Читать книгу On Dean's Watch - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 11

Familiar sounds and smells drifted from the kitchen, but this morning a new element had been added to the chaos that was Reva’s everyday life. Sporadic sounds of hammering, creaking wood and occasional mutters that might be curses also found their way to her office.

Reva lifted her head when the door to her office opened. Tewanda stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back with a wide smile on her face. Tall, dark and regally gorgeous, Tewanda had a tendency to reinvent herself every six months or so. Her hairstyle and clothing changed dramatically with each incarnation. At the moment she was in a brand-new tailored stage. Her black hair was cut close to her head, her slacks and shirt were fashioned in an almost mannish style that only accentuated her curves. Nothing Tewanda could do to herself would ever make her fade into the woodwork.

“There’s a good-looking man on the third floor and he’s playing with your banister.”

“Only you could make that sound wicked,” Reva said, setting aside the checkbook to give her friend and employee her full attention.

“Sweetie, that man definitely has wicked possibilities.”

The last thing Reva needed to think about was Dean Sinclair’s wicked possibilities.

“How’s everything in the kitchen?”

“Miss Edna and Miss Judith are arguing over how much pepper to put in the squash casserole, and Miss Frances keeps slipping out of the kitchen to sneak up the stairs and take a peek at your young man.”

“He’s not my young man!”

“That’s not what I hear,” Tewanda said suggestively.

Reva sighed and leaned back in her chair as her friend walked closer and propped herself on the edge of the desk. “He’s not mine, and he’s not exactly young, either.”

“Young is relative,” Tewanda said wisely.

Tewanda had the perfect life, it seemed. Her husband of more than ten years adored her and took her frequent fashion changes in stride. They had three beautiful, well-behaved sons. Terrance was the youngest of the Hardy boys. Nothing rattled Tewanda, not even Cooper, who spent the night at her house often.

Sometimes Reva felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched Tewanda go about her perfect life. I don’t want an adoring husband, Reva insisted silently, but I would love to be able to provide that kind of home for Cooper. A stable man who’d be a good father figure, a man she could have more children with, a brother for Cooper, maybe a sister or two. Deep inside she knew that would never happen.

“He is cute,” Tewanda said in a lowered voice, “but I swear, Reva, that man of yours is not well acquainted with a hammer. I only watched for a couple of minutes, I promise, but it was kinda like watching Russell struggle with his math homework.”

Russell was Tewanda’s eldest child. A few months ago he had insisted that the fourth grade was just too hard.

“Dean is new at this,” Reva said. “Give him a chance.”

Tewanda pursed her lips and hummed. “Already defending the man, I see. Well, well. Sheriff Andrews is not going to be happy about this new and interesting development.”

Reva sighed. “The sheriff has nothing to say about my life!”

“But he surely would like to.” Tewanda waggled her eyebrows.

Reva looked down at the checkbook again. She’d much rather balance her checkbook than talk to Tewanda about Ben Andrews or Dean Sinclair. “You’d better go check on the squash casserole,” she said. “I have checks to write that need to go out with today’s mail.”

“Fine,” Tewanda said as she stood and headed for the door. “Brush me off. Send me away without a satisfactory report. When you need someone to keep Cooper overnight so you can entertain your handyman wanna-be…” She paused, then turned to grin at Reva. “Shoot, you know you can call on me. Anytime.”

“I’m not—” Reva began.

“Don’t argue,” Tewanda interrupted. “I’d say it’s about time you showed a little interest in seeking out male companionship. It’s just not natural to live for years without a man in your bed.”

Reva lifted her chin. “How do you know I’ve lived for years without a man in my bed? I might have a very exciting love life away from the restaurant.”

Tewanda grinned widely. “First of all, you’re blushing beet-red. You don’t lie well, at least not to me. Secondly, this is Somerset, sweetie.” She raised a hand to her chest. “If a man had been anywhere near you, I would have heard about it. Face it, there’s nothing exciting about your life, and the only love in it is for Cooper. And thirdly, speaking of your adorable son, in all the years I’ve known you, Cooper has never said a word about there being a man in your house. Until this morning when I walked the boys to school, that is. I understand your Mr. Sinclair came over for dessert last night.”

Reva rested her forehead on the desk. What she’d said to Dean last night had been true. There were no secrets in a small town. “Strawberry shortcake, that’s all it was. I swear.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tewanda said as she walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Reva finished writing out the checks. She went over the menus for the next week and glanced at the possible recipes for her new cookbook. Her first cookbook had been selling very well, and people were already asking for more.

Every now and then the sounds from the third floor distracted her. Was Dean really that terrible at being a handyman? Maybe Tewanda had been exaggerating. No man was bad with a hammer.

Was he?

When she couldn’t stand waiting anymore, Reva slipped out of the office, turned left and climbed the stairs as quietly as possible. Her shoes were flat and soft-soled, and the long skirt of her cream-colored dress swished quietly.

Unfortunately it was impossible to be completely quiet when a number of the steps had a tendency to squeal.

She caught sight of Dean staring at her through the railing. He sat on the floor of the third-story hallway, hammer in hand, and watched her approach.

“Who’s skulking now?” he asked with a smile.

“I guess that would be me,” Reva said as she finished the climb without attempting to be quiet.

“Usually when I hear creaking steps, I glance up and see a gray head peering around the corner,” Dean said.

“Miss Frances.” Reva sat on the top step. A couple feet of space and white slats marred by peeling paint separated her from Dean Sinclair. “I just wanted to warn you, customers will start arriving soon, so you’ll have to take a break until this afternoon.”

Dean glanced at his watch. “It’s not even noon. You serve at one, right?”

She nodded. “People come early to walk in the gardens or explore the house or just sit on the porch and rock. Hammering and cursing kind of ruin the atmosphere.”

“I didn’t think anyone would be able to hear me,” he explained. “Sorry.”

“Sounds carry in these old houses. Don’t worry about it.” She glanced beyond Dean. “If I can get the third floor in good shape, make sure the railing is solid and safe and remodel the rooms, we can open this area up for customers, too. I was thinking of making a couple of the old bedchambers into sitting rooms or small parlors. I could even entertain small parties up here once everything is finished.”

Dean carefully laid his hammer down on the floor. He didn’t look the part of handyman, though he did try. His hair was cut too precisely. The jeans and boots were too new. The T-shirt, advertising the downtown hardware store, didn’t sport a single stain or rip.

And his face…he should have a five-o’clock shadow to make him look less respectable.

“Are you hostessing a table today?” he asked.

Reva shook her head.

“Good,” Dean said in a lowered voice that sent chills down her spine. “Have lunch with me.”

It was after one by the time Reva climbed the stairs to the third floor again. The dull roar of conversation, the clink of silverware on plates, the occasional trill of laughter, all were muted here at the top of the house.