by Gina Wilkins
A snort of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. “Damn,” he muttered, amused despite himself. “You sound like my mother.”
She smiled at him. “I should probably take that as a compliment. Your mother seems like a very capable and well-respected woman.”
“My mother is terrifying,” he said, surreptitiously rubbing his lower back beneath the table.
Annie glanced at her watch. “I don’t have to leave for another two hours or so. By that time, your medication should have worn off and you’ll be safe to drive as long as you’re feeling better. Why don’t you hang out here and take it easy until then?”
“I don’t want to be in your way,” he said stiffly.
“You won’t be. I was planning to use this afternoon to be totally lazy. It’s my first day off in a while, and I’m going to spend it finding out who the murderer is in this book. You can stretch out on the couch, rest your back and watch TV or read or something, if you like. That’s what you’d do if you were home, isn’t it? At least until you feel better. You don’t want to do anything to set off the spasms again.”
No, he didn’t want that. He was just now able to breathe deeply again, and the thought of climbing into his truck and driving over the bumpy gravel road that led to his secluded cottage wasn’t particularly appealing just then. If Annie’s manner had been at all patronizing or coddling, he’d have left in a minute. But her brusque, rather challenging attitude was exactly what he needed to put him at ease.
“So you like mysteries?” he asked, nodding toward the book she’d been reading when he’d joined her.
“I read everything. I’m sure we can find something for you.”
“Then I guess I’ll hang around for a while. But only until the medicine wears off.”
“Can you make it to the living room okay?”
“Of course I can make it.” To prove his point, he rose too quickly and had to grip the table to steady himself. “Eventually,” he added ruefully.
She’d made an instinctive move toward him when he faltered, but she settled back and spoke in a tone he suspected was deliberately casual. “Make yourself comfortable in there. You’ll find my books on the case on the back wall—I’m sure you know where everything is by now. I’ll just clear away these dishes and then I’ll join you. Can I bring you anything when I come? A cup of coffee, maybe?”
“Sounds good, but don’t go to any trouble.”
“I was going to make a pot for myself, anyway.” She sounded sincere, even though he suspected she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
He moved slowly into the other room, selected a mystery from her collection and settled carefully into the rocking chair he had given her. And then he just sat there, thinking about Annie and wondering how she’d managed to talk him into staying.
Maybe she didn’t feel particularly sorry for him, after all, he mused. Her matter-of-factness had been just what he had needed to get him past the embarrassment of hurting himself in her house. Maybe their arrangement didn’t have to end just yet, after all.
He was definitely surprised to feel himself smiling a little as he opened the book he’d selected. An hour earlier, he hadn’t expected to find anything to smile about this afternoon.
ANNIE KNEW that her behavior had effectively ruined the professional relationship she and Trent had developed during their six-week association. She could hardly go back to meekly calling him “Mr. McBride” now and pretending she saw him as just another client. But finding him on her floor earlier had changed everything. She’d realized then how vulnerable his pain made him—and how fragile his ego was since the accident. He’d been visibly surprised to hear her call him lucky, because he’d gotten out of the habit of thinking of himself that way.
She’d sensed that he’d dreaded her reaction to finding him incapacitated, and she had understood that pity was the last thing he wanted. He needed her to be blunt and matter-of-fact, and she had been—even to the point of rudeness. He had responded to that much more favorably than he would have to expressions of sympathy or concern. But she doubted that they would ever be able to return to the coolly polite distance they had maintained before.
She dawdled a while cleaning the kitchen, but could find nothing more to do. Tucking her novel under one arm, she carried a cup of coffee in each hand when she joined him in the living room. He was sitting in the rocker he’d made, and she could see now that the chair had been built to his personal specifications. The curved wooden seat and wide-slatted back that she found so comfortable provided firm support for his back. His elbows rested easily on the broad arms of the rocker as he gazed down at the paperback he’d chosen from her library.
He really was a talented woodworker, she thought, remembering the beautiful furniture and cabinetry in his house. She wondered if he had any plans to do it professionally. As long as he made some commonsense allowances for his bad back, there was no reason he shouldn’t earn a living doing something he excelled at, was there?
He looked up and she made herself speak casually. “I brought coffee.”
He reached out to accept his cup from her. “Thanks.”
“How’s your back?”
“Better.”
She settled on the couch with her coffee, laying her book beside her. “Is there anything I can get for you? I have some cookies in the pantry.”
“No, I’m fine.”
She picked up her book, then sat with it unopened in her lap, her gaze on Trent as he sipped his coffee and turned a page in the paperback. The afternoon sun slanted through the window behind him, turning his hair to gold. Such nice hair, she thought wistfully. She wondered if it felt as soft and springy as it looked.
As if he’d sensed her looking at him, he glanced up. “What?”
She shrugged, embarrassed at being caught staring and relieved he couldn’t read her mind. “Nothing. Sorry.”
