His Secret Son. Stacy Connelly

       Chapter Five

      Most days, Ryder loved working with his hands. Crafting something brand-new or better yet, improving what already existed. He had plenty of opportunities remodeling the old Victorians. Craftsmanship that had stood the test of time and Mother Nature—including the occasional earthquake—couldn’t be found in modern, cookie-cutter track homes. Or even in the high-rises he’d designed back in San Francisco.

      Yeah, most days he loved building. But other days—he eyed the wobbly railing on Ellie Brookes’s front porch and gave the wood a solid kick. The shock traveled all the way up his spine along with the satisfying crack of splintering wood.

      Other days, mass destruction fit his mood.

      Not that he had any reason to feel so...angry. Another blow against the banister with his work boot and another split accompanied by the groan from the rusty old nails. Should have used screws, he thought. But if Lindsay’s grandfather had built a sturdier railing, he wouldn’t have been able to kick the thing down. Might not have needed to kick the damn thing down. Which would have been good for the Brookes, but not so good for him. Because he really felt the need to kick something.