Kitabı oku: «The Man for Maggie», sayfa 2

“Really?” Note to self. Find out what Aunt Margaret thinks of him now.

“Miss Meadowcroft loved Shakespeare,” Allison said. “Of course, you probably know that.”

“Yes. Hamlet was her favorite. Whenever she suspected I was up to something, she’d say ‘Maggie Meadowcroft, something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.’ It was years before I understood what that meant. I used to imagine Denmark filled with piles of rotting garbage. Kind of like New York one summer when the garbage collectors were on strike.”

Allison gave her an odd look. “I doubt that Nick ever tried to figure out Shakespeare. He spent more time in detention than in English class. Or any class, for that matter.”

That opinion seemed grossly unfair. Shakespeare wasn’t for everyone. Just like not everyone could renovate a house. “He must have been good at something.”

“Nick was very charming in those days and he didn’t take anything, or anyone, seriously. Not even himself. From what his sister tells me, that hasn’t changed.”

Everyone had strengths and positive traits. Maggie couldn’t tell if Allison had ignored her point, or if she just didn’t get it. She decided to try a different line of questioning. “You mentioned his family. What are they like?”

“You haven’t heard of the Durrance family?”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”

“I thought you used to spend summers up here with your aunt.”

“I did, but she wasn’t into…” Gossip. “Um, she made a point of not talking about her students.”

“That makes sense. Nick’s father was a judge and so was his grandfather. Everybody assumed Nick would go into law, too. He was at the top of the class when we were freshman, then overnight everything changed.”

“How strange. What do you think happened?”

Allison shrugged. “Well, his father died. It was totally unexpected, but still, most people get over things like that. But it seemed to turn Nick into a different person and he never got back to normal.”

Hello? A young, teenage boy lost his father and everyone expected him to just “get over it”? Maggie had only been a little older when her father died. She’d missed him like crazy, but on another level, he’d still been there with her and her mother. That was when she’d first become aware that she had what Aunt Margaret called “the gift.”

“Maybe he really missed his father,” she said.

“Anything’s possible, but according to Leslie, Judge Durrance was a workaholic. He devoted himself to his career and other than having high expectations of her and Nick, he pretty much ignored them.”

“Who’s Leslie?”

“Nick’s sister.”

“I see,” Maggie said, glancing at the timer. Only a few more minutes. “How does your skin feel?”

“Great. How long does this stay on?”

“Just another minute or two. So, is Leslie older or younger than Nick?”

“A year younger. She’s an attorney, just like everyone expected her to be. Probably her mother’s influence. Lydia Durrance—Nick’s mother—is an amazing woman. She has a beautiful home and she puts on the most incredible garden parties you’ve ever been to.”

Except that Maggie had never been to one. The Village was well-known for its parties, but they weren’t the garden variety.

Allison was still gushing. “On top of that, she does a lot for the community. There’s even a charity named after her.”

“Really? She sounds formidable.”

Allison laughed. “She is, in a way.”

And yet you’d give almost anything to be her, Maggie thought. Interesting.

The timer buzzed. “All right, then. Let’s take this off.” She gently washed the mask off Allison’s face and patted her skin dry. “What do you think?”

Allison ran both hands along the sides of her face. “Amazing. I don’t know how you do this with just the stuff in your kitchen.”

“Chemical-based products dry your skin and then you need more chemicals to make it moist again. Natural ingredients are all about pampering yourself.”

“When you first told me about this idea of yours, I didn’t think it would work. Now I can’t wait for your spa to open. Will you let me be the first customer?”

Maggie walked her neighbor to the front door. “Sure. Any chance you might tell your friends about it, too?”

Allison smiled one of her rare smiles. “You know, I’m tempted to keep you all to myself.”

Maggie laughed. “Then you’d better plan to give me a lot of business!”

Allison gave her an unexpected hug. “I’m glad you moved into your aunt’s house, Maggie. Miss Meadowcroft was a nice neighbor, but I think I’m really going to like having you here.”

