Читать книгу Final Score - Nancy Warren - Страница 12

4

HOW COULD ONE SILLY, joking comment change everything? Cassie wondered as she walked back into the house and found Dylan carrying a rusted length of pipe down the hall toward her. She held the front door wide for him and as he passed she wondered what it would be like to enjoy a man only for sex. She’d never tried it before, but with Dylan, she could see the appeal. The lust wasn’t all coming from her. She recognized the interest in his eyes.

Even without Serena’s subtle warning earlier, she could tell Dylan was a player. There was something about a really sexy guy that said he knew exactly the impact he had on women. It wasn’t his fault, she supposed—it must be hard to be that sexy and gorgeous and not end up a little full of yourself.

So she knew he was a player, and normally she was immune from such practiced charm. It was incredibly bad luck that Dylan should be the one to get to her. When they were spending so much time together.

She’d simply have to let him believe she was as immune to him as she wished she were.

It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to settle down or anything, but there was something wrong with considering getting involved in even the most casual way with a man who prided himself on being the last bachelor standing.

* * *

OVER THE FIRST week they fell into a routine. He’d arrive in the morning before she left for work, and when she returned, he’d show her the day’s progress, suggest her next task and often stay working with her.

When she protested that he was working too many hours, he shrugged. “I like to keep busy.” She thought maybe working on her house prevented him from brooding over his job woes, and since she enjoyed working with him in the house—and the sooner her house was done, the better—she didn’t argue.

When Saturday arrived, she wasn’t a bit surprised to see him show up, his hair damp as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. Obviously misinterpreting the way she was staring at him, he said, “Sorry I’m a little late today. I always do a longer workout at the gym on the weekends.”

Which told her that not only was he working out on top of the exhausting physical labor of a home renovation, but that he considered every day a workday. “I wish I had your energy,” she said.

“I’ve gotta stay in shape for the championship hockey game,” he told her, helping himself from the pot of coffee she’d made.

“Oh, right. Adam said something about an emergency-services league.”

“Right. Play-offs in a few weeks. Our team, the Hunter Hurricanes, gets so close every year to winning, but this year that trophy is ours.”

“Isn’t this a charity event? To raise money for a good cause?”

“Sure it is. Doesn’t mean we don’t all go out there and play to win.” Then he glanced up. “You should come and watch one of our games sometime.”

It was the first time he’d suggested anything remotely unrelated to their project, and she was startled. And pleased. “Oh, thanks. I’d love to.”

The kitten appeared, scampering on her little kitten legs to meow at Dylan’s feet. He scooped the cat up so they were nose to nose. “How are you doing, Twinkletoes?”

A purr was the answer. He put the cat over his shoulder in a practiced way that she suspected happened a lot when she wasn’t home. The cat hung there, purring with content, while Dylan drank more coffee.

He didn’t mention that she still had the cat almost a week after they’d found it, so she felt she should explain. “I put a poster up around the neighborhood. I’m hoping someone claims her.” She did not refer to the cat as Twinkletoes, feeling that naming a stray was a straight path to cat ownership. And right now she was still struggling with the home-ownership thing. She couldn’t take on more responsibility. As cute as the kitten was.

“Any bites?”

“Nothing. I’ll keep the cat a few more days and try and fatten her up a bit before taking her to the shelter.”

He didn’t answer. Merely walked back to the kitchen and placed the now empty mug in the sink.

“I’m filling the cracks and holes in my bedroom walls today, then I’ll try my hand at painting.” She figured if she screwed up on her bedroom, it wasn’t too serious. Hopefully by the time she got to the downstairs main rooms she’d be a pro.

“I’m back in the bathroom. For the smallest room in the house, it’s going to be one of the biggest time sucks.”

She understood, and also knew how fantastic it was going to look when that bathroom was done. She’d chosen the fixtures with care. The tile, even the wall paint. He walked toward the bathroom, the cat hanging off him like a funky stole, and she headed for the stairs.

She got to work with her scraper, getting rid of some of the loose old paint and then filling in the nail holes and a few shallow cracks with filler. She kind of liked the mindless work. She put on NPR for a while and then found she wasn’t listening, so she flipped to a music station.

“Cassie! Come here,” Dylan yelled from the direction of the bathroom.

She dropped her paint scraper and ran to the bathroom, picturing him trapped under a heavy object or something, but when she got there she found him with hands on hips, admiring the latest layer of decorative wall covering he’d bared.

“This must be the original,” he said.

She walked into the bathroom, immediately feeling the closeness of their two bodies brushing as they contemplated what had to have been the ultimate in bathroom decor back in the 1950s.

He put a friendly arm on her shoulder. “It’s you.”

The wallpaper was in blue and turquoise tones with splashes of gold. It showed a mermaid riding a dolphin. Or maybe a whale. Whoever had designed the paper wasn’t a marine biologist. But she loved the whimsy of the busty mermaid with her long, flowing hair and rounded hips ending in a green tail that looked a lot like a slinky gown. She rode sidesaddle on her willing aquatic ride. “She’s one sexy mermaid.”

“You see? This was meant to be. You’re a woman of the sea and this wallpaper is a sign that this is supposed to be your house.”

She looked at him. “You really believe that?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Too bad we can’t save more of it.”

“She looks like you, too,” he said, glancing at the buxom mermaid and back at Cassie. There was a warm, teasing light in his eyes that was hard to resist.

“You think I’d look good in scales?”

“I think you’d look good in anything.” There was no denying, the man had some serious charm going on. Also, this space was small and he was so hot and it had been so long and... The moment lingered, his gaze on hers, a ripple of energy between them not unlike the ripple of the water’s surface when a fin has fluttered by.

