I Cross My Heart. Vicki Lewis Thompson
she hadn’t needed much gasoline to light that recliner on fire, after all. He understood her fierce desire to haul it out of here.
The living room was separated from the dining room by French doors, and when she opened them, he walked from a miserable space into a joyous one. “Wow. You’ve been working hard.”
“You have no idea how I loved making at least one room in this house look the way it’s supposed to.”
He surveyed the flickering candles on the table and the sideboard, the flowered centerpiece, the white linen tablecloth and what had to be her mother’s best china, silverware and stemmed glasses. A modest crystal chandelier above the table sparkled and as the sun drifted lower in the sky, its rays shone through clean windows. He’d bet she’d washed the curtains, too.
“I can tell.” He gazed at her, touched by all the effort she’d made. “I’m honored to be your guest.”
She flushed. “I did it as much for me as for you. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…to create a romantic setting for some reason.”
“No, no, I’m sure you weren’t.” Damn. He hadn’t thought of that, but it would have been kind of nice if she had.
“I mean, for all I know you have a girlfriend, and I—”
“No girlfriend, but you’re headed off to Atlanta, where you may have a boyfriend.”
“No boyfriend, but I am headed off to Atlanta.” She gestured toward the festive table. “This was just a whim, to make the house seem a little bit happy again.”
“Right. I completely get that.” No boyfriend, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with him. Okay. He should be relieved, because they had no business getting involved, but from the minute she’d stepped out on that porch, he’d found himself wishing that somehow they could…what?
He’d already had this talk with himself. It went against his moral code to get cozy with the woman who was paying him to make some quick repairs so she could sell the place. And that was when he finally remembered the idea he’d had driving in here.
Once he remembered, he had trouble not blurting it out, but that wouldn’t be the best way to approach such an important discussion. He should lead up to the topic. She had wineglasses on the table. Although he was opposed to drinking on the job, maybe tonight he should make an exception, because this idea might go better if it was presented over a glass of wine.
If she accepted his offer to buy the house, would that change the dynamic between them? Then he’d be a buyer, not an employee. His moral code might allow him to get cozy with the seller of the property he was purchasing. After all, why not? Because she might think that was a really bad plan, that was why not.
“Nash? Are you okay?”
He blinked and wondered how long he’d been standing there staring into space as if he had buckshot for brains. “I’m fine. Sorry. Got lost in thought for a minute.”
“I noticed. You looked a bit startled, and I hope this setting didn’t trigger a bad memory.”
“It’s not that at all.”
“Are you sure? Because I can blow out the candles and we can eat out on the front porch. It takes time to get over a divorce. Sometimes a situation will blindside you with memories, good or bad.”
“You’ve been divorced?”
“No, but I talked to plenty of divorced people back when I was working full-time as a counselor. I can tell it was a painful event. So if all this reminds you of something to do with your ex, then let’s—”
“Not at all. This is great.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you like it. I put out the wineglasses automatically, but we don’t have to drink wine. You may not want to, considering that you’ll be working later.”
“Let’s have a glass of wine,” Nash said. “I’m a big guy, so one glass won’t put me under the table. And we should toast getting one room looking really good.” There, he’d finally managed to get them on a safe track.
She smiled. “That would be lovely. Stay right there. I’ll be back in a flash with the wine and the food.”
“I’ll help.” He started to follow her into the kitchen.
“No.” She turned so abruptly that he bumped into her.
Although she backed away immediately, his body still felt the imprint of hers—soft, yielding, delicious. He closed his hands into fists so he wouldn’t do something really stupid and reach for her.
She’d been affected by the accidental contact, too. Her pupils widened with awareness. She might be heading off to Atlanta, but that didn’t stop her from being attracted to him. That was gratifying.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t want you to come into the kitchen. I scrubbed it down, but it still isn’t very pretty. The dining room is, and I want to maintain the illusion.”
“Having you wait on me doesn’t seem right.”
“Humor me, okay?”
He relented, partly because she looked so incredibly beautiful standing there with the light from the chandelier sparkling in her eyes. He also realized that she’d encountered mostly ugliness when she’d walked into the house earlier today. If limiting his view to this dining room helped her cope, then he’d go along.
“All right,” he said. “But I refuse to sit down like some lord of the manor. I’ll stay standing until I can help you into your chair.”
She nodded. “It’s a good compromise.” With that she turned and walked over to the pocket door leading into the kitchen. “No peeking. Enjoy the sunset.”
Because he wanted to make her happy, he walked over to the set of two double-hung windows that faced southwest and watched an orange sun slide behind a bank of clouds. From here he could see a little bit of the Grand Tetons to his right. The house wasn’t angled to capitalize on a view of the majestic range. The best spot might be at the back, and he wondered if there was a porch out there.
If not, he’d add one. Ah, listen to him, talking in his head as if she’d already agreed to sell him the Triple G. But he couldn’t think why she wouldn’t.
Then a very logical reason came to him. Obviously making this dining room pretty again had been a labor of love. The crystal chandelier told him that at one time, someone, probably her mother, had tried to bring cheer into this house.
Now Bethany was attempting to do the same thing by rescuing the house, room by room. As she gradually removed the ugliness her father had created and replaced it with beauty, she might begin to love her old family home again. In the meantime Nash would improve the look of the outbuildings so they wouldn’t be depressing anymore, either.
Sure, Atlanta was a long way from Wyoming, but her decision to sell might be a knee-jerk reaction to her father’s neglect of the place followed by his undignified death. Once the house and outbuildings looked decent, though, she might decide to keep the ranch.
He still planned to ask if she’d sell it to him, but his conscience would require him to add that she could change her mind later. That was the right thing to do. But as he contemplated how this could turn out, his cherished dream began to crumble.
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