The Hometown Hero Returns. Julianna Morris
from Nicki’s clothes and the lingering remnants of her stiff-necked pride, she seemed nothing like the girl she’d once been. He might have trusted her in the past, but nowadays he didn’t trust any women except his mother and sister.
He shook his head. “No. Start wherever you want.”
“Thanks. I’m sure you have things to do,” Nicki said. “And I don’t need company. It will just keep me from concentrating. I’ll call if I need you.”
She’d dismissed him so coolly he felt he might have imagined the quick, warm sympathy he’d seen in her face. Of course, he’d bet anything that she regretted letting down her guard…just as much as he did.
A certain defensiveness was probably the only thing they’d ever had in common, except that he was obviously still better at keeping things to himself than Nicki had ever been.
Nicki walked into the spacious foyer, trying to regain her composure. She didn’t often get a chance to explore such a lovely old house, but it wasn’t John McCade’s house raising her temperature, it was John McCade’s grandson.
Darn him.
She didn’t flatter herself that Luke’s leisurely appraisal of her body indicated an attraction. It was second nature for jocks and ex-jocks to look at a woman as if she were a piece of meat. The only thing that Nicki did flatter herself about was not giving into the embarrassment. She knew she barely filled out a B-cup bra—something her ex-husband had regularly pointed out—but she had a good brain and wouldn’t apologize for not being a sexpot.
Yet her edgy response to Luke was deeper and earthier than anything she’d felt before, making her aware of her body in a whole new way. Even after yesterday’s less-than-friendly encounter, the slide of sheets against her legs had made her think of him. Then she’d found herself thinking about him when she put on her typical practical clothing that morning, followed by the thought that wearing something more flattering wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. After all, it wasn’t as if she were trying to attract Luke, just trying to look a little nicer.
Jeez, she had better get herself in hand, or she’d be in big trouble.
With a last glance into the living room and John McCade’s sad face, she started up the sweeping staircase. The one place Luke hadn’t shown her was the interior of the attic. He’d simply pointed to a door on the second floor, in the back near the kitchen staircase. It was the logical place to start.
Though it was still cool in the rest of the house, heat had built up in the attic, and Nicki fanned herself as she stared in awe at the gaping space.
“Holy moly,” she breathed.
It was huge.
And filled with everything imaginable, from an old pedal sewing machine, to paintings, to an accumulation of dust and spiderwebs that made her acutely nervous. She really didn’t like spiders.
“Phobias are the sign of a disorganized mind,” she reminded herself as she lifted a painting from where it leaned against a broken coatrack. She smiled as she recognized one of her favorite artists, and before long she was exploring the farthest corners of the crowded attic.
Antique furniture comingled with art and an old gramophone that actually still worked. In a trunk she found an Edwardian-era dress and wondered how she would look in such a lovely gown. Ridiculous, probably. Yet she couldn’t resist holding it up and swishing the ivory skirt so it swirled around her ankles.
What would it be like to feel pretty and sexy? To wear something that was deliberately provocative? Something silky and outrageous?
Nicki frowned and rustled the skirt again. She’d always worn practical, oversized clothing, clothing that lacked style of any kind. It might have been different had her mother lived, but her father had never paid attention to anything but her schoolwork. Later, her then-husband, illogically jealous, hadn’t wanted her to wear anything revealing.
She frowned, thinking about Butch.
Maybe he had loved her in the only way a possessive, insecure jock could love anyone. He’d certainly begged her not to divorce him, swearing he would change if she’d just give him another chance. Problem was, she had already given him too many chances, and she’d realized that her ego would eventually get so beaten down by his insults and cheating that someday she wouldn’t be able to leave.
The sad thing was they ought to have been good together—they’d laughed at the same things, loved watching old movies, had both wanted a honeymoon at Walt Disney World. People who could laugh and play together had a head start in making a marriage work, didn’t they? But things changed just before they got married. His older brother died and Butch tried to fill Danny’s oversized shoes in a family that never approved of him and his dropping out of college after only one semester.
“Forget it,” she murmured. Part of her was sad that her marriage had ended, and part of her was desperately relieved. With a sigh, she tucked the gown away again and continued looking through the crowded attic.
Every now and then she startled a mouse, which would squeak and run in terror into the shadows. But it was Nicki who yelped when she reached for a dusty crystal vase and a fat, hairy spider tumbled onto the back of her hand.
The spider hit the opposite wall, and with more speed than grace, she hopped over a steamer trunk and raced down the stairs, slamming the door behind her. In her head she knew most spiders were harmless, but there was something about a creature with a surfeit of legs that gave her the willies.
“Is something wrong?” Luke came out from the study.
“Uh…no. I’m just…you know, taking a break. It’s a little warm up there.”
He gave her an irritated look and waved the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I can’t concentrate on my work if you’re slamming doors all day! I’ve got business that needs my attention.”
She wanted to smack him. The reaction distracted her spider-jangled nerves. “I’m soooo sorry, Mr. McCade. I won’t let it happen again.”
Luke opened his mouth, then shut it. It wasn’t Nicki’s fault he couldn’t concentrate, it was worry over Granddad and making decisions for him that got him so tense. Nobody in the family wanted to make a decision, they just wanted everything to be miraculously restored to how it used to be. But wishing wouldn’t work.
He kept running it over and over in his head. The family had practically forced Granddad to see the doctor because of his vague and forgetful behavior, and Dr. Kroeger had finally diagnosed senility. But the medication wasn’t having any effect, and neither had the mental exercises they’d tried—it was hard to keep therapy going when the patient wouldn’t cooperate. Too bad he couldn’t fix granddad’s problem the way he’d handle a contractor who didn’t do his job.
Luke again wished he could talk it over with Nicki. She had a good head on her shoulders, and since she wasn’t family she might not let emotion cloud her judgment. But it wasn’t possible; some things you didn’t discuss with virtual strangers, especially when that stranger was so sentimental about the man in question.
He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t…that is, I didn’t mean to bark at you like that. I’ve been working on a land deal that isn’t going well. Did you find anything valuable?”
“Right now I’m just getting an idea of what’s there and how to organize myself.” She seemed pale and was scrubbing the back of her hand on her thigh.
Luke frowned, remembering the small cry he’d heard from the floor above. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
“What could be wrong? It’s warm, that’s all.”
“I don’t want you passing out from the heat,” he said, his brow still creased. “I’ll bring a bunch of stuff down to one of the spare rooms. You can work in there. When you’re done with the first batch, we’ll move it to another room and I’ll bring more down. This house is huge, so there’s plenty of space.”