Читать книгу Home For Christmas - Carrie Weaver - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Nancy caught herself gazing out her office window yet again. In the two days since her midnight chat with Beau, she’d found herself doing that a lot.

Her face warmed as she recalled telling him about Ana’s adoption and some of the disappointing responses she’d received back home. She shook her head, wondering at her own ability to open up to a man who had originally appeared to be only one step up on the evolutionary ladder from Eric.

But Eric had rarely listened to her like Beau had the other night. And a part of her really wanted to believe Beau’s interest had been more than just a ploy to get into her bed. But then she remembered that he’d pretty clearly wanted to seduce her before she sent him on his way.

Sighing, Nancy realized she might never understand the male mind. Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

A tap at her open door drew her from her mental maze.

Beau leaned against the doorjamb. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been there?”

“A couple minutes. You seemed lost in thought so I was enjoying watching you. Nice view.” His distracted frown belied his words, telling her he was hitting on her more out of habit than actual interest.

And for some reason, that ticked her off. Her accent deepened, as it always did when she was upset. “Honey, this view is strictly off-limits.” Still, she couldn’t help but smooth her hair.

His grin told her he knew exactly what she was doing. “Don’t worry, I’m here for your business acumen, not to drool over your…attributes. And to thank you for letting me come over the other night. I really did need to talk to someone.”

“I think maybe I needed to talk to someone, too. Thanks for listening.” Her voice was softer than she intended.

“Anytime.” He held her gaze. “And I’ll try not to screw it up by letting my hormones get in the way.”

Nancy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Agreed. Now, you wanted to talk business?”

He took a deep breath, as if he intended to dive into the deep end of a pool—a pool teeming with alligators. “I need a house.”

“To rent?”

“No. I want to buy one.”

Nancy hesitated. “I would have figured you more for a short-term renter. Have you ever owned a home before?”

“Um, no. This is a first. Emily Patterson said you’re the best Realtor in the county.”

“Emily’s kind of a one-woman PR team. She talks me up way more than I deserve.”

“She’s very passionate in describing your abilities. Says you found a five-bedroom fixer-upper for her when she was practically broke and if anyone can find a perfect house for me, it’s you.”

“If she keeps that up, I’ll have to put her on the payroll. Have a seat.” She nodded toward a chair on the other side of her desk. “How’s Rachel? Didn’t she have a court appearance yesterday?”

“Yeah. Fortunately, the whole process scared the living daylights out of her, so she didn’t mouth off at the judge. He gave her a stern lecture and a few hours’ community service in the form of peer mediation training at school.”

“I’m so glad, Beau. Maybe this is just what she needed.”

“I hope so. We had a long, heart-to-heart talk the other night. To make a long story short, she’s trying to fit in. You know how it goes, Rachel’s the new kid in school. And, um, the kids call her names and stuff—about being skinny.”

“Poor thing. Kids can be so mean, especially teenage girls. The peer mediation might give her a way to meet some kids at school, too.”

“I kinda think that’s where the judge was headed. Smart old guy. But I feel there’s gotta be more I can do, too.”

“How about Rachel’s mom? Is she still determined not to be a part of her life?”

“I called Laurie. It’s weird ’cause she’s always been there for Rach. But now, it’s like she’s afraid or something.”

“Afraid of Rachel?”

“No. More like afraid of herself. Says she’s under a lot of pressure at work and financial stuff, so she’s just gotta have some time to get her head straight.”

“So you can’t rely on her to back you up?”

“No. It looks like I can’t rely on her being there for Rachel in any way.” He rested his arms on her desk. “That’s the reason I’m looking for a house.”

Nancy tilted her head to the side. “Oh?”

“Rachel seems to think I’m going to up and leave her and she’ll have nowhere to go. I figured if I bought a house, Rachel’d feel more secure—know she had a place to call home. Some place she’s always welcome, can always count on.”

Funny, for a guy she’d pegged as a redneck wanderer, he sure was astute enough to see the importance of a home and roots. She wondered if he had any idea how attractive his sensitive side was.

Shaking her head, Nancy refused to join a long line of women vying for this man’s attention. If she were ever ready to give romance another try, it would be with a man who thought she hung the moon and the stars. A man who wouldn’t notice if Pamela Anderson walked through the room naked, because he was too fascinated with the color of Nancy’s eyes or her witty observations. Maybe a chubby, bald guy so ordinary no other woman would look twice or, God forbid, pursue him.

“Hey, this is probably a bad idea.” Beau’s voice intruded on her romantic philosophizing.

She cleared her throat. “No, not at all. Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll check the Multiple Listing Service, see what’s available. But before we do that, I better get you prequalified so we can see how much house you can afford.”

“Not very different from qualifying for a car loan, I hope?”

“No, just a little more paperwork.” She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a packet of papers. “Here, why don’t you fill these out and I’ll see what I can do.”

Nancy found herself watching him while he completed the paperwork, as if looking for clues to his real personality. The strokes of his pen were firm, decisive. He rarely paused, except to refer to information contained in a small phone book in his wallet. “Is it going to be a problem that I’ve only had this job for six months?”

“It depends. We’ll go back to your previous employment, just in case. Let me run some figures and I can give you a pretty good ballpark idea of what you can qualify for.”

He slid the completed paperwork across the desk, his movements strangely tentative for a man who seemed so confident in most other areas.

Smiling, she tried to put him at ease. “It’s painless. Really. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Nancy could have kicked herself.

But Beau didn’t seem to notice the double entendre. “Um, I’d pretty much rather have a root canal than think about buying a house. I mean, it’s so permanent.”

“If it makes you feel any better, most people live in their homes an average of five years.”

His face paled a little beneath his tan. “Yeah, um, five years.”

