Читать книгу Instant Dad - Raye Morgan - Страница 8

Drey Angeli walked into the colorful Denver steak house like a man who knew what he wanted. The place had elk hides on the wall and long horns mounted over the bar. With his shoulder-length golden hair and buckskin jacket worn to the color of sandstone in the sun, Drey looked as if he belonged there.

Stopping for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, he shook his head at the scantily clad hostess hurrying toward him and surveyed the clientele on his own. He spotted the man he was looking for and started toward him. At six foot four with shoulders as wide as an acre of land, he made an imposing figure and people tended to make way when they saw him coming.

“Hello, Carter,” he said, stopping at a table where a tall, thin man sat devouring a thick porterhouse. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The older man looked up, did a double take and grinned. “Sit down, Drey,” he said, waving an invitation to the opposite chair. “I haven’t seen you since you ran off with my wife. Sit down and fill me in on what’s been happening.”

Drey slid into the seat in one fluid motion and reached for Carter’s drink, taking a sip and making a face.

“Still drinking rotgut, I see.”

Signaling the waitress, he put in an order for bourbon and water, then turned and gazed at his companion with his head back and his eyes half-closed. “I didn’t, you know,” he said quietly.

Carter stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Run off with Nancy?” He shrugged and began cutting off another huge bite of meat. “Let’s just say she went running after you.”

Drey waited a moment, thinking while Carter chewed. Finally he responded. “Your wife,” he said, choosing his words deliberately, “was hardly in a rational frame of mind when she left you. She just needed some time.”

“Hey, Drey, it’s okay.” Carter laughed softly, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth before he took another sip of his drink. “She’s back home where she belongs. She told me how you talked her into coming back to me. Everything’s cool. I was ribbing you.”

Relief filled Drey’s dark eyes for a moment and he took a deep breath. “I’m glad, Carter. For your sake and for mine.” He hesitated, then went on. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

The waitress brought his drink and he knocked back a portion of it, then sat for a moment, letting it warm him inside. “Here’s the deal. I hear you have a woman named Sara Parker asking you to find her a carpenter to put in some shelves and do some cabinetry work.”

Carter nodded slowly, waiting.

Drey met his gaze and held it. “Send me,” he said simply.

Carter’s eyebrows rose. “You? You haven’t worked for me since you graduated college. What was that? Five years ago?”

Drey nodded. “Let me take it, Carter. I don’t care about the money. You can have it all. I just want to go out there and do the job.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed as he speculated. “What’s going on, Drey? What’s your relationship with the lady? You got the hots for her or something?”

Drey shook his head. “I’ve never met her. But I want to do the job. I’ve got my own reasons.”

Carter hesitated, puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “How long’s it been since you’ve done any work with wood?”

Drey let out a hiss of exasperation. “Give me a break. You don’t think I’d do a good job?”

Carter laughed softly. “Nah, I always did say you were the best carpenter I ever hired.”

Drey nodded, as though that settled it, and took a long sip of his bourbon. “Tell me something,” he said, leaning a little closer. “You’ve worked for this woman before, haven’t you? Where’s Mr. Parker?”

Carter shrugged, still watching Drey as though he were trying to figure him out. “I haven’t ever seen him. He’s always away on business trips. He’s some sort of high-class executive or something.”

Drey contemplated that for a moment, frowning. “You’ve done a lot of work out at her place?”

Carter grimaced. “Not a lot. I got a pool house built for her last summer and fixed a couple of doors that were sticking. Oh, and we made her an enclosure for her microwave. That’s about it.”

Drey nodded slowly.

Carter leaned forward, curiosity burning in his eyes. “Come on, Drey. Give. What’s going on?”

Drey’s smile was faint but evident. “It’s personal.”

Carter frowned, staring at him. “It may be personal to you, but it’s business to me. I’ve got to be sure you’re on the up-and-up here, Drey. Mrs. Parker is a good client of mine.”

Drey’s mouth twisted as he thought over his options. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you this much. I used to date her sister, Jenny Kirkland.”

Carter stared at him. “What is this, Drey? Did she dump you?”

Drey allowed himself a fleeting smile. “No, she didn’t dump me.”

“Did you dump her?”

Drey’s mouth gave a quirk of annoyance. “That doesn’t matter. Do I get the job or not?”

Carter shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t smell right here.”

Drey shrugged, gazing at him coolly. “You’ve known me for a long time. Do you trust me or don’t you?”

Carter shook his head and, finally, he grinned reluctantly. “Hell, I trusted you with my wife, didn’t I? I guess I can trust you with Sara Parker.”

“Good,” Drey said, nodding slowly, his gaze already on a distant scene. “Good.”

Drey vaulted out of his four-wheel drive, all-terrain vehicle and reached for his tool belt, then gazed at Sara Parker’s gabled and turreted house with a healthy dose of skepticism. What kind of woman would live in a place like this? She either had to be an imprisoned princess or the wicked witch of the north. There weren’t many other options.

Making his way up the walk, he glanced up and down the street. The area houses were large and distinctive, the yards professionally trimmed and sculpted. The neighborhood reeked of money.