Maggie hugged her back. “What a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

“I’d better get home. John will be wondering what’s happened to me and the kids are probably driving him crazy.”

“Tell him I said hello.” Maggie gently closed the door, then bolted up the stairs to find those yearbooks.

NICK CRACKED OPEN a beer and tossed a frozen dinner into the microwave. After punching a few numbers on the keypad, he leaned against the counter and took a swig from the bottle.

Images of Maggie Meadowcroft and the sound of her silky-smooth voice kept drifting through his mind. She was one intriguing woman. Damned attractive—for all the obvious reasons, of course—and he’d swear she didn’t have a pretentious bone in her body. In spite of the pearls.

He tried to picture his mother and sister at a place that served up skin-care products made of yogurt and mayonnaise.

Nope. Couldn’t do it.

Nothing but the best for the Durrance women, and everyone knew the best came with a hefty price tag and a designer label. Maggie, on the other hand, wanted to sink her inheritance into converting an old house into a day spa.

What had she called it? Inner Beauty?

Actually he kind of liked the sound of that. It suggested that she intended to work with what a person already had instead of trying to make them into something they weren’t. Admirable intentions but not much of a business plan. Especially not for this town, where people like his mother and sister were the rule rather than the exception.

The microwave pinged just as he finished his beer. He grabbed another from the fridge, fished around in the cutlery drawer for a fork and opened the microwave. Using a dish towel as a pot holder, he slid his dinner out and dumped it on the counter before the heat completely pierced the towel.

He shoved the newspaper and three days’ worth of mail to the side, pulled the cellophane cover off his dinner and inhaled. Man, he really needed to learn how to cook.

Maggie seemed pretty handy in the kitchen.

But thinking about Maggie was not good. Especially since it looked as though she was about to become a client.

He jabbed the remote, thinking the news or even a sitcom rerun would be preferable to thinking about one very sassy little makeover specialist. Five minutes and twenty channels later, he was still thinking about her. He’d also finished his dinner and was halfway through his second beer. Maybe he should take a look at the mail.

Phone bill.

Credit card application.

Something addressed to “Occupant.” He tossed that one straight into the trash.

An ivory vellum envelope. His mother’s trademark stationery, addressed in his sister’s handwriting. He stared at it, trying to figure out what Leslie might have sent him.

An invitation to someone’s birthday? No. His grandmother’s birthday was in the fall. So was Leslie’s. His mother had just had hers and if there’d been a celebration, he hadn’t been invited. He’d sent flowers, though, and a week later had received a stilted thank-you note—in an envelope exactly like this one.

So what could this be? He picked up the envelope, turned it over and studied the flap.

What the hell? Go for it.

It was an invitation to his sister’s wedding. He sure couldn’t have predicted that.

The inner envelope was addressed to “Nick and Escort.” Great. They expected him to subject someone to a Durrance family function. On the bright side, they didn’t want him to be in the wedding party. And if he worked at it, maybe he could come up with an excuse not to go at all.

He read the card. Leslie was to marry Gerald Bedford III. The third in a succession of stuffed shirts. Nick had only seen them together twice and that was all it had taken to know this was not a match made in heaven. It was, however, the blending of two prominent Collingwood Station families. The wedding would be some shindig and it was taking place three weeks from Saturday. For a moment he speculated on the need to hold a wedding on such short notice. Surely his sister wasn’t having a shotgun wedding.

Nah.

Leslie was too cautious and too smart to let anything like that happen.

He slid the invitation under a magnet on the fridge door and snagged another beer while he was there. That’s when he noticed the light flashing on the answering machine.

Three messages.

One from a subcontractor.

One from Leslie, sweetly asking if he’d received the invitation, saying how much she looked forward to having him there on her special day and apologizing for the short notice but it was the only time she and Gerald could clear their calendars and the only time the country club was available and blah, blah, blah.

Poor Leslie. She was too much like their mother for her own good, except she didn’t nag as much. Maybe if he’d been around more after their father died, she wouldn’t have been so influenced by the family matriarch.

