Jeannie Watt Page 11

  He had the height advantage and was able to roll all the way up to the six-inch swath Tara had painted below the molding before she started rolling. Tara had to jump to reach the top, but she got the job done with only minimal damage to the ceiling. She crouched low then, painting the section closest to the floor and when Matt crouched beside her, she purposely bumped him hard with her shoulder, throwing him off balance.

  “Wait a minute…” he protested with a surprised laugh.

  She ignored him as she dipped her roller again, about to finish her last section. But Matt reached out and took hold of her wrist, firmly guiding her roller over his side of the line and across his last swatch of wall. Tara pulled her arm free and twisted to face him.

  “No fair!”

  “You started it,” Matt pointed out.

  “So?” Tara responded, her eyes locked on his.

  “Maybe—” Matt touched the end of his roller on the tip of her nose, leaving a little eggshell-colored dot “—we should call it a draw before one of us gets hurt.”

  “I wouldn’t want to send you home injured,” Tara agreed. His expression was still hard, but he was forcing it now. And dear heaven, but he was a handsome man. His face was all planes and angles and hollows, his rounded wire-rimmed glasses the perfect foil to the angles. Dark hair spilled down onto his forehead, as it tended to do when he wasn’t wearing a ball cap, and she had the urge to reach out and brush it back.

  “That’s a danger,” he said sardonically.

  She grinned then and lifted her roller to put a tiny corresponding dot on the end of his nose. Matt shook his head and let out a breath edged with exasperation before he finished Tara’s half of the wall with slow, deliberate strokes.

  “Thanks for the help,” Tara said as she hammered lids back onto cans.

  “No problem. Oh, and by the way…”

  She glanced up at him, pushing her braid back over her shoulder.

  “I won.”

  WHAT WAS IT ABOUT a beautiful woman with a smudge of paint on her face?

  Matt glanced over at Tara as she dumped the rollers and brushes into the kitchen sink.

  Yeah. Smudges of paint in the right places were definitely sexy—sexy enough to pull his mind away from the FFD that he was not going to think about.

  Tara dampened a cloth and raised it to his face, holding his gaze as she wiped off the daub of paint.

  “Your turn,” she said, raising her chin and closing her eyes as she gave him the cloth.

  “Hold still,” he said unnecessarily as he gently rubbed the paint off her nose and then her forehead. He resisted the impulse to pass the pad of his thumb over the softness of her full lower lip and instead turned toward the sink.

  “I’m thinking I’ll pass on dinner tonight,” he said as he rinsed the cloth and spread it to dry.

  “All right.” She glanced down at the floor. “Would you like a beer or something before you go?”

  He thought it would be best if he got out of there, but he made the mistake of looking at her and changed his mind. It was obvious she wanted him to stay. Maybe she was lonely. Tired of kicking around in this huge old house alone. He understood lonely.

  “Maybe one,” he said.

  “The flooring guys are coming on Monday,” Tara said, as she moved to the fridge and opened the door. “I’ll need help moving the appliances out of the kitchen.”

  “No problem,” he answered, taking the longneck she handed him and twisting the cap off. He looked for a place to put it and then noticed the pieces of silver in the ornamental key basket. He picked one up and turned it over in his hand.

  “You wore this the night you faced down that guy in the parking lot.”

  “Eddie.”

  “Yeah.”

  Color rose in her cheeks. “I’m surprised you remember.”

  He smiled. “Oh, I remember a lot about that night.” Having a beautiful woman calmly tell you that she didn’t need your help with a six-foot-three drunk did tend to stick in one’s mind, as did her apology later. He watched with some fascination as she blushed deeper. Very un-Tara-like. He turned the silver conchos over. They were heavy, ornate. “You should have this fixed.”

  “I will. I just…I’ve had other things on my mind.” A silence followed and then Tara said, “How much longer will you be in Night Sky?”

  “Another few weeks.”

  “And then you go back to work?”

  He nodded. What else did she think he’d be doing? Heading off to the asylum maybe? He had no idea what Sanchez told her.

  “Are you ready to go back to work?”

  Now he understood why she’d wanted him to stay. She wasn’t lonely. She was worried about him because of the way he’d been acting today.

  He pulled in a breath, formed an explanation for his behavior.

  “I know I was a little rugged today, Tara. I apologize. I’ve got some things I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Must be some serious stuff.”

  “The job. Going back.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “I did,” he answered truthfully.

  She had questions. He could see them in her eyes, but she didn’t ask.

  “So you’ll be here for the reunion?” She gave him a break, shifted the subject.

  “I’ll probably have to leave before that. I’m due back at work around then.” Matt took another drink, feeling the tension start to ease. “Where’s your beer?” he asked curiously, looking at her empty hands.

  “I’m more of the dry red wine type.”

  “That’s funny,” Matt said, “I had you pegged as a margarita type.”

  “Too much work. I prefer to uncork.” She glanced sideways at him. “Sometimes I don’t even bother with the glass.”

  Matt grinned at her confession and after a tiny hesitation, Tara smiled that smile that always made his gut do a long, slow somersault. He forced his mind along another path, one he figured would put a halt to this cozy feeling growing between them.

