Читать книгу The Texan's Honor-Bound Promise - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

The Craftsman-style two-story house Sam parked his truck in front of was situated in an older neighborhood near Tyler, Texas’s downtown area. A breezeway connected the house to a carriage-style garage and served as a pass-through to the garage’s rear entrance, discreetly hidden in the backyard.

The house was owned by Leah Kittrell. Mack McGruder had provided Sam with the woman’s name, as well as her address and telephone number. An Internet search had provided him with a few more details. According to the information he’d found, Ms. Kittrell owned her own business—Stylized Events—had gone through a messy divorce three years prior and currently served on the boards of several civic and charity organizations. The photos he’d found of her in the archive section on the Tyler newspaper’s Web site provided an image of a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties to early thirties, with long dark hair, classic features and legs that seemed to stretch forever.

More facts than he probably needed, but Sam preferred to know as much about a person as he could before entering into negotiations.

Now all he had to do was squeeze what he wanted out of the woman and he could call it a day.

Confident that he’d be back on the road within the hour, he punched the doorbell, then stepped back, smoothing a hand over hair the wind had rumpled earlier while he was changing a flat tire on the interstate.

The door swung open and a woman appeared. Leah Kittrell, he thought, easily recognizing her from the photos he’d found on the internet. But the pictures hadn’t done her justice, he thought appreciatively. While attractive in the photographs, in person she was drop-dead gorgeous. What the pictures had revealed as dark hair was in fact a sleek raven-black. But the image of her legs had been right on target. They did seem to stretch forever.

Mesmerized by eyes the color of aged whiskey, it took him a moment to realize that she was frowning at him. He quickly extended his hand.

“Sam Forrester,” he said, introducing himself.

She glanced down at the hand he offered and her frown deepened. Following her gaze, he saw the grease that stained his palm and yanked it back to drag across the seat of his jeans. “Sorry. Had a blowout on the way here. Haven’t had a chance to clean up.”

Her gaze met his again. “How many are you expecting for dinner?”

He blinked. Blinked again. “Excuse me?”

Rolling her eyes, she angled her head and pointed to the minuscule headset attached to her ear.

“Oh,” he murmured, realizing that her question hadn’t been directed to him but someone she was talking to on her cellular phone. “Sorry.”

She stepped back and motioned for him to come inside. “Forty guests,” she said thoughtfully as she closed the door behind him. “To be safe, I’d suggest we plan to serve thirty-five. Some won’t bother to RSVP but will come anyway. Others will say they’re coming and not show up.”

She turned for the rear of the house, curling her finger in a signal for him to follow. With a shrug, he trailed behind her, glancing at the rooms they passed through. Neat as a pin, he noted. Not a thing out of place. Not even in the kitchen. The woman either had a full-time housekeeper or was anal as hell.

She opened a rear door, stepped out onto a patio and led the way to the garage. It’s in there, she mouthed, indicating a side door.

Wondering what “it” was, he eased past her and opened the door. Like the rest of her house, the garage was hospital-clean and neat as a pin. An SUV was parked in the slot nearest him. In the other, a vintage Ford Mustang.

He pressed a hand over his heart. “Oh, man,” he murmured and headed for it.

He walked a slow circle around the car, then stopped in front and popped the hood. Behind him he could hear Leah talking on the phone, but he was more interested in the vintage set of wheels in front of him than her discussion of food and flowers.

Bracing a hand on the radiator for support, he stuck his head beneath the hood in order to check out the engine. “Two hundred and fifty ponies,” he said with a lustful sigh.

“So? What do you think?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice and bumped his head on the hood. Muttering a curse, he straightened, rubbing a hand over his head.

She winced. “Ouch. Bet that hurt.”

Grimacing, he dropped his hand. “I’ve had worse.” He turned back to the car and lowered the hood. “Sorry for being nosy, but I couldn’t resist. Is it yours?”

“My brother’s,” she replied, then amended, “Or it was.”

