The Bachelor Project

by Victoria Chancellor

  “I’ll need to have a look at your house. In the meantime, I’ll get my sample books and try to line up some local resources for whatever work you’d like to have done.”

  “Work?” He sounded worried.

  “Painting or simple woodwork,” she clarified. “I didn’t mean you’d want major remodeling.”

  “Oh. Good.” He sighed in relief. “Why don’t you come by this weekend? I have Saturday and Sunday off. Aunt Bess and I were planning on working in the yard, but since she’s in San Antonio, I have both days free.”

  “I’ll come by Saturday, then. Around ten o’clock?”

  “Sounds good.” He smiled again as he opened the storm door and stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Good night, Ethan.”

  “Good night.” He paused, his smile fading a little as he looked at her across the few feet that separated them. “I really did have a good time.”

  She tilted her head and hugged her arms. “I did, too.”

  He nodded, then smiled again. She wondered briefly if he was going to do or say something else. But he turned and walked to his black Bronco, his long-legged, rolling stride reminding her much more of an old-time Texas lawman than a modern, FBI-trained cop.

  She shook off her fanciful thoughts and locked the door, closing out the warm summer night and the vision of Ethan Parker. She had things to do—important tasks related to the work she loved. First of all, she had to make a list.

  She hadn’t needed to set up a work center in the Franklin home; she hadn’t expected to work while she was here in Ranger Springs. But now she’d need paper, pencils, a sketchbook and all the tools of her trade that were back in the small office she shared with her partner, Jenny Smithson.

  Fortunately, Robin had been at the end of her current projects because of the impending wedding. Only a few details and minor problems had to be resolved. Jenny had graciously agreed to take care of those remnants when she’d received Robin’s phone call, briefly revealing her retreat from Houston.

  They weren’t close friends, but they complemented each other well in a professional sense. Jenny had a wonderful sense of the absurd; Robin had the ability to take the traditional elements of design and use them individually.

  Her talent, she’d learned over the four years she’d been a professional decorator, was integrating a client’s collection into a total decorating scheme.

  She paused, wondering if Ethan had any “collections.” Somehow, she doubted it, unless he had items from his childhood.

  She found a yellow pad and pencil in one of the drawers in the kitchen. Taking a seat at the breakfast nook, she began to list what she knew—what she thought she knew—about Ethan. The exercise would be helpful in more ways than one. By accepting him as a client, she could look at him objectively. No longer would he be the sexy chief of police, nor would he be the nonsexual friend she’d tried to envision. Now he could be a real man—a client—with an expressed personality, goals and preferences. She could list those attributes, weigh them and analyze them.

  In short, she could control her reaction to Ethan once he was reduced to a series of words on a piece of paper. The idea invigorated her. She experienced the sort of excitement she always felt when she took on a difficult or challenging task.

  Purely professional, she told herself. Thinking of excitement and Ethan in the same context was only inviting trouble if she failed to remember he was a client, just like any other.

  Pencil poised above the yellow pad, she began listing Ethan’s personality traits. Strong. Responsible. Punctual.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. The word sexy kept popping into her mind, but she had to find another way to express it. Desirable. Definitely, but that hardly helped her keep her mind off the personal and on the professional. Appealing. Now there was a thought. He appealed to many people, she was sure, for his various abilities and his position in the community. The fact that he appealed to her on many levels was irrelevant; he was a bundle of tantalizing traits anyone would recognize.

  She worked on the list for a few more minutes, adding words as they came to her: down-home, honest, country boy, educated, law-abiding, good-natured, Texan. In the end, she had about fifteen words and phrases that began to define Ethan Parker.

  She couldn’t wait to start the project. She’d be required to spend plenty of time around him, but suddenly the prospect wasn’t scary. Now that he was a client, she wouldn’t have to worry about wild attraction or almost-kisses.

  In bold strokes she printed “The Bachelor Project” on the top of the yellow sheet of paper. Now she had a project title, a real client and a plan of action.

  For the first time since he’d answered her 9-1-1 call, she felt as if both her feet were firmly on the ground. Ethan would love her ideas for his home, she was sure. If he hadn’t wanted to spend time with her, have her help define his style and reveal his preferences for particular purchases, he certainly wouldn’t have asked her to redecorate his house. No one made that sort of commitment on a whim.

  Yes, her stay in Ranger Springs was definitely looking up. Perhaps she’d be able to afford more than frozen dinners and an occasional fast-food burger. After tonight, she was more convinced than ever that she wasn’t going to be forced to learn to cook simply because she was living in the midst of Americana.

  The country wasn’t going to rub off on a city girl like her, but with some skill and perseverance, a little bit of the city was about to rub off on Ranger Springs’s police chief.

  Chapter Six

  “Thank you so much for the references, Mr. Branson,” Robin said the next morning. The hardware store manager had been very helpful, supplying her with several names of individuals who painted and did light carpentry work. Between locating the business cards of the contractors, he’d waited on several people and answered questions ranging from fence stretchers to plumbing fittings to satin versus high-gloss paint finishes. She’d have to remember this quaint small-town experience when she returned to Houston.

