The Bottom Line

by Sandy James

  “He’s a senior, right?” Danielle asked.

  “Yep. Another overprivileged, the-world-belongs-to me senior,” Beth replied.

  “Maybe I’m not so bad with freshmen after all.” Danielle sipped her drink.

  Mallory let her gaze settle on her friends—the Ladies Who Lunch, as they’d dubbed themselves the first year they’d all been assigned the same lunch period. For five years, they’d made sure the principal always scheduled them together, calling in favors when they had to so they could have this time. They shared their meals while they shared their lives—both in and out of school. These women were her life support, especially Juliana.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I never had the chance to thank all of you.” She hated to cry in front of anyone.

  “No thanks necessary. You’d do the same for us.” Juliana patted Mallory’s hand. At least she wasn’t scowling now.

  “You have done the same for us,” Danielle added. “When I had my appendix out, I didn’t have to cook for two weeks because of all of you.”

  “ ‘That’s what friends are for,’ ” Bethany chimed in, her big, brown eyes sparkling as she sang the words from the old song. The woman could be cheerful in the face of a global apocalypse.

  Giving help was easy. Accepting it was the real trick.

  “I may not have to say it, but I want to say it.” Mallory sighed, sniffing hard to hold back the emotions she’d learned to keep tightly caged. “You got me through the worst. When Jay left—”

  “We know.” Juliana gave her a lopsided smile, her green eyes full of empathy that said I know rather than We know.

  She was the only other one in the group who was divorced. She’d married in college, realized after several discouraging years she’d made a huge mistake, and had been solo ever since. Jules loved dating and hated commitments.

  When Jay left, she’d told Mallory she was happy that she was getting her life back. Since Mallory tended to agree with that sentiment, she’d understood. The only difference was that Juliana’s ex-husband was also a teacher at Douglas High, and she had to see him any time she went near the gymnasium, which she made sure wasn’t often. At least Mallory never had to see Jay Hamilton. And her life was better for that blessing.

  Perhaps she and Jules saw eye to eye because they were close in age—Mallory was thirty-three to Juliana’s thirty-four. Danielle and Bethany were both twenty-nine and still single.

  Mallory pulled out her yogurt, salad, and banana, then turned the bag upside down to let the plastic spoon and fork slide out. She’d started eating healthier, seizing control of the one thing in her life that truly needed repair. She’d gotten too thin—at least that was what most people said when they saw her after the months away for summer vacation.

  Danielle drowned her salad in ranch dressing and stabbed a hunk of lettuce with her fork. Instead of eating it, she pointed the fork to emphasize her words, making drops of the dressing drip on her salad. “I have a minimum of thirty kids in every class. How is that fair to them or to me?”

  “We all have thirty-plus kids per class,” Mallory replied. “Funding was cut. Again.”

  “Screw the legislature.” Bethany scooped some hummus on a cracker and shoved it in her mouth. Her hair was short, although not as short as Mallory’s. It also was a mass of curls that most people envied but Beth hated.

  “I refuse to spend this whole lunch hour bitching about the unfairness in education.” Juliana had evidently overcome her shell-shock. She leveled a smile at Mallory that screamed she was up to something. Again. “We’re still having a mixer at my church every Saturday and—”

  Mallory waved her off. “No way, Jules. I’m not dating.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Mal… it’s time to put all this behind you.”

  “I have. I just don’t think a date is what I need right now. I’ve got a house to fix, students to teach, and peace and quiet to enjoy.”

  “Look, it’s just a mixer,” Jules coaxed. “You haven’t been out in ages. Not since—”

  “I had two dates this month. Remember?”

  “You had two disasters. Just come with me. Please?”

  While she’d rather have a root canal, Mallory finally gave her friend a curt nod. It was probably time to come out of her cave once and for all.

  She needed to learn to live again.

  “What about the house?” Danielle asked. “Did you talk to Robert?”

