"How did you end up at our local disgrace?" she asked curiously.
"That falls under the heading of my thumbnail introduction, which I am going to give you. I don't want you to think I'm a pervert who goes around picking up women who have mishaps in their pickup trucks, okay?"
"Fair enough," she said, relenting long enough to smile up at him. He was incredibly sexy with those dark eyes of his and the long curly lashes that seemed to know the exact opportune moment to droop with a hint of innate sensuality.
He smiled at her, maintaining exactly the right degree of casualness. "I'm formerly of Hartford, Connecticut, but working in Willoree for the next year under contract as a freelance industrial engineer. I'm the one who is going to bring Wilpacko Industries into the modern age of package manufacturing." The words were spoken with disarming candor.
"I've heard about you," she said. "You're the savior of our only local industry, that intrepid provider of cartons for the voracious fast-food industry. Welcome to Willoree." She held out her hand. He clasped it in his larger one, and then, much to her surprise, he turned her hand over and inspected the palm.
"No calluses," he mused. "No roughness. I would have expected a handyman to show hands worse for wear."
There was a flirtatious flickering behind his eyes, and Sage caught it just in time. She snatched her hand away and stuffed it far down in her skirt pocket.
"I wear gloves when I'm working," she said, wishing her heart wouldn't beat so loudly. The man had a wildly sexual effect on her.
"I'll bring my car around," he said. "You can't walk in those boots."
"I don't—" she began, but he was already gone, loping away in a highly coordinated jog. The slate-blue turtleneck revealed sharply defined pectoral muscles and tightly corded biceps. There was no fat on him, no flab anywhere. He was sleek-muscled, like a racehorse.
Sage wondered briefly how old he was. In his late thirties, she'd guess. She watched until he disappeared behind the curtain of azalea bushes, fascinated at the workings of his compact buttock muscles beneath his trousers as he ran. Adam Hracek was certainly something to look at, all right. The local women would have a field day with him. And he with them, no doubt.
Well, if he wanted to take charge, she'd let him. Her minor crash made her suspect that the cold medication had robbed her of some of her faculties. And she had to get to Columbia somehow.
She opened the truck door and hauled her purse across the seat, checking to make sure the contract and check for Mrs. Purdy were there. Then she pulled out her cell phone and auto-dialed Irma, who answered on the first ring.
"Sage," Irma said, sounding distracted. "What's up?" Background noise nearly obscured her voice.
"I should be asking that," Sage said, rolling her eyes. "Is Joy screaming?" Sage was remarkably tuned to her daughter's voice.
"She's laughing. She and Poppy are playing hide-and-seek. He hid Watson in the potato bin." Watson, the one-eyed teddy bear, was four-year-old Joy's boon companion.
"I'm having problems with my truck," Sage said. "The new engineer at Wilpacko offered me a ride to Columbia to see Mrs. Purdy. I wanted to let you know in case he's an ax murderer."
"Sage? You sure you want to do that? I've heard he's real nice and all, but why don't you get your truck fixed and go tomorrow?" Irma sounded alarmed.
"I told Mrs. Purdy I'd be there today. Adam's okay. I was only kidding about the ax murderer part."
"That's nothing to joke about. Why, every day some woman gets kidnapped and has her ATM card stolen or worse. You can't be too careful." Irma raised her voice. "Joy, don't climb on that chair. Go in the kitchen and I'll peel you a banana."
"Irma–"
"I'd better go, Sage, before Joy runs amok, though maybe she already is. And you keep an eye on that engineer fellow. Don't let him lock you in the trunk and do not under any circumstances let him take any liberties whatsoever."
You'd think that Sage was a total nitwit from what Irma saw fit to warn her about. "I'll stuff my ATM card in my bra, Irma. Not a chance he's going to find it there. Give Joy a hug from me."
"Your bra? What was that? Sage?"
But by that time, Sage had already clicked off.
