Her Man Upstairs. Dixie Browning

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ up when he’d spoken with her briefly on the phone.

      When she’d asked to see his references, he’d mentioned Bob Ed.

      “Any reason why I should trust your word?” she’d asked.

      The answer, of course, was that she shouldn’t—but if she didn’t know it, he wasn’t about to tell her. If he’d learned one thing from the mess he’d been involved in over the past eighteen months, it was to listen to his instincts.

      And right now his internal weather vane was telling him there was more at stake here than just a chance to see if he could still do the work. Without bothering to think further, he grabbed a paper napkin and started listing the tools he’d need to buy.

      Halfway through the list his mind began to wander, distracted by thoughts of a pair of gray eyes, and the way they could go so quickly from suspicion to amusement to…interest?

      Three

      Sasha showed up for breakfast with a box of Krispy Kremes and a copy of Architectural Digest. “Check out page sixty-eight and think about the color scheme for your front room. I’m headed to Norfolk—just thought I’d stop by on my way.” Her cheeks were pink from exposure to the damp, cold air, her eyes avid for anything that even hinted at romance.

      While Marty was still trying to nudge her brain awake, her early morning visitor planted beringed fists on her rounded hips and said, “Let’s hear it. Start from the first and don’t leave out anything. If he’s as prime as Faylene says he is, we might want to add him to our list. Is he taller than five-ten? Because Lily Sullivan over on Chelsea Circle is at least that. She towers over me, even in my new green Jimmys. I’m thinking of finding someone shorter to do my taxes. It’s bad enough to be intimidated by the IRA without—” She blinked a battery of fake lashes and said plaintively, “Wha-a-at? Oh, Lord, you’re still sleepwalking, aren’t you.”

      Still wading through her usual morning fog, Marty refused to be intimidated by the five-foot-three-inch steamroller. “Look, I’ve got a date with a dog, so make this fast. Exactly what do you mean by ‘prime,’ and what difference does it make what he looks like?”

      “Actually, none, I guess. We just thought—that is, Faye said—and I was thinking that if he was going to be hanging around long enough to destroy your second floor and put it back together again, he might like to join in a few social activities. You know what they say, ‘all work and no play’?”

      Marty sighed. “It bugs you, doesn’t it? The fact that somewhere in three counties there’s a competent, independent woman who gets along perfectly without the benefit of a man. Did it ever occur to you that some of us like our lives just fine the way they are?”

      The redheaded interior designer tried looking innocent and gave it up as a lost cause. “You’re talking like you never did any matchmaking. How about Clarice and Eddie? How about Sadie Glover down at the ice-cream parlor and—”

      “How about stuffing a doughnut in it?” Marty poured coffee, adding half-and-half—which her guest called diet cream—to both mugs. “Mutt’s waiting, so eat fast.”

      “Gross. Do you have one of those scoopy things in case he does his business in somebody’s yard?”

      Marty rolled her eyes. “Sash, I really need to get this job done in record time, and once y’all start messing around with my carpenter, you’re going to scare him off—so quit it, okay? Just knock it off. At least wait until I’m finished with him.”

      Sasha began licking the sugar coating off another doughnut. “Just thinking about poor lonesome Lily, that’s all. I ran into her at the post office the other day and she happened to mention that she hadn’t had a date since last summer.”

      “Just happened to mention it, huh? Like you didn’t pry it out of her with a crowbar?”

      “Would I do that? Anyway, we’re running short of bachelors and I thought I’d get your take on whatshisname, your new carpenter. So? What’s he like? Faylene says he’s a hunk.”

      “Dreadlocks, whiskers, ragged Brooks Brothers shirt, worn-out L.L. Bean shoes and no calluses. Which probably means he buys his clothes at a thrift shop using money he stole instead of working for it.”

      “You jest.” Sasha licked her fingers, showing off inch-long nails and a glittering array of jewelry.

      “I jest not. I might exaggerate now and then—I might even occasionally speculate—but please, Sash, don’t go trying to distract my carpenter. He’s my last chance.”

      “No problem, hon, he’s all yours during business hours. Did you say he was tall?”

      “Let’s just say he’s taller than you are.”

      “Everybody over the age of twelve is taller than I am. Is he good looking?” She wriggled her generous curves. “Faye says—”

      Marty hesitated just a second too long, and Sasha pounced. “He is! Admit it, you’re hot for him and you don’t want him exposed to Lily until you’ve had time to make an impression on him yourself.”

      “Will you stop it? It’s nothing like that! He’s supposed to come by to give me an estimate early this morning, and I’ve got to walk Mutt first and get back here—so if you don’t mind, you need to leave now and so do I. Five minutes ago, in fact.”

      Sasha grinned, her eyes sparkling like faceted gemstones. Today they were aquamarine. Tomorrow, they might be topaz or sapphire. The woman had never met an artifice she didn’t adore, regardless of the time of day.

      Marty, on the other hand, was barely able to find her mouth with a toothbrush, even after she’d stood under the shower for five minutes. A morning person she was not. The time had long since come and gone when she could stay up half the night reading and wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the crack of dawn.

      “Look, just let me get him on the hook and then you and Faye can have your way with him. All I want is his skills.”

      “What else is there?” the redhead murmured.

      “His carpentry skills!” Marty all but shouted.

      “Shh, calm down, honey—no need to get all excited. You can have him during working hours, but Faylene and I want whatever’s left over for Lily. She needs a little R ’n’ R before the tax rush starts. We tried Egbert on her, but it didn’t work out.”

      In the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn, Marty had to laugh. She edged her best friend toward the front door. “No kidding. I wonder why?”

      “Hey, when you’re wired for one-ten, you don’t go fooling around with two-twenty. I learned that from husband number two, the electrical engineer.”

      “I thought number two was the con man.”

      “Aren’t they all?” Sasha called cheerfully over her shoulder.

      Marty watched her friend sashay down the flagstone walk hitting about every third flagstone, not even bothering to look where she was going. That was Sasha—stiletto heels, red leggings and faux fur at a quarter of eight on a cold, gray Monday morning, leaving in her wake a trail of Nettie Rosenstein’s Odalisque. She might look purely ornamental, but СКАЧАТЬ