It was late afternoon and the breeze had turned frosty. He knew he wouldn’t get much work done today, but he could take measurements and scope the situation out. He figured on being here for the rest of the week if things worked out the way he’d planned.

A bouquet of spring flowers sat in a cheap glass vase on the doorstep. He glanced down at it, then rang the bell. There was no answer, and he reached down to pick up the flowers and look at the card.

“Sara, darling, so sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it to your baby shower. Hope these flowers will make it up to you. Kiss kiss, love Sylvia.”

“Baby shower,” he repeated softly out loud. That would seem to confirm what he’d heard. Sara Parker was adopting Jenny Kirkland’s baby.

The sound of tires on the driveway brought his head around and he watched as the expensive silver sedan pulled to a stop and a tall, blond woman swung her long legs out, then rose to look at him.

He stood where he was, not moving, and she pushed the car door shut, then came walking toward him. She was dressed in a powder pink cashmere suit and soft leather shoes with trendy heels. Her blond hair was pulled back in an elegant twist at the nape of her neck. Gold bracelets flashed at her wrists, gold and diamonds sparkled on her fingers, and her nails were painted a perfect match to the suit.

In fact, everything about her seemed just about perfect. The only thing missing, he thought as she came close enough to see into her crystal blue eyes, was passion. There was no passion, no anger, no joy, no fear visible in her face. She might have been cut from ice. She was an ice lady, very cool, very calm, and very much in control.

And very confident. Some women might have hesitated upon seeing a man who looked like him standing on their front step. He knew his long hair and jeans and buckskin jacket looked out of place here in this part of town. A lot of people gave him a second look because of it, but he didn’t care. He considered his look consistent with the history of Denver. Jenny used to tell him he looked like a nineteenth-century miner, only cleaner and healthier.

“Wild and woolly,” she would say, laughing at him.

But his wild look didn’t seem to bother Ms. Parker. She came up to him like the home owner she was, sure of herself and of whose property they were standing on.

“I’ll take those,” she said calmly, reaching out her hand for the flowers. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll give you something.”

So that was it. She thought he was there to bring her flowers.

“I’m not a delivery boy,” he told her, handing the arrangement over as though the posies had suddenly developed thorns. “They were on your doorstep when I got here.”

“Oh.” She glanced at him, wondering why he hadn’t left them there, and he saw the question in her eyes, but he ignored it.

“I’m from Carter Construction,” he said quickly. “I’m here to do some carpentry work you needed.”

“Oh.” She actually smiled and it lit her face. “Thank goodness. We’ve got a lot of work to get done in a short time. Please come in.”

Their eyes met for just an instant and they both pulled back, as though a spark of static electricity had sprung between them. He almost thought that must have been it. The air was dry and it was cold. Perfect weather for static electricity.

He followed her into the house, his boots marking time on the marble entryway, then waited while she put her things away in the kitchen. From where he stood, he could see into the living room with its glassand-wood furniture, its overstuffed couch and granite fireplace, into the den where glass-faced bookcases filled with volumes lined the walls, and into the kitchen where the lady was putting her purse under the counter and checking her answering machine.

He frowned. The place was all angles and hard surfaces. If she thought she was going to adopt a baby, she was going to have to do something about that. This was not a baby-proof environment. He was going to have to find an opportunity to point that out to her.

“I didn’t get your name,” she noted as she returned to him.

“Drey Angeli,” he said, glancing down at the small, slim hand she held out before taking it in his own. Her grip was firm but her hand felt as soft and elegant as it looked.

“I guess you know I’m Sara Parker,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve come so promptly.”

He raised one eyebrow, wondering why she was treating him like his sixth-grade schoolteacher, the one who always corrected his grammar and held him after school for being a smart aleck. Instinctively he knew she did it on purpose. But what that purpose was, he couldn’t imagine.

“Follow me,” she said crisply, turning to lead him through the foyer. “I’ll show you where I’m going to need the work done.”

He followed her, noting the way her every movement seemed to be according to some careful plan. Her step was quick and light and very determined, and when she started up the stairs in front of him, he couldn’t keep from watching the nice way her bottom swayed in the pink cashmere skirt, and something about that experience made him study her face when she reached the top and turned to wait for him.

His first impression had been of her coldness, but now that he gave her a second look, he realized she was quite pretty. Her features were small and fine as porcelain, her skin smooth, her eyes a brilliant, starburst blue set off by thick black lashes. He had the sudden picture of a ballerina in his mind, an oldfashioned dancer mincing in toe shoes with her arms raised in position.

“This way,” she told him, turning and leading him into a room off the hallway.

He followed her, only half listening while she detailed the new closet space she wanted in the guest bedroom. He was studying the room for evidence. Just what sort of woman was Sara Parker?

She was certainly a contrast to her sister, but then, he’d already known that, hadn’t he? Jenny had told him so.

“She’s not like the rest of our family,” Jenny had told him one night over drinks at a lodge at the lake. “When we were kids, we called her Stuck-up Sara. Do you know she actually packaged her dolls in plastic wrap and buried them in the backyard so the rest of us wouldn’t play with them?”

