Plain Jane's Secret Life. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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СКАЧАТЬ the news was as bad as Sasha had predicted. Dylan had known it was coming. Still, he was stunned.

      Knowing he’d want to read the letter from the TV station later, he printed a copy then shut the computer and printer off. Still feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut, he headed downstairs. Hannah was perched on a sawhorse in the middle of the gutted first floor, a small carton of premium ice cream in hand. She had a plastic spoon in her mouth as she surveyed the unfinished wide-plank floors and partially finished drywall. “I’m painting everything down here white, too,” she told him. “And I’m going to leave the wood natural and protect it with polyurethane.”

      “What about your kitchen cabinets?” Dylan asked.

      Hannah got up and walked over to the stainless-steel refrigerator. Aside from the microwave, it was the only appliance currently in the house. There wasn’t even a kitchen sink, although there was a half bath with original basin nearby.

      “They’re white beadboard, similar in style to what I have upstairs in the master bath. I’ve got ’em in boxes, in the garage, along with the rest of the paint and the wallboard and the kitchen appliances—which I was lucky enough to get at cost a few months ago. Just haven’t had the money to have any of it installed. Yet.”

      Was that what she had been doing at the pool hall? Trying to get together enough money to finish the inside of her home? It was a laudable goal, even if the means weren’t to be commended.

      She paused, her hand on the handle of the fridge. She studied him curiously. “Get what you needed up there?”

      Dylan nodded.

      “Then how come you still look like you just lost your best friend?”

      Close, Dylan thought with a sad sigh. Then finding he needed someone to confide in—someone with a guy’s gut sense when to stop with the questions—and a woman’s compassionate heart, he said simply, “It was my job.” He watched her carefully for reaction. “I got fired tonight.”

      Hannah took the news in stride, as he had hoped she would, and opened the freezer compartment. “Then you’re going to be needing this,” she said wryly as she took out another pint of ice cream and handed it to him, along with a plastic spoon.

      There was no judgment in her eyes, only silent sympathy.

      His hand warmed at the contact of her fingers brushing his. He looked down at the label, fighting the feeling of failure. Six years and four jobs in the business had taught him that television news was a brutal medium in which to work. “You think mocha cocoa crunch will help?”

      “Ice cream always helps. So does chocolate.” She reached over and touched his hand, more gently this time, before resuming her perch on the sawhorse. “I’m sorry about your job, Dylan.”

      “Me, too,” he said honestly. He pried off the cardboard top of his ice cream. Although it had been irrational, he’d hoped to escape this bloodbath. Forcing himself to be a man about it, he looked into her eyes. “But that’s the way it goes in my line of work. New owners mean new management, which means new staff.” Usually in pretty quick order. Which was what had happened here.

      She took another bite, then licked the back of the spoon. “Did you get severance pay?”

      Telling himself to not even think about what her mouth would feel like under his, Dylan concentrated on answering her question. “Two months.”

      “Well that’s good. Besides, a guy with your looks? You’ll probably find something right away. Meantime—” Hannah waved her spoon for emphasis “—you’ve got the support of the entire Hart family.”

      Dylan let the rich chocolate slide down his throat and tried not to dwell on the fact this was the first time in his life he’d been fired—from anything. “I’m not telling them.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Not until I have another job, anyway. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.”

      If she was shocked she had the grace not to show it. “Whatever you want. Although that begs the question.” She looked deep into his eyes. “If you’re not telling them, why tell me?”

      Why indeed? It wasn’t like him to trust someone he knew he shouldn’t trust. Not since he had been involved with Desirée, anyway. “’Cause I’m going to be needing access to a computer while I’m in town this week,” he said calmly. “And I was hoping you’d let me use yours.”

      A teasing light crept into Hannah’s emerald-green eyes as she gave him the slow, thoughtful once-over. “Do I get to charge you?”

      Depends, Dylan thought. How badly do you need the money?

      Hannah’s phone rang. Her eyes still on his, she pulled the receiver off the kitchen wall. “Hannah. Yeah, hi. No, I didn’t, sad to say. Because we got interrupted. Not to worry. I’ve at least got him interested. Yeah, ten to one he’ll call. If I’m lucky, tomorrow or the next day. I promise. ’Night.”

      “Anyone I know?” Dylan asked, wondering if that had been Cal and how he felt about that if it had been.

      “I make it a policy never to talk and tell. So…” She gestured around her. Dylan could see chalk outlines on the floors, where all the appliances, and the sink and so on were to go. “What do you think about what I’ve done so far with my downstairs?” she asked.

      “I like it.” Dylan studied the layout of the roughed-in kitchen that overlooked the backyard. “When will you be done?”

      Hannah frowned. “I’m not really sure. Depends on the money situation. Materials aren’t so bad. It’s the labor that’s so costly.”

      Dylan figured it would take thousands of dollars to finish what she had started. And although the upstairs was nice, the downstairs was barely livable. He couldn’t imagine living like this for the two years she said it had been going on. No wonder she was getting antsy. “You can’t get a second mortgage?” he asked helpfully.

      “Already maxed out on that avenue. That’s how I got all the materials and the upstairs done.”

      Dylan searched for alternatives. “What about doing the labor yourself?”

      “I want it to look professional.” Finished with her ice cream, Hannah put the lid back on and slid it into the freezer compartment. “Besides, it’ll all get done eventually, as soon as I get my bank account built up.”

      Finding he had little appetite, Dylan handed over his ice-cream container, too. “You could always moonlight.”

      Hannah gave Dylan an even glance. But the confession he hoped to coax from her, about what she and his brother had been up to that evening, didn’t come. “I suppose,” she said eventually.

      “Or you could ask your friends to help you out.”

      Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “Like who, for instance?” she asked drolly.

      Dylan held her gaze, not sure why he was volunteering, just knowing he was. And not just for Cal’s sake. “Like me.”

      Hannah’s auburn eyebrow arched. “Are we friends?”

      Good question. And one he intended to answer. “I don’t know.” СКАЧАТЬ