The British are Coming Box Set

by Nancy Warren

  “We’re getting some ideas, that’s all. Matthew’s colors are all so dark. I thought it might be nice to brighten the place a little.”

  Oh, you poor, sweet, misguided thing, Chloe thought. Not only were Matthew’s color choices in keeping with his house, but any fool could see he was not a man who’d have any interest in color swatches and wallpaper sample books. She glanced at the closest cover and shuddered. Especially not anything found in a book called Country Inspirations.

  She was going to have to move quickly, before this misguided woman had repapered Matthew’s entire house in ducks and gingham and he ended up murdering her in her bentwood bed.

  She’d been so busy setting up her business and dealing with actual paying clients that Chloe hadn’t had much leisure to think about Brittany and Matthew, but clearly, based on the decorating demon now lodged in Brittany’s brain, she had to quicken her pace.

  “I did a year at the Buckingham Institute, an interior design school in London. Perhaps I could be of assistance?”

  “Oh, wow. In London?”

  “Yes. Well, almost a year. I didn’t do enough to get the degree, but I certainly learned the basics. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Excellent. Why don’t you call me later when you’ve had a chance to get some ideas and we can talk color palettes and so on.”

  “It’s very nice of you. Oh, and thanks again for last night. I had a really good time.”

  “Me, too. You know, I haven’t had a chance to make any real friends here. I do miss my girls.” She thought of Nicky and Rachel and all of them.

  “Oh, I can’t imagine. Well, you’ll have to come out with me and my girls. We’ll show you how to have fun Texas style.”

  “Really? That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They took the books inside and she put the ones she’d brought in on the third step of the staircase before she headed for the front door.

  “When Matthew’s free, would you ask him to help me move a couple of heavy things in my house?”

  “I sure will.”

  Ten minutes later there was a pounding on Chloe’s front door. She didn’t even have to look out the bedroom window to know who it was.

  She finished the email she was composing to Jordan assuring him that she had matters well in hand to inspire Deborah to break up with him. She disregarded the fact that Rafe hadn’t said yes, since she was an optimist at heart and had good reason to know that her persuasive powers were top notch.

  When the pounding on her door was joined by the persistent ringing of the bell, she got up and went downstairs.

  She threw open the door. “I am trying to run a business here,” she reminded her glowering neighbor, who looked as though he’d love to be back on the force so that he could go around brandishing a gun and arresting people.

  He’d reduce crime in Austin simply by glaring at potential criminals.

  “So am I. I hear you want furniture moved. There’s nothing in your lease about moving furniture.”

  She gazed at him calmly. “Bite me,” she said.

  His jaw clamped as though he was preventing himself from doing exactly that. “I’ve got Brittany trying to turn my place into Tutti Frutti Central and you moving furniture. Can’t you women ever leave anything alone?”

  “Not if it needs improvement,” she said, glancing significantly at him.

  His eyes narrowed and he stalked past her. “What are you thinking of moving?”

  “The bed out of the second bedroom. I’ve hired an assistant. I’m putting in a desk for her.”

  “An assistant. You hired an assistant.”

  “That’s right,” she said, walking ahead of him up the stairs.

  His voice sounded a lot less stressed when he said, “A junior detective.”

  Her lips curved. “Exactly.”

  She fluttered around a little, trying to help him, but Matthew basically hefted the mattress up and carried it upstairs to the attic single-handed. He did the same with the box spring and the headboard and she couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of his muscular build and the manly way he had of making nothing of what would for her have been a huge job.

  “Where’s the desk?” he asked her once the bed was all gone. He’d even offered to hike the dresser out of there but, since she couldn’t afford much in the way of office furniture, she’d elected to keep it for supplies.

  “It’s in a box. In the kitchen. It needs putting together.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He looked down at her. “Want me to take a look?”

  “It’s not going to cost me another dinner, is it?”

  “Coffee’ll do.”

  She put on a fresh pot while he hauled the box upstairs. By the time the coffee was done and she carried a mug up to him, she found him on the floor, the pieces already unboxed and the Allen wrench, which she personally considered the most evil tool known to man, already at work.

  He took the coffee with a grunt of thanks.

  “Why aren’t you helping Brittany with the decorating?”

  He shot her an evil glance and went back to his furniture construction.

  She watched him for a moment, enjoying his handiness, the way his biceps tightened and flexed as he worked, the shifting of muscles in his back.

  “You do realize,” she said to that very nice back, “that if you don’t stop her you’ll end up living in a gingham cottage?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  She shook her head. “If you weren’t a genius with furniture-in-a-box, I would definitely take offense,” she said breezily, and went back to her own office to catch up on some paperwork.

  It was actually rather nice to listen to the shifting of furniture, the creaking of floorboards as he moved around. When he cursed, she smiled to herself. She was alone too much, she realized. She’d enjoy having someone to work with.

  In a shorter time than she would have believed possible, he bellowed, “Where do you want this thing?”

