Читать книгу That Mccloud Woman - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

One

With nowhere to go, and in no hurry to get there, Jack Cordell dumped a second spoonful of sugar into his coffee and slowly stirred, killing time.

The town he’d stopped in for lunch was a small one, the diner he’d chosen a mom and pop type place that boasted home-style cooking and a blue plate special for $4.95. Though the price of the food mattered little to Jack, the appeal of a home-cooked meal did. After six months on the road, eating cardboard-flavored food, his stomach had been ready for something with a little sustenance to it.

Though crowded and noisy when he’d first arrived, the diner was nearly empty now, the only sound the rattle of pans from the kitchen and the occasional squeak of the waitress’s crepe-soled shoes on the worn linoleum as she went about her duties, clearing off tables after the noon rush. The woman looked to be on the downhill side of fifty, full breasted, thick waisted and with a tongue as sharp as the pencil tucked behind her ear. She wore her hair piled high on top of her head, a metallic gold clamp of some sort holding her bottle-red hair in place. She worked with an efficiency of movement that said she was an old hand at slinging hash.

The dusty plate-glass window on Jack’s right offered him a bird’s-eye view of the diner’s empty parking lot, the bank across the street and the post office beside it. With a slight turn of his head, he had a clear shot of the entire downtown area. All two blocks of it. Though he’d spent the last five years in Houston and was accustomed to its towering skyline and traffic-clogged expressways, Jack had grown up in a town about the size of Driftwood, and found the small town appealing, almost peaceful.

And it had been a long time since Jack had known any peace.

As he stared at the big, lazy-branched oak that shaded the bank’s entrance, a weariness settled on his shoulders. He was tired of running. Tired of living out of his truck, eating his meals out of grease-stained paper sacks. Tired of the monotony of chasing a white line, his only companion a fifth of whiskey he kept tucked underneath the front seat, while he tried to outrun his guilt, his grief—and when he couldn’t outrun it, drown it. Neither seemed to work. The guilt still weighed heavily on him, the grief a cancer eating away at what remained of his heart.

He knew he had a home to go to, a business to tend. But the idea of returning to either held no appeal. Not anymore.

As he stared at the big oak, his thoughts bluer than blue, his heart a lead weight in his chest, a woman stepped from the bank’s double doors and started across the street. She was a petite little thing, fragile looking. The thick mane of white-blond hair that hung just past her shoulders only added to that fragility. She wore a long, sleeveless dress of the palest blue that hit her about midcalf. One of those shapeless dresses that didn’t offer a clue to the figure beneath. Thin-strapped sandals, though, exposed small, slender feet, and a hint that the rest of her might be similarly proportioned.

With her chin dipped down, he didn’t have a clear view of her face, but he couldn’t help but notice the way she walked—kind of slowlike, her posture that of a person lost in deep contemplation. As he watched, a sigh seemed to move through her and she lifted her head, squaring her shoulders. At the same time, her steps quickened, bringing her closer to the diner and the window he watched her through.

He focused on her face and was struck by the oddest sensation. It was like looking into the face of an angel. A sexy-looking angel, without question, but an angel, nonetheless. Creamy, smooth complexion. Delicate features almost too perfect to be real. Bright, clear blue eyes. Full, moist lips. An innate sexuality in her movements stirred parts of his body that he was sure had died on the vine months ago.

He lost sight of her as she skipped up the steps to the diner, and he quickly shifted his gaze to the door, waiting for her to step inside. She pushed her way through the entrance, bringing a blast of hot, humid air with her. She paused, glancing around, and met his gaze for the briefest of seconds. When she did, the sweetest, yet most sensual smile touched her lips before she turned away and headed for the counter.

She brushed damp hair from her forehead. “Maudie,” he heard her say, “I sure hope you saved me a tall glass of that lime iced tea you’re so famous for.”

The waitress caught up her apron to wipe her hands, her carmine-painted lips splitting in a welcoming smile. “Thirsty, are you?”

