Forbidden Love. Christine Flynn
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“That won’t work if you want this area converted.” He pointed beyond her, turning his head enough for her to catch his strong profile. “What’s that door on the side porch? The one we passed coming in.”
There had been an edge to his manner before. Now, having dispensed with any conversation other than the absolutely necessary, that edge felt sharp enough to slice steel.
“It leads from the dining room,” she replied.
“The ramp will have to be either there or by the front steps.”
“I suppose the dining room would be more convenient.”
He gave a nod, the confirmation to himself, not to her. “I’ll need to look around out here for a minute and get some measurements. This is the size of room she wants? This space here?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He took a step away. “Thanks.”
He didn’t need to say another word for her to know her presence was no longer required. With his back still to her, he pulled a pencil and paper from his shirt pocket and unclipped a silver measuring tape from his belt. Even as she headed for the door that led into the kitchen, she could hear his heavy footfall moving away from her.
The door opened with a squeak. Nick practically sighed with relief when it closed with a quiet click. It was as clear as the collection of crystal obelisks lining his office credenza, design awards bestowed on his work over the past ten years, that Amy wanted as little as possible to do with him. That was fine with him. He wanted as little as possible to do with her, too. Seeing her again only brought back memories of a time that had forced him to face a few hard truths about himself. Life-altering truths that had affected everything from how he’d planned his future to what he thought of himself as a man. Though he’d learned to live with his flaws, he could hardly blame her for her disapproval of him.
He pulled out the tape, running it along the far edge of the wide space. He couldn’t fault the way she felt, but that didn’t mean he had to like her attitude. He didn’t have to like much of anything about being there.
He especially didn’t appreciate his physical responses to her.
The thoughts had come into his mind unbidden, unwanted. Just noticing the gentle curve of her mouth, the taunting fullness of her lower lip, had been enough to put a distinct ache low in his gut. But the thought of how it would feel to taste that fullness, to taste her, had him feeling as tight as his tape when it snapped back into its coil.
He made short work of measuring the other wall and headed outside to study the foundation. He really didn’t want to be there. From Amy’s response about this place being the best part about being in Cedar Lake, he strongly suspected she didn’t want to be there, either. But she was clearly going to do what she had to do for her grandmother. And despite the fact that he was still wary of Bea Gardner’s motives for giving him her business, he’d do what he had to do, too. His uncle Mike’s construction company was deeply in debt. He couldn’t afford not to bid on the job.
“Triple A Renovators wants me to sign all this before they’ll even give me an estimate?” Amy’s grandmother frowned at the three-page agreement Amy had just given her and promptly pushed it aside. “I don’t think so. Did Cedar Lake Construction come this morning?”
“Their estimator called yesterday to reschedule. He’s coming at two this afternoon.” Paper rustled as she pulled from the sack the People magazine her grandma had requested and set it on her tray table. So far, she’d been to the grocery store, the library and the plant nursery. As soon as she stopped by the hardware store, she could take another stab at cleaning up the paint that had splattered all over her grandmother’s kitchen. It had dried before anyone could clean it up after Bea’s fall. “I haven’t heard back from Culhane Contracting.”
“I have. Nick’s uncle called last evening.”
Amy’s motions slowed as she folded the sack and glanced toward the woman in the purple plaid bed jacket. Bea was already flipping through her magazine.
“Either he or Nick will be out in a couple of days to start on the ramp,” she added.
Disquieted by the announcement, trying not to look it, Amy stuffed the sack into her tote to recycle. “You don’t want to wait for the other bid?”
“The only estimate he gave me was for the ramp. And that’s all I’ve agreed to for now. How are you doing with the paint? Is it coming off?” she asked, seeming perfectly oblivious to her granddaughter’s consternation.
“Sort of,” Amy murmured absently, tucking the sack a little deeper.
This really isn’t a problem, she hastily assured herself. The fact that Nick’s uncle had called Bea told her that Nick wanted as little to do with her and her family as possible. He’d obviously worked up the bid, given it to his uncle and bowed out. No doubt he’d do the same when it came to the job itself. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. By the time he’d left the lake house, conversation had been reduced to only the polite and the necessary.
That had been roughly forty-eight hours ago. And in that forty-eight hours she’d tried everything short of self-hypnosis to put the encounter out of her mind. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t shake her unwanted but undeniable curiosity over why he’d sounded so adamant about his lack of interest in marriage, something that made no sense at all to her and shouldn’t matter even if it had.
“Amy?”
Her brow was still furrowed when she glanced up from her tote.
“I asked what ‘sort of’ means.”
“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, distractedly running her fingers through her hair. “It means the remover I bought yesterday will work on the appliances, but I need something different for the floor and cabinets.”
“I told you I can hire that work done, dear.”
“There’s no need for that. I want to do it. I need to do something while I’m here.” Other than pace, she thought, feeling the urge to do just that. It had to be the weather. She always got restless when the heat and humidity rose.
“Unsettled” her grandmother had called it. Until a couple of days ago, Amy honestly hadn’t felt anything she couldn’t attribute to simply being in a place she didn’t really want to be. She hadn’t felt unsettled until she’d had to deal with Nick.
She glanced at her watch and promptly grimaced. “I’m late,” she announced, refusing to tell her dear grandmother that she’d only added to the restlessness she’d been so concerned about. “I was going to go to the hardware store on the way to the house, but I don’t have time now. The guy from Cedar Lake Construction is supposed to be there in ten minutes.”
The man was late, too. “J.T. from CLC,” as he identified himself, left a message on the answering machine her sister had bought her grandmother two Christmases ago saying he was still running behind and that he’d be there later that afternoon.
J.T. had underestimated his delay. He hadn’t shown up by the time Amy had trimmed and fertilized all thirty-one of her grandmother’s potted plants. Nor had he arrived by the time she’d given the forgotten African violets in the upstairs bathroom a decent burial, washed out their little ceramic containers and repotted them with the fresh plants she’d purchased at the nursery. When five o’clock came and went, she wondered if the man possessed the manners to even call again. Then she heard the doorbell ring as she was positioning the last plant on the upstairs windowsill at six-fifteen, and figured he’d decided to show up after all.
Shoving her hair out of her eyes, she hurried down the open staircase to the little foyer with its faded Aubusson rug and mahogany entry table. A quick glance in the mirror above the table drew an immediate frown. Plucking a leaf from the shoulder of her nondescript white cotton tank top, she shoved it into the pocket of her denim shorts and kept going. Her hair looked as if it had been combed with her