  She rose and went into the other room and had him leave it in the middle, facing the door. Stephanie could move it wherever she liked, Chloe decided, since she didn’t intend that clients would actually visit the office.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” she said, sincerely grateful in spite of his rudeness earlier.

  He seemed in no hurry to leave and picked up all the packaging, bundling it neatly. “So, Rafe.”

  She glanced at him. “Yes?”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  “I would hope you’d think so, since he’s a friend of yours.”

  He shuffled a little, seeming uncomfortable but determined. She had an idea she knew where he was going with this, but had no intention of helping him get there. Foolish man.

  “Doesn’t seem like your type.”

  She ducked her head to gather a piece of tape that had stuck to the oak baseboard Matthew had no doubt installed. Probably after fashioning it from an oak tree he had personally grown and then felled. “You don’t know my type.”

  Something electric sizzled between them when their gazes met. He stared at her for a second and then turned to go. “Yeah. I guess I don’t.”

  Chapter 13

  Stephanie put on a happy face that was more fake than a kid’s Halloween mask and got herself to work. The branch manager had been so understanding, so eager to help her leave without working out her full notice that Stephanie got the distinct impression they weren’t any sorrier to see her go than she was to be leaving.

  That was good, of course, since it meant she could work for Chloe sooner, but it was also kind of a blow. At least they could have pretended that she was God’s gift to the teller’s counter.

  Oh well, at least Chloe would be happy. Stephanie was working through Friday, then had the weekend off before she started at her new job. And still the minutes crawled by. Toward lunchtime, there was a bit of a stir when a florist’s delivery guy came into the branch with a vas
e containing a dozen long-stemmed pink roses and some pretty greenery.

  How romantic. Of course, Steph would have gone for something colorful, like Gerber daisies or huge, happy sunflowers. She wondered if it was someone’s wedding anniversary. Everyone, from customers to the bank execs in the back, seemed to pause for a moment in suspense.

  “Stephanie Baxter?” the guy asked in a Bronx accent, glancing around with his brows raised looking like he didn’t have all day.

  “I’m Stephanie,” she said and felt her heart begin to pound. Rafe hadn’t asked for her number last night, he’d waltzed out of her apartment with a peck on the lips and a “See you.” Was this his way of telling her that last night had meant something?

  While the floral guy plonked the vase at her workstation and made her sign a delivery receipt, she felt giddy and girlish and giggly. “Do you mind?” she asked the woman who happened to be standing waiting to cash her paycheck.

  She was middle-aged and overweight in a white blouse that had been washed so many times it was yellowing. She stood there like her feet hurt, but for that second her eyes glowed too. “No, I don’t mind. I’ve been married thirty-four years. The only flowers I see are the ones I grow in my own garden. Enjoy the romance while it lasts.”

  Stephanie felt so many gazes on her, with expectation, maybe envy, that her fingers fumbled when she opened the tiny envelope.

  Darling, it said. Oooh, he’d called her darling. She never would have pegged him for the darling type. Or the pink roses type.

  She read the message, and then she read it again before the truth sank in.

  Darling,

  Please forgive me. We can make this work. I love you.

  Derek

  Derek. She stuffed the little card back into its little envelope and turned to her customer with a quick word of apology.

  The woman’s eyes rested on her face, which felt hot and itchy, as though she were about to break out in a rash. “How did he screw up with flowers?”

  “He didn’t.” She shook her head, wanting to tell somebody. Wanting to lay her head on this nice woman’s bosom and sob her heart out. “It’s the wrong guy, is all.”

  “Oh, honey. As my kids would say, that blows.”

  She sent her customer a quick smile. “Yeah.”

  Instead of confronting Derek, which she didn’t have enough courage to do again, she emailed him on her lunch break. It was difficult to come up with the right words and it took her ages to word her simple message.

  Dear Derek,

  Thank you for the flowers. I wish you hadn’t sent them, though. I’m not going to change my mind. I’m so sorry. Be happy.

  Stephanie

  She dragged herself home at the end of the day, exhausted. “Aren’t you taking your flowers?” Elsbeth, the girl who worked beside her, asked.

  “No. You want them?”

  “Yeah. If you’re sure.” She bet nobody ever sent Elsbeth roses. She was exactly the sort of woman Derek would despise, which made her happy to think of those flowers going home with the colorless teller.

  All she took was the little card in its little envelope, which she threw out in a city trash can so no prying eyes could see it.

  Once home, she ate a bowl of Cheerios for dinner, a single-serving carton of peach yogurt for dessert, and flipped on the TV. It wasn’t that she even wanted to watch TV, she just wanted an excuse to curl up on the couch.

  Of course, she told herself not to be a moron and relive all the details of what had happened on that very couch last night, so of course she was that moron. She curled deeply into it with her robe tucked around her and imagined she caught the scent of Rafe even as she relived their encounter in every amazing detail.

  When the phone rang, she was so deeply into her fantasy that she was certain it was Rafe, until she realized he didn’t have her number because he hadn’t asked for it. She ignored a couple of rings, and then realized that Rafe had come here, to her apartment. He must have her number if he had her address. Being a cop, he must have access to all that stuff.

