmen. If heavy work is in progress
the boards are laid double. As the building rises, the boards are
carried up to each successive platform, but each tied putlog is left in
its place.
 Fig. 24.—Masons’ Scaffolds: End Elevation

Masons’ Scaffolds.—Masons’, or independent scaffolds differ

from the bricklayers’ in that they have to be self-contained. Owing to
the different material of which the building is erected, the putlogs
cannot rest upon the wall. If openings were left for them, as in
brickwork, the wall would be permanently disfigured, more especially
when ashlar fronted.
In order to gain the necessary support two parallel frames of
standards and ledgers are erected along the line of wall to be built
(fig. 24).
They are from 4 to 5 feet apart, the inner frame being as close to
the wall as possible. As a heavier material has to be dealt with, the
standards are placed closer together, say from 4 to 5 feet.

Fig. 25.—Landing Stages

The ledgers and braces are placed as before, the putlogs now
resting on ledgers at each end, and not on the wall at the innermost
end, as in the bricklayer’s scaffold.
To prevent cross movement of the scaffold, an additional method
of bracing is available in this system. An inner and outer standard
are connected by short braces across each bay, as shown in fig. 24.
This method of cross-bracing can be continued to the top of the
scaffold, and the braces should be put in longitudinally, about 20 feet
apart.
The platforms laid on all pole-scaffolds are from 4 to 5 feet wide. It
is usually necessary, on anything but the smallest jobs, to keep this
width free for the workman and his material.
In order, therefore, to provide a platform on which the material can
be landed, it is convenient to erect, on the outside of the scaffold, an
additional platform from 5 to 10 feet square (fig. 25).
It is constructed of standards, ledgers, and braces, in like manner
as the scaffold to which it is attached.
The face-boards, as shown in this figure, should be fixed wherever
material is being hoisted, to prevent any projection of the load
catching under a ledger and upsetting.

Connections.—The members of pole scaffolds are connected by

cordage. The names of the various knots are given in Chapter V.
The arranging of the various timbers used in erecting scaffolds is a
dangerous occupation, and one requiring skill and considerable
nerve on the part of the workmen. In the majority of cases, the
timbers on the ground level are placed in position by manual labour
only, shear legs being used to facilitate matters. When the scaffold
rises, advantage is taken of any rigid member on which pulley
wheels can be hung, and by this means the succeeding poles, &c.
are raised, manual dexterity and strength being responsible for their
final position.
 CHAPTER II

SCAFFOLDS FOR SPECIAL PURPOSES

When applying the given methods for scaffolding, difficulties arise
owing to the varying designs of the buildings under construction or
repair.
It is impossible to deal with these cases in detail; they must be left
to the scaffolder, who, while holding closely to the principles, by the
exercise of ingenuity will make combinations and variations of the
various systems to suit the special requirements demanded in each
case. There are, however, certain types of scaffolding which occur
with some regularity, and these will now be dealt with.

Needle Scaffolding.—Needle scaffolding is necessary where it is

impossible or too expensive to carry the scaffold from the ground
level or other solid base. It is used both for repairing and new
erections.
The needles from which the scaffold takes its name are timbers
(usually poles or balks) placed horizontally through and at right
angles, or nearly so, to the wall of the building. The projections
support a platform upon which an ordinary pole scaffold is erected
(fig. 26).
Windows, or other openings in the wall, are utilised where possible
for the poles to pass through. In other cases holes have to be made
in the walls, cut as nearly as can be to the size of the needles in use.
The needles must be of sufficient scantling to carry the weight of
the scaffold and attendant loads. The stability of the structure
depends upon the means taken to fasten down the inner end of the
needle.
The usual plan is to tie it down to a convenient joist or other rigid
member of the building itself, but the method shown on the diagram
is better, as resistance to movement is gained both from above and
below.
 Struts from the building below the needles to their outer end, give
greater strength to the beam.
When erecting needle scaffolding around buildings of small area,
say of a tower or chimney shaft, the needles can be laid across the
building in one length, piercing the wall on opposite sides. In these
cases, if the needles are wedged in, the weight of the building and
the scaffold itself on the opposite ends of the needles, is sufficient to
maintain equilibrium.
 Fig. 26.—Needle Scaffold
The platform is formed of 9-in. by 3-in. deals, and on this is
erected whatever scaffolding may be necessary.

Scaffolds for Chimney Shafts, Towers, and Steeples.—The

erection of chimney shafts can be carried on entirely by the aid of
internal scaffolding. As the work rises putlogs are laid across the
shaft, the ends being well built into the wall. On the putlogs the
platform is laid, being carried up as the work proceeds. The putlogs
may be left in for the time, and struck on completion. The platform is
fitted in its centre with a hinged flap door through which the material
is hoisted as required.
There is some objection to this method of scaffolding where the
wall is more than 1 foot 101⁄2 inches thick (which is the greatest
depth of brickwork over which a man can reach and do finished
work), for the mechanics, in order to reach the outside joints, have to
kneel on the freshly laid material, which is detrimental to good
workmanship. For this reason the system of carrying up an ordinary
pole scaffold externally until the height is reached where the wall is
reduced to 1 foot 101⁄2 inches in thickness, is to be preferred.
The walls of a chimney shaft decrease in thickness 41⁄2 inches at a
time, forming an internal set-back of that width at every 20 feet in
height.
This set-back is of advantage to internal scaffolding when the full
height of the brickwork is reached, and the cap has to be fixed. The
cap or coping, when of stone or iron, does not admit of the insertion
of putlogs. To overcome the difficulty, four or more standards are
erected at equal distances, and standing upon the top set-back (fig.
27).
The standards project sufficiently to carry the pulley wheel well
above the total height of the chimney, in order to give head room and
to assist the workman in fixing the coping.
To stiffen the standards, short ledgers are tied across as shown in
fig. 27.