  “Call me Jimmy Mack,” the man said. “Near ever’body does.”

  Robin smiled and shook his hand. “Thank you, Jimmy Mack. I’ll be in touch for whatever supplies I need.”

  Before she could start for the door, he commented, “The Franklins jus’ had their house fixed up before they left.”

  “I know. It’s a lovely home.”

  “You buyin’ a place here in town?”

  “No, I’m not.” Before he could continue, she said, “I really have to go. Thanks again for the references.” She hated to turn her back on him and walk away, but she absolutely would not divulge the name of her client. There was nothing peculiar or irresponsible about updating decor, but the business was between herself and her client. If Jimmy Mack mentioned the exact reason she needed painters and carpenters to friends, someone in Ranger Springs might make an issue out of her working on Ethan’s house, especially with his aunt out of town. She assumed most of the people around here were as curious as the hardware manager.

  Robin headed across the town square to the flooring store. She wasn’t sure if she could get a good price on wall-to-wall carpet, if that’s what Ethan wanted. Personally, she loved natural hardwoods and tile, but not everyone could be convinced the extra money was worthwhile. If he decided against carpet, she couldn’t be sure a store that small would have a decent selection of area rugs. But she’d try to use local sources whenever possible. If necessary, she and Ethan could travel to Austin or San Antonio. Even the market in Dallas wasn’t out of the question, as far as she was concerned.

  The idea of spending time alone with him, traveling in his Bronco or her small, sporty coupe, shouldn’t make her heart rate increase. She shouldn’t allow herself to have such a response to a client. In the past, the problem hadn’t arisen; she’d never felt the least attraction to any of her male employers.

  Of course, she’d been engaged for the past year and a half, and seriously dating Gig for months befor
e then. Being in a committed relationship was enough to stop most people from acknowledging desire for someone else, but Robin doubted even her engagement would have kept her from seeing Ethan as a very sexy man. Even more reason to keep her personal feelings firmly in control.

  She avoided the cracked sidewalk in front of a movie theater that had been closed since the first “Die Hard” movie had premiered. The faded poster rested wearily beneath the glass next to a hand-printed schedule. The boarded up box office seemed sad, as though waiting for someone to tear away the covering and thread a film through the projector once more.

  Crossing the street, she headed for the Four Square Café. A sandwich and iced tea sounded great. She’d been running on adrenaline since she’d talked to Jenny earlier this morning. As soon as she entered the old-fashioned eatery, she saw the sign that proclaimed Please Seat Yourself, and started walking between tables and booths, causing almost every head in the place to turn. Smiling vaguely, she located a red vinyl booth near the rear and slipped across the squeaky seat.

  She supposed the “new kid” in town always caused extra attention, but she was more familiar with the discreet, assessing looks that certain striking individuals or celebrities caused in the trendy restaurants she frequented in Houston’s better sections. She’d never thought of herself as a snob, but she had to admit that she wouldn’t choose a restaurant like this one if she had a choice.

  She always had a choice, she reminded herself. She could go back to town anytime she wanted, face the questions and uncomfortable social situations and get on with her life. But she wasn’t ready…and besides, she’d begun to like the small town, even though the food, people and businesses were radically different from what she was used to.

  “Robin!”

  She turned to see Gina Mae Summers, the real estate agent who had handled the agreement to house-sit the Franklin’s home. Dressed in a bright coral sleeveless top and matching slacks, she looked fashionable and summery. Robin smiled and motioned her over.

  “Would you like to join me? I just sat down.”

  “I’d love to.” Gina placed her purse and planner on the seat and scooted to the center of the red booth. “Are you enjoying the house?”

  “Very much. It’s a lovely place.”

  “I heard you had some unexpected visitors the other night,” Gina said in a conspiratorial tone.

  “Visitors? Oh, you mean the raccoons. You must have been talking to Eth—Police Chief Parker.” The idea of the attractive real estate agent and the sexy lawman talking together caused an unexpected pang in Robin’s midsection. Just because they were talking about me, she told herself.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, he saw me in this very restaurant and was asking about you.”

  “Really.” Robin frowned. “What in the world would he want to know about me?”

  “Nothing official, if that’s what you’re thinking. I believe his interest was more…personal.”

  “No, that’s—” Robin paused. “What makes you think so?”

  Gina shrugged. “The way he tried so hard to make his questions sound official. The man was trying too much to convince me he was just checking up on the house.”

  “I’m sure he was interested to discover who was living there.”

  “Yes, he was doing his job. But I’ve been around long enough to tell the difference between official duties and personal attention. Believe me, Ethan Parker found you a lot more interesting than a few curious raccoons.”

  “He’s a very nice man, but there’s nothing going on. Nothing personal,” Robin added. She wasn’t about to confess that she and Ethan had gone to dinner in Wimberley, that they’d had a meal at her place, and that she was currently working on decorating his house.

  Gina studied her over the dog-eared menu. “Whatever you say.”