The third message was from the matriarch herself, asking him to inform her, at his earliest convenience, as to the name of his date so she could finalize the seating plan and place cards.

Jeez, Mother. Would you like that in triplicate?

He punched the Delete button.

He stared a minute at the unopened beer in his hand and decided to put it back in the fridge. He’d promised Maggie he’d be there first thing in the morning and he wanted to have a clear head.

He unfolded the newspaper and flipped it open. What he needed was a distraction. A good story about an armed robbery. He turned the page. Murder and mayhem. Another page. The daily horoscope. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist scanning the list until he came to Capricorn.

Your life will take a surprising turn today. Whether it’s business or personal, roll with the punches and you’ll reap the rewards. And if you go the extra mile, there could even be a happily-ever-after in your future.

Roll with the punches? Reap the rewards? Who writes this stuff? Come to think of it, though, there had been a few surprises.

Maggie Meadowcroft.

Allison Peters Fontaine.

Leslie’s wedding.

As for rolling with the punches, he’d been doing that all his life. But happily-ever-after? Maggie had been the day’s only prospect. She was new in town so she wouldn’t have heard the mostly unfounded rumors about his bachelor lifestyle. But she also believed in the zodiac and in getting signs from dead people, so in spite of the crazy attraction he’d felt for her, Maggie Meadowcroft was not the woman for him.

So much for horoscopes.

MAGGIE SPRAWLED on the floor of her aunt’s guest room with four of Collingwood High’s yearbooks spread open in front of her. Nick’s freshman photograph had made her laugh. He had a bad haircut, a Star Wars T-shirt and a shaky smile. Over the next few years, an interesting transformation had taken place and by his senior year, Nick Durrance was no laughing matter.

He had probably been the high-school crush of every girl at Collingwood High. He would have been the boy they wanted to go to senior prom with and he definitely would have been the boy their fathers wanted them to stay away from.

Allison Fontaine had been Allison Peters in those days. The girl with movie-star hair and a perfect smile. The girl every other girl wanted to be. Their senior write-ups said that Allison’s favorite pastime was “taming Nick.” Nick’s was “breaking hearts.”

According to what Allison had said that afternoon, some things never changed. Except the part about her taming Nick, of course. The whole world could see that Allison and John were happily married and very much in love, with a gracious home and two adorable children. They had everything they wanted. And Maggie doubted that John had ever needed taming.

She leaned in for a closer look at Nick. Aunt Margaret’s pearls swung forward and she caught them, liking the feel of their smooth coolness between her fingers.

At some point, the sci-fi fan who’d played trombone in the school band had been replaced by a rebel without a cause. If what she’d seen today was anything to go by, the defiance in those dark blue eyes had intensified with time. What had happened during Nick’s high-school years? Had his father’s death been solely responsible for the transformation?

She looked at Allison’s picture again. Maggie hadn’t been cool enough or pretty enough to be a cheerleader or prom queen like Allison but that hadn’t stopped her from having a wild crush on the hottest guy in school. At the time she’d have given anything to have her heart broken by him. That hadn’t happened and if she was careful, it wouldn’t happen with Nick, either.

Her family had always told her that she had a gift for being able to see inside people and to bring out the best in them. Sometimes it was frightening. People kept some scary stuff hidden inside. Maybe… Now, there was an interesting thought… Maybe she could help Nick.

Hmm.

“What do you think, Aunt Margaret?”

She waited for an answer, but either her aunt had no comment or she was preoccupied with something else.

Maggie pondered the thought some more and before she knew it, all kinds of ideas were tumbling through her head. Helping Nick discover himself and bringing out all his positive traits was definitely something she could do. Once she got to know his family—and since this was such a small town, their paths were bound to cross—she’d have even more insight into what was keeping him from being happy.

Yes, her plan sounded better and better the more she thought about it.

Nick Durrance, tortured soul. In need of help.

Maggie Meadowcroft, makeover specialist. To the rescue.