  “What did Sanchez tell you about me?”

  Tara didn’t seem surprised by the sudden question. She frowned thoughtfully before she answered. “He told me you were a police officer, which I already knew. He also told me you were involved in some incident.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Is there more?” she asked candidly.

  “No. I just wondered if he’d warned you about me.” He wanted her to be cautious, to keep her distance from him.

  “In what way?”

  “Sometimes people aren’t exactly themselves after a critical situation.”

  “Are you yourself?”

  “Close,” Matt said, but he didn’t smile.

  Tara remained serious, matter-of-fact. “I don’t know what you were like before, but you seem pretty decent now.”

  Nice opening, but Matt didn’t feel up to discussing what he was like before. “Thanks.”

  Tara took the hint. She fiddled with the barrette for a moment and then redirected the conversation to the house. They talked about that safe subject while Matt finished his beer, and he made an effort to hold up his end. He did pretty good, too, he thought, because when Tara walked him to the door twenty minutes later, she looked as if she were feeling better. Surprisingly, he was feeling better, too. But as he headed to his truck, he wondered how long it would last.

  Damned FFD.

  TARA SPENT LONGER than she wanted pushing a cart through the nearly empty aisles of the grocery store, trying to remember everything on the list she’d forgotten on the kitchen table that morning.

  And to make matters worse, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she found her thoughts drifting back to Matt.

  She wanted to find out what had happened. Find out what was bothering him.

  “Good morning, Tara.”

  Tara nearly dropped a bottle of balsamic vinegar. She turned to see Lydie Manzo strolling toward her.

  “Hi, Mrs. Manzo.” It was the first time the woman had ever
addressed her by name and Tara tried very hard not to look suspicious.

  “Lydie,” the woman corrected automatically. “Dottie told me about the flat a few nights ago. That was very kind of you.”

  “No big deal.”

  Lydie gave her a look. “Yes. It was. Especially after Dottie’s past behavior, but that’s water under the bridge. It was nice of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s one more thing….”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, Ginny said she’d be working for you on a temporary basis.”

  “Yes,” Tara replied slowly. They had just firmed up the final arrangements the previous afternoon over the phone.

  “Do you need any more help for the reunion?”

  “Maybe…” Tara hedged, wondering what was coming.

  “My granddaughter, Hailey… She just left her husband and, well, between you and me, it’s about time. He’s a real bastard.” Lydie leaned close and whispered the last word. “She’s working at the shop and trying to put her life back together.”

  “Sure,” Tara said, feeling as if she’d been backed into a corner. She did need help, but she didn’t know this granddaughter of Lydie Manzo. “I could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “She likes old houses and Ginny was raving about yours. If you needed any help before the reunion, I’m sure she would be available. And she’s real artistic.”

  “Have her call me.”

  Lydie reached out and grabbed Tara’s hand with both of hers. “Thank you.”

  Tara left the store in a bit of a daze. Lydie Manzo had asked her for a favor.

  It almost made up for her having to face her dress again.

  “THIS PLACE IS GREAT!”

  Hailey Manzo was a pretty woman. Blond hair, green eyes, vivacious personality, but there was something watchful about her…and the way she held herself sent Matt’s sixth sense into gear. A survivor, he thought.

  She’d showed up late in the afternoon, driving a small station wagon with a magnetic sign advertising a beauty parlor called the Hair Affaire. Tara hadn’t known the girl’s full name—had simply introduced her as Hailey after she brought her upstairs to see the work on the almost completed second floor. Hailey had then provided her own last name, stumbling over it, as though she wasn’t used to using it. Newly married or newly divorced, probably, and the watchful eyes made Matt think newly divorced. He would have checked for a ring, but she had her hands shoved into her back pants pockets.

  Well, whoever she was, and whatever her past, Tara was hiring her to help around the place. It would no longer be just he and Tara working alone in the big old house anymore.

  And that, he thought, might just be a good thing.

  “I LOVE THIS PLACE,” Hailey repeated, her eyes skimming over the kitchen fixtures as she took the glass of iced tea Tara offered. “You’re lucky to have it.”

  “I guess I am,” Tara agreed.

  “Did Grandma tell you about my—” she quirked a corner of her pretty mouth “—situation?”

  “Not much.” Let’s see. Newly divorced. Ex-husband is a bastard.

  “Well, in a nutshell, I married too young and the guy I married turned out to be a jerk. I wasted, oh, about five years of my life.”

  “I see,” Tara said slowly.

  “I just figured you should know.”

  “Why?” Tara could not help but ask.

  “I work in a beauty parlor,” Hailey explained. “Gossip central. I know what this town is like. Frankly, I prefer to tell my own story rather than let someone else do it for me.”

  “I think we’ll do just fine. But as far as working for me goes, I need help with the reunion function, and I’ll need help with the housekeeping while the guests are here, but I can’t offer anything permanent. It would be on a day-by-day basis.”

  Hailey nodded. “How about the cooking?”

  “I might need some help there.”

  “I thought maybe we might be able to work out a trade.”

  A trade? “What kind of trade?” Tara asked cautiously.