“Parched.” The sexy angel—as Jack had already started to think of her—sank down onto a stool at the counter, her dress settling like a billowy cloud around her legs. She propped an elbow on the counter and fanned her face with a delicately boned hand. “I swear, it’s hot enough out there to fry eggs on the sidewalk.”

Maudie shoveled a scoop of ice into a glass. “Did you hear that, Ed?” she yelled through the pass-through window that opened to the kitchen. She hefted an aluminum pitcher and poured tea into the glass without spilling a drop. “Alayna says we could fry eggs on the sidewalk. Why don’t you turn off the grill and move your cookin’ outside? It’d sure cool things off in here. Might even save us some money on gas.”

Jack heard a gruff, male voice, but couldn’t make out the man’s reply. Alayna—thanks to Maudie, he now had a name to associate with the sexy angel—touched her fingertips to her chest and batted her eyes at the man on the other side of the window. Her voice all but dripped southern honey as she replied, “My-y, oh my-y, Ed, but you do-o-o know how to turn a woman’s head with your sweet talk.”

Maudie tossed back her head and hooted at the ceiling. “Alayna, I’ll swear, for a minute there, you sounded just like your mother.” She shook her head, still chuckling, as she pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the counter. “How’s the old bat doin’, anyway?”

Alayna didn’t even flinch at the verbal slur to her mother. “Fine. Giving Daddy heck, as usual.”

“Serves him right for goin’ off and marryin’ a Southern Belle and abandoning his home state of Texas.” Maudie shook her head regretfully as she picked up a glass to polish, obviously preparing to settle in for a long gossip. “So how’s the remodelin’ comin’ along?”

Her smile fading a bit, Alayna took a sip of tea, then set the glass down and plucked a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the counter. “Not very well, I’m afraid.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth—a definite stall tactic in Jack’s estimation—then frowned, wadding the napkin in her fist. “Frank left.”

Maudie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “How much did he take you for?”

Jack watched Alayna’s cheeks turn an engaging shade of pink, before she lifted her glass as if to hide behind it. “Enough,” he heard her murmur.

Maudie slapped the counter hard enough to make the napkin dispenser rock and Alayna jump a good two inches off the stool. “That no-count drifter. I knew he’d end up scammin’ you. Didn’t I tell you that you couldn’t trust that polecat?”

Alayna’s cheeks pinkened even more, but whether from embarrassment or in defiance, Jack wasn’t sure.

“Yes, you did,” he heard her reply. “But I had little choice but to hire him. He was the only man in town with the skills necessary to remodel the Pond House for me and the only one who was willing to take on the job.”

“Humph! I guess so. The name McCloud would be temptin’ enough for a double-dealin’ snake like Frank, but with you wearin’ the title of doctor, too, I’m sure he saw nothin’ but deep pockets and a chance for some easy money.”

A doctor, huh? Jack knew he was eavesdropping, but couldn’t seem to work up the good manners required to block out the conversation. And now he had a last name to attach to the woman. Alayna McCloud. He liked the sound of it. Soft and feminine, but with an underlying strength. Much like his impression of the woman.

He shook his head with regret as he digested what he’d heard. So she’d been scammed by a remodeler? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard of that happening.

“He did make the house livable,” he heard her say in the man’s defense. “And the kitchen and two of the bathrooms are at least functional.”

“And I suppose you paid him up-front?”

“Well,” she began evasively, “not all of it. Besides, he said he needed the money to pay his rent or his landlord was going to kick him and his family out on the street.”

“Landsakes, Alayna! Frank doesn’t have any family. You let that man work on your heartstrings while he shoulda’ been workin’ on your house.” Alayna’s chin snapped up at the criticism and Maudie sighed heavily. “So what are you going to do now?”

Alayna glanced down at the counter and dipped her finger in the condensation the glass had left there, her brow furrowing. “I thought I might run an ad in the Austin paper.” She lifted her face, her eyes so full of innocence and hope that Jack felt the need to put a fist in the face of the man who’d cheated her. “Do you think there might be a carpenter there in need of a job?”