He glanced back, a brow lifted in question.

“He was killed in Iraq about six months ago. He promised my nephew, Craig, he could have the car when he turned sixteen. They were going to start restoring it when my brother returned from Iraq.” She glanced at the car, drew in a steadying breath. When she faced him again, her jaw was set in determination. “I intend to see that at least part of his promise is kept, which is why I advertised for a mechanic to do the restoration.”

And she thought he was a mechanic who’d come in response to her ad, Sam deduced. Though he knew he should correct her mistake, he decided, for the moment at least, to keep the purpose of his visit to himself and said instead, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry he ever enlisted.”

Surprised by the bitterness in her voice, he began to circle the car again. “How long had he owned it?” he asked curiously.

“Forever.”

He shot her a glance over the roof of the car and she shrugged. “My father was the original owner. I guess you could say Kevin inherited it from him.”

He turned his gaze back to the car and saw the Army decal on the rear window, it’s edges curled and brittle, and knew, by its age, her father was the one who had put it there, not her brother. Thinking this might be the opening he needed, he asked, “Your father was in the Army, too?”

She followed his gaze to the decal. “MIA, Vietnam.”

“Your family made a considerable sacrifice for our country.”

She flattened her lips. “Not by choice, I assure you.” She flapped a hand, dismissing the subject, then glanced at her watch. “My nephew should be here soon. He wants to help with the restoration. Do you have a problem with that?”

Again he felt he should correct her mistake and tell her the true purpose of his visit. But he had a feeling if he did, she’d toss him out on his ear.

“Can’t see why I would,” he replied vaguely.

She smiled, seemingly relieved by his response.

“Good. Craig really needs this.”

Before he could ask her what she meant by the statement, the door opened and a young voice called, “Aunt Leah? You in here?”

Leah turned, her smile widening. “Come on in and join us, Craig. How was school?”

Head down, a boy—somewhere between twelve and fourteen, judging by his size—shuffled toward them, one hand cinched around the strap of a backpack he had draped over his shoulder, the other stuffed in the pocket of jeans at least a size too large for his thin frame. “Okay, I guess.”

Sam yearned for a pair of scissors so that he could whack off enough of the kid’s hair to see his face.

“Craig, I’d like you to meet—” She stopped short, then looked at Sam in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.”

“Sam Forrester.”

Smiling, she extended her hand. “Leah Kittrell.”

He held up his palm, reminding her of the grease that stained it.

She tucked her hand behind her back. “Uh, right.” She turned to her nephew and, smiling again, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him to her side. “Sam, this is my nephew, Craig. Craig, Mr. Forrester.”

“Sam will do,” Sam offered, then smiled at the kid. “Nice to meet you, Craig.”

Craig mumbled a barely audible, “Yeah. You, too.”

“Sam is here to discuss restoring the car,” she told her nephew.

He glanced up at Sam through the mass of bangs he hid behind, then dropped his gaze and turned away with a mumbled “Whatever” and headed back toward the house.

“Hey!” Leah called after him. “Where are you going?”

“Homework.”

“But don’t you want—”

The door slammed, cutting her off. Heaving a sigh, she turned and gave Sam an apologetic smile.

“He really is a nice kid. He’s just been having a tough time. Losing his father hit him pretty hard.”

“Tough blow for a kid his age.”

“Yes, it is.”

He frowned, remembering the boy’s reference to homework, as well as her mention earlier about school. “Isn’t school out for the summer?”

“For most students. Craig failed two classes, so he has to go to summer school.”

He nodded, wondering if the kid’s father’s death had anything to do with his failure.

She opened her hands. “So? What do you think? Are you interested in the job?”

You’ve really stepped in it now, Sam thought, realizing too late his mistake in allowing her to go on believing he was a mechanic. He supposed he could tell her the restoration would take more work than he’d first thought and make a fast exit.

