by Janice Lynn
Her gaze dropped to the notepad he’d pushed to the side when she’d come in with food. Still chuckling, he finished off his burger, wadded up the foil wrapper, and tossed it into the paper bag it had come out of.
“Those are my recommendations on what needs to be done and what I need to do to accomplish each task. I’m going to pick up tools, supplies, and so on. Strategizing a game plan, figuring out the variables, is the best way to get the job done right and meet your Christmas deadline.” Feet propped on a barstool rung, he leaned back a little to better look at her. “You want to see?”
Excitement lighting her eyes, she nodded. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Four
Sarah picked up the notepad and began flipping through the pages to see what Bodie had come up with. What she saw had her glancing at him in new appreciation. He’d done schematic drawings of the two bedrooms and their new adjoining baths, and had apparently measured every nook and cranny as all the data was there. On each page, he’d made lists of needed supplies.
The pages were quite impressive, as were his drawings. Some of his suggestions didn’t fit with her vision, though.
“I should have told you, but I mean to put claw-foot tubs into the baths.” She’d bought one at an estate sale and been over the moon when the previous owner had delivered. She was still searching to find another.
He shrugged. “Up to you, but you need at least one walk-in shower, too.”
“Why?”
His gaze dropped from hers to stare at the notepad, then he shrugged.
“Not everyone can climb in and out of a tub,” he said, as if it was obvious.
And it should have been—yet she hadn’t considered it, despite all the hours she’d put into dreaming up the bed and breakfast.
“You want to be able to accommodate disabled or elderly guests that might not be able to or want to step up into one.”
With growing respect, Sarah stared at him.
“I think you should put a walk-in, tiled shower in at least one of the baths. That way, you’re accessible and just making it easier on anyone with mobility problems whether from age, injury, or health concerns.”
What he said made sense, but she had that beautiful old cast-iron claw-foot tub and it fit with the vibe she wanted for the house.
“If you want to use the claw-foot tub, too, we could make it work.” He studied his drawing of the room. “But the room will be a little crowded.”
“I don’t want crowded or cluttered. That’s not the feel I want for Hamilton House.” But he made valid points. She would have to accept not having the claw-foot tubs in both of the downstairs rooms.
“Or we could just use a tub in the larger of the bathrooms.” Had he read her mind or what? “We’d still need to install a shower unit with the tub if it’s the only means of bathing for that room, because most people take showers, not baths.”
Sarah stared at him, feeling a little awed and a whole lot impressed. She felt foolish for not having thought of the things he was saying. She’d been trying so hard to make sure she covered all her bases and yet what he said was so simple, so sensible, so important for her to have available for her guests.
How could she have missed that? Why hadn’t any of the other dozen or so people who’d been in and out of the house made a similar suggestion? Especially the contractor who had framed the bathrooms.
“Okay.” She added at least one tiled shower to her mental list of necessities. She’d have to see cost and possible layouts before she made a final decision on whether both suites would have them. “What else?”
She listened carefully as he rattled off item after item. She couldn’t disagree with a single suggestion he made. Fortunately, most of his suggestions were small fixes.
“Everything you’ve said sounds great, but I’m not sure it’s all in my budget.” She sighed. “Looks like the plumbing issues are a must.”
He nodded.
“On the rest of the items, I’ll need to prioritize, run the numbers, and see what will have to wait until I get Hamilton House up and running.”
“I can do most of the labor by myself, Sarah. That should save you quite a bit, since you’d only have to pay for supplies.”
He sounded so sincere, as if paying him was no big thing, that a smile tugged at her lips. “Sounds great, but I have to be able to pay you, too, Bodie.”
His mouth opened and for a moment she thought he was going to say she didn’t have to pay him. The sentiment was so strong between them, she’d swear that was what had almost come out of his mouth. Which made zero sense. He was a complete stranger, even if sitting here with him at her kitchen island didn’t feel strange at all.
It felt… natural. As if she’d known him her whole life. Yet, he really was a stranger whom she knew very little about.
“I’m in no hurry to be paid. You can give me an IOU and pay me after Hamilton House starts showing a profit.”
Assuming it ever showed a profit.
She shook her head. “You have to eat and pay for a place to live while you’re in town. Besides, how can you trust that I’ll ever get around to paying you if you let me decide when I can spare it?”
“I won’t starve or have to sleep in my truck if you wait to pay me. I know you’ll pay me eventually. I trust you.”
Sarah’s insides warmed at his claim. Bodie trusted her. Which fit with her feeling that they’d known each other much longer than a day. He had no more reason to trust her than she did him. But she wouldn’t let him work without pay.
She would pay him. Once a week, as they’d agreed to the day before when she’d hired him.
If she reached the point where she couldn’t pay him, she wouldn’t let him work. She didn’t and wouldn’t take handouts.
Her father and aunt raised her to be a giver, not a taker.
As much as Bodie made her feel as if they’d known each other much longer than a day, they hadn’t. This was the beginning a business relationship, nothing more, and she’d do well to remember that.
