Читать книгу Her Dream Come True - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 10

Chapter One

Her car jostled and bumped as Hannah drove along the rutted dirt lane that led to her childhood home. Lush vegetation blocked the sunlight and cooled the dusty summer air. The jittering in the pit of her stomach wasn’t strong enough to be described as a full-fledged case of butterflies; however, anxiety tweaked at her enough to let her know it could easily get to that point.

She couldn’t put a name to the myriad emotions she was feeling. The memories she had of this wooded place, of the big, rambling house sitting at the end of the lane were fuzzy, like out-of-focus snapshots.

When she thought of Bobby Ray—her father, she silently reminded herself—shadowy images flashed before her mind’s eye. A tall, gentle figure. A wide and loving smile. A laugh that was as warm and lazy as a sunny Sunday afternoon. Well ... she thought she recalled a rich and warm laugh, but for the life of her she couldn’t seem to summon the sound of it at the moment. And she couldn’t recall what he looked like, either.

The love she had felt for him as a child had been overwhelming, absolutely heart-wrenching in intensity. However, she knew the memory of the love she’d felt for Bobby Ray ... for her father ... was twisted and knotted up in the pain and anguish she’d felt when she’d been whisked away from Little Haven, whisked away from her beloved daddy.

Stop it, Hannah! a sensible voice inside her head demanded. Just shut the door on all that. If you don’t, you’ll get swallowed up in self-pity, lost in the painful past, and you don’t have time for that. There are too many things that need to be taken care of.

“Think about the house.” She whispered the words aloud, as her wheels bounced over yet another rut in the dirt lane.

Shoving aside the confusing chaos of emotions conjured by memories of her father, she envisioned the house and smiled. Her childhood home was remembered as a huge dollhouse complete with a wraparound porch and fancy gingerbread trim. Over the years she hadn’t allowed herself to think about it often, but when she had, her heart never failed to swell with joyful warmth. Memories of being home with Daddy in the rambling house were her refuge during the lonely times of growing up without him, the times when nothing seemed to dull the ache of missing her father. The house in her head was glowing and beautiful and just waiting to envelope her in—

Just then she drove into a clearing, and the house came into view.

Hannah gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she brought the car to a halt.

Blinking several times, she just stared. The glowing, beautiful house in her memory was in reality a shabby, dilapidated building, its paint peeling, the shrubbery overgrown to the point that the first-floor, windows were obscured from view. One corner of the wraparound porch drooped noticeably. The Victorian house looked tired, just plain worn-out.

She sagged against the back of the seat. It looked as if her father hadn’t lifted a fingers over the years to keep the house in good repair. How could he allow his home to fall into such a state? Hannah sighed, knowing she’d probably never discover the answer to that question.

Tufts of tall grass snagged the heels of her shoes as she exited the car. She shut the door and was immediately greeted by the fattest cat she’d ever seen.

“Hello, there,” she crooned as it brushed its orange fur against her calf. But when she bent to pet it, the cat raced off toward the thick trees. Hannah straightened and lifted her gaze to the house.

All at once, she became aware of just how odd the scene looked. A big Victorian house sitting in the middle of the woods. One would think a better choice would have been a log cabin or a sensible A-frame. However—

Hannah paused, her head cocking at the sound of hammering coming from nearby. She frowned, wondering where it was coming from. She hadn’t seen a house for at least a mile as she drove up the main road. But then, she guessed there could be other houses hidden among the trees, just like her father’s was.

There was a pause in the hammering. Then it started again. The sound was closer than she first realized. Very close.

The tall grass made walking across the yard difficult in her high heels, but she eventually made her way around to the back. By the time she got there, however, the hammering had once again stopped. She looked around, even scanned the line of thick trees at the edge of the woods.

When her gaze swung back to the house, a movement caught her attention. She looked up toward the roof.