Thank goodness for Irma, Sage thought. She didn't know what she and the rest of the family would do without the little birdlike woman who had swooped into the house and made it a real home by taking major responsibility for the children. The family wouldn't have worked nearly as well without her strong guidance, not to mention her expert home cooking.
Sage dug a screwdriver out of her tool box and went to work prying at the heel of her boot until it fell loose from its cranny beneath the accelerator. She was slipping her feet into a pair of old loafers when a sparkling sapphire-blue Lamborghini hummed down the hill bearing Adam Hracek.
A Lamborghini? The town of Willoree had not seen a Lamborghini within its limits, ever. Adam reached over and swung open the door from inside. Because the car was so much lower than a pickup truck, she tumbled inelegantly into the seat. Adam, however, seemed not to notice her lack of grace.
"Everything on go?" asked Adam with a quizzical lift of his eyebrows.
"Go," she said, thinking that the idea was appealing. "Go ahead, I mean." Getting into a fancy car with a handsome man that she barely knew seemed exhilarating and exciting and just a little reckless.
She could have sworn that Adam shrugged while she wasn't looking in his direction. While she fastened the seat belt, he expertly backed the car and accelerated onto the road, clearly taking pleasure in the act of driving. She had the idea that Adam Hracek enjoyed life to its fullest no matter what he was doing, be it eating, sleeping, manufacturing cartons for things, or making love.
Making love? Where had that thought come from? She glanced surreptitiously at Adam as he turned onto the lake drive beneath long ropy shadows of the towering willow oaks bordering the street. He seemed totally impervious, so she faced front again. She felt a sense of disbelief that she was actually spinning along in a Lamborghini alongside a man that she'd only met twenty minutes ago.
Dry leaves, swirled up from the gutters by the car's passage, danced carefree little mazurkas in their wake. The car's engine made scarcely a noise, and the interior smelled interestingly of leather. Sage folded Adam's jacket carefully across her lap. The scent of him, musky and male and overlaid with a spicy fragrance like that of cinnamon mixed with cloves, wafted from the soft wool.
Adam Hracek seemed completely at home with the Lamborghini, shifting gears smoothly and handling the steering wheel with a routine competence that she found very attractive. On his left wrist he wore a watch that she could have sworn was a Piaget. At home with expensive sports cars and fine watches and genuine leather and elegantly tailored clothes, how was Adam Hracek going to make it through a whole year in Willoree—a lovely small town in the South Carolina Midlands, but certainly not known for its sophistication?
"Why Willoree?" she wondered out loud.
Adam didn't bat a single curly black eyelash as he said, "The job interests me."
"A freelance industrial engineer could work anywhere."
"Believe me, I have. Anywhere and everywhere. Chicago, Des Moines, St. Paul. New Orleans, and Manchester, England. Vancouver, New York and Portland. That's Portland, Maine. And Milan, Italy."
"You're a regular gypsy, aren't you?"
Unexpectedly, dark color suffused his cheeks. He kept his eyes on the road, but his lips tightened almost imperceptibly. Sage could have sworn that she had angered him, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out how or why.
"I've rolled along like a stone, gathering no moss and really not caring to," Adam said tersely. "I came to Willoree because I've never worked or lived in a small Southern town, and I like to keep trying new things."
"And Wilpacko Industries is a new thing?"
Adam steered the car onto the ramp to the interstate highway. "For me, yes. Packaging is my passion."
"Really." Sage tri
ed not to sound bored. Practically everyone in town worked at Wilpacko, or maybe a relative did.
"My specialty is biodegradable packaging," he said. "Packaging that goes away faster than what's in use now. Wilpacko's done a lot of work in the past to minimize their products' impact on the environment. They've hired me to take the plant to the next level." "Which would be?"
"Bioplastics."
"Easily degradable plastics?" She was guessing, but it was a stretch.
"Wilpacko Industries has a chance to grab a large share of the market. It's a billion-dollar-a-year business, by the way." He seemed more at ease now. "I met Ed Sheedy at a conference. He was interested in what I had to say."