Chapter Three

The next morning Maggie was up at dawn, trying to organize her ideas into a coherent state. Nick had said he’d be here “first thing” to work out an estimate for the renovations. They hadn’t had the best introduction yesterday. He’d made it clear that he thought she was a flake, and he certainly wasn’t the first. She knew her ideas seemed a little strange to some people, but she was more sensible than most gave her credit for being. Really, she was.

She usually didn’t care what people thought but she wanted to convince Nick that she knew what she was doing. She needed him to trust her because, whether he knew it or not, they had a lot in common. He didn’t conform to others’ expectations any better than she did.

He was a Capricorn. She was a Gemini.

Of course, he was a little more down-to-earth and practical. She could be impulsive, even a little rash at times.

While he was absolutely gorgeous, she wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who turned heads. Men like Nick were never interested in women like her. The boys in high school had preferred girls like Allison, and it was something they didn’t overcome with age. Of course, Nick didn’t need to be attracted to her for this makeover to work, but it would help if he liked her.

Or at least trusted her.

A little.

Since yesterday afternoon she’d spent way too much time thinking about him. Studying his yearbook pictures had taken her back to her own high-school days, pining over Jeremy What’s-his-name and settling for being Albert “Einstein” Fedoruk’s prom date. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with poor Albert? He was now a NASA scientist, which was way more amazing than anything anyone else from her graduating class had done. She had no idea what had become of Jeremy but she hoped he was happier than Nick.

Last night she’d fallen asleep with Nick Durrance on her mind and he’d still been there when she woke up this morning. In between, she’d had one of those dreams that was made up of a collage of bizarre events. Jeremy inviting her to the prom, Albert working on the renovations and a shadowy, ever-present Nick Durrance watching from the sidelines.

She wasn’t even going to try to analyze that. Instead she poured herself a second cup of peppermint tea and thought ahead to the renovations.

Once it was fixed up, this stately old home that had been in her family for three generations would give tons of credibility to her and her business. At least she hoped it would. She’d been in town almost a week and had the impression that the prim and proper people of Collingwood Station thought she was a little odd, even for a city girl. Of course, they didn’t know the half of it, so she still needed all the credibility she could get.

Someone knocked at the front door.

Nick!

She’d kept the door locked on purpose so he’d have to wait until she opened it for him. There’d be no surprises this morning. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

Okay, maybe just one surprise.

Nick stood on the front porch with a giant schoolboy grin on his face and a huge basket of fruit in his arms.

“Good morning,” she said. “I see you packed a lunch.”

His laugh sounded a little nervous. “I guess it’s a housewarming gift. I stopped at Donaldson’s Deli for coffee and this was sitting on the counter. I figured you can always eat what you don’t use for makeup, or whatever.”

A huge pineapple sat in the middle of the basket, surrounded by peaches, kiwis, strawberries, oranges, a mango, even a passion fruit, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a giant purple bow.

The tears that puddled on her lower eyelids made everything go blurry.

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday, after she’d become emotional about her aunt, he’d almost certainly left thinking she was a bit of a nutcase. This morning she’d been determined to show him that she could be a conventional businesswoman with a well-thought-out business plan, and here she was getting emotional over a basket of fruit.

He finally broke the awkward silence. “It’s all organic.”

“How did you know I use organic ingredients?”

“Just a hunch.”

She finally remembered her manners. “Please come in. And thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

He stepped inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday—white T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Today he also had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a tape measure hooked on his belt.

She took the basket from him. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen.” Then she walked down the hallway, thinking how good Nick was going to look in a tool belt, all rugged and work-manlike.

You’re crazy, she told herself. All construction workers wear tool belts and Nick will look just like any other man on a construction site.

Not.

That’s beside the point, she told herself. You have to be professional.

She took a deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind by picturing herself in a field of wildflowers.

It didn’t work.

Nick stood in the midst of all those flowers, still wearing the blue jeans and tool belt, but the T-shirt was gone. The contours of his bare chest and work-hardened biceps glistened with perspiration.

Her eyes popped open. No way, Maggie Meadowcroft. This has to stop. She absolutely could not let herself imagine Nick in that field, or anywhere else, wearing any less clothing.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She closed her eyes again. Okay, maybe one little peek.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Her eyes flew open.