Sunlight glinted golden off tanned skin stretched taut across a broad expanse of muscular back—bare, male muscular back. The man’s weight rested on one knee, the other leg bent, his foot planted on the roof for balance. He dipped his hand into his carpenter’s apron, where, Hannah guessed, he reached for more nails. In a flash he leaned over, positioned the nail on the roof shingle and raised the hammer in a short arc. His arm, shoulder and back muscles bunched tight, then stretched, bunched and stretched with every swing of the hammer. His movements were precise, strong and forceful, yet at the same time graceful. Almost beautiful. And his one-knee, bent-over stance was the perfect posture to show off his taut, jean-clad gluteus. The professional in Hannah refused to think of those tight muscles as anything other than what they were: the gluteus maximus. But, Lord, she’d be lying through her teeth if she said that wasn’t the most perfect male butt she’d ever laid eyes on.

She inhaled a short, sharp gasp at the thought—however, her gaze didn’t waver from the sight of him up there on the roof. What was the matter with her?

Again he paused, this time actually setting down the hammer and reaching into his back pocket for a handkerchief. He swiped the square of white cotton across his forehead, and Hannah gawked as the sun caught the planes and curves of tendon and sinew of his powerful upper body.

It was then that she noticed his hands, imagining the hard calluses that must surely come with such physical labor, wondering how the rough surfaces of the pads of his fingertips might feel against a woman’s soft skin.

Her eyes widened at the thought, and at the same instant, the erotic idea caused saliva to pool in her mouth.

She swallowed and tried to look away. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Could his chest be as perfectly formed as his back and rear? she wondered. The question had her taking an unwitting step meant to better her view of him. But the long grass caught at her heel, tripping her up, and she let out a tiny squeal of surprise. She was able to catch her balance, and most naturally, she swung her gaze back up to the top of the house only to find the carpenter looking down at her.

Suddenly she was overwhelmingly grateful for her misstep. If he’d have caught her ogling his body, she’d have been mortified.

“Hello,” he called down to her.

The corners of his mouth curled upward, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes lit with a friendly warmth. The sight of his handsome face, his charming smile, made Hannah’s mind go completely blank. The reasons for her trip south slipped from her thoughts as if her mind had mysteriously become riddled with a thousand sieve holes. If she were asked something as simple as her name, she doubted at the moment if she could provide the information.

Luckily, speaking wasn’t immediately necessary as the man picked up his hammer, slid it into a loop on his tool belt and then made his way over to the ladder leaning up against the side of the house. It took him several moments to descend to the ground, crucial moments Hannah used to calm the fluttering of her heart, steady her trembling hands, cool her most unseemly and inappropriate thoughts.

This was silly, she told herself. Her job as a nurse put her in the presence of naked male bodies nearly every day. Patients couldn’t be examined with their clothes on. So why should the sight of this bare upper torso wreak such havoc on her central nervous system and conjure such sensual thoughts?

She hadn’t time to ponder the answer before he was standing in front of her.

The man was more handsome close up than he had been way up there on the roof. The color of his eyes was an intriguing mix of blue-gray, his dark lashes making thick fanning frames. His brows were black slashes just below a strong, high forehead that was feathered with light worry lines that told Hannah he must be in his mid-to-late thirties. Perspiration from his hot work on the roof dampened the roots of his coal-black hair and glistened on the strong curve of his neck and his tanned chest. However, even though his skin had been tinged golden by the sun, the dusky disks of his nipples stood out in dark contrast.

Without conscious thought, Hannah’s tongue smoothed over her suddenly dry lips, and she blinked twice, forcing her gaze to rise to his face. The humorous glint in his eyes told her in no uncertain terms that he realized her blatant appreciation. She felt her face flush hot.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said, and then he moved past her. He picked up the end of the green garden hose coiled in the grass, turned on the spigot, bent over and doused his upper body with water. He ran his free hand over his chest, shoulders and the back of his neck. He rubbed at his face and combed his fingers through his hair, washing away the sweat from his body.