Jack’s ears perked up at the word “carpenter” and an itch jumped to life on his palms. He rubbed his hands along his thighs to ease it. It had been years since he’d swung a hammer, worked a lathe, felt the satisfaction of wood warming beneath his hands. Uncovering the grain in a piece of painted wood, pumping blood back into an old house. He was a carpenter by trade, but all he’d done for the last couple of years was push papers, put out fires, haggle with subcontractors and inspectors. Did he really want to go back to that? Did he even want to go back to Houston at all?

He glanced out the window at the big oak with its barrel-size trunk and sprawling branches. He squinted his eyes and looked farther, taking note of the quiet street and the quaint shops that lined both sides. He’d grown up in a town like this, before moving to Houston. Small. Friendly. Where everybody knew everybody...and their business.

A sigh moved through him and he pushed back the memories before they could fully form. He was tired of running, but he wasn’t ready to go back to Houston. Not yet. Maybe never.

Standing, he fished a couple of dollars out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, then scraped his cap from the seat and his ticket from the scarred Formica tabletop where Maudie had left it earlier. Crossing to the register, he dropped the ticket on the counter and worked his wallet from his back pocket.

Maudie aimed one last frown of disapproval in Alayna’s direction, then stood and shifted to the register, pasting a smile on her face for Jack’s benefit. “Was everythin’ all right?” she asked as she punched the total into the register and took the ten-dollar bill he offered her.

“Fine, thank you,” Jack murmured politely as he accepted his change. “Much obliged.” Stuffing his wallet back into his pocket, he glanced one last time in Alayna’s direction, then turned and left the diner.

Alayna let the door to the diner close behind her, then stopped, drawing in a deep breath. Well, she’d expected an “I told you so” from Maudie, and she’d certainly gotten it. Not that it changed anything. She was still out several thousand dollars and left with a half-finished remodeling job.

Things could be worse, she told herself, looking for the bright side of the situation as she started down the steps. Frank could have taken her money and skipped out on her before he’d made the house livable again. She could at least be thankful for that. After all, she was able to sleep and bathe in her own house, which was, in her opinion, a definite step in the right direction. She could even cook her own meals and no longer needed to take advantage of her cousins’ hospitality. Though she had enjoyed sharing her meals with Mandy, Sam and Merideth in their respective homes, and getting to know their families, the time saved in traveling to and fro gave her the opportunity to tackle other projects. She supposed she had that to be thankful for, as well.

And there were the—

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Alayna jumped, sucking in a startled breath as a man stepped from the shadow of the diner, blocking her path.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, whipping off his cap and dipping his chin to his chest in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Alayna pressed a hand over her heart to still its frantic beating. “You didn’t frighten me.”

He glanced up, one thick brow arched high over a doubtful eye as he nodded toward the hand she still clutched at her chest. “Could have fooled me.”

Alayna looked down at her hand, unaware that she had even raised it, then dropped it to her side in embarrassment. She laughed self-consciously as she lifted her gaze to the man’s again. She relaxed a little when she found nothing threatening in his eyes or in his stance. “Well, maybe just a little,” she admitted. She cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. “You were in the diner earlier, weren’t you?”

He took his cap in both hands, curling and uncurling its bill. “Yea, ma’am, I was. And I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

Alayna wrinkled her nose. “You mean Maudie’s lecture.”

He shrugged. “Sounded as if she had your best interest at heart.”

She rolled her eyes, then sighed. “Yes, I suppose, though I feel rather foolish. Especially since Maudie warned me about Frank.” She angled her head, frowning just a little. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before. Do you live in Driftwood?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he answered with a quick shake of his head. “I’m not from around here.”

“I didn’t think so.” She laughed. “In a town the size of Driftwood, everyone pretty much knows everyone else—and their business,” she added sagely.

