One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “Pay the price,” Ken said without hesitation. “After experiencing firsthand what a tough negotiator you are...” He allowed his words to hang in the air for one pointed moment before continuing. “You have my complete confidence that you’ll get the best possible deals to get the work done in a timely manner.”

  Given what had transpired the day before, that was quite a statement. It also signaled the catch she’d anticipated. He was willing to forget all about her unprofessionalism. In fact, he intended to turn her questionable tactics to his advantage. Beth sighed. She should have known he would win this round, too.

  “How hard can it be?” Ken prodded. “A little paint. A couple of beds to start with. The rest can come later.”

  The comment showed exactly how little he knew about what the project entailed. Maybe when he saw the price tag for doing it her way, he’d back down and let her off the hook. She could always dream.

  Once more, she slid her gaze to Roger’s. Damn him, he was watching the two of them with the evident fascination of some paternalistic matchmaker. She could just imagine what he’d have to say about the entire exchange at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting. Roger did love to gossip. With a football hero involved, the story would be too juicy for him to pass up.

  “Do we have a deal, Ms. Callahan?” Ken asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” she muttered under her breath.

  He grinned. “Was that a yes?”

  She pulled out her leatherbound notebook and jotted a note on it for the following morning. Then she managed her coolest, most professional smile. “I’ll have your estimates for you in the morning. About ten, if that’s okay?”

  “I’ll have a pot of coffee waiting in my suite at the inn.”

  Beth hesitated. She hadn’t counted on a meeting quite that private. She’d been picturing someplace nice and public. Maybe the steps of the town hall. Or the inn’s small dining room, at least.

  “Is there a problem?” he inquired, that challenging glint back in his eyes.

  “No problem at all,” she lied blithely. The only problem would be keeping her unexpectedly rampant hormones in check and she hardly intended to share that dilemma with a man who probably took such reactions for granted.

  * * *

  Back at home, Beth shed her fancy boots and traded her carefully selected, oh-so-professional suit for sweatpants and a stretched out, faded T-shirt from a long-ago visit to Disneyland. She made herself a cup of orange spice tea and settled behind her desk, which she’d placed so she could look out the bay window in her living room.

  This house was about a fourth of the size of the Grady place—correction, the Hutchinson place—but it suited her well enough. She’d chosen it for the bright, cheerful rooms and the view from this one window. She could see the Green mountains in the distance and the birds up close. She’d hung several bird feeders from the bare branches of the trees and scattered seeds across the snow for the birds each morning, which assured plenty of activity. In the spring there were bluebirds and blue jays, robins and woodpeckers. There were fewer birds now, but they were no less fascinating to watch. Every now and then a couple of ducks wandered up from the iced-over pond to get their share of the bounty. She’d even spotted a white-tailed deer early one morning at the edge of the woods. She’d remained perfectly still for several minutes, awestruck, then sighed as the deer had moved back into cover.

  In the spring, which seemed to be later and later in coming, the snow gave way to a profusion of daffodils and tulips. She’d planted more bulbs just last month.

  She took a sip of her tea and watched the birds until the morning’s disconcerting encounter with Ken Hutchinson began to fade into perspective. This was a job, she reminded herself. And doing it well would simply add to her already impressive credentials. Besides, she owed Chet Mathias for sending her a client. She didn’t want to offend a friend by botching the job.

  With that in mind, she decided to take Ken at his word and pull out all the stops. She’d been dreaming about the Grady place from the first time she had set eyes on it. She knew exactly how every room would look if she spared no expense, from the design of the wallpaper to the patterns for the upholstery. Like a child furnishing a beloved dollhouse, Beth had combed antique shops from New York to Maine locating pieces she would buy, if only the right client came along. She’d kept notes on everything from washstands to brass beds with snapshots attached.

  Assembling her price lists and samples took the rest of the day with time out only for a quick sandwich. She spent an hour calling the half dozen trades people she used regularly for everything from electrical wiring to plumbing and painting, checking on their availability. All were currently on other jobs, but every one of them promised to meet her at the Grady place at seven the next morning to give her price quotes for the needed work. Because she paid on time and well, she didn’t even have to mention the bonus she would be willing to pay to get them to squeeze this job into their schedules before the hectic rush of Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. She was a steady enough employer that they were willing to work miracles for her.

  At six-thirty she sat back in her chair with a small sigh of satisfaction. So, she thought, she was going to get to fix the Grady place up exactly as she wanted to.

  But she still wouldn’t get to live there.

  Unless, of course, the glint of interest she’d detected in Ken Hutchinson’s eyes on more than one occasion turned into something more.

  She dismissed the wildly improbable idea as soon as it arose. A man as attractive and eligible as he was would eventually want marriage and children. She had no intention of trying her luck again with either. She’d failed too miserably the first time around.

  After all the heartache, she had finally found a sort of contentment. She intended to hang on to it with everything in her. She was alone, but not lonely. At least, most of the time. And even if there were occasional bouts of middle-of-the-night blues, that was better than asking for the trouble a new relationship would bring.