  She bounded across the room, stubbing her toe on the hair dryer she’d left plugged into the wall this morning. “Hello?” she said, trying not to sound too eager.

  “Steph. We need to talk.”

  Her stomach felt like an elevator in freefall. If she’d ever had any doubts about her decision to call off her engagement to Derek, she didn’t have them any longer. “We already talked. I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t marry you.”

  “But I love you. I have plans.”

  Always he talked about himself. He never seemed to worry about her feelings, or her plans. However, she’d hurt him and she knew that, so she tried to be understanding. “I don’t think I’d be the right wife for you. You need someone more…” More what? Stable? Less inclined to shoplift when she was upset? Not so much of a slut? She settled on, “More mature. I guess I’m not ready.”

  “You got cold feet. It can happen. Look, have lunch with me tomorrow. It’s the least you can do.”

  She opened her mouth to agree and then stopped herself. If she went to lunch she’d do something stupid, like let him stick that ring back on her finger, and she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  “Sorry. I’m busy for lunch tomorrow. Look, I have to go.”

  “Wait.” His voice took on a different tone. Sharp. Accusing. “I’m coming by the bank. I have to see you.”

  “I quit my job. I’m leaving the bank.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m serious. You need to see someone. You’re quitting your job? And thinking about leaving me? There’s something wrong with you.”

  “Lucky you, then. You’re getting rid of me.”

  “Is there someone else?”

  His constant jealousy used to reassure her. She’d believed a man who was possessive wouldn’t run around on her, but now she was beginning to think there was a darker side to him.

  A kick of combined elation and pain smacked her. She knew that if she answered his question honestly, it would be over forever with him. She was tempted to say yes, but the truth was, she’d had a one-night stand. Just because she had feelings didn’t mean the other party did.

  “I have to go.”

  The receiver clicked in her ear as he hung up on her.

  She closed her eyes and stood there, waiting for the regret to come. Not surprised when it didn’t. She’d always been good about hurting herself.

  Then she picked up the receiver again, knowing there was another call she had to make—one she dreaded. “Mom, hi. It’s me, Stephanie.”

  In less than two minutes, she had exactly what she wanted: an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. She’d tell her mom in person about the split and then she’d stay overnight in her old room. For some reason, she craved her old room, where she’d planned her big plans and dreamed her foolish dreams, before life got in the way.

  Deborah did what she usually did when a client stumped her. She walked from her office to Jordan’s. They’d both seen their last client of the day and he was tapping away at his computer, looking scholarly and earnest.

  “Jordan?”

  He started and blinked when he turned to her. “Deborah, you startled me.”

  “I’m sorry. I can come back if you’re busy.”

  “No. Of course not. Come in.”

  “I want to talk to you about the Petersons. A couple I’m working with.” She made a wry expression. “I’m not making much progress.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  He always did this. So calmly inviting her to share her load. So comforting. She settled into the chair across from his desk and marshaled her thoughts. “Henrik’s a workaholic. He’s rarely home, all he ever thinks about or talks about is work, and his wife feels neglected and unappreciated.”

  Jordan made a sound like a snort. He never interrupted, so she was surprised and glanced up, raising her reading glasses so she could look at him more clearl
y. “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing. Go on.”

  “I feel like I can’t get through to them. Janine, the wife, is doing the work every week but he’s resisting. He won’t do the work, refuses to acknowledge he’s got a problem. Do you have any ideas?”

  Jordan stared at her for a moment. Maybe it was the way the light hit him, but she thought his eyes didn’t look as calm as they usually did. “Sometimes you can’t fix people, even when you want to.”

  “We’re not here to fix people,” she argued. “We fix relationships.”

  “Sometimes, I think it’s the same thing. Henrik’s not going to change until he wants to change, and as hard as someone who loves him tries, it’s not going to make a difference.”

  She nodded her head, thinking of Janine trying so hard and being ignored. One day Henrik would wake up and his wife would be gone, she suspected, and then it would be too late.

  “I wish there were a way we could hold up a mirror that would show people the destructive patterns they engage in that ruin their personal relationships.”

  “So do I, Deb. So do I.”

  She tapped her pen on her notepad. “I wonder if they’d be happier with another therapist. Would you be willing to give them a try?”

  Jordan shook his head. “I think I’m done with lost causes.”

  She leaned forward in concern. “Have you had trouble with a client recently? I didn’t realize. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. It’s okay. I think I’ve figured out how to resolve it.” He turned off his computer. “I’ve got to head out. Dinner with an old school friend.”

  She nodded. “And I’ve got to get caught up on some paperwork. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She leaned across the desk and kissed his cheek.

  “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

  Chloe couldn’t help but notice that her newly hired associate was not looking her best. In fact, Stephanie’s eyes were heavy with fatigue and her smile seemed forced.

  “You’re not regretting the job already, are you?” she said the second she saw the younger woman’s face.