But that would mean leaving without getting the information he’d promised Mack, which didn’t settle well with him at all. He owed Mack. Big-time. And he was determined to honor that debt.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he studied the car as if considering whether or not he wanted to take on the job while buying himself some time to figure out what he should do.

Getting the information for Mack wasn’t going to be the easy-in-easy-out mission he’d first thought. Mack had warned him about Leah’s obstinance in refusing to discuss her father, but Sam hadn’t taken him seriously until he’d gotten a taste of it himself. It was going to take some time to finesse her into telling him what he wanted to know.

And restoring the car might be just the ploy he needed to gain that time.

But if he agreed to work on the car, he’d be saddling himself with a troubled teen. Sam had seen the resentment, as well as the grief, that shadowed the boy’s eyes and suspected it was the loss of his father that had put them both there. Sam had lost a father, too, at a fairly young age. Not to death, but a loss just the same, and he understood what the boy was going through…and where he’d end up if someone didn’t intervene.

He had a month, he reminded himself, with nothing to do but puzzle out the direction he wanted to point his future in. He could think as easily working on a car as he could lying on his back on some sun-drenched beach surrounded by bikini-clad women.

Decided, he said to Leah, “Yeah, I’m interested.”

He would swear he felt her sigh of relief from five feet away.

“I have no idea what kind of payment to offer you. I know nothing about this kind of thing or how long it would take to complete the job. I guess it would simplify matters if you’d simply tell me what you’d charge for the restoration, then I could determine whether or not I can afford to hire you.”

“Since you want your nephew to help with the restoration, I suppose the work will need to be done here?”

“That would be best. He comes here after school each day.”

Nodding, he began to circle the car again. “I’ve only got a month to devote to the job, but I think I could get it done in that length of time. Most of it, anyway.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it?”

Smiling, he stroked a hand over the Mustang emblem on the hood. “Hard to say no to a beauty like this.”

“We haven’t decided on a fee yet,” she reminded him.

He hitched his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. “Most carriage houses like this have an apartment overhead. Does this one?”

“W-well, yes,” she stammered as if wondering why he’d ask. “Although not a full one. Just a bedroom, sitting room and bath.”

Lowering his chin, he met her gaze. “Tell you what. Provide me with room and board for the next month, and we’ll call it even.”

“Room and board?” she repeated dully.

“I’m not from around here. In order to do the work, I’d need a place to stay.”

She nervously wet her lips. “I suppose that would be okay. The apartment’s furnished. I keep it ready for relatives and friends who come to visit. But I don’t cook,” she was quick to inform him. “Not regularly, at any rate.”

“As long as I’m allowed access to your kitchen, I can see to my own meals.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s all you want in exchange for doing the work? Room and board?”

He hid a smile. “If you’re worried I’ll demand sexual favors, I won’t.” He waited a beat, then added, “Although I wouldn’t turn them down if offered.”

She jutted her chin. “I’ll want references.”

He shrugged. “Fine with me. None will be local, though. Lampasas is where I call home.”

Her brows shot high. “How on earth did you hear about the ad I placed? Lampasas is hours from here.”

He shot her a wink. “I guess some things were just meant to be.”

As he pulled away from Leah’s house, Sam punched in Mack’s phone number. His friend answered on the first ring, obviously awaiting the call.

“Did you talk to her?” Mack asked anxiously.

“I did,” Sam replied. “And the answer to your next question is no. I haven’t gotten the information you need. But I’m working on it, which is why I called. I need a favor.”

“What?”

“Personal references.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now I need you to call Lenny, Pastor Nolan, Bill and Jack Phelps. Tell them that Leah Kittrell might be calling and asking questions about me. If she does, tell them to keep whatever information they offer to a minimum and not to mention anything about me being in the Army.”

“Why not?” Mack asked in confusion. “Your service record is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No,” Sam agreed. “But if Leah finds out I’m in the military, it’ll kill whatever chance I have of getting the information you want.”

