Until He Met Rachel

by Debra Salonen

  And Rufus horded secrets like a miser with gold bullion.

  Which, she suddenly realized, might make him the perfect landlord. Not only was he a client—an automatic no-no from a business point of view—but also, the man was as transparent as a rock. It might have been easier keeping the boundary between them unfettered before she saw him naked, but she’d simply have to find a way to put that image out of her mind.

  “You know what, Char? I think you might be right about renting office space from Rufus,” she said. “It’s not like I need a storefront for my operation. And he might need the money. He mentioned something about wanting all the profits to go to a cause near and dear to his heart. I didn’t ask what it was or why, but every little bit helps, right?”

  A part of her brain recognized the rationalizing for what it was, but another part knew that she came by her ability to compartmentalize honestly. Her mother had managed to carry on with her job at the bank, breaking the glass ceiling with steady perseverance and determination, even as her husband’s reputation and standing in the community crumbled.

  “So, let’s talk flowers,” she said. “I want to get the bouquets ordered before I head back up the hill to talk to Rufus. One major hurdle at a time.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TO BE ABSOLUTELY

  certain she didn’t arrive at Rufus’s too early the next day, Rachel decided to run her idea of renting office space from Rufus by her brother. She’d wound up spending several hours on the phone the day before with the florist and cake decorator. By the time she had the last detail ironed out, she hadn’t wanted to risk the tricky drive to Rufus’s at dusk.

  Besides, what if he was thinking again? Soaking in his big copper tub. Wet and gorgeous.

  “Hey, Rae,” Jack said, greeting her at the door of his recently remodeled home. “Come and see the new Roman shades I’m hanging. Not bad for an amateur carpenter, huh?”

  She wiped her feet carefully before following him inside. The place hardly resembled the photos she’d seen of it—bold paint choices, all new windows and a couple of walls had been removed to give it a more open feeling. Funny, she thought, how everyone still called it the Peterson place.

  “Nice. Very nice. When are you getting your tree?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Kat’s mega busy. How are the wedding plans coming along? Everything okay?”

  “Perfect. You’re going to love the cake.” She took a breath, strangely hesitant to share her plan with Jack. She didn’t know why. He certainly wasn’t as judgmental as Mom.

  “I’d like you to take a look at a rental agreement I put together. And my new business plan. If I’m going to be successful, Jack, I need space to create my designs and implement them.”

  Jack put down his bright yellow drill and pulled out a seat at the dining room table, motioning for her to sit, too. He read fast. “This looks great, Rachel. Rufus should jump at the chance to have an in-house Web designer. Who wouldn’t?”

  Rachel blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You don’t think six months is too ambitious, do you?”

  She’d specified that her use of the rental space was only temporary. Six months tops. If all went as hoped, by summer she’d be in a position to purchase a house with enough space for a home office. Jack hadn’t had any trouble finding an affordable home in Sentinel Pass, so she didn’t expect to, either.

  “Maybe. But you can always renegotiate. I see this as a win-win arrangement. But it’s only office space, right? You’re not moving in with the guy. Right?”

  “Of course, not,” she said, testily. “I barely know the man.” Even if I have seen him naked. “He’s my client, for heaven’s sake. And a little…um…strange.” Which, not surprisingly, she found a welcome change from her ex and his friends.

  “The only problem I can see is that the guy clearly values his privacy. Does he have any real incentive to rent space to you? Financially, I mean?”

  “He said he wants to sell as many Dreamhouses as possible as quickly as possible. I’m taking that to mean he needs money, but I can’t say for sure. He’s not exactly an open book.”

  He looked at her for a few seconds, his eyebrows scrunched together. “You’re not worried about being alone with him? I heard his place is pretty remote. What do you know about him?”

  “Not much more than what you can read on his home page when it goes live,” she said, honestly. “But Kat called him a gentle giant. And I know he’s good to his dogs.” And he kisses like making out was a competitive sport and he was a gold medalist.

  He didn’t look completely convinced. “Okay. Whatever you think. You’re going to do what you want, anyway, but I appreciate the token asking of my opinion.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  He laughed and returned his attention to his shades.

  “There’s one other favor I need from you, Jackson.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell Mom we’re not coming to Denver for Christmas.”

  His drill clattered to the table. “She doesn’t really expect us… Surely you can’t be serious… I’m getting married a few days after… Are you kidding?”

  She laughed and patted his arm. “Of course she expects us. She’s our mother. And I have to admit I feel a little guilty even suggesting we don’t go home, but there’s no way I can drive there and back with all the last-minute details and preparation.”

  “Well, I definitely can’t go,” Jack said, practically wringing his hands. “I promised the boys we’d open presents together on Christmas Eve. They’re both spending Christmas day with their dads. This is important to them. And Kat’s fried from classes and her practicum. I can’t ask her to drive to Denver on Christmas morning then turn around and drive back to get married.”

  “That’s what I figured. So…we have to make Mom come here. But where will she stay?”