  One of the industrial tech teachers, Robert Ashford, built custom homes as a second job. Whenever a teacher needed work done, anything from painting to adding a room, Robert would handle it or recommend good and trustworthy people to hire. Mallory had reached out to him, and he’d sent Ben Carpenter, the carpenter.

  “Yeah. I had a contractor look at it yesterday. He e-mailed me an estimate last night, but I’m utterly terrified to look at it.”

  “I’m sure Jay will pay for part of it,” Bethany said.

  Sometimes her optimism bordered on naïveté. If Bethany actually believed Mallory’s ex would give her a single dollar, she’d crossed the border.

  “Are you kidding?” Mallory screeched.

  “No… I mean… don’t you get alimony or something?”

  “There’s no alimony in Illinois,” Jules replied.

  “He gave me the house—”

  “And the mortgage,” Danielle chimed in.

  Mallory had to smile at that. “The house was all I wanted, and it’s got tons of equity. I don’t want another penny from him anyway.” She’d promised herself not to dwell on her skunk of an ex, so she segued to a new topic. “I’ll work up some guts and check that estimate when I get home. Maybe I can find enough money to get my house finished.”

  * * *

  The estimate hadn’t caused a coronary. Yes, it was high, but it was also pleasantly lower than she’d anticipated. She stared at the business card, dredging up the courage to call the number and commit. With a sigh, she dialed.

  “Ben Carpenter.”

  “Mr. Carpenter? It’s Mallory Hamilton.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hamilton. Glad to hear from you. I assume you received the estimate.”

  Although it was the second time he’d called her that, she didn’t correct him. After all, a simple name shouldn’t make her heart hurt. Even the kids at school still called her Mrs. Hamilton. Perhaps she would eventually go back to being Mallory Oldham… but not yet. “Call me Mallory. Please.”

  “Fine. Mallory. So what do you think?”

  “I think my house is a flippin’ mess.”

  He chuckled. “A flippin’ mess, yes. But a fixable flippin’ mess.”

  Just what she wanted to hear. “How soon can you start?”

  “I’ve got a couple of other projects right now…”

  Damn. “I was hoping you could get started right away. I’m sick of this place looking like… like… this.”

  Silence reigned for a few long moments. “If you don’t mind me being there in the evenings for the first two weeks, I guess I could start work tomorrow. In a couple of weeks, I can give you more time during the day.”

  She felt like an ogre. What she was asking was akin to someone wanting her to teach night school after teaching all day. The guy probably had a family he cared about. A wife. A kid or two.

  She wouldn’t abuse what she’d judged as his good nature. “I shouldn’t have asked. That was very selfish of me.”

  “No, it’s okay. I can handle it.”

  “Won’t that make an awfully long day for you?”

  “Actually, yes. But I could really use the extra money.”

  The way he stressed the “really” made her overactive imagination run amuck. She speculated about his need for money, blaming anything from gambling to drug addiction. As if a guy that handsome and healthy could be using drugs.

  But she was going to be giving him access to her home. Shouldn’t she know more about him?

  No. Mallory trusted
Robert to send her a good contractor, not a psychopath.

  “What time tomorrow?” she asked.

  “What time do you eat supper? I don’t want to interrupt your routine.”

  “Trust me, you won’t be interrupting anything. After school, I’m grading papers, numbing my brain with reality TV, or snoring, and you won’t disturb any of those activities.”

  “Sounds… invigorating. Then maybe I could get there around five or five thirty?”

  “Sounds fine, Mr. Carpenter.”

  “If I’m going to call you Mallory, the least you can do is return the favor.”

  “You want me to call you Mallory?” At least her rather offbeat sense of humor was coming back. Maybe one day she’d be the old Mallory again. Maybe one day she could put everything behind her and move on.

  Maybe one day she’d be whole again.

  “I’d rather you call me Ben. I’d hate to be known as Mallory Jr.”

  She loved his feisty retort. “Fine. Ben.”

  “See you tomorrow, Mallory.”

