The Man for Maggie. Lee McKenzie

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СКАЧАТЬ leaned closer. “Would you like to try some?” She smelled like strawberries and cream.

      He snatched his hand out of hers and stepped back. “No. Thanks. I think we better stick to business.”

      Her smile suggested she could see right through him. “I’ll also need to use the kitchen for making meals because I plan to live upstairs. There are three bedrooms so I’ll have lots of space. Come on, I’ll show you.”

      He followed her down the short hallway.

      “The spa will be here, in the living room and dining room. I’ll need a divider or something to make a change room. I want to put a massage table over there and lots of plants. Over here I’ll have one of those chairs that can be raised and lowered and a big mirror. I want to keep the fireplace, of course, and these wonderful old light fixtures, and most of the antiques and…”

      She paused and he thought it was to catch her breath until he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Aw, jeez. He wasn’t good with weepy women. He grabbed a box of tissues off a side table and handed it to her.

      “Thanks.” She dried her eyes and gave her nose a healthy blow. “I’ve only been here for a week and all this stuff still makes me kind of emotional.” She took a deep breath. “I was going to say that I want to keep the photographs on this wall. Family is so important, don’t you think?”

      How to answer that? Truthfully, or tell her what she wanted to hear? But then she was talking again, so it didn’t matter what he thought.

      “I love looking at these old portraits. That’s Aunt Margaret and my grandfather. They were brother and sister. My grandparents died ten years ago, three weeks apart. Don’t you think that’s romantic? Grandma went first, then poor Grandpa died of a broken heart.”

      Nick bet that’s not what the death certificate said.

      “My father died in a car accident on my sixteenth birthday. Since then, it’s just been me and my mother. And Aunt Margaret, of course. My mother still lives in Greenwich Village. You know, in New York.”

      Yes, even a small-town guy from Connecticut knew about Greenwich Village, and finding out that’s where she came from was no surprise.

      “I love the city but now that Aunt Margaret’s gone and this house is mine, I can finally open my spa. So you see, I can’t possibly sell it.”

      Right. And he now had way too much information. Never mind that the people of Collingwood Station would look down their aristocratic noses at someone doing natural makeovers. She could always sell the place and go back to the city after this crazy business scheme failed. “So, about the renovations. Do you just want the interior refinished? What about the roof and the wiring?”

      The look she gave him was wide-eyed and innocent. “Since you’re a former student of Aunt Margaret’s, I’m sure I can trust you. If she thinks you’re the wrong person for the job, she’ll give me a sign.”

      A sign? From old Miss Meadowcroft? For a few seconds he had a strange feeling that a bolt of lightening was about to strike him. Dead aunts didn’t have that kind of power, did they? Oh, man. He must be losing it. “Tell you what. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow, do a full inspection and give you a quote for everything that needs to be done. You can look it over and decide if you’d like to hire me and what you want me to do.”

      Best to leave the dear old aunt out of the equation. Back in high school, he’d been a bad student with a bad attitude and an even badder GPA. The Miss Meadowcroft who’d made his high-school career a living hell wouldn’t have trusted him anywhere near her home. And who could blame her? But she was now among the dearly departed and he did not believe in signs from above or beyond or wherever. Business was business.

      “Tomorrow will be perfect. What time—”

      The screen door squeaked open, taking them both by surprise.

      “Hello-o? Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

      The voice was too real to belong to a spirit. It sounded more like…

      No. No way.

      Allison Peters. Or Allison Fontaine, if she was using her husband’s name. It hadn’t occurred to him that this was the Allison that Maggie had been talking about, since it was hard to imagine two people who had less in common.

      “What did I tell you?” Maggie asked. “This is my friend Allison.”

      Go figure. Who would have guessed Allison would befriend someone who wore tie-dye?

      Nick watched Maggie embrace the woman from his distant past and hoped the past didn’t come back to haunt him.

      “I’d like you to meet Nick Durrance,” she said. “He’s a contractor and we’ve been talking about renovating the house.”

      For a minute it looked as though Allison might go along with the introduction and pretend she didn’t know him. Then she seemed to decide against it. Probably just as well, since it wouldn’t take long for Maggie and her sixth sense—with the help of the local gossips—to figure out the truth.

      “Nick and I already know each other,” Allison said, although she didn’t seem to want to look at him. “Sorry I’m late. I waited until John came home from the office so he could stay with the kids.”

      “How do you two know each other?” Maggie asked.

      Nick cleared his throat.

      Allison shot him a quick glance and looked away. God, he couldn’t believe she was blushing. After all these years…

      Maggie grinned. “Ah, I see. Does John know about this?”

      “How is John?” he asked, since he was pretty sure Allison would want to avoid Maggie’s question.

      “Very well, thank you. The kids are fine, too. Oh, and—” she hiked up her chin “—John’s just made senior partner, but I’m sure your sister told you.”

      “I guess she forgot to mention it.” Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t mentioned it because she never talked to him, and Allison damned well knew it. “I’m glad you managed to get your lawyer, after all.”

      “John is a great husband. And father.”

      “Congratulate him for me.”

      She eyed him suspiciously.

      “On making senior partner.”

      “Oh. Of course.”

      Maggie, he could see, was watching the exchange with a lot more interest than the situation merited. After all, he and Allison were ancient history. Prehistoric ancient history. She’d spent their senior year trying to make him into someone he wasn’t. When it hadn’t worked, she’d gone off to college and by Christmastime that year, she and John Fontaine were engaged.

      He took a card out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Maggie. “I’ll let you ladies get on with your makeovers. I’ll be back in the morning to start on that estimate. Meanwhile, if you think of anything else, Miss Meadowcroft, give me a call.”

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