  “Believe me, I’m not getting involved with anyone. I just left a long-term relationship, and the last thing I want is to find myself attracted to a man in a small town where I’m staying for such a short time.”

  “I understand.”

  Robin nodded, still not certain she’d convinced Gina of her intentions. However, hunger and good manners prevented her from speaking any more about the strictly professional relationship she shared with Ethan. When the waitress came to their booth, she ordered a club sandwich and iced tea. She only hoped she could keep tongues from wagging over what was sure to be a nonissue—even for a small town that obviously enjoyed good gossip.

  ETHAN TOSSED his running shoes into his closet, then shut the door. The house was as picked-up as it was going to get. He was fairly certain Robin would be too busy noticing his lack of decorating sense to comment on his housekeeping skills. Not that he was a slob. He just wasn’t obsessive about making sure the fringe on the rug in the entry was combed in one direction. Once she saw his house, any romantic notions she could have mustered would be gone in a flash. She’d know that he and she were as mismatched as delicate china and handmade pottery.

  The doorbell rang as he walked through the living room. Robin was right on time.

  “Hello,” he said as he answered the door. He gave her a quick glance from the top of her sleek hair to the light pink polish on the toes peeking out from her sandals. Very cute toes, he added—not that he should be noticing any part of her anatomy. Her eyes sparkled in anticipation, and she was, to be honest, far too lovely to be just a friendly decorator.

  He hadn’t seen her in days, he told himself. That’s why he was reacting to her in a slightly less than professional manner. And that had to be the only reason. Memories of his past failed relationships put a damper on any notions he might have about Robin. He wasn’t going to repeat his mistakes, not even for someone as appealing as the woman standing before him.

  “Hi.” She carried a bundle of notebooks, magazines and papers.

  “Can I help with those?”

  “No, thanks. I’m used to carrying around my office, although usually I have a nice leather satchel. I forgot to ask my partner to send it along with the rest of my supplies.”

  “I hope I didn’t make you go to too much trouble. I hadn’t thought about what you might need to start this whole decorating process.” He frowned as he motioned for her to place her materials on the heavy oak coffee table that had supported his feet through many ball games. Before he’d gotten the mammoth recliner, he’d owned a sofa that was as disreputable as it was comfortable. The coffee table had matched that couch real well.

  Damn, he hoped Robin didn’t suggest one of those sissy tables with legs resembling toothpicks. Or one of those uptight, upright couches covered in material that you were afraid to sit on.

  “No problem. I hope we can come to an agreement. I’m excited about the prospect of decorating your home. In fact, I’ve already asked around town for painters and carpenters, in case we agree on certain changes.”

  He sat beside her on the sofa, suddenly nervous about this whole idea. If word got around that he’d hired some fancy Houston decorator to fix up his house, he’d never hear the end of it from his employees and friends. Especially the men on the city council, who had even less sense of style than he possessed.

  “You didn’t happen to mention why you needed the names, did you?”

  “Of course not. I keep my relationship with a client private, unless they care to tell their friends.”

  “I’m just not sure how the guys at the VFW post or the feed store will take the news that the chief of police is picking out wallpaper.”

  Robin laughed. “Believe me, I understand. My lips are sealed.”

  Her innocent comment immediately brought his attention to her mouth. Her beautifully shaped, expressive, all-too-kissable mouth. Shaking himself out of a totally inappropriate response—like pushing her down on the nubby beige sofa and kissing her until neither of them were thinking of color or style or what his friends would say about new drapes. The image made him shift uncomfortably on the normally relaxing couch. Think of something else, he told him
self. Baseball. Accident scenes. Anything but Robin’s lips.

  But like the proverbial elephant in the corner, once brought to his attention, he could barely think of anything else. Be professional. Be friendly. Stop acting like a horny teenager.

  He coughed discreetly, then said, “Well, let’s see what you have there. I’m ready to get started.”

  Boy, was he ready.

  ROBIN SELF-CONSCIOUSLY paced off the measurements of Ethan’s living room and adjoining dining room. She felt his gaze on her wherever she went. She’d also seen his slight frown and the worried expression he wore when he didn’t think she was looking. On a purely feminine level, she realized he wasn’t concerned about her decorating prowess. No, he was concerned about his reaction to her.

  Not good. Not when she’d finally conquered her personal attraction to him and was ready to get on with business.

  She stopped and chewed her lip as she wrote down the width of the dining room. Okay, maybe not conquered, but she’d made some huge leaps in that direction. So what if her pulse had leaped when he’d opened the door dressed in soft, faded jeans and an equally faded San Antonio Spurs championship T-shirt? So what if she’d arrived prematurely and had to drive around for five minutes to keep from ringing his doorbell unfashionably early? She was anxious to start the project, not to see Ethan. She’d decided, and by golly, she was going to stick to this decision!

  She’d already backed down on one of her commitments lately. She wasn’t about to start changing her mind again, even if the first, the most major, change had been the right one: stopping her wedding to Gig.

  “About finished?” Ethan asked, bringing her attention back to him.

  She turned toward the couch and smiled. “Yes, I’ve completed the measurements. Now we can talk about your ideas.”