  Jack thought a moment. “Do you think she’d be mortally offended if I offered to find her a hotel room? She could stay here but she’d probably spend the whole time complaining about the smell of new paint.”

  “And aren’t you and Kat and the boys planning to move in as soon as you get back from your honeymoon?” Jack and Kat were taking Jordie and Tag with them to Southern California for a week, then William, a family friend, would fly the boys home while Kat and Jack went on to Hawaii alone. Her sons would spend that week with each respective father.

  He nodded. “Well…yes. But…”

  “No buts. This is your home, Jack. Or will be very soon. Mom will simply have to roll with this, right?”

  His expression said it all. Mom was no fan of change. Giving up her traditional Christmas celebration might come at a high price for all of them.

  She gave her brother a quick hug and left. The more she thought about the upcoming holiday, the more she hoped Rufus would go for her plan. His remote, hilltop workshop was starting to look like a sanctuary.

  Except for the drive, she thought half an hour later.

  She flexed her fingers, which were stiff from gripping the steering wheel over the final few miles of rough road. She pulled in to the parking area that Rufus preferred she use then turned off the key and checked her watch. Eleven. Nice and late. Just the way Rufus liked. Hopefully, he’d notice and appreciate her effort to bend to his schedule.

  The lack of energetic dogs racing out to greet her told her their master was already at the workshop. The air was brisk but not the deep cold they’d experienced for a few days. The Black Hills weather was nothing if not unpredictable.

  “Hey,” Rufus said, meeting her at the door.

  “Hi. How’s it going?” she asked, a bit breathless from her walk…and anticipation of their meeting.

  He stepped aside to let her in. “Fine.”

  “Good.” She stomped off what little snow was stuck to her boots. Stalling. An awkward silence ballooned between them, until Rachel blurted, “Rufus, I need an office, and I want to rent the second floor of your workshop. Here’s my pro
position.”

  While he helped her out of her jacket, she unzipped her briefcase and pulled out the sheet of paper she’d shown Jack. He read it through then looked at her targeted space. “How much?”

  She blinked. That was so not the answer she’d been expecting. “Um. Well, I put together a business plan, too. I need to turn a profit, and that means keeping my overhead low while I’m getting started. Of course, I don’t expect you to open up your space to me for free.” She swallowed. “Four hundred dollars a month?”

  “You’re going to want a telephone, aren’t you? And Internet hookup.”

  She gulped. “Yes. Char said that wouldn’t be a problem, but I’d be happy to check on what satellite service might involve. I could pay that separately.”

  His brow was crinkled and his lips were smushed together in a tight line. “I looked into it a while back. Thought I might be able to learn HTML or whatever it’s called on my own.”

  “And you decided…?”

  “I’d be better off trying to learn Sanskrit.” He shook his head. “I’ve been mulling over what you said and if these things start selling, I’m definitely going to need someone to keep track of sales and ship them off. I can’t do that and spend fifteen hours a day building Dreamhouses. It’s not humanly possible.”

  She wondered if the last was a reference to her claim he was part yeti. “I agree. And I’m perfectly happy getting the sales-and-distribution end of this business up and running and help train someone to take over.” That brought another frown. She understood how a self-designated hermit might not welcome the concept of employees, but if his sales did as well as she expected, he would need help. At some point. For now, she needed him to need her.

  She pointed to the open area above his workshop. “There’s plenty of room for my office and a distribution center,” she told him, clearly seeing the configuration. “My desk and filing cabinets would fit nicely in the far corner by the window—better ventilation and out of your way. Your printer is excellent and your computer can easily handle orders. So, we leave your existing desk where it is and move the U-shape table you have downstairs to handle packing and shipping.”

  He stared at where she was pointing, but she was certain the image didn’t jump out at him as it did to her.

  “I know it sounds like a big change, but I promise you everything will meld together nicely. And, this way, you’ll have more control than if you hired a company off-site to process your orders.”

  She refrained from getting into the whole PayPal and online credit card sale aspect. She couldn’t picture him handling this side of the business himself. Like the man said, there was only so much a body could humanly do.

  “How ’bout we make this a trade? As long as I’m handling the accounting, sales and distribution aspect, my hours will be applied to my rent? When you’re ready to hire someone else to do that or I need more time to devote to my business, we reassess where we’re at—rent-wise.”

  Rufus’s stomach cramped at the thought of bringing in another person to work in his previously private, sacrosanct space. What she was proposing was by far the lesser of several evils. He was comfortable with her…well, as much as he could be given the fact he desired her.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Really? Just like that? Don’t you want to haggle about the price or my hourly rate? Nothing?”

  He shook his head. He’d been up much of the night wondering if it was too late to back out of his commitment to Stephen’s House. He couldn’t. He knew that. The charity was counting on him, as they had from the beginning. As they had every right to since the idea of Stephen’s House was his.

  “No.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. A second later, she crossed her arms and said, “That was too easy. You’re a recluse. You don’t divvy up your personal space without a fight. What gives? Come on. Tell me.”