He turned his attention back to the book, took another sip of coffee, then looked up at her again. “If you’re waiting for me to do something interesting, I’m afraid this is it.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. I keep staring, don’t I? I suppose it’s because I don’t have guests very often. Actually, you’re the first.”
He closed his book. He didn’t seem annoyed when he leaned back in the rocker and held the coffee cup loosely in front of him. “Your first guest, hmm? This probably isn’t the way you expected it to be.”
“Well, I’d prefer my guests to be here from choice rather than being physically incapable of leaving,” she admitted with a smile.
She’d half expected him to frown again at her mention of his earlier predicament, and it caught her a bit off guard when he chuckled, instead.
She didn’t know why, but he suddenly seemed to be in an almost mellow mood—mellow for Trent, anyway. Was it the medication? The food? The fact that he was feeling better? Whatever the reason, she decided to enjoy it while it lasted.
She smiled back at him. “All in all, I don’t think you’re a bad first guest. You stay out of my way, you don’t complain—much—and you like my cooking. Or at least you seemed to.”
He grimaced. “I’m really a lousy guest, aren’t I? I didn’t even tell you how good the meal was.”
The words pleased her more than they should have. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I already knew you were a good cook. You’ve been bringing me casseroles ever since I gave you this chair.”
“It was the least I could do. I really love the rocker.”
He lifted the coffee cup to his lips again. She couldn’t help following the movement with her eyes. He had a great mouth, she mused. And when it curved into one of his rare, sexy smiles…
She brought that line of thought to an abrupt end. “I noticed that you fixed the knob on the medicine cabinet.”
“Yeah. It just needed a new screw. The, uh, window’s still stuck, though.”
Apparently, he’d been working on the window when he’d thrown his back out. “Tha
t’s okay. Maybe you can get to it next time.”
He lowered the cup slowly. “Next time?”
Something in his tone puzzled her. “Um, yeah—next Tuesday? You think you’ll be feeling better by then?”
“Undoubtedly. I just wasn’t sure you…”
His words faded, leaving her bewildered. Had today’s mishap unnerved him so badly that he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue the repair work? She could certainly understand if he didn’t think he was physically able to continue, but she would be surprised if he admitted it. “You do want me to clean for you next week, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure. If you want to keep it going, of course.”
“Well, yes. I mean, if you do. If you’re ready to stop, that’s okay. You’ve done so much already and there’s not…”
“Actually, your place needs painting. Inside and out, really. It means you’ll have to buy paint, of course, but I can get you a discount at the hardware store. And having me do the painting will save you the cost of labor.”
“I’ve been thinking that a fresh coat of paint would brighten things up around here. I considered tackling the job, myself, but I’ve never painted before and I wasn’t sure how to start. I can afford the supplies now, but are you sure painting isn’t too…um…?”
“Yes?” His voice was suddenly very soft.
She swallowed, deciding not to mention her concern that painting the house would be too physically demanding for him. She assumed he knew what he could handle. “You’re sure it won’t be too expensive?” she amended quickly.
She could almost see him relax. “It shouldn’t be too bad. We can do a room at a time inside, though the outside will have to be done all at once.”
She nodded. “I’ll start picking colors.”
“You might want to try something different than the gray your great-uncle painted everywhere.”
She smiled wryly. “I’m not sure it was originally gray. I think it’s all just turned that color with the passage of time.”
“You could be right.”
“If you’re going to start that project here soon, I think I’ll do some spring-cleaning at your place, if that’s okay with you.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know—cleaning the pantry, new shelf paper. I could take down the curtains and clean them, and if I rent a carpet shampooer, I could do the rugs.”
“You’re sure that’s not too much for you to take on?” He asked the question with a perfectly straight face, though she knew he was mocking her a bit.
“I think I can handle it,” she answered firmly.
He shrugged. “Whatever the place needs.”
She finished her coffee, thinking that it was good to know their professional relationship was staying the same, even if she suspected that other things between them had changed.
Trent glanced at his watch. “I know you have other things to do today. I’m going home. And before you start nagging again, the food and coffee have cleared my head. I’m okay to drive.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Thanks again for the assistance and the meal. And, uh, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention what happened to anyone.”
“I won’t. But if it happens again, I hope you’ll tell your doctor.”
The quelling look he gave her made her bite her lip before she offered any further unsolicited advice.
She walked him to the door, watching for any sign that he shouldn’t be doing this. His posture was perhaps rather straighter than usual, his steps measured, but he appeared to be clearheaded and in control. There really seemed to be no reason to delay him any further.
“Satisfied?” he asked at the door, slanting her a look that let her know he’d been aware of her watching him.
She opened the door for him. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. But call me if you need anything, okay? You can count on me not to hover.”
“I’ll see you Tuesday,” he said, making it clear he didn’t expect to be calling her before then.
