Sweetheart Bride. Lenora Worth
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She took a sweeping look at the brick-and-stone house. “Are you the decorator, too?”
“No, I have a designer coming from San Antonio to oversee that area. I’ll mostly work on the structure and design of the house, preserving its history but improving it and bringing it up to speed, code-wise. The owner understands the historical significance of this place, but he requires the modern amenities, too.”
Her gaze landed back on him. “And who is this mysterious owner?”
He held up his index finger and wagged it. “I’m not at liberty to say right now.”
She gave him a questioning glance but didn’t press. “All right, then. As long as his money is green, I’m good with that. Let’s get on with the job.”
Nick smiled and guided her up into an enclosed porch surrounded by an intricate stone facing that consisted of wide arches and then opened to the double front doors. “We’ve kept all of the fan transoms over the doors. Brings in a lot of light all over the house. Most of the windows have been replaced with more weatherproof glass, but we’ll make sure we keep the hooded design.”
“Wow.” Brenna stood in the big open hallway and stared at the curving staircase. “This sure looks different. Last time Callie and I sneaked in here, it looked like cattle had run through the house.”
“I wouldn’t doubt that cows might have found shelter here along with a lot of other things,” he said. “It was a mess.”
“But it’s gold underneath all that grim.”
Nick knew this project would be his biggest challenge. “It is a work of art,” he said. “But a true representation of a time gone by.”
Even though the wallpaper had been aged and crumbling and the floors were scratched and rotted out in places, the house was striking.
Brenna seemed to see that, too. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember—from peeking in the windows, even as run-down as it looked back then. I can’t believe I get to help with the renovations. Callie loves this place more than I do. She’s always dreamed of living here.”
“Yes, she’s mentioned that to me several times.”
Nick enjoyed the blissful expression on Brenna’s face. It took his breath away, but he held that breath so she wouldn’t notice. But this attitude was new and refreshing. Most of the women he knew only wanted the house, not all the pain and work that would need to go into the house. They’d be bored with the details but more than willing to find someone to help them gut this house and make it what they thought it should be.
Brenna wanted it to be the same, only better.
That made her the perfect choice for helping him to find just the right pieces to complement the enormous walls and high ceilings throughout the place.
“Italianate Second Empire,” she said on a sigh of appreciation. “Built in 1869 by a rich man from Paris who married a Creole woman from New Orleans. She named the town and the house. It’s called Dubois House, after their last name, but the locals call it Fleur House. She did, too. I think because the gardens used to be full of all sorts of exotic plants and flowers.”
“I’m impressed,” Nick said. “And to think I had my doubts about hiring you.”
She clutched her briefcase strap. “You did? But you said I’d be perfect.”
Why did that little bit of uncertainty in her voice shake him to his core?
“I think you are.” He tested her a bit more. “But we didn’t exactly go through a formal interview.”
“No, we met at a wedding. And didn’t hit it off too well. And you hired me in a diner, after I’d waited on you with an attitude. I had my doubts, too.”
He accepted that and bowed his head in agreement. “Sí. That makes us even.”
“And...cautious.”
He’d have to remember that.
“The parlor is to the right,” he said, trying to stay on track. “And the dining room to the left.”
She rushed into the huge square parlor, her flats making a nice cadence against the aged wooden floors. “Look at these windows—love those high arches. And that fireplace. I can just see some sort of outdoor scene surrounded by a gilded frame. Or better yet, a blue dog painting.”
“Blue dog?” Nick chuckled. “You mean by George Rodrigue?”
“Yes, maybe something that bold and different would offset these amazing floor-to-ceiling windows.”
She had that dreamy look on her face again. That look that made him want to sweep her into his arms and dance her around this big, empty room.
“I’ll make a note—blue dog.”
“Is he married?”
“Who?”
“Your boss?”
Nick snapped back to reality. “Uh, no. He was once, but his wife died.”
She stopped smiling. “How awful. Our mother died several years ago. Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry. Callie did mention that. I can’t imagine going through that. I still have both my parents and I’d be lost without them.” He didn’t tell her that he had lost a loved one, too. He knew the pain of grief, but he refused to open up that wound to someone he’d just met. “Your mother sounds like a special person.”
She turned, her forest-colored eyes full of a richness that looked every bit as pretty as any picture he could imagine. “She was. You’re blessed to have both of your parents. Enjoy them and love them.”
“Good advice.” He did love his family, but they’d grown apart over the years. Did he dare tell her that grief had stricken his family to the point of denial?
Better to focus on work.
He motioned toward the dining area. “Let’s go to the other side.”
Brenna let out a little squeal of delight, her smile lighting the room with an ethereal glow. “Look at that mural. Can we keep that?”
“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d meant to do away with it. He’d have to tell the interior decorator that the elaborate rendition of a garden party with a steamboat in the background was off-limits.
Because he’d decided he didn’t want to do anything that would take that beautiful smile off Brenna Blanchard’s face.
And he’d also decided that he was in serious trouble.
Chapter Four
“Really?” Brenna smiled big at her new boss. “Just like that, you’ll keep the mural?”
“I’m not always so agreeable,” Nicholas said, giving her an exaggerated frown. “Your enthusiasm is obviously wearing off on me.”
Brenna couldn’t believe it was that easy. She’d prepared herself for a difficult task at every turn. “You seem like the type who bosses everyone around with a growl, waving your hand at this one and that one while you’re on your phone with someone mysterious and even more demanding than you.”
He actually laughed out loud.
And took her breath away.
“You’ve got me pegged, I see.”
“I’ve worked with many highly demanding artists and supervisors,” she said, her smile dying. “I miss that.”
He motioned toward the stairs. “So you think you’ll get bored with just me to growl at you?”
The thought of him actually doing that only added to the tremendous attraction she felt toward him. Bad, bad idea.