Ed was the owner of Wilpacko, and he and his wife were friends of Sage. She knew that Ed was always looking for opportunities to bring more jobs to Willoree.
"And you said what to Ed?" Sage asked with more interest.
"That together we could boost Wilpacko to a new level."
There was something a bit too confident about Adam Hracek, thought Sage. He looked like the kind of man who had never failed at anything.
She glanced toward him, glad that he couldn't read her mind. She'd hoped that the current impersonal nature of their conversation would defuse her attraction for him. Not so. Adam had become so enthused over the subject of Wilpacko that he threw off sparks of dynamic energy, creating a field of electricity that surrounded him and threatened to encompass her as well. His face, bright with enthusiasm, was even more attractive than before; he looked strong and energetic and very, very appealing.
And yet, beneath all that galvanic intensity, a strain of something exotic infiltrated the dark moistness of his eyes and found expression in the grandeur of his nose and in those high, round cheekbones. Fascinated with the look of him, with his smooth dark skin and that gorgeous mustache, Sage let her gaze linger for a moment. Adam didn't seem to notice.
"I think I'm going to like living in Willoree," he said, switching topics. "As soon as I get out of the Willoree Hotel, that is."
"Where are you going to live, anyway?" She felt grateful for something to ask him about so that she wouldn't think about the way his hand looked resting on the gearshift knob, capable and strong and gracefully long-fingered.
And then he told her where he was going to live, and it was the last place she would have expected him to mention. The very last place. His casually uttered words hit her in the gut like a foot striking out with a hobnail boot, knocking her breath away and leaving her staring at him in frozen, openmouthed amazement.
"Kalmia Hill," Adam said with a look of pure satisfaction. "The moving van arrives tomorrow."
Chapter 2
"Kalmia Hill?" Sage repeated in stunned disbelief.
"Correct." Adam seemed not to notice that her face had paled in shock.
"But that's impossible!" she blurted. He turned toward her with a look that was first puzzled, then disturbed when he noticed her fists clenched so tightly in her lap.
"What's wrong?" he asked. The autumn landscape, all oranges and buffs and browns and reds, blurred behind him, defining his distinctive features. His tone of his voice told her that he was genuinely concerned.
"Everything," she said painfully. "That is, if it's true that you're moving into Kalmia Hill."
"I signed a year's lease with the owner—a Mrs. Purdy—last week. I'm lucky to have found Kalmia Hill. There aren't many houses for rent in Willoree, and the only other possibility was a dilapidated mobile home on an unpaved road five miles out of town."
Sage heaved a sigh. She unclenched her hands, staring for a moment at the half-moons her fingernails had imprinted in the flesh of her palms. She lifted one hand to her temple, massaging it and trying to think. Her sinuses began to throb.
"You might not believe this," she started, and then stopped. She felt helpless. She felt like bursting into tears. But none of that would do any good.
"Believe what?" he asked sharply, shooting her a brief but intent look as he slowed the car. A tractor-trailer rig passed. When its roar died in the distance, Adam said, "Are you all right?"
"I was," she said ruefully. "The only thing worse would be if you stuffed me in the trunk."
He glanced at her sideways. He must think she was out of her mind.
"That was a joke. I was warned not to let you do that, with you being a stranger and all."
"Sage, I assure you—"
"Adam, I'd better tell you something. We're on our way to Columbia, and in my purse I have a check and a contract of sale, which Mrs. Purdy promised she would sign when I get there. I thought I was buying Kalmia Hill. But, obviously, I'm not."
Adam reached across her, fumbling in the glove compartment. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he unfurled with one hand while keeping his eyes on the road.
"Read that," he said, dropping it in her lap.
"It's a lease agreement," she said, scanning it quickly. The document had been signed and dated a week previously by Adam Hracek and by Octavia Brinson Purdy. It had been witnessed by two people Sage didn't know, but it appeared to be perfectly legal.
Sage folded the paper slowly and raised her eyes to Adam's profile. He looked apologetic.