  Could he? His mind balked, but a part of him knew this time was coming. Maybe from the moment they kissed. She’d gotten under his skin and broken through the invisible parameter he’d worked so hard to keep in place. The tricky part was explaining his involvement in the charity without sounding like he was bragging. That was definitely not the case.

  “All the money I make is going to a charity I helped start.” At the time, he’d been rolling in dough. He’d made his initial donation using his professional name and had called in as many favors as possible from people in the business to set up significant seed money.

  “What kind of charity?”

  “It’s called Stephen’s House. It’s in Mitchell. A couple of hundred miles east of here. The board of directors has raised several million dollars to build a guest residence for families of patients who are hospitalized for long periods of time. Comas. Accidents. Chronic illnesses. That sort of thing.”

  After Rufus’s initial fund-raising effort, the dedicated volunteers and citizens of Mitchell continued to drive the project with unflagging support. The same generosity of spirit they’d shown when his brother was hospitalized.

  “Wow. That’s wonderful.” She hesitated a moment then asked, “Do you mind telling me why you’re involved? It’s none of my business. I just—”

  “My mother had to drive seventy miles every day to stay with my brother, Stephen, during the four months he was in a coma.” Had there been a place like Stephen’s House for Mom and Dad to stay in during that time, things might have turned out differently. Stephen would still be gone, but his parents might have pulled together throughout the tragedy, instead of pulling apart. Rufus might not have carried the deep emotional scars that changed his life forever.

  She cleared the distance between them and placed a hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been. Did he pull through?”

  “No.” He didn’t want to talk about Stephen. That was too personal. So, he told her about the charity. His small balm to ease his guilt. “We’re only a few months away from opening. It’s a twenty-room house with a kitchen and a yard for younger siblings. But without money, there won’t be any beds, TVs, chairs, tables…”

  She nodded. “I get the picture. You need to keep your overhead low and your profits high. We can do this.”

  She made it sound easy.

  “My moving in will work to your advantage. Think how timely it will be when you finish a new piece,” she told him, her enthusiasm unwavering despite his silence. “I can upload the photo almost instantaneously.”

  “If my Dreamhouses sell.” It was tempting to be swept up in her enthusiasm and optimism, but he knew better than anyone that mere wishing didn’t make something come true.

  She brushed aside his doubt. “They will. In fact, let me get settled a bit then we’ll run through the finalized version of the prototype we discussed. Once I have your approval, I’ll clean up all the code and make the site go live when I get into town. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  Go live. The irony didn’t escape him.

  He started toward the storage area. “I’ll move the table upstairs for you.”

  She let out a little peep. “Just like that. That was easy. Is there a hitch?”

  Yes. He’d been trying to think of a way—short of flat-out telling her—to keep her from stopping by his house every morning. “There’s a small refrigerator in the closet. I haven’t used it in a long time, but I think it works.” It had chilled many a bottle of Dom Pérignon when it was in his dressing room. “You can bring a microwave or hot plate if you want.”

  She tilted her chin in a way he was beginning to know meant she got his point. “You don’t want me up at the house anymore.”

  Smart and sexy. After all, she was the one who called what happened between them a Titanic disaster. The less contact they had together outside of work the better. “I’ll be working most of the time,” he said. A token excuse but one that sounded better than “I can’t walk into my bedroom now without picturing you there.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Me, too.”

>   There was more to say but he didn’t have the heart for it. He’d received a letter from an attorney representing a collective of investors like him who had lost mega bundles. He supported the group’s effort but the initial retainer wasn’t cheap and the chance of recouping anything substantial would be years and years down the road. All that was left to him at this point was this slim hope that Rachel knew what she was talking about, that her gift for design and knowledge of that vast, unnerving universe called the Internet would serve him well enough to keep his dream alive.

  Maybe he’d build himself a Dreamhouse and write “Furnish Stephen’s House” on a piece of paper to tuck into the hidey-hole. It might not be his only dream, but it was the most important. And the least selfish.

  “Stephen would have been twice the man you are, Rob. Stevie was thoughtful and giving every day of his life. All you’ve ever done is take, son,” his father had said the night Stephen died.

  Rufus proceeded to spend his twenties making his father’s condemnation a self-fulfilling prophecy. His thirties bargaining with God for a second chance. And, given that second chance, he’d made a vow to do something good. He was finally within a few feet of the peace-of-mind finish line. He wouldn’t give in to any personal distractions no matter how alive they—she—made him feel. To fall for Rachel would prove his father was right.

  CHAPTER NINE

  RACHEL LIKED TO THINK

  she wasn’t the kind of person who went around saying “I told you so,” but she was feeling pretty smug. Today was Friday. They’d agreed on the rough design and format for Rufus’s site on Wednesday and she made it live the following morning. In less than twenty-four hours, they’d recorded twelve purchases. And considering the price she and Rufus had agreed on, this was pretty significant, she thought, barely able to keep from dancing as she watched raptly as the printer spit out the list of mailing labels.