A week had passed. A week in which Bodie worked at Hamilton House every day. She’d tried to get him to take the weekend off, but he’d refused, stating that he didn’t have anything else to do and wanted to get the job done. He showed up early in the morning and left late each evening.
Sarah had gotten used to coming home from work to find him busily working. She’d gone with him to pick out tile and supplies for the showers. She’d selected toilets, mirrors, light fixtures, and vanities that had an antique look to them to fit with the rest of the house. Bodie had gone behind her, picking up needed supplies to install her choices, and had made suggestions—good suggestions—when she’d asked his advice.
His knowledge and insight impressed her as much as his efficiency and how much he had already accomplished. He’d installed the plumbing and insulation for sound reduction and hung sheetrock in the two bathrooms. He’d finished painting the bedroom walls, and they’d done Aunt Jean’s bedroom’s trim together the night before. Sarah had painted the baseboard trim and Bodie had painted the ceiling’s crown-molding, the doors and their trim, and around the fireplace, taking great care to protect the tile and fixtures.
Sarah liked Bodie’s attention to detail. A lot.
Harry met her at the door each day, probably because she continued to bring food home each night, now always including something for the dog. Not the juicy cheeseburgers Lou had sent that first day, though. Her cholesterol levels would’ve put up a protest.
She’d started stopping by the grocery store and picking up items to cook for them. She told herself it was good practice, since she needed to come up with a few staple recipes to use when the bed and breakfast opened. Bodie was fun to cook for, and she enjoyed watching him eat and listening to him give “reviews” of her meals. Tonight, she planned to keep their meal simple because she had other things on h
er agenda.
“I should have known the minute Harry disappeared that you were here.” Bodie walked into the kitchen. He must have been crouched down on the floor or in some awkward position because he moved a little stiffly.
Sarah laughed, bending to talk to the dog at her feet who had totally won her heart this past week. She’d grown fond of Harry’s welcome home.
“Harry is a good boy,” she said, more to the dog than to Bodie.
Bodie shook his head. “Sweet-talking my dog.”
“’Cause he’s so sweet.” Sarah grinned, straightened, then washed her hands.
“What’s that?” He glanced toward the box she’d put on the countertop along with the grocery bags she’d carried in on her first trip inside the house.
“The On-The-Square Christmas Festival is in barely over two weeks,” she reminded him—not that he could have forgotten, with the way she constantly talked about the event. Well, when she wasn’t going on and on about Hamilton House and how excited she was at their progress.
He didn’t say a lot, unless it was about the house. Come to think of it, she didn’t give him many openings. He probably thought she never shut up.
“Despite starting earlier this year,” she continued, “we still don’t have enough ornaments to sell. I’m going to take a night off from working on the house to cut more plastic canvas pieces so we can move faster at tomorrow’s session. With this weekend being Thanksgiving, tomorrow’s our last official meeting. We need to get lots of ornaments made.”
He eyed the box. “How many more do you need?”
“As many as we can muster. We have volunteers working on other ornaments, but the Butterflies and I usually make the snowflakes.” She began unpacking the bagged items for the soup she was going to throw together before settling in to cut canvas. “You want to help?”
“Make ornaments?” His expression suggested she might have sniffed too many paint fumes the night before.
She hadn’t expected him to say yes, but him looking like she’d asked him to do something impossible was too funny to let go. “What? Don’t tell me you aren’t as handy with a pair of scissors as you are with a hammer.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You’ve never seen me use a hammer.”
“I’ve seen the changes taking place in my house, so you must be doing something right.”
Like how at times, he seemed to relax.
He still didn’t smile much, but he did smile. Mostly when talking to Harry, but she managed to get a smile out of him here and there.
Bodie smiling was a beautiful thing. He really should consider doing so more often.
“You’re quiet,” he pointed out a little later as he walked to the island sink and washed his hands.
“Just making dinner. I’m glad you don’t mind being my guinea pig on all these recipes.”
“Being fed home-cooked meals? I’ll risk being your guinea pig.” He turned, eyed her with blue eyes that saw straight into her. “You’re not usually quiet while you cook.”
Yep, he thought she talked too much.
“You’re not usually in here with me while I cook,” she countered, looking away from his intent gaze. He’d only been there a week, but having him in the house felt right. She hadn’t admitted it to herself, but from the point she’d moved out of her dad’s home and into Hamilton House, the house had felt lonely. Probably because Aunt Jean wasn’t there. Soon enough, she’d fill the walls with paying guests, with love and laughter.
“Maybe not, but I hear you singing.”
“You got something against Christmas carols?” Glancing Bodie’s way, she wrinkled her nose. She did sing while she cooked. While she did a lot of things.
He shook his head.
“Good. We need more carolers for Christmas Eve. I’ll add your name to my list.”
“That escalated fast. I’m not going Christmas caroling, Sarah. If all goes well, I won’t be in Pine Hill at that point.”
