Instant Dad. Raye Morgan
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good client of mine.”
Drey’s mouth twisted as he thought over his options. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you this much. I used to date her sister, Jenny Kirkland.”
Carter stared at him. “What is this, Drey? Did she dump you?”
Drey allowed himself a fleeting smile. “No, she didn’t dump me.”
“Did you dump her?”
Drey’s mouth gave a quirk of annoyance. “That doesn’t matter. Do I get the job or not?”
Carter shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t smell right here.”
Drey shrugged, gazing at him coolly. “You’ve known me for a long time. Do you trust me or don’t you?”
Carter shook his head and, finally, he grinned reluctantly. “Hell, I trusted you with my wife, didn’t I? I guess I can trust you with Sara Parker.”
“Good,” Drey said, nodding slowly, his gaze already on a distant scene. “Good.”
Drey vaulted out of his four-wheel drive, all-terrain vehicle and reached for his tool belt, then gazed at Sara Parker’s gabled and turreted house with a healthy dose of skepticism. What kind of woman would live in a place like this? She either had to be an imprisoned princess or the wicked witch of the north. There weren’t many other options.
Making his way up the walk, he glanced up and down the street. The area houses were large and distinctive, the yards professionally trimmed and sculpted. The neighborhood reeked of money.
It was late afternoon and the breeze had turned frosty. He knew he wouldn’t get much work done today, but he could take measurements and scope the situation out. He figured on being here for the rest of the week if things worked out the way he’d planned.
A bouquet of spring flowers sat in a cheap glass vase on the doorstep. He glanced down at it, then rang the bell. There was no answer, and he reached down to pick up the flowers and look at the card.
“Sara, darling, so sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it to your baby shower. Hope these flowers will make it up to you. Kiss kiss, love Sylvia.”
“Baby shower,” he repeated softly out loud. That would seem to confirm what he’d heard. Sara Parker was adopting Jenny Kirkland’s baby.
The sound of tires on the driveway brought his head around and he watched as the expensive silver sedan pulled to a stop and a tall, blond woman swung her long legs out, then rose to look at him.
He stood where he was, not moving, and she pushed the car door shut, then came walking toward him. She was dressed in a powder pink cashmere suit and soft leather shoes with trendy heels. Her blond hair was pulled back in an elegant twist at the nape of her neck. Gold bracelets flashed at her wrists, gold and diamonds sparkled on her fingers, and her nails were painted a perfect match to the suit.
In fact, everything about her seemed just about perfect. The only thing missing, he thought as she came close enough to see into her crystal blue eyes, was passion. There was no passion, no anger, no joy, no fear visible in her face. She might have been cut from ice. She was an ice lady, very cool, very calm, and very much in control.
And very confident. Some women might have hesitated upon seeing a man who looked like him standing on their front step. He knew his long hair and jeans and buckskin jacket looked out of place here in this part of town. A lot of people gave him a second look because of it, but he didn’t care. He considered his look consistent with the history of Denver. Jenny used to tell him he looked like a nineteenth-century miner, only cleaner and healthier.
“Wild and woolly,” she would say, laughing at him.
But his wild look didn’t seem to bother Ms. Parker. She came up to him like the home owner she was, sure of herself and of whose property they were standing on.
“I’ll take those,” she said calmly, reaching out her hand for the flowers. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll give you something.”
So that was it. She thought he was there to bring her flowers.
“I’m not a delivery boy,” he told her, handing the arrangement over as though the posies had suddenly developed thorns. “They were on your doorstep when I got here.”
“Oh.” She glanced at him, wondering why he hadn’t left them there, and he saw the question in her eyes, but he ignored it.
“I’m from Carter Construction,” he said quickly. “I’m here to do some carpentry work you needed.”
“Oh.” She actually smiled and it lit her face. “Thank goodness. We’ve got a lot of work to get done in a short time. Please come in.”
Their eyes met for just an instant and they both pulled back, as though a spark of static electricity had sprung between them. He almost thought that must have been it. The air was dry and it was cold. Perfect weather for static electricity.
He followed her into the house, his boots marking time on the marble entryway, then waited while she put her things away in the kitchen. From where he stood, he could see into the living room with its glassand-wood furniture, its overstuffed couch and granite fireplace, into the den where glass-faced bookcases filled with volumes lined the walls, and into the kitchen where the lady was putting her purse under the counter and checking her answering machine.
He frowned. The place was all angles and hard surfaces. If she thought she was going to adopt a baby, she was going to have to do something about that. This was not a baby-proof environment. He was going to have to find an opportunity to point that out to her.
“I didn’t get your name,” she noted as she returned to him.
“Drey Angeli,” he said, glancing down at the small, slim hand she held out before taking it in his own. Her grip was firm but her hand felt as soft and elegant as it looked.
“I guess you know I’m Sara Parker,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve come so promptly.”
He raised one eyebrow, wondering why she was treating him like his sixth-grade schoolteacher, the one who always corrected his grammar and held him after school for being a smart aleck. Instinctively he knew she did it on purpose. But what that purpose was, he couldn’t imagine.
“Follow me,” she said crisply, turning to lead him through the foyer. “I’ll show you where I’m going to need the work done.”
He followed her, noting the way her every movement seemed to be according to some careful plan. Her step was quick and light and very determined, and when she started up the stairs in front of him, he couldn’t keep from watching the nice way her bottom swayed in the pink cashmere skirt, and something about that experience made him study her face when she reached the top and turned to wait for him.
His first impression had been of her coldness, but now that he gave her a second look, he realized she was quite pretty. Her features were small and fine as porcelain, her skin smooth, her eyes a brilliant, starburst blue set off by thick black lashes. He had the sudden picture of a ballerina in his mind, an oldfashioned dancer mincing in toe shoes with her arms raised in position.
“This way,” she told him, turning and leading him into a room off the hallway.
He followed her, only half listening while she detailed the new closet space she wanted in the guest bedroom. He was studying the room for evidence. Just what sort of woman was Sara Parker?
She was certainly a contrast to her sister, but then, he’d already known that, hadn’t he? Jenny had told him so.
“She’s not like the rest of our family,” Jenny had told him one night over drinks at a lodge at the lake. “When we were kids, we called her Stuck-up Sara. Do you know she actually packaged her dolls in plastic wrap and buried them in the backyard so the rest of us wouldn’t play with them?”
Drey