Jack frowned upon hearing her echo his own sentiments about the town, but he was at a loss as how to approach her with the idea that had come upon him earlier as he’d stared out the window at the quiet street. He dropped his hands to his sides and tapped his cap nervously against his thigh.

Alayna continued to peer at him. “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked helpfully.

“Well, yes, ma’am, there is,” he began uncertainly. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and you mentioning that you were going to advertise for someone to complete your remodeling job. I’d like to apply for the job, if you’ll allow me, and save you the trouble of posting an ad.”

Alayna’s eyes sharpened in interest. “Oh? Are you a carpenter?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve worked in carpentry most of my life. My dad was a carpenter, and he taught me and my brother the trade. I can handle pretty much any job that pops up in a redo. Electrical. Plumbing. Painting. You name it.” He snorted what might pass as a laugh. “I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades.”

Intrigued, Alayna studied him. He was close to her age, maybe a bit older, with strong features, and broad shoulders. Definitely fit enough for the work that would be required of him. She liked to think she was an excellent judge of character and could tell a lot about a person by simply looking into their eyes. That he could meet her gaze squarely attested to his honesty in Alayna’s estimation.

Yet, there was something in his eyes—or rather lacking in them—that concerned her. There was a sadness, an almost emptiness to the brown depths. Not that that would affect her decision to hire him. It simply intrigued her. There was a story there, a loss or disappointment of some kind that had left him disillusioned and withdrawn. She wondered if he’d share it with her, and wondered further if she could help him deal with it.

She gave herself a firm shake, forcing her mind to the situation at hand and her heart from the swell of sympathy she felt building.

She knew Maudie would throw a screaming fit if she discovered that Alayna was considering hiring a complete stranger right off the street, especially after the fiasco with Frank. But Alayna was desperate. She had to find someone to finish the job Frank had started.

“I pay by the hour, not the job,” she said, then named a figure, watching his reaction.

He lifted a shoulder. “That’s fine by me.”

“And I handle the purchase of supplies.”

“Whatever suits you.”

“You said you weren’t from around here.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.”

“Then, where would you live?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure I could find a place.”

She glanced away, looking down the street and away from him. “There’s a small cabin on my property,” she said thoughtfully. “I lived there until Frank made the house habitable.”

Since she’d offered the information as a statement and not an invitation, Jack wasn’t sure what kind of response she expected from him, so he remained silent.

“I suppose you could stay there,” she said, turning her gaze back to him. “It isn’t much, but it offers the essentials.”

“I’m used to making do.”

“Are you a man of your word?”

His chest swelled as if in asking the question she’d insulted him. “My word’s as good as any legal contract you could have drawn.”

“And I have your word that you’ll see this remodeling job through to its end?”

He gave his chin a tight jerk of assent. “You have my word. I’ll see the job done.”

“When can you start?”

“When do you want me?”

She arched a brow, a smile teasing one corner of her mouth. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

Jack shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

She quickly dug pen and paper from her purse, then turned the bag over, bracing it against her stomach while she used its side for a writing surface. “I have a few more errands to run,” she told him as she jotted down directions to her house, “but I should be home by three.”

She held out the slip of paper and Jack took it, studying her neat handwriting. When he glanced up, he saw that her hand was extended toward him. Along with it she offered him a smile. “I’m Alayna McCloud.”

Up close, he found her eyes an even deeper blue than he’d thought before, and he quickly decided that a man could probably drown in their depths if he cared to look long and deeply enough. Thankfully Jack didn’t He took her hand, if a bit reluctantly, and shook it “Jack Cordell.”

Her smile broadened, dimples winking at him from her cheeks. She added a squeeze to the shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, Jack.”

The warmth of her hand slowly worked its way up his arm while the added pressure in her grip seemed to draw his insides into a knot. Frowning, he uncurled his fingers from around hers and dropped his hand to his side, slowly flexing his fingers. “Same goes,” he murmured, then abruptly turned away.