  No, her life was fine just the way it was, she concluded decisively.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t help imagining a pair of laughing gray eyes mocking her firm resolution.

  Chapter 4

  The Berry Ridge Inn had been built in the late seventeen hundreds as a gentleman’s farm. The house itself sprawled this way and that, thanks to additions tacked on by the generations of Hopewells who had lived there. Increasing taxes and decreasing family size had forced the most recent generation to turn the house into a cozy inn, known for its blazing fireplaces, early American antiques and excellent gourmet cuisine. The rates were exorbitant, but the service was impeccable. And the view from every window was spectacular: snow-shrouded, pine-topped mountains and a glistening lake that was often dotted with ice skaters.

  Ken had taken a suite that included a sitting room, which he’d set up with the laptop computer, printer and facsimile machine that went everywhere with him. The hour or two he spent checking on his investments by modem was every bit as stimulating for his brain as his rigorous exercise regimen was for his body.

  He glanced around the room, his mouth curving into a rueful grin. All of the high-tech equipment looked totally incongruous amid the flowery fabric and the eighteenth-century furniture. Still, there was something almost comforting about sitting back in a wing chair in front of the fire with a glass of brandy at the end of the day, the tools of his trade nearby. He decided to mention to Beth that he would like the office in his new home to resemble the makeshift one he had created in the inn. Otherwise she would probably set him up in some chillingly sterile glass-and-chrome decor suitable for the bachelor she apparently thought he was.

  The realization that she had him pegged as a jet-setting, single jock had come to him only last night. Though his single status was true enough, the rest was garbage. He hadn’t quite
decided yet whether to fill her in on the desire for seclusion that had brought him to Berry Ridge or to allow her to continue spicing up her apparently dull life with her wild imaginings.

  Beth Callahan puzzled him. Though she seemed to go out of her way to present herself as a staid New Englander, he’d seen intriguing flashes of temper, wit and vulnerability that belied the image. Maybe this morning’s meeting would give him some more insight into what made her tick. The challenge of unraveling the complex puzzle she represented lured him more successfully than provocative clothes or seductive perfume ever could have. It gave him something to look forward to over the coming months of self-imposed isolation, far from friends and family.

  She was due any minute with her first set of plans for fixing up the Grady house. He had given her a week to do something with the two bedrooms, hardly expecting her to agree to the impossibly tight timetable. He had done it just to test her, and, to his satisfaction, aside from an almost perfunctory objection, she had barely even blinked. She had just jotted something down in that damnable notebook of hers, topped him by saying she would have plans for the whole renovation ready by this morning, then marched briskly out of the bank to get busy.

  In most business associates, Ken would have considered such cooperation and equanimity to be worthy traits. In Beth Callahan, he found them disconcerting, two more pieces of the puzzle. He couldn’t help wondering how she had ended up in this small rural community. Was she seeking solace from the past, just as he was?

  “A fine woman,” Mr. Killington had said to him when she’d gone, his expression shrewd.

  “If you say so,” Ken had replied, wondering why such a fine, efficient businesswoman managed to get his juices going, when far sexier women had tried and failed in the weeks since the demise of his marriage...and before, for that matter.

  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Beth Callahan was totally oblivious to him as a living, breathing male. In true macho form, that made him want to do something—anything—to awaken her responses. Perversely, he wanted to see her unruffled, calm demeanor shattered by an explosive climax. His body stirred as he envisioned stripping away those deplorable, boring clothes of hers to discover the woman beneath. He didn’t doubt there was one, because he’d seen the unmistakable evidence of dark, smoldering passion in her eyes whenever he had challenged her in some way. Yes, indeed, Beth Callahan would definitely relieve any boredom that set in once he was settled in Berry Ridge.

  He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back with the Wall Street Journal. He’d barely scanned the front page when he heard the sharp tap on his door. Glancing at his watch and confirming it was precisely ten o’clock, he grinned. That was one of Beth Callahan’s traits he admired most. She might not like the situation he’d put her in, but she was obviously planning to bravely muster through.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened at once. Again, no hesitation. He smiled to himself. A fascinating, complex woman, no doubt about it.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hutchinson,” she said briskly, her arms laden with samples, which she allowed to tumble onto the room’s sofa.

  “Ken,” he reminded her as he studied the way she looked in what she no doubt considered her less formal work attire: red wool slacks, a soft winter-white sweater, a navy blazer and a jaunty scarf knotted at her neck. Though the outfit was more intriguingly feminine than that unfortunate tweed he’d seen her in before, he still longed to see her in satin and lace with her hair tumbling free of that ridiculously prim knot she’d twisted it into.

  To his amusement she barely noticed what he’d said or the way he was studying her. Totally absorbed in her own agenda, she shed her coat and pulled her notebook from her crammed-full leather attaché case. Perching on the edge of the chair opposite him, she tapped a pen against some notation in her notebook.