“I’m telling you so the thought of a thirty-year mortgage won’t freak you out.”

Beau turned positively green. She wasn’t sure whether it was the thirty-year part or the word mortgage that made him ill.

“Anyway, I’ll get right on this. There’s some coffee over on the table.”

“Maybe I’ll get some air.”

“I won’t be but a minute.” Nancy could sense the sale evaporating. She wasn’t normally so tactless. She’d always prided herself on being adept at saying the right thing to close the deal. But with Beau, she was off balance.

While he paced the room, Nancy concentrated on running the figures—something she should have been able to do in her sleep. But today, her fingers and her brain couldn’t seem to connect.

When she was done, she gave him a figure that made him blink. “I qualify for that much? I don’t need anything huge, just a normal house with a backyard and all that.”

“This is what it takes to buy ‘a normal house with a back yard and all that.’”

Whistling under his breath, he said, “And to think I got sticker shock when I started selling new cars. This is unreal.”

“Oh, it’s very real, I assure you.” She pulled up a list of possibilities. “There are eight homes in the area I can show you. What time would be best for you?”

“Now.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Three hours later, they pulled into the driveway of the eighth house—a roomy ranch-style house purported to be immaculate inside.

God, she hoped so. Because Beau had found something wrong with each house they’d visited. She could feel a tension headache start at her temples and work its way down her neck, contracting her shoulder muscles into tight little knots. She supposed it was their semipersonal relationship that made this so difficult.

“This is like taking Goldilocks house hunting.” Nancy smiled to soften her words. “This one is too small. That one is too tall. Too hot, too cold, too old, too new. Is there something specific you have in mind that I should know about?”

“You’ve been reading way too much Dr. Seuss lately.”

“Sorry, I start rhyming when I’m stressed. I promise not to offer green eggs and ham if you tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for in a house.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll know it when I see it, though. It’s gotta feel like home.”

“What do you go by, if you’ve never owned a home? Your parents’ house?”

Beau hesitated. “No. My parents weren’t the warm, fuzzy kind. They wanted everything perfect. Carpets, furniture, kids.”

“Carpets and furniture are rarely perfect. And as for kids, well, they’re by nature imperfect.”

“Don’t tell my folks that. Because they’re certain they raised one perfect son. And it wasn’t me. Now, let’s see this house.” His voice was grim.

Nancy processed Beau’s admission while she retrieved the house key from the lockbox. Maybe he had a good reason for avoiding roots and everything that went with them.

Opening the door wide, she asked, “What means home to you then?”

Beau glanced around the entryway. “This isn’t it, either. Home is…the way I feel when I walk into your house.”

Nancy wished she hadn’t asked. Because the thought of Beau Stanton making himself at home was only slightly scary. And she should have been terrified.

Nancy slid into a booth at the little Italian restaurant downtown. “Sorry I’m late. I was with a client.”

Emily Patterson winked. “I heard. Beau Stanton. You’ll have to find him a big house, ’cause each room will need to be christened. And I think you’re just the woman for the job.”

“Christened?” Nancy frowned. Realization dawned. “No way. Not me. I have no intention of getting horizontal with Beau Stanton, particularly not on a kitchen counter.”

“Did I say anything about horizontal?” Emily’s eyes widened innocently. “Or a kitchen counter?” She leaned over and whispered, “It’s way more fun to get vertical in the shower together, if you know what I mean?”

Nancy choked on a sip of water. “Emily, you’re bad.”

“As Mae West said, ‘When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.’”

“Okay, friend, I know you have my best interests at heart. And someday I might date again. But not now and not with Beau Stanton. Did the waiter say what today’s special is?”

“Veal Parmesan. I’ll allow you to change the subject, but only for a while. Then I want all the details.”

Opening a menu, Nancy hoped Emily would forget about Beau. “How are the kids?”

“Bickering and fighting nonstop. Ordinary kids. They’re anticipating the first snow and Thanksgiving break. I promised them a day trip to do some sledding.”

“Is it almost Thanksgiving already? It hardly seems possible,” Nancy murmured, disturbed by a trace of wistfulness.

“Probably because you’ve been working so hard. How’re things going at the real-estate office?”

“Not bad, considering it’s my first year. And by the way, thank you for referring Beau, even if he is a pain in the rear at times.”

Emily beamed. “My pleasure. Are you going to your mother’s for Thanksgiving?”

Sighing, Nancy wished the holidays were as simple as when she’d been a kid. Things got so complex in adulthood. “I’d considered making the trip, but I think we’ll stay home this year. My mom’s pretty outspoken in her opinions about foreign adoptions.” She selected a bread stick from the basket and started tearing it into little pieces. “I’d love for her to be a grandmother to Ana, but she just can’t seem to accept her. This is Ana’s first holiday with me and I don’t want her to feel rejected by Mom in any way. Our Thanksgiving can be kind of quiet, but I want to make her first Christmas magical. I intend to research Russian orthodoxy and see if I can incorporate some of their traditions for Ana.”

Emily squeezed Nancy’s hand. “That sounds terrific. If anyone can do it, you can. How about coming to our house for Thanksgiving?”

“But—”

“No buts. That’s an order. We have so many people coming, nobody will notice two more. Besides, I need you to show me how to do some of that fancy presentation stuff with food. You know, where you make radishes look like roses and all the other ways you create a beautiful meal. My great-aunt Beatrice will be there, and it will hack her off no end if I suddenly seem domestic. She’s the one who said I’d never amount to anything and calls my children little heathens.”

Nancy chuckled. “In the interest of hacking off Great-Aunt Beatrice, I’d be delighted to spend Thanksgiving at your house. And I’m sure Ana would love to tag along with your kids.”

“It’s settled then. I can hardly wait.”