She closed the door behind him, then had to fight herself not to peek through the curtains to make sure he made it safely to his truck. He was perfectly capable, she assured herself, and even if he did have a little trouble, he wouldn’t want her watching him. Trent’s pride had taken enough of a beating in front of her today.
She wondered what it would do for his ego to learn that her feelings for him hadn’t changed in the least this afternoon. She still found him the most attractive, most intriguing man she had ever met. The type of man who could make a woman do something incredibly foolish—like fall head over heels for him—if she wasn’t very careful.
That frightening thought made her sink into the rocker. She had come to Honoria to be independent, she reminded herself. On her own. She’d broken an engagement to a man who had wanted to own her, manipulate her, control her—the way her father always had—and she didn’t trust her own judgment when it came to men just now.
She could still remember the ugly fight she’d had with her father when she’d announced to him on the afternoon of her birthday that she had broken off her engagement to Preston. She had known her father favored the engagement, but she hadn’t realized until then just how much he’d been counting on it. Preston, he had informed her, was the son he had always wanted. Whereas she—well, he’d made it pretty clear that the years she’d spent trying to please him, trying to be everything he wanted her to be, had been wasted. He had told her she was passably pretty, but that she would never be able to make it on her own. She was accustomed to money, to physical comfort, to having others take care of her. Just how did she plan to support herself with the frivolous music degree he had paid for?
“I’ll scrub floors, if I have to,” she had answered flatly. “At least I’ll be making my own choices. I’m tired of being your puppet. Nothing I’ve done has ever pleased you, and I’ll be damned if I spend the rest of my life with a man I don’t love just to give you the son you wish I had been!”
The rebellion had been building inside her for a long time—years, really. She’d tried more than once to break away, but had always allowed herself to be brought back around, either by her mother’s tears or her father’s threats. But this time she hadn’t let either of them change her mind.
She had needed to prove to herself that she could get by on her own. Which meant she didn’t need to be getting involved with anyone for a while yet—especially a difficult man like Trent McBride.
5
THAT AFTERNOON with Trent was the last day of leisure Annie had for the next two weeks. She threw herself into her work with a vengeance, as much to distract herself from her worries about the future as for the money she needed. She took on three new piano students and two more cleaning clients, working some days from seven in the morning until eight in the evening. She didn’t mind cleaning—except for a woman named April Penny who never acted quite satisfied with anything Annie did and who seemed annoyed that Annie wouldn’t discuss the personal business of her other clients. But it was the piano lessons she particularly enjoyed.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t make a living giving lessons to only four students.
There were times when she lay in bed, tired and aching, and asked why she was doing this. She didn’t have to work this hard, she reminded herself somberly. She had other options—but all of them involved admitting to herself, if not to her parents, that she couldn’t make it on her own. And that was something she had vowed never to do.
Though she had expected awkwardness from Trent the first time they saw each other after the episode at her house, there was no noticeable change. He’d greeted her politely, replied rather testily that he was fine when she asked about his back, then left for her house without further conversation. When she got home that evening, she found a note telling her that her living-room window had been fixed, and her kitchen chairs glued and stabilized. Whatever it had cost him physically, Trent must have been determined to prove himself capable of keeping up his
end of the bargain.
She could hardly fault him for that, since she knew just how it felt to need to prove something.
She was surprised to find Trent in his father’s office late Friday afternoon two weeks after he’d hurt himself at her house. She was running later than usual and everyone else was gone. Trent was the last person she’d expected to encounter there. “What are you doing?” she asked curiously, watching him stretch a measuring tape across the built-in credenza behind Caleb’s desk.
“Dad and Trevor are remodeling the offices. They want new carpet, furnishings and cabinetry. Trevor’s decided he wants me to do the cabinets.”
“Your brother obviously wanted the best.”
To her surprise, Trent looked a little flustered by her compliment. “I tried to convince him to hire a professional, but he seems to think no one else can give him what he wants. This is just a hobby for me, but Trevor acts like I’m some sort of expert.”
“Trevor has faith in you because he’s seen what you can do—as I have,” Annie said, touched by this glimpse of insecurity. “I’m sure the McBride Law Firm will have the most beautiful cabinets in town.”
He grunted, the way men do when they’re embarrassed. And he looked so cute with a slight flush on his cheeks that Annie had to suppress a totally inappropriate urge to pinch his cheek. She couldn’t help wondering what he would do if she gave in to the impish impulse.
“Don’t let me keep you from your work,” he muttered, pointedly writing numbers on a notepad he’d pulled from the back pocket of his jeans.
She reached for the overflowing wastebasket beneath Caleb’s desk. “I won’t.”
For the next forty-five minutes she went about her business without further conversation with Trent. Which didn’t mean, of course, that she was unaware of him. She knew when he completed the measurements in Caleb’s office and moved to Trevor’s. She heard him moving around in the bathrooms and the reception area, and she made sure to stay out of his way. They performed a rather elaborate dance to make sure they worked in separate rooms, but Annie knew she would never get anything accomplished if Trent was too close by.