Jack sat on the porch steps, waiting...and slowly melting. He shoved his cap back on his head and used his shirtsleeve to mop the sweat from his brow. She’d said three, and it was already almost half past

On a sigh, he stretched out his legs and tucked his pressed hands between his thighs, hunching his shoulders forward. Had he been too hasty in taking on this job? he asked himself. Was it the job itself that had appealed to him, the chance to work with his hands again? Or had it been the woman? It had been a long time since a woman had caught his attention enough to make him look twice. Even longer since he’d worked with his hands.

Maybe it was a mixture of the two, he decided, squinting his eyes thoughtfully as he stared out at the drive that led to the house. He gave his shoulder a lift, then shook his head. Didn’t matter, he told himself. Either way, he had a job to do, a place to stay for a while. And a pretty woman to look at. Not a bad deal all the way around, no matter which way he looked at it.

While he was pondering all this, a cat slipped from beneath the porch steps and wound its way around his feet. Jack scowled at the scraggly-looking cat and nudged it away with the toe of his boot. At the sound of an engine, he glanced up, standing when he saw a minivan coming up the long drive. It stopped at an angle in front of the picket fence that surrounded the house, and Alayna slipped from behind the wheel and to the ground. She quickly ducked back inside, stretching to grab a sack of groceries from the passenger seat. With the movement, the hem of her dress rose, exposing a tanned calf, then the tender flesh behind her knee. At the sight, Jack felt his pulse kick and heat crawl up his neck.

“Hi!” she called brightly as she turned and headed toward him. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jack frowned, tugging the bill of his cap low over his forehead as if to hide the truth of where his eyes had strayed. “No problem.”

She stooped to give the cat that greeted her a loving pat. “I see you met Captain Jinx.”

Jack’s frown deepened as he watched the flea-bitten, stump-tailed cat arch beneath her hand, purring its contentment. “Yeah.”

She straightened, lifting her gaze to his, a teasing smile curving her lips when she saw the look of disgust on his face. “You don’t like cats?”

He lifted a shoulder. “They’re okay.”

She laughed softly as she shifted the sack of groceries to her hip, then looked back down at the cat. “He’s not really mine. He just appeared one day and stayed.”

“Did you feed him?”

Alayna glanced up, her forehead wrinkling at the unexpected question. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I did. Why do you ask?”

He lifted a shoulder again. “That would be enough to convince him to stay.”

Alayna stared at Jack a moment, caught once again by the sadness in his eyes, the emptiness there, wondering what had robbed them of their life, their sparkle. She wondered, too, if she fed Jack, as she had the cat, would he stay long enough to finish her remodeling job?

At the outrageousness of the thought, she shifted the sack of groceries in her arms. “What would you like to see first? The cabin where you’ll be staying, or the house?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder toward the house. He didn’t care one way or the other about his own accommodations. But the house and its distinct architecture had intrigued him from the moment he’d first caught sight of it. “The house, if you don’t mind.”

“The house, it is.” Alayna led the way, with Jack following. When they reached the kitchen door, she juggled sack and purse, and he quickly stretched an arm in front of her, caught the screen door handle and pulled it open. “Thank you,” she said, offering him a grateful smile as she passed by him.

Feeling the warmth of her smile and catching a whiff of the flowery scent that trailed her, Jack stared after her a second, watching the subtle movement of her hips beneath the sacklike dress, and the rhythmic sway of her hair across her shoulders and back. He wondered what the texture of her hair would feel like between his fingers, what she’d taste like when aroused. When he realized where his thoughts were taking him, he frowned and quickly stepped inside, letting the door close quietly behind him.

In the kitchen, Alayna set the bag of groceries on the counter, then began to dig out the items that needed refrigeration. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, crossing to the refrigerator. “I made lemonade this morning, or I might be able to scare up a beer. Frank might have left one or two behind.”