Leah frowned in concentration as she fussed with the strands of ivy draping the tiered crystal pedestal centered on the sample table setting she had arranged. Once satisfied with the design, she would photograph the table, note the style and color of linens used, as well as the other accessories, and record them all in the client’s file to reference for the wedding reception scheduled for October.

“Looks good.”

Leah glanced over at Kate, her assistant, then back at the centerpiece and worried her lip. “You don’t think the ivy will obstruct the guests’ views?”

“You’re just obsessing because Mrs. Snotgrass is the client.”

“Snodgrass,” Leah corrected. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to slip and call her that one day.”

“It would be worth it just to see the expression on the old biddy’s face.”

“Easy for you to say. It isn’t your business she’d send down the toilet.”

Kate snorted. “As if she could.”

Leah lifted the digital camera hanging from her neck and moved around the table, clicking off shots of the table from different angles. “Though I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mrs. Snodgrass’s opinion carries a lot of weight in this town. One derogatory comment from her and my business would suffer the reverberations for months.”

Satisfied that she’d taken enough pictures to record all the accessories used in the design, she headed for her office to download the photos into the appropriate file.

Kate trailed behind. “How’s the search going for the mechanic?”

“I found one.”

Kate dropped down into the chair opposite Leah’s desk and lifted a brow. “Really? Who?”

“Sam Forrester.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s not from around here.”

“Then how’s he going to do the work?”

“He’s staying in the apartment over the garage.”

Kate sat bolt upright. “A complete stranger? Have you lost your mind?”

“I checked his references,” Leah said defensively.

Scowling, Kate slouched back in the chair.

“Which doesn’t mean squat. The references he gave could all be his friends.”

Leah caught her lower lip between her teeth, having thought the same thing, then shook her head. “No. He seems like an honest guy. He even agreed to allow Craig to help with the restoration.”

“He’s probably cleaning out your house as we speak.”

“Would you stop?” Leah cried. “You haven’t even met the man.”

Kate rose. “Then introduce me.”

Leah looked up at her blankly. “Now?”

Kate shrugged. “No time like the present. We can grab some lunch on the way back.”

“And who would mind the shop while we’re gone?” Shaking her head, Leah plucked her purse from beneath her desk and headed out.

“Where are you going?” Kate asked, following her.

“I—I forgot something at home.”

Kate bit back a smile. “Liar. You’re going to check on the mechanic.”

Leah opened her mouth to deny the statement, then clamped it shut and marched out the door, her chin in the air.

Settling into the apartment above Leah’s garage took Sam all of about five seconds. All he had with him was crammed into his duffel bag, which consisted of about four changes of clothes, his toiletries and an extra pair of boots—all civilian wear, since he was on a monthlong leave from the army.

He’d just dumped his underwear and undershirts into a drawer when he heard a tap on the exterior door.

“Come on in,” he called. “It’s open.”

Just as he stepped from the bedroom and into the sitting room, Leah was bumping the front door closed with her hip. And a nice curvy set of hips at that, he noted.

She lifted her arms, indicating a stack of towels and washcloths. “Thought you might need these. My cousin and her husband were my last guests, and I forgot to restock the linen closet after doing the laundry.”

“Thanks.” He took the linens from her and set them on the antique trunk that served as a coffee table.

“And speaking of laundry…do you mind if I use your washer and dryer? I’ll supply my own detergent.”

“Help yourself. It’s off the kitchen. The controls are self-explanatory, but let me know if you have any problems.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

When she didn’t make a move to leave, he looked at her curiously. “Was there something else?”

Avoiding his gaze, she picked up a pillow from the sofa. “About your references…” she began uncertainly as she plucked at its corded edge.

“Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem. In fact, they were all glowing.” Huffing a breath, she tossed the pillow to the sofa and turned to face him. “Yes, there is a problem. Not a one of the men I spoke with mentioned anything about your past work history.”