Nick stood in the doorway, holding her sketches and looking a little puzzled about finding her standing in a trance in the middle of the kitchen.

A wave of heat flashed across her face. So much for being professional. “You weren’t interrupting anything,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“I see.”

He didn’t say that he wondered what she’d been thinking about. He didn’t have to.

“You have sketches. They’re very good,” he said. “Did you draw them?”

“The sketches? Oh, yes. I wanted to, you know, to get an idea of what should go where and how everything will look when it’s finished and…” For heaven’s sake, Maggie. Stop babbling.

If he thought she was out of her mind, he was too nice to let on. “These are very good drawings.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Maybe you should have been an architect.”

Maggie Meadowcroft, Architect? “I don’t think so. Too many rules and regulations and building codes.”

“You don’t like rules?”

“Rules are fine but I’m not always very good at following them.”

His mouth spread into a wry smile. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So you think you’ve already got me figured out?” she asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But take yesterday, for example. You were wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and pearls.” His eyes now held a spark of mischief. “When everyone knows the rules of fashion dictate that rubies should be worn with tie-dye.”

She did like a man with a sense of humor. “And how do you know so much about these things?”

The flash of humor disappeared and a hint of the bitterness she’d detected yesterday crept back into his voice. “My mother has single-handedly ensured the success of the jewelry industry.”

Interesting. “Those were Aunt Margaret’s pearls that I was wearing. I’ve never had any real jewelry so I wanted to know how it felt to wear them.”

“And? How did they make you feel?”

She remembered exactly how she’d felt. “Like a princess. There’s something elegant and understated about pearls.”

“But you’re not wearing them this morning.”

“No. They don’t go with faded denim, either.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Princesses must wear blue jeans sometimes.”

She tried to strike a regal pose. “Of course we do, but we prefer to wear diamonds with denim.”

“I see. I’ll remember that.”

And she had a feeling he would. She also liked the way his smile made her feel a little light-headed. It sure made it difficult to be professional though. “You must be very busy, running a big construction company and all. Maybe we should talk about the work that has to be done on the house.”

“Sure thing.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “It’s herbal.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. Do you have any coffee?”

“Sorry.” But she made a mental note to buy some and figure out how to make it.

He studied the two sketches in his hand and glanced at the others spread on the kitchen table. “You’ve drawn quite a few different floor plans. Is there one you prefer?”

“Yes. Actually, I like the two you’re holding but I can’t make up my mind which layout will work best.”

“Why don’t you explain what you want and we’ll take it from there.”

She knew exactly what she wanted. His hands were strong and tanned and rough from work. After experimenting with several essential oils and plant extracts, she had found the perfect blend for softening the skin and relaxing tired muscles.

Would he think she was too forward if she suggested a hand massage?

She looked up, straight into those luscious dark eyes. Yes, he probably would.

Take it slow, Maggie, she chided herself. Once you’ve hired Nick, you’ll have all the time you need to get him to loosen up and reconnect with his feelings. “I was thinking I’d like to convert the living room into an area for doing hair and facials and set up a massage table in the dining room. What do you think?”

“You do massage?” he asked.

It was a loaded question. “Therapeutic massage. It helps people relax and improves the circulation.”

“Right.” He lowered his head and studied her drawings some more, almost as though he was seeing them for the first time.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

She pointed to the sketch. “About this arrangement?”

“Oh. Right. Well, it does create an open floor plan but it has a few drawbacks. Do you want a sink here?” he asked, pointing to a corner of the living room.

“Yes. I thought that would be the best place for it. Is that a problem?”

“Not really a problem. Just more expensive. The existing plumbing is at this side of the house.” He indicated the kitchen and bathroom. “It would be a lot easier to tie into that if we install the sink in the dining room.”

She hadn’t given that any thought but she could see it made sense. “Is there a big difference in cost?”

He named a figure and she sucked in a startled breath. “I see. My preference was to put the massage table in the living room, anyway, but with all those windows it’s not very private.”