Because he’d have finished his work—which meant he would be gone. That shouldn’t bother her. She wanted him to finish… but having him around was nice.
She turned and gave him a smile. “Since you never said you weren’t helping with the ornaments, does that mean you’re going to keep me from being up all night doing them by myself?”
His expression was dubious. “You’d be better off putting a hammer in my hand rather than putting me to work crafting.”
“But you’re willing to learn?” she pushed, wanting him to help, although not sure if it was the prospect of his company or an extra set of hands that motivated her.
“I may or may not have failed art class in school.”
Smiling at his answer, she shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
His brow arched. “Why not?”
After first wiping her hands over her apron, she put them on her hips. “I’ve seen your drawings. Besides, you, Bodie Lewis, don’t do anything halfway. Which is why I’m counting on you to help me have lots of snowflake pieces cut for tomorrow’s session with the Butterflies.”
“I’m not really going to be wielding scissors?”
She shrugged. “If you’ll cut the canvas, that’ll be a huge help, but we could just as easily cut pieces and decorate them ourselves if you prefer. Either way will end up with the same result—our having more snowflakes to sell at our booth.”
Although he didn’t look like he wanted to say yes, he only hesitated another moment before he nodded. “If you need me to help cut snowflakes, I’ll cut snowflakes. I’m here to help you, Sarah.”
Her gaze met his and it struck her just how much Bodie had helped already.
It would be easy to get used to him being around, to leaning on him. She couldn’t let that happen. Not beyond what she’d hired him to do. Eventually, he’d leave. He was just passing through Pine Hill, not there to stay.
Still, he was there now, and she enjoyed his being there.
“You know, if I can’t rustle up more volunteers for our caroling, I’m going to remind you how much I need your help with that, too,” she teased, ignoring that he’d already said he wouldn’t be in town.
“You’d regret it. I’m worse at singing than I am at crafting,” he assured, not reminding her of his earlier comment. He leaned against the kitchen island and watched her wash off zucchini. He gestured to what she was doing. “Need me to help do that or chop something?”
“Will I regret it if I say yes?” she teased, tossing his words back at him.
His lips twitching, he shrugged. “One way to find out.”
Wielding the scissors for cutting plastic crafts felt strange—frivolous, even. But once he got the pattern in his head, Bodie cut canvas. It didn’t take a genius, just attention to detail. He could handle that. Attention to detail had been key to being good at his job for years.
And yet, crafting in a homey kitchen with the most upbeat woman he’d ever met wasn’t something he’d ever seen himself doing. This saying thank-you for his quilt had him slipping down a rabbit’s hole into so many things he’d never expected.
“How is it you can cut two to my one and I’ve done this dozens of times?” Sarah complained, eyeing his stack that towered above hers.
“Fast learner?”
“Apparently.” Sarah laughed. “I always have to stop between every few cuts to count to make sure I have the right number of block spaces.”
Bodie made one last snip, then stacked the perfectly shaped piece on top of the ones she’d cut, upping her stack. “Each side is the same, so it’s just a matter of getting a plan in your head, then executing it.”
“You’re definitely a planner.”
“If I didn’t know you were a planner for a living, I’d think you sounded disapproving,” he accused.
She shook her head. “Just trying to figure you out.”
&
nbsp; He paused in his cutting. “Why?”
“Do you always have to ask the reason for things?”
He shrugged. “Asking is the best way of learning the answer.”
“You have to have an answer for everything?” she pressed, though her tone was teasing.
“Not really.” In the military, he’d followed orders without questioning most of them. It was his job, and he’d done it whole-heartedly—right up to that last mission.
He should be overseas, not cutting out plastic snowflakes at a kitchen counter. He’d dealt in life and death for so long that sitting there felt foolish. He should be doing something more...something that mattered more.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, sad almost.
Closing his mind to the past, he looked at the woman across from him cutting plastic, letting her fill his mind and light up the threatening shadows. “For?”
“For whatever put that look on your face.”
He winced. “You didn’t do that.”
“I’m the only one here.”
As if he understood everything being said, Harry whimpered, and Sarah glanced over at where he lay in the floor, his head resting on his paws as he watched them work.
“Sorry, Harry,” she apologized. “No offense meant.” She met Bodie’s gaze. “Sometimes I wonder about that dog. He’s either quite brilliant or has really good timing.”
“Probably both.” He nodded toward the piece she was cutting. “Hate to tell you, but you just cut one square too many.”
Staring at the piece, she frowned.
“I’m supposed to be the one teaching you to do this.” She put down her scissors. “I need a break from cutting. Want to decorate?”
Sticking to cutting might be a better idea. But her smile slipping from her face did funny things to his insides and he went against his better judgment.
“Only if I get to use the glue gun.”
When her eyes met his, her smile was back and Bodie was glad he’d agreed.
“Typical man,” she accused, pulling glitter, sequins, yarn, and a bunch of other shiny things from a box, “wanting to use the tools.”