  “See you tomorrow, Ben.”

  No sooner had she ended the call when her cell vibrated again. Juliana’s picture stared back from the phone.

  “Hey, Jules. What’s up?”

  “The mixer. This Saturday. You and me, babe.”

  Mallory groaned. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that.”

  “Stop being a stick-in-the-mud. I don’t want you to find a happily ever after. I don’t even want you to find a happy-for-tonight. I just want you to get your ass out of the house.”

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll try. But I’m not promising to stay long. And I’m not setting up any dates with any guys.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Jules…”

  Mallory could almost see Jules holding up a hand in surrender. “Okay. You win. How about we go out for a bite Saturday evening and then go together?”

  A snort slipped out. “Like I don’t know what you’re up to. If I let you drive, then I’ll be at your mercy on when I can leave.”

  “Saw right through my scheme, did ya?”

  “How about we meet at the restaurant instead?”

  “A solid plan. Oh, hey… wear the new makeup. It’s supersexy.”

  Mallory had gone for a makeover at an expensive boutique. She didn’t bother wearing the good stuff for school, not caring if her complexion was wan or her eyelashes were short and sparse. What did her students care? She ran her fingers through her short, gelled hair, thinking for the first time in a long time about how much fun it might be to put on the Ritz and dance the night away.

  Maybe Juliana was right: she should get back into the swing of things.

  “And dress nice—something like you’d wear to parent-teacher conferences.”

  “Damn. You mean I can’t wear my French maid outfit with the fishnet thigh-highs and black f-me stilettos?”

  “Ooh la la. I say go for it. Might get you a few phone numbers.”

  Mallory snorted again. “Not if I don’t stuff my bra.” None of her clothes fit right anymore, and if she lost any more weight, she’d have to either take all her waistbands in or go shopping. She hated shopping. That part of her femininity had never kicked in.

  “You look fine, Mal.”

  “I look bald and skinny, Jules.”

  “Then go ahead and stuff your bra.”

  She shook her head, even if Juliana couldn’t see her. “Not quite there yet.”

  Chapter Three

  Mallory had just put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Ben Carpenter was here for his first day of trying to save her house.

  She opened the door and managed a smile despite her exhaustion. “Hi, Ben.”

  “Hey.” He stepped inside, setting a gray toolbox just inside the open foyer closet. “Did you have a good day at school?”

  The question seemed so ordinary for him. Jay had seldom asked about her day. Then again, he’d never seemed very interested in her job. Hearing about the inner workings of a high school was probably boring as hell to most people.

  There she went again, making excuses for her ex-husband’s perpetual cold shoulder. Would she ever be able to break the habit? Would she ever learn to expect more from a man than taking her and her feelings for granted?

  “My day was fine. Thanks for asking. Have you decided where you’re gonna start on this disaster?”

  “I’m not starting tonight.” The grin he gave her was impish, so in contrast to the hard, masculine lines of his face.

  Ben wasn’t classic “handsome.” No patrician nose. No prominent jaw. No fierce brows. But his brown eyes sparkled with life, and she loved the shadow of tawny stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was lean, but his arms were muscular enough to keep her attention. His backside was sublime in those weathered jeans.

  Since he didn’t react to her obvious gawking, he probably knew he was appealing to women and was accustomed to their stares. Besides, she was perfectly safe looking. She wasn’t on the market despite Juliana’s interference. Her dating life had died last winter, and she was content to let it rest in peace. She’d even be glad to erect a tombstone in its honor.

  No man would want to haul around the baggage that now accompanied Mallory Hamilton, nor would she ever ask one to. Besides, she was fine alone. Just fine.

  “What do you mean you’re not starting now? I thought you said you’d start the renovations tonight,” she said.

  “I did.” A crooked smile crossed his lips. The guy clearly loved to tease.

  “Now you’re just confusing me.”

  “Didn’t mean to. I’m here to start, but you have something to do first.”