  “Now, then, I have met with the trades people, gone over my figures, and I think we’ve come up with a reasonable plan, except for furniture. I wasn’t sure what you might already have.” She finally glanced up at him, her expression expectant.

  “I’m bringing nothing with me,” he said. “This is a fresh start.”

  She didn’t bat an eye. “I see. Did you have an amount in mind for the furnishings?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Could you be more specific? I don’t want to send you into bankruptcy.”

  “There’s not much chance of that,” he said dryly. “Unless you’re planning on solid gold fixtures and rare art for every room.”

  Serious green eyes blinked at him. “Mr. Hutchinson, perhaps it would help if I knew a little more about you.”

  He grinned. “You want to know just how rich I am?”

  “I want to know something about you,” she corrected. “Your likes. Your dislikes. That sort of thing. I gathered yesterday that you play football.”

  Ken’s ego had an instant’s pause at the realization that she didn’t have a clue who he was. Then he decided that was all to the good. She wouldn’t waste much time pitying him. And she obviously wouldn’t be catering to him because of his celebrity. A rare sense of calm stole over him at the realization that with Beth Callahan, he could be whatever he chose.

  “I used to play football,” he corrected. “My career ended in August.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  With a sudden lack of bitterness that surprised him, he shrugged. “It happens. I had a great career. How many people can reach the top of their profession by the time they’re thirty-two? What about you?”

  She looked disconcerted by the question. “I love what I do.”

  “It shows.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your face glows whenever you talk about your houses.”

  “You’ll probably think I’m nuts, but they’re a lot like people,” she confided with an oddly wistful expression. “They each have a distinct personality.”

  The admission didn’t surprise him, but it did make him wonder if she had more feeling for these projects of hers than she did for actual people and why that would be so.

  “And what about Mr. Callahan? Does he share your affection for real estate?”

  “There is no Mr. Callahan.”

  “Ah,” he said knowingly.

  She frowned at that. “I was married,” she said. “It didn’t work out.”

  She said it with a note that might have been defiance or raw pain. Maybe some combination of the two. At any rate, he flinched at the tone that conveyed far more than her actual words.

  “Sorry,” he said automatically, though some part of him appeared to be rejoicing at the news that Beth Callahan was available.

  “If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be doing this,” she said with a more cheerful air.

  “I guess the saying is true, then. Every cloud does have a silver lining.”

  She grinned suddenly. “You just have to be careful you don’t get soaked while you’re waiting for it.”

  Ken chuckled, as much at the unexpected wit as at her determined show of bravado. Obviously there were even more layers to Beth Callahan’s personality than he’d initially guessed. It was definitely a toss-up whether it would be more fun to peel them away or to strip her down to the fashion basics to see if she wore serviceable cotton or delicate, sexy lace.

  “Mr. Hutchinson? Ken?”

  Her voice finally cut through the pleasant fantasy he’d been having about her. He regarded her guiltily. “Sorry. I just remembered a call I should have made this morning,” he improvised.

  “Do you need to take care of it now? I can wait. I’d really like your full attention when we go over this.”

  He moved his chair a little closer. “Now is fine. And I can assure you that you have my undivided attention.”

  Apparently something in hi
s voice alerted her that his attention just might not be all business. She shot him a puzzled frown. He grinned and leaned back. “Bring on the samples.”

  Ken was prepared to be bored to tears, just as he had been when his ex-wife had laid out all those look-alike paint chips. Instead, though, he soon found himself caught up in Beth’s enthusiasm. He also began to appreciate the subtle differences in fabric texture and color, especially when he considered whether Beth Callahan’s skin would feel like the silk she was proposing to use for a fancy window treatment and whether the shade of material she’d chosen for his office furniture was any deeper or richer than the color of her hair.

  In fact, he was gazing intently at her hair when she cut into his thoughts again.

  “You’re not paying attention,” she accused.

  “Oh, but I am,” he disagreed, and rattled off the costs she’d quoted for various alternatives. “I like this shade of brown for your hair, but not for my office. Your hair catches the light. The fabric doesn’t. It’s dull and lifeless.”

  Her startled gaze shot to his. Her fingers lifted automatically to smooth a stray tendril into place. “My hair? What does my hair have to do with anything?”

  “Just a color comparison to prove I was paying attention.”

  She seemed more than ready to accept that innocuous explanation. “What about the gray then? It’s very businesslike, especially if we throw in some colorful accents.”

  He shook his head and gestured around them. “I like this.”

  She took in the flower-patterned upholstery of the sofa and the wing chair in its complimentary solid blue fabric. “This?” she repeated doubtfully. “Flowers? Wedgwood blue?”

  “It feels...comfortable. Homey. Don’t you think so?”

  Her expression brightened. “Yes, of course. It’s just that I thought for your office you’d want something more...”

  “Businesslike?” he offered.

  “Masculine,” she said.

  “This isn’t clothes. I don’t expect the room to make the man. I want a room that’s cheerful, that anyone, male or female, would feel comfortable in.”