Jack looked around the kitchen, admiring the old glass-front cabinetry. “Lemonade’s fine,” he murmured absently. He crossed to the breakfast nook, tucked into a bay window, and ran his hand across the faded wallpaper, letting his fingers tell him the wall’s history.

Alayna watched him as she pulled the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator. “Frank didn’t do much in there,” she offered. “My first priorities were the kitchen, my bedroom and bath.” She took two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice.

“There’s beaded paneling beneath this paper.”

In the midst of pouring lemonade, Alayna glanced Jack’s way and saw that he had pulled a knife from his pocket and was carefully scraping at the paper near the window frame. “What?” she asked, wondering what he was doing.

He folded the knife and stuck it back in his pocket. “Wood,” he explained, plucking with a fingernail at the paper he’d loosened. Then added, “Two-inch tongue and groove.” He gave his head a regretful shake. “Somebody papered over solid wood walls.”

Intrigued, Alayna caught up their drinks and crossed to him. She offered him a glass, which Jack took, then she leaned to peer closely at the spot of wood he’d uncovered. “Is that bad?” she asked in concern.

The heat and intimacy of her body pressed against his had Jack sidestepping away from her, giving her room and himself the opportunity to breathe a little easier. “Not necessarily bad. Just stupid.”

Alayna choked back a laugh upon hearing her ancestors referred to as “stupid.” The McClouds were a proud bunch, and probably wouldn’t think kindly of a man who questioned their intelligence. She took a sip of her lemonade. “So what do you propose we do about it?”

Jack turned his head to look at her, surprised by the “we” in her statement, but decided to take it as a sign that she trusted his opinion. “It’s your house. But if it was left up to me, I’d rip that paper off and let the wood breathe. It’d be a pretty sight, I can promise you that.”

Alayna looked at him, surprised by the level of emotion in his voice, his passion for something as innocuous as a wall of wood. “Will it cost much?”

He lifted a shoulder, which seemed to be his favored means of communicating with her. “Elbow grease, mainly. ’Course you never know what problems you might find when you start uncovering things.”

Alayna turned to look at the wall again, trying to imagine it without the faded paper, and wondering, too, what other things she would discover that Jack felt passionate about... and she would find out. There was still life inside him. The emotion he’d just displayed over her breakfast room wall proved that. “Okay,” she said, with a decisive nod at the faded paper, then turned to smile at him. “Let’s do it.”

“Now?”

Alayna laughed at the shocked look on his face, her blue eyes twinkling merrily. “No, not now, as in right this minute.” She turned to look at the wall again, her smile softening. “But I think you’re right. That wood needs to breathe.”

That she would accept his advice so readily both surprised and relieved Jack. He knew from experience that homeowners could be a pain in the butt to work with, having ideas and opinions on how repairs should be made that could drive a remodeler straight up the wall. He just hoped that when he stripped off that paper, he didn’t discover that it had been hung to cover up some problem, like termite or water damage. While he was thinking this, he felt a featherlight touch on his arm, then it was gone and Alayna was turning away, saying, “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Jack followed her, unconsciously rubbing a hand at the tingling sensation she’d left on his arm.

“The fireplace in the living room was sealed off years ago,” she explained as she led the way to the front of the house. “I’d planned to open it and make it functional again.” She paused in the archway that opened to the large living room. Jack stopped beside her, stealing a glance her way, and saw that she had her arms hugged up beneath her breasts in an oddly protective way. “But I’m afraid,” she said with a disappointed sigh, “that this is one of the luxuries I’m going to have to forego in order to stay on budget.”

Jack turned his head to follow her gaze... and the craftsman in him all but drooled at the sight before him. A huge limestone fireplace dominated the opposite wall, its white stone front stretching a good twelve feet from floor to ceiling. Embedded in the stone above the fireplace’s dark opening was a hand-hewn cedar mantel, polished with care and age. Jack’s heart swelled at the amount of time and skill that had gone into the overall design, but it quickly took a nosedive when his gaze hit on the gas space heater wedged in the firebox where logs should be resting, waiting for the flare of a match.