  Mallory chuckled. “I can pretty much guarantee you that anything I do you’ll have to redo.”

  “Not this task. You’ll be great doing this.”

  It had been so long since she’d played flirty little word games with a man. Ben’s bantering was so natural, she couldn’t help but smile. “Then what task do I have to do?”

  “Every woman’s favorite, the one that gives them the most pleasure.” He winked at her.

  Heat spread over her face, and she opened and closed her mouth, unsure of whether she should say anything.

  He laughed at her embarrassment. “Shopping, Mallory. You need to go shopping with me.”

  “Very funny, Ben.”

  “I thought so.” He opened the door and gave her a half bow. “After you.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until they walked into Home Depot that Ben realized what he’d been doing with Mallory.

  For God’s sake, he’d flirted with her.

  He wanted to blame her. After all, she’d somehow broken through the shell of ice he’d wrapped around himself where women were concerned. He’d teased Mallory as though they were on a first date.

  The blush had burned bright on her cheeks when he’d joked with her, and it was a good sign that he hadn’t offended. He reminded himself he was her employee, not her date.

  So why was it so easy to see himself in that role?

  When she reached for a cart, Ben shook his head. They’d need a four-wheeler and at least three trips to his truck for all the stuff he’d be buying to start on her house. He hated shopping with a passion, even at a hardware store. By taking her to pick out what she wanted—the colors, the fixtures—he could get almost everything done in one fell swoop and only have to pop back a few times for stuff he hadn’t anticipated.

  The first four-wheeler he grabbed had three wheels working and one that didn’t even touch the floor. He pulled another out of the queue and pushed it up the first aisle as Mallory walked at his side.

  “Do you have a list?” she asked.

  “In my head.”

  “Then we’re in trouble. Whenever I go shopping with a list in my head, I forget what I need and come home with a bunch of stuff I hadn’t planned on buying.”

  He enjoyed how at ease she was with him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll
just bill you for all of it, needed or unneeded.” He stopped at the laminate selections. “Do you like the color you’ve got in the foyer now?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then why did you choose what’s there?”

  “Jay picked—why does it matter? It’s partly done. Can’t you just use the boxes that are left and save a little money? I mean… sure, I like other colors better, but…”

  “Box, not boxes. There’s only one, boss.” After a quick visual scan, Ben frowned. “They don’t stock that color anymore.” She needed to hear the whole truth. “The flooring you’ve got down now isn’t installed correctly, so I’ll have to pull it up. I might be able to save some boards, but not likely. Whoever hammered them in didn’t use a tapping block, so the tongues and grooves are ruined.”

  She heaved a weary sigh. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Clearly there was a story there. Although he was dying of curiosity to know if he’d assumed correctly—that she was recently divorced—he refused to ask, not wanting to press her. “Look, there isn’t even a full box left of the old stuff, and it’s crap anyway. You need something that will last, especially in a high-traffic place like a foyer.”

  “I sure wouldn’t call my foyer ‘high-traffic.’ The only people who come in through the front door are you and Girl Scouts selling cookies. After tonight, I figured you’d be coming in through the garage like my friends do.”

  He liked the sound of that—the notion that while he worked for her they would be friends. After he checked the stacks of laminate, he found the right brand: great quality and decent price. “Why don’t you look these over and pick a color you like?”

  “Oh, I know what I’d like. But you need to tell me what’s in play.”

  “Start here.” He touched the first of the laminate samples that he felt comfortable using. “Stop here.” He tapped one further down the display.

  Mallory perused each of the samples, running her fingers over the surfaces before coming back to the same walnut hue.

  Ben wouldn’t rush her. This project was rapidly taking on an importance to him. Mallory had been through a rough patch. He suspected she’d recently been through heartbreak and was trying to rebuild her life. If he could help her do that by working on her place, he’d be satisfied. Just as he wanted his town house to be “home” for Amber, he wanted to turn Mallory’s house into her “home” down to the last nail.