The blue jeans and work boots he wore kept his state of undress from being described as anything near indecent, still Hannah felt like some kind of sexual voyeur watching a very intimate act. A vivid image flashed through her mind, and she imagined her dream self taking the garden hose from his hand, directing the water to sluice over his chest as she smoothed her fingers over the massive shoulders.

The daydream came and went in a fraction of a second; however, she found it so utterly shocking that she squeezed shut her eyes and murmured, “You are going out of your mind.”

“Pardon?”

He’d turned off the water and tossed the end of the hose aside. Hannah watched him dry off his face and chest with his handkerchief, and then he reached down and picked up a T-shirt that lay in a heap on the lawn.

Say something, Hannah, she silently ordered. Talk about the weather, anything, just say something that won’t make this man think you’re totally insane.

“I said the day is just fine.”

Sunlight sparkled like jewels off the fat water droplets that clung to his hair. One particular liquid pearl ran along the outside edge of his ear, hovered for a moment on the bottommost curve of his sexy lobe, and then the sheer force of gravity caused it to splash onto his sun-bronzed shoulder. The instant the droplet hit, Hannah actually started, her blinking gaze lifting to his face.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and Hannah was left to wonder just how long she’d studied that glistening pellet. Her embarrassment grew, prickling every inch of her skin with a heated self-consciousness. And she could tell from his expression that he was enjoying her discomfort—very much.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She was normally a serious, no-nonsense kind of person. A woman who would never gawk at a man. Not under any circumstances.

However, it wasn’t entirely her fault, she decided. If he’d get himself dressed, cover up that broad expanse of bare skin he was exposing, then she could keep her mind on more important issues like...his identity and what the heck he was doing here working on her father’s house, and who had given him permission to—

The thoughts bombarded her, pushing her to speak. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

Adam wasn’t able to completely suppress the chuckle that rumbled in his chest and tugged at his mouth. Evidently, the woman was taking on a defensive stance to cover up the blatant flirty looks she’d been giving him. In an effort to hide his humorous reaction to this new behavior of hers, he stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his cotton shirt and then took his time pulling it over his head.

He’d gotten quite a kick out of how the beautiful strawberry-blonde had been seemingly unable to take her gorgeous green eyes off his body. The current he felt sparking from her had been something akin to summer heat lightning, and it had been a long while since he had experienced its like.

After tugging the hem of the shirt, he combed his fingers through his wet hair.

“I’m Adam,” he told her. “Adam Roth. And I was up there fixing the roof.”

She planted her small fist on her narrow waist. “Well, I figured out you were fixing the roof. But why?”

This time his grin simply refused to be subdued as he obligingly supplied the obvious. “Because it leaked.”

Her wide, very kissable mouth puckered in total frustration, and Adam felt the urge to laugh, but he didn’t think it wise.

She was doing a commendable job, he decided, of keeping her gaze directed on his face; however, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that what she really wanted was to let her eyes roll up and down the length of him. It wasn’t entirely conceit that made him think this, it was the simple fact that, as they stood talking, her gaze would dip to his nose, then raise to his eyes, then it would dart to his mouth and raise again to his eyes. Her gaze had so far gotten as low as his chin.

The truth of the matter was, he found her obvious attraction to him pretty ego boosting, to say the least.

His silly answer to her even sillier question had made anger spark in her clear green eyes, and Adam decided the heated emotion only made her all the more beautiful.

“Pardon me,” she said, keeping her voice under tight control. “It seems as if I didn’t make myself clear. What I meant was, under whose direction were you up there fixing the roof?”

What was this? he wondered. An inquisition?

The suspicion in her tone took the edge off his humor. Hell, it did more than that. It pretty much grated on his nerves.

“Before I answer that,” he said, shifting his weight onto one foot and crossing his arms over his chest, “I think I’d like to know who’s asking.”