Oh, this was such a bad idea, she thought as her heart began to pound and he moved infinitesimally closer.

The shrill ringing of the phone brought her back to reality faster than a plunge into cold water. She backed away fast. “I should get that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture she’d had since grade school.

His eyes tilted at the corners in wry amusement, maybe some disappointment. “You should.” Then he turned back to his task of removing whimsical ’50s mermaids from her walls and she ran to answer her landline.

“Hey, Dylan?” she yelled to him from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“The floor tile’s in. I’m going to pick it up.”

“Okay. Need a hand?”

Well, she did and she didn’t. She figured the guys at the warehouse could schlep the tiles into her car and Dylan could help her unload them when she got back. Which gave her an hour or so out on the road on her own to talk some sense into herself.

Besides, there was something so unsexy about a tile warehouse, maybe it would be the decorating equivalent of the cold shower she really needed right now.

“No. That’s okay. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

There was a tiny pause. “No. I’m good.” She heard him bang into something and swear, then he yelled, “Oh, no, wait. Can you get me some three-quarter-inch finishing nails?”

“Three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“Yeah. And then I’m good.”

No, you’re not. You’re bad. Badbadbadbadbad!

While she was heading to the warehouse, her cell phone rang. She answered on her Bluetooth. “Hello?”

“Hey, Cassie. It’s Serena. What are you up to?”

“Going to pick up floor tiles, you?”

“Escaping to the gym. Adam decided he needed to install some sort of flashing over the window. A great deal of noise was involved.”

“Yeah, Dylan’s pulling my bathroom apart. Noise, dust—” Sexual temptation of the hottest kind.

“Don’t you miss those Saturdays when you could go for brunch and maybe do a little shopping? Get your nails done?”

“Not only can I barely remember those days, I can’t even afford them anymore. Everybody said a house was a good investment, but all I ever do is dump more money into it.”

“I know. When I signed up for a Lowe’s credit card I knew my days at the spa were over.”

Since Serena was a very successful corporate coach with a bestselling leadership book, Cassie doubted this was completely true, but she appreciated the sympathy anyway.

“Did you find your chandelier yet?”

“Haven’t even looked.”

“I was in this little hole-in-the-wall antique and secondhand store and I found one that, to me, looks perfect. It’s not too far past the tile warehouse. I’ll grab a quick workout while you pick up your tiles and meet you there if you like.”

“Oh,” Cassie squealed. “Chandeliers are so much more interesting than three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“That is so true.” Serena gave her the directions and they agreed to meet at the store in an hour.

When she’d finished getting the tiles loaded into her car, she had time to get the finishing nails. Boring.

The paint store was beside the hardware place, so she pulled out her credit card one more time. The back of her car was fairly loaded by the time she’d finished, but she definitely had a chandelier-size space left.

Definitely.

And she knew Serena had excellent taste, so her hopes were high.

They faltered a little when Cassie found her way to Murphy’s Antiques and Secondhand Finds. The store was in a plaza with a secondhand sports-equipment outlet and some kind of automotive place.

Nevertheless, she pushed her way into the store. A bell rang, and when she took a step inside she knew Serena hadn’t steered her wrong. This was a store to browse in. Junk and treasure were jumbled together—old toys, clothing and books, Depression glass to Irish crystal to sterling silver and old tobacco tins. The lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. An enormous brass wagon wheel with black lamps would have looked at home in the Munsters’ house, and there were stained-glass lamps and a bright orange midcentury modern globe and—oh, that had to be it. A small chandelier, delicate and twinkly when the door opened and the breeze shivered through the crystals.

“What do you think?” Serena asked, coming up behind her.

Cassie turned to her and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“I knew it.”

“But it’s on hold.” She pointed at the big tag hanging from the fixture.

“I had them put it on hold. For you.”

“Ha. Fantastic.”

“How can I help you ladies?” a balding man with a large stomach hanging over his belt asked them.

“We’ll take this chandelier,” Serena said.

“Wait. How much is it?”

Serena put a hand on her arm. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I was going to buy it, but then I thought how awful if you hated it. There is nothing worse than being stuck with a gift you don’t like. So I dragged you out of your way to approve of my taste before I made a fool of myself.”

“As if you could.”

Cassie hugged her friend quickly, knowing that Serena was as pleased to be giving her the chandelier as she was to receive it.

“I’m going to start painting the bedroom as soon as I get home,” she said. “I’ll make Dylan stop work on the bathroom and help me. I can’t wait to get that room in shape. It’s going to be so beautiful.”

“The whole house is going to be beautiful. You wait.”

While the store owner boxed the light up for them, they browsed, picking through old farm tools and vinyl records, a tray of pocket watches and boxes of linens. “My grandmother always used to smell like Joy,” she said, picking up an old bottle of the French perfume. The bottle was empty, but there was an echo of scent that reminded her of her mother’s mom, a wonderful woman who played piano and baked the best pies.

“My grandmother smelled like this,” Serena said, picking up an old can with “Player’s Tobacco” written on it.

They had such different backgrounds it was amazing they’d become friends. Serena rarely talked about her past, but through passing comments like this one, Cassie knew it had been rough. Serena had dragged herself up from the gutter to become one of the most successful women in Cassie’s circle, while Cassie had two parents who loved her, were still married and still called each other sweetheart. How did she get so lucky?

Of course, Serena was getting married to one of the best men on the planet, while Cassie had celebrated her thirtieth birthday still single. Her present to herself had been a three-bedroom house she’d have trouble filling.

Unless she took in a lot more stray cats.