He seemed to give that some thought. “We have some old stained-glass windows left over from our last renovation. The owner didn’t want them but they seemed too valuable to throw out so we put them in the warehouse. We might be able to make those work. Should give you lots of privacy and still let in plenty of light.”

“Really? I’d love that!” She sifted through a pile of papers till she found a folder of fabric swatches and color chips. “Do you remember what color they are?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think it will matter. I plan to use lots of neutral shades—cream and beige with lots of natural wood. And I’ll use purple for the accent color. What do you think?”

“I just paint. I don’t interior decorate,” he told her. “You’ll have to get someone else’s opinion on colors.”

“No problem. I’m pretty sure Allison will help. Her home is beautifully decorated.” Although, come to think of it, there wasn’t a speck of purple anywhere.

Nick sighed. It was a small sigh but still unmistakable. “Will she be spending a lot of time here?” he asked.

Maggie glanced up and looked straight into his eyes. She was usually so good at reading people but at that moment she had no idea what Nick needed to hear.

“Yes, some,” she said, cautiously feeling her way. “I don’t know her very well but she’s been very nice to me since I moved in. She’s busy though, with her kids and her husband and—”

“I wasn’t fishing for information. I was hoping you’d say yesterday was a one-shot deal and we’d never see her again.”

“Oh.”

He set the sketches on the table. “So what did Allison tell you about me?”

Maggie hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “Not much. Nothing at all, actually. We were busy trying out the new mask and, of course, she couldn’t stay long because she had to get home and make dinner for John and the kids and, well, we didn’t really have a chance to talk about you.” Shut up, Maggie. You’re babbling again.

Nick folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. “Yeah, right. So why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Okay, fine. She said she tried to reform you and that you broke her heart.” She’d always been a lousy liar. Unfortunately she also had a tendency to blurt the whole truth when only part of the truth was necessary.

He gave his head an exasperated shake. “My father was a lawyer and his father was a lawyer. My little sister is now a lawyer and everyone assumed I’d be a lawyer. Everyone. My parents, my grandmother, my sister. Allison.” He gave her a cynical smile. “Come to think of it, though, Miss Meadowcroft seemed to know I wasn’t destined for law school.”

That poor boy was never allowed to explore his real talents. It’s time someone gave him a chance, Maggie, my dear. Aunt Margaret’s insights were never a surprise but her unexpected presence caught Maggie off guard.

Most people believed the voices she heard were just her imagination but she knew they were real. Otherwise they wouldn’t always be right. “You’re good at what you do now, that’s what’s important. I’m sure your family is very proud of you.”

“My family is proud of its longstanding affiliation with this country’s justice system. They weren’t prepared for a son who made a living by using his hands instead of his head.”

Aunt Margaret was right.

And Nick’s makeover was about to begin.

By the time he finished renovating her house, she’d have him believing in himself. She picked up the folder of sketches and color samples, already feeling a smug sense of accomplishment. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

Two hours later they had measured and remeasured the rooms on the main floor and roughly sketched out a new floor plan. Nick went down to the basement to check the electrical panel and, finally, he listened patiently to her ideas for updating the bathroom.

“I want this room to be really special,” she said. “There’ll be a separate dressing room here, with a shower and a soaker tub at the far end.”

Nick was shaking his head. “Except for one problem. Your sketch isn’t to scale. The only soaker tub that’ll fit in here will be about the size of your kitchen sink.”

She looked at her drawing, then at the bathroom, then back at the drawing. Disappointment set in. “You see? This is why I can’t be an architect.”

He laughed. “What are your plans for the den?”

“I’d like to use it as an office.”

“If we move this wall, you’ll still have a small office and there’ll be enough space to do the bathroom reno the way you want it.”

“You can do that? Just move the wall?”

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that. We’ll actually have to tear out this wall and build a new one, but it’ll only take a day or two.”

He said it as though he had no idea how amazing that was. “Let’s do it! I only need enough room in the office for a desk and filing cabinet and I really, really, really want this bathroom.”