Drey remembered gazing at Jenny that evening, bemused, wondering why her voice was trembling with annoyance so many years later.

“And when we were teenagers, forget it. She kept her side of the room roped off so I wouldn’t touch her things, and she taped hairs to her dresser drawers so she could tell when I went through them.” Jenny’s pretty heart-shaped face flushed. “We didn’t get along.”

No, he could see that Jenny would have a hard time getting along with this exquisite creature. Jenny was casual about clothes, plans, men. She was open and generous and free spirited—but she was also careless and petulant at times. Sara Parker didn’t seem to be any of the above.

Everything about her was careful; everything matched, from her fingernail polish to her creamy lipstick to the pink cloisonné comb that held her silver blond hair in place.

She cares too much, he thought to himself. Wasn’t that a sign of some sort of neurosis?

“Now down here,” she said, leading him to another room down the hall. “Here is the nursery. I’m going to need new shelves and a set of waist-high cabinets. I’d like to install a changing table here, as well.”

He nodded. “Do you have any children?” he asked, wondering if Jenny’s baby was going to be an only child.

“Not yet.” She actually smiled. “But I’m about to have a baby.”

“Really?” He knew she was expecting him to glance at her flat stomach in surprise, so he did. “Not anytime soon.”

“Yes. Very soon. Sometime in the next two weeks, in fact.” She laughed softly and her starry eyes seemed to melt into pools of silver. “I’m adopting.”

He waited a moment but she didn’t say it. He knew she was adopting her sister’s baby. Why not mention that? Why not talk about the fact that this was Jenny’s baby? Or was that some sort of secret she was keeping?

But she didn’t mention it. Instead, she gave him a smile that startled him. “You don’t know how much I appreciate you showing up,” she said. “You’re the only one. I’ve called an electrician, a landscaper and a pool maintenance man and you’re the only one who came when you said you would.”

He frowned, a defense against the smile. He didn’t want to like her.

“You’ve filled your pool already?” he noted, looking out the window at the forest behind the house. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She turned slowly, looking the room over as if to make sure she wasn’t forgetting to tell him anything about the job. “The weather has been so warm. And I need it filled. It looks so much better that way and I’m having a party next week. A baby shower. I need everything to look perfect.”

Perfect. Yeah, that was what she wanted. It showed.

“I’ll bet you ten to one we get another snowstorm before the season’s over,” he said, trying to burst her bubble.

But she was having none of it. Shaking her head, she smiled at him again. “No, absolutely not. No snowstorm. Spring is here.”

She walked over to her window and gestured out into her backyard where birds were chirping in the trees. “Look at all those birds. Would they be here if snow was coming?”

He followed her, then stood by her side, looking down. There were birds all right. Flocks of them. “You think birds have an inside track on the weather?” he grumbled.

“No, not really.” She frowned, considering, and he noticed her delicate eyebrows. She didn’t pluck them. She didn’t have to. They were perfect.

“But are you trying to tell me there’s no order in the universe?” she asked him, sighing softly. “That it’s all anarchy?” Her eyes clouded.

He felt a twinge of remorse. It was pretty obvious she needed order to feel secure. There was no reason to be so churlish, he supposed. She hadn’t done anything to him. Not yet, anyway.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he admitted gruffly. “But I don’t think birds know all that much more than we do about it.”

She was still staring at him as though she were hoping to find some kind of answer in his eyes, and he moved uncomfortably, trying to avoid her gaze but unable to look away himself.

“They have instincts,” she said as though she’d just thought of it.

He shrugged. Why did this seem to be so important to her? “So do we,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away and scowling out the window.

She laughed softly, turning away, as well. “You’re right I’m sorry. I get carried away with these things sometimes.”

Afraid that she’d embarrassed him by getting a little too familiar, she glanced back. He was still frowning. His face, the set of his shoulders, everything said don’t tread on me, and she suppressed a smile. He was a good-looking man in his way, though she hadn’t noticed at first. Probably because of the long hair. But he was certainly a strong-looking man, his hands square and chiseled, his shoulders wide and western. He could have been a cowboy riding into Denver a hundred years ago, or a miner coming in off the high country with a sack of gold in his belt.

A throwback, she thought to herself. In this hightech age you didn’t see many like him any longer.

“Never mind,” she said quickly, hoping to put him at ease. “I’ll get going.”

She headed for the door, her handmade leather shoes sinking into the plush carpeting. “I’ll leave you to your measuring and your plans. Please let me see what you’ve worked out when you’re finished. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Sure will,” he said, watching her go, but she didn’t turn or smile or anything. She just kept going, and then she was gone.

He swore softly to himself. He hadn’t figured her out yet and he’d thought it was going to be easy. From what Jenny had told him, he’d expected to find a cold fish with rigid views, a sort of wicked witch of the Rockies. He’d been prepared to despise her. Obviously the judgment wasn’t that simple. Still, there was time. There was plenty of time. From what he’d been able to find out, Jenny’s baby wasn’t due for another week or so. He would have to make a decision by then.

Meanwhile, he had some woodworking to do.