Expecting a Miracle. Jackie Braun

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СКАЧАТЬ Heating and Cooling had assured him a crew would be out later in the week. In the meantime, Gavin had to make do with a box fan and the meager breeze that could be coaxed through the home’s opened windows. He put in the earpieces of his MP3 player and got back to tile laying. He liked to listen to music while he worked. He preferred up-tempo rock, the heavier on the bass the better.

      “Hello?” Lauren’s voice echoed down the hall, somehow managing to be heard over the music blaring in his ears.

      He was on his hands and knees, having just laid another square, when he heard her. He tugged out the earpieces and levered backward so he could peer out the door.

      “In here,” he called.

      She’d pulled her hair back into a tidy ponytail and was dressed in a sleeveless white linen blouse that she’d left untucked over a pair of pink linen shorts. On another woman the outfit would not have been all that sexy, but on Lauren…Gavin swallowed, and the heat that blasted through his system had nothing to do with the temperature outside. He didn’t remember her being quite so curvy.

      Tenant, he reminded himself. Married tenant.

      Even so his mouth went dry. The woman had a classy set of legs. He’d caught a glimpse of them that first day when she’d been wearing a sundress, but this outfit did a much better job of showcasing them. They were as long as a model’s, and slim without being skinny. She had smooth knees, nicely turned calves and those ankles…He made a little humming noise as he reached for his water, not sure whether he wanted to drink the stuff or dump it over his head. God help him. He had a thing about ankles. He downed the last of the water and forced himself to look elsewhere.

      “I can’t believe you’re working today,” she said.

      He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” His gaze veered to her ankles again. “H-how are you holding up?”

      The cottage had no air-conditioning, either, and unlike the house, where Gavin’s bedroom was on the main floor, the only sleeping quarters there were on the upper level.

      “I’m fine.”

      It wasn’t the answer he expected. He figured she had come to complain. If he were renting the cottage, he would.

      “I’m having the air-conditioning here fixed and I’ll also have a unit installed in the cottage if you’d like.”

      “Yes. I’ll gladly pay for it.”

      “No need. Unfortunately, it won’t be today. It probably won’t be till the end of the week,” he said.

      “That’s okay. I’m fine,” she said again.

      “Do you always say that?”

      Her brow wrinkled. “Sorry?”

      “Fine. It seems to be your stock response.”

      “Oh, sorry.”

      “That’s another one.”

      She frowned again, clearly not knowing what to say. For one bizarre moment, Gavin found himself wishing she’d lose her temper. He’d bet she’d look incredible angry.

      “The tile looks terrific.” More politeness, but he let it pass. He wasn’t sure why he’d goaded her in the first place. Most landlords would kill for such an easy-going tenant.

      “Thanks.”

      “You’ve obviously done this before.”

      “A time or two.” Although not recently.

      For the past decade, Gavin had been in charge of the big picture. He and his brother paid other people to see to the details. Theirs was a rags-to-riches success story, or so the New York Times claimed in a feature story they’d done on him and Garrett a couple years back.

      The article had made it seem as if Gavin O’Donnell, businessman and self-made millionaire, had it all. But even prior to his divorce, he’d felt something was missing, that some vital part of himself had been lost. Little by little he was getting it back.

      Lauren’s voice pulled him out of his introspection. “You must enjoy working with your hands.”

      Indeed he did and not just on houses. Though Gavin fought the urge, his gaze trailed to her trim ankles again. He’d bet he could encircle one with his hand. He rubbed his damp palms on his jean-clad thighs. “Yeah. I haven’t done it for a while, though. I forgot how, um, satisfying it can be.”

      “I thought you were a builder.”

      “I’m more of a give-the-orders, sign-the-check sort these days.”

      “Ah.” She nodded. “The boss.”

      That was true enough, but he’d never been the type to go around proclaiming himself as such. He knew too many people who’d gotten wrapped up in their own importance. If a year in self-prescribed exile had taught him nothing else, Gavin had conclusive proof that the world didn’t stop turning just because he’d opted out as a cog.

      He decided to change the subject. “So, what can I help you with?”

      “Oh. Sorry,” she said. He grimaced. There was that word again. “I…I was wondering if it would be all right if I made some changes to the cottage.”

      “Changes?”

      She cleared her throat. “Nothing major. I’d like to paint the walls in the bedroom.”

      The entire place was done in a serviceable white that was little more than a primer coat.

      “Got a color in mind?” he asked.

      “I’m leaning toward sage green or something along those lines,” she said.

      He nodded and scratched his chin, thinking of his already lengthy to-do list. “It might be a little while yet before I can get to that. The new cabinets for the kitchen are due to arrive next week. I talked a friend of mine into coming out from the city to help me install them.” He grinned. “He said he’d work for a prime rib dinner and beer. Obviously, that’s not union scale.”

      “I’m an even better deal. I’ll do the work for free.”

      “You want to paint it yourself?” His tone held enough incredulity that she looked insulted.

      “Do I look helpless?” Her brows arched and she crossed her arms.

      So, the woman had a spine after all. Gavin nearly smiled. “Ever done any painting?”

      “Some.”

      “Really?”

      Her answer surprised him until she added, “Okay, no. Unless my toenails count.”

      Gavin’s gaze dipped to her feet. The flat sandals she wore offered an unrestricted view of ten cotton-candy-pink-tipped digits. His ankle fetish now had stiff competition.

      “You do good work.”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