"She didn't mention anything about a buyer for the house," he explained, as much at a loss as she was. "One of the guys at the Wilpacko plant thought Mrs. Purdy might be willing to rent Kalmia Hill for a year, since she's been reluctant to sell it and the house has been vacant for some time. I jumped at the chance. I drove to Columbia, and we signed this agreement. Mrs. Purdy never mentioned the fact that she had a buyer for the property."
"Mrs. Purdy is very old," said Sage, trying to fit the story together. "Maybe she forgot. I approached her around the same time about buying Kalmia Hill. She hasn't wanted to sell it—the house has been in her family for generations—but she needed the money so that she could live in comfort in the retirement home. And she promised—" and here her voice almost broke, "—she promised she'd sell it to me. She wanted to see it restored, she said, and she liked what I proposed to do with it. If only I hadn't caught that miserable cold I would have signed the contract."
They rode in silence.
"Look," he said forcefully. "We can still go see Mrs. Purdy. Maybe there's a way to work this out."
Sage shook her head emphatically. "I don't want to do that. I can't imagine the two of us confronting poor, fragile Mrs. Purdy in the lobby of that retirement home and presenting her with the mistake she's made. She's over ninety years old. It would be... would be..."
"Unkind," supplied Adam with a keen look at her. Her sensitivity surprised him. Anyone else in her position would be fighting mad, out to draw blood, or at least righteously indignant. This thoughtful reaction of hers pleased him unaccountably and gained his respect.
Suddenly he whipped the car onto a ramp leading off the highway.
"Where are you going?" Sage asked uneasily. This road passed through the little town of Ashland, which consisted of a main drag and a few residential streets surrounded by miles of soybean fields that would be bare and bleak since their harvest.
Adam's voice was kind. "Let's find a place where we can have a drink and talk this over. We're going to have to figure out what to do about this mess the old girl got us into, aren't we?" His manner was frank and pleasant, smooth and unhurried, and it was nice to know that he cared.
Sage sighed. "Apparently." After a moment she said, "Can we stop for a cup of hot tea instead of a drink?" Quickly she explained about the cold capsule, and he agreed with her about the inadvisability of mixing alcohol with medication.
On Main Street there was a tearoom, its windows hung with lace curtains. It looked like the refined kind of place where Ashland women might go for lunch. At this hour it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so they were seated in a quiet booth in a room that was deserted except for themselves and a server. The server took their orders, Sage's for Earl Grey tea and Adam's for a cup of coffee, before disa
ppearing into the far regions of the kitchen.
"All right," Adam said, leaning forward over the spotless white tablecloth. "I've leased Kalmia Hill and am planning to move in tomorrow. You thought you'd bought it. Were you planning to move in, too?"
"No," she said, shaking her head and wondering what was the point of discussing it. She felt only sadness now that she had lost Kalmia Hill. She might as well explain, though. He'd been so accommodating, so helpful—much more so than she had a right to expect.
"I wanted to restore the house to its former beauty. I was going to rip out the partitions in the downstairs hall and let the hall run its full original length, which I think was about forty-two feet. I wanted to find an artisan who could embellish the original plasterwork. I planned to do a lot of other necessary electrical and plumbing work. Then I was going to sell the house."
"Sell it? You'd put all that work into that beautiful house and then sell it?" He stared as though she'd gone mad.
She shrugged. "I buy and upgrade real-estate properties. Then I resell them for more than I paid for them." Her head was throbbing, and she wished he'd wipe that look of incredulity off his face.
She kept talking. "What I usually do is find a house that's structurally sound but needs cosmetic repair. Handyman specials, they're called. My assistants help me with the heavy work. I can sometimes double or triple my money in a matter of months. The process is simple, really, once you understand the principles."
The waitress brought them their order. Sage swallowed a long draught of the aromatic Earl Grey; it felt good on her scratchy throat. Maybe she wasn't really over that cold after all.
"Handyman specials," he mused, staring at her with admiration. His eyes looked very dark and deep. "Sage McKenna, you're full of surprises."
Handyman Special Page 2