Leaving Alayna standing in the doorway, he crossed the room and knelt down before the hearth. He leaned over, bracing his hands on the uneven stone, and looked up, craning his neck so that he could see up the flue. Sure enough, weathered boards sealed off the chimney. He poked at the boards almost wistfully, thinking of the waste...and, too, of the disappointment he’d heard in Alayna’s voice when she’d told him she was going to have to forego re-opening the fireplace in order to stay on budget. He straightened, dusting soot from his hands. “I can open her back up,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“ ’Course I’ll check out the chimney and flue to make sure that everything’s in working order first. But I won’t charge you any extra for my time.”

“Oh, no!” she cried, hurrying across the room. “I can’t allow you to do the work for free.”

Jack frowned as he looked down at her, seeing nothing but a deep, blue pool of compassion in her eyes. The idea that she would think of his needs, and not her own, baffled him. In his opinion, and based on his personal experience, the gentler sex was, as a rule, selfish and demanding. Was this woman real? he asked himself. When he felt himself being sucked deeper and deeper into her gaze, drawn by the compassion he saw in her eyes, he backed away from her.

“Not much work involved,” he insisted briskly. “Somebody along the line probably just got tired of cutting wood and sealed off the fireplace, choosing instead to use gas to heat the room.” He gave an impatient gesture with his hand. “Let’s see the rest of it.”

Thankfully she let the subject drop. With nothing but a curious glance in his direction, she led the way to the stairway.

“The master bedroom is downstairs,” she explained over her shoulder, “but Frank finished all the remodeling there before he left. You’ll need to focus on the rooms upstairs.” The soles of her sandals scraped lightly on the oak-planked stairs as she climbed higher, drawing Jack’s gaze to her feet.

He stood at the bottom step, his eyes sliding up over her ankles and to the gentle curve of her calf. A warmth crawled up his neck and down to his groin as her elevated position on the stairway above him revealed more and more of her bare legs to him.

And he silently prayed she was wearing panties.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he discovered she wasn’t. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman in the biblical sense, and he didn’t know if he had the willpower needed to resist the sight of so much tempting flesh. He swallowed hard, paralyzed as much by the feelings of lust building as he was by the sight before him. He tried to remember the last woman who had stirred thoughts like these, but quickly gave up. It had been way too long.

“Upstairs,” she said, lifting a hand from the rail to gesture above her, “are four more bedrooms.” On the landing, she turned to look back at Jack and stopped when she saw that he was still standing in the hallway below. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice husky, staring at her and trying his damnedest not to think about those panties. The idea that he’d even think about a woman’s panties was a relatively new one, and a definite improvement over his thoughts for the last several months. This woman was pushing buttons and getting a response to hankerings he was sure he’d lost long ago.

Could this be the end of his wanderings?

He cleared his throat, and started up the stairs. “Yeah,” he said with more enthusiasm, thinking he might have just landed himself in heaven—or hell, depending on how the situation turned out. “I’m right behind you.”

Alayna waited until he’d caught up with her, then opened a door on her left. “I don’t plan to do anything too major in here,” she explained. “Just freshen things up a bit. Paint. Drapes. Maybe add shelving for toys and such.”

Jack’s head snapped around at the mention of toys. “You have kids?”

At the question, the smile that seemed her constant companion melted right off her face. She glanced away from him and to the far window with its view of the pond. “No,” she replied with what almost sounded like embarrassment. Then she forced her chin up and a confident smile to her lips as she turned her gaze back to his. “At least, none of my own.”

Jack felt the blood drain right out of him at the hope he saw in her eyes. And just when he was beginning to feel a little interest, a little heat in the old furnace, she had to go and mention kids. A damn shame, too, he thought sadly, admiring the sway of her hips as she walked away from him and across the room. She was a beautiful woman. Sexy. Friendly.

And convenient.

He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. But he wasn’t getting involved with a woman who wanted kids. Not Jack Cordell. No how, no way.