Though he knew he was treading on dangerous ground, Sam wasn’t worried. He’d gotten himself out of tighter spots in the past. “Probably because I’ve never worked directly for any of them.” He gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat,” he invited. “I’ll answer whatever questions you might have.”

She hesitated a moment, then sat down at the far end of the sofa. “Just for a minute. I need to get back to the shop.”

Dropping down on the opposite end, he draped his arm along the back of the sofa and opened his hand. “Fire away.”

“You might start by explaining how you have a month available to devote to this project.”

“That’s simple enough. I’m taking what might be called a sabbatical while I consider a career change.”

She looked at him curiously. “You don’t like working as a mechanic?”

“Oh, I enjoy working on cars well enough,” he replied, neatly avoiding a lie. “Always have. In fact, I think I was about fourteen when I rebuilt my first engine.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Fourteen? That’s not even the legal age to drive a car!”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, but it’s legal to work on one. My dad was a rancher, but his first love was cars. Especially vintage models. While most of the boys my age were playing with baseballs and bats, I was pulling engines and rebuilding carburetors.” Before she could ask another question about his past, he shifted the conversation to her. “Did you have any weird hobbies when you were a kid?”

She blew out a breath. “I didn’t rebuild cars, that’s for sure. My only hobby—if you would call it that—was arranging flowers.”

“Your mother was a florist?”

She snorted a breath. “Hardly. Our neighbor was. She ran a floral business out of her home. I hung out there while growing up.”

Hoping to take advantage of this opening to learn more about her, as well as her family, he angled a leg onto the sofa and faced her. “She let you help her make floral arrangements?”

“Not at first. In the beginning I was more like a gofer. Fetching supplies, sweeping up the cuttings, that kind of thing. I eventually graduated to making my own designs, but that was years later.”

“Do you remember your first?”

Her face softened at the memory. “A baby gift for a new mother. The vase was a ceramic baby carriage. I filled it with pink carnations, baby’s breath and greenery.” She shot him a sideways glance, her expression sheepish. “Not very original, huh?”

He shrugged. “Everybody has to start somewhere.”

“Well, that was definitely my defining moment. I was hooked from then on and never looked back.”

Although he knew about the business she currently owned, she wasn’t aware he did. “So you’re a florist?”

“In a sense. I own my own company. Stylized Events. We handle all the details of a party, from invitation to cleanup and everything in between, including floral arrangements, depending on a client’s preferences.”

He shuddered. “Sounds like a lot of work to me.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But I love it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or I do most of the time.”

“Uh-oh. Contrary clients?”

She laughed softly. “Only one, really. Mrs. Snodgrass—or Snotgrass, as my assistant refers to her.”

He laughed. “Obviously your assistant believes in calling a spade a spade.”

Grimacing, she grumbled, “Which is why I’m here.”

He lifted a brow. “And why is that?”

She dropped her gaze, obviously embarrassed that she’d let that slip. “Kate thinks I was a little…well, hasty in allowing you to move into the apartment.”

“A cautious woman,” he commended with a nod of approval. “But in this case misguided.” He slid his hand from the sofa and laid it on her shoulder, drawing her gaze to his. “I assure you you’re safe with me.”

“I doubt she’d consider that assurance comforting, coming from you.”

Smiling, he drew his hand back to rest on the back of the sofa again. “Probably not, but in time I’ll prove I’m trustworthy.”

“Speaking of time…” She glanced at her wristwatch and rose. “I better get back to the shop. I’ve been away too long as it is.”

He stood and followed her to the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I nosed around some in the garage this morning. Looks like you have all the tools I’ll need to get started on the car.”

She paused in the open doorway. “They were my brother’s. When I had his car towed over here, I had them bring his tools, too.”

With her back to him, he couldn’t see her expression, but he was sure he caught a hint of sadness in her voice.

“The two of you…” he began hesitantly. “Were you close?”

She stood there a long moment, then heaved a sigh and started down the stairs. “Yeah, we were.”