  “Well—” Hailey tilted her head “—this is pretty forward of me, but here it goes. I need a place to do pottery—at least until December.”

  “Pottery.”

  The blonde nodded. “I’m a potter and I’m pretty good. You have that shop building and I know from my grandmother that your aunt used to have a kiln in there, so the wiring must be suitable. So, if you have room, well, I thought maybe I could set up my kiln and a wheel and a table. In exchange, I would help you around the place here. It wouldn’t be forever. Like I said, I think I’ll be able to rent my own place by December. I just hate to think about going that long without throwing a pot. Plus, I make a lot of money at Christmastime and I’d hate to do without that, too.”

  Talk about ideas out of the blue. Pottery.

  “I can show you some of my pieces,” Hailey added. “In fact, you should probably have some kind of a gift shop here, like they have at the Somerses’ place. Local craftspeople.”

  Tara had toyed with the idea, but decided to put it on hold until she actually got the house finished. “What about the sawdust in the shop?”

  “Would there be a lot of woodworking going on in there? I mean, are you a woodworker?”

  Tara shook her head. “No.”

  “If it’s intermittent, I can work around it.”

  Tara circled the idea carefully in her mind. “How about a trial period?”

  “Sure.”

  Hailey seemed utterly confident that things would work out. “And in the meantime, I can paint or clean or cook or whatever you need.”

  “When will you be available?”

  “Any evening, plus Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and Sundays.”

  “When would you like to set up the pottery stuff?”

  Hailey gave her a crooked smile. “I love hearing those words. I have to borrow Grandpa’s truck and he’s out of town…how about next Thursday afternoon?”

  Four days? Tara figured that would be enough time to figure out if she’d made a mistake. “Sounds good.”

  “YOU HAVE MORE HELP?” Nicky sounded surprised. “Can we afford it?”

  “Kind of.” As always, his use of the word “we” jarred Tara. She thought of herself as sole keeper of the family coffers, because that made her sole worrier about their financial difficulties. Nicky’s job was to educate himself.

  Tara carried the phone into the parlor, explaining the deal she’d made with Hailey as she walked. “She’ll only be here a few hours a day, but she’ll use the shop whenever she wants.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Young, pretty, divorced. Kind of a straight talker.”

  “What would that be like?”

  “Okay. Point taken. But…I don’t know if she understands boundaries.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll make her understand. And who knows? Maybe you’ll become friends.”

  “Maybe.” Tara pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. She could use a female friend, someone to bounce ideas off without interference from the Y chromosome, but needing a friend and making a friend were two different things.

  “Just drop those killer defenses a little, T.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Just imagine the worst that can happen if you take a chance and, oh, let’s say, act friendly toward someone. If the consequences do not involve death or bodily harm, well, you might consider going for it.”

  Great. Now her baby brother was giving her personal advice.

  “Thanks for the tip,” she said sardonically.

  “Anytime. So, how’s Matt doing on the house?”

  “You won’t recognize the place. All the molding on the first two floors has been refinished and put back up. He’s replaced the bad pieces. The gazebo is beautiful.” She paced past the darkened window as she spoke and then stopped as a shadowy movement caught her eye. She saw it again. Behind one of Luke’s hedges. Did the burr
os get out? They loved to munch on Luke’s flowers and she knew there’d be hell to pay if they ate anything now.

  “Hey, Nicky, I think Buddy and Billie escaped. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing, T. Talk to you then.”

  Tara collected her catch rope from the mudroom and headed out the back door. She was halfway around the house when she recognized the silhouetted shapes of the animals clearly defined by the bright moonlight in the corner of the meadow. Far away.

  A shiver traveled up her spine as she walked back into the house, clicking Matt’s new lock shut behind her. It must have been a dog or a coyote. A very big dog or coyote.

  Tara walked through the house, checking the locks on doors and windows, shutting off the lights and pulling drapes as she went. She hated having the house shut up on a warm night, but she couldn’t handle the thought of someone out there, looking at her.

  It was only an animal. A deer, maybe. But if it wasn’t…

  She moistened her dry lips. She’d never been nervous in this place before. It had always been her safety, her sanctuary, which was one reason she couldn’t bear to think of selling the house to settle the debt. And now here she was, pacing and trying to convince herself she’d seen an animal. Ryan had her spooked and she hated it.

  Tara didn’t own a gun, but she did own golf clubs, inherited from her aunt. She went to the bag, stored in a cabinet in the mudroom, and pulled out an iron, testing the weight. Not as good as pepper spray or a gun, but at least it was something, just in case it wasn’t an animal, which it had to be. Tara sat in the parlor on the sofa, her golf club next to her, and read until she fell asleep.

  The phone rang at three-thirty in the morning. Tara shot up from the sofa, her heart pounding, the golf club in hand, but by the time she got to the phone, the answering machine had picked up and the line clicked dead.

  Tara reached out and shut off the ringer before walking back to the sofa. She curled up again, but knew she probably wasn’t going to sleep. Her heart was pounding. She didn’t know if she were being paranoid, or if someone, like say Ryan, was honesty trying to creep her out. If they were, it was working.