The Long Hot Summer. Wendy Rosnau
imagined him wearing earlier throughout their phone conversation appeared. He spared a quick glance at the plain silver watch on his wrist, then made eye contact with her once more. “Looks like you’re early, too. Anxious to meet me, Nicki?”
She hadn’t expected him to know her name, Johnny could tell by the surprise in her blue eyes. But he did know her name, and a whole lot more. He had pumped Virgil before he’d left the motel, and the old man had been eager to talk. In fact, he had claimed Nicki Chapman the “perdiest femme” he’d ever seen. And Johnny had to agree, she was the best thing he’d seen in a helluva long time.
Somewhere in her twenties, she was a little above average height, her body curvy and delicate. The delicate part warned him off right away—he avoided fragile women like they had the plague. They reminded him of glass figurines, and, frankly, they made him nervous. He did like looking at her, though. Liked her sexy long bangs and the way she let them play an intentional game of hide-and-seek with her eyes. Her honey-blond hair was shoulder-length and shiny. Her cutoffs, mid-thigh, flashed long, slender legs and sexy knees. Her short T-shirt was a distinct shade of blue, a perfect match for her eyes.
She’d been born in L.A. Her parents had died two years ago in a plane crash. This came from Virgil. She was an only child like Johnny, Virgil had said, but he couldn’t remember what she did for a living. Apparently, she’d moved in with the old lady a few weeks ago with the intention of making Oakhaven her permanent home.
“I came to drop off a note from Gran.” She gestured to the piece of paper on the table. “I had planned to open windows, too, but I see you already opened them.” She thrust her hand out. “Ah, I’m Nicole Chapman. Mae’s granddaughter. We met on the phone.”
Johnny was surprised that she offered her hand. Most people were reluctant to get that friendly with him. Too bad he was going to have to decline the gesture. He wasn’t sure what he had on his hands, but they were filthy. He unfolded his arms and showed her that both of his hands weren’t even the same color. “I was catching supper, among other things,” he explained. “Catfish.”
Her gaze drifted to his dirty hands, then she promptly dropped the one she’d offered. “Since you’re here and you’ll be working for Oakhaven, I—”
“Will I, cherie? No new plan to fire me before I get started?”
“You made it clear over the phone that the choice wasn’t mine, remember? I believe the word you used was nonrefundable. I checked with Gran and that seems to be the case.” She broke eye contact with him and glanced around the room. “Gran took a lot of time to fix this place up. I guess that means something.” She brought her gaze back to his. “You’re a carpenter, isn’t that right, Mr. Bernard?”
“Johnny. The name’s Johnny. And, yeah, I’m a carpenter.”
“Well, Oakhaven is in need of major repairs, Johnny, so it looks like there will be plenty to keep you busy.”
Her concession to use his name amused him, and Johnny grinned. “So I’ve noticed.”
She arched one delicate eyebrow, but didn’t argue with him.
He gestured to the rocker, then shoved away from the door and strolled past her to the couch. Once she’d slipped into the chair, he dropped down on the couch and let his long legs sprawl apart. The day’s heat had flushed her face, and he noted she looked miserably hot. He, on the other hand, had never felt better. He loved the Louisiana heat; it was in his blood, the hotter the better. He’d run away from Common years ago. Only he hadn’t left the state. He’d been calling Lafayette home for almost two years.
“Will the job take the entire summer?” she asked.
“That depends on what’s on the old lady’s list.”
A bead of sweat slipped past her left temple and down her cheek. She made a swipe at it, then lifted her right leg a fraction of an inch, then the other one. It didn’t dawn on Johnny until he saw her go through the motion a second time that her bare legs were sticking to the wooden chair.
“Do you have a glass of water with ice?” she suddenly asked.
“Sure.” Johnny stood and walked into the small kitchen. He scrubbed his hands, then retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water and dropped in a couple of ice cubes from the space-saving fridge. He returned and handed it to her. “One glass of water, served with ice.”
She peered into the glass, then glanced at his clean hands. “Thank you. I haven’t adjusted to the humidity yet,” she quietly explained, “but I will eventually.”
Johnny wasn’t convinced—she looked about as miserable as she could get. He returned to the couch and watched her use the glass to cool her warm cheek. “Carpenters don’t come cheap,” he drawled, watching her slide the glass down her neck, then back up. She had a pretty neck, long and pale.
“No, they don’t. But I imagine carpenters on parole are just happy to be working at all.”
Johnny laughed out loud, liking her honesty. “So I’m supposed to work cheap, is that it? Or am I donating my time?”
She moved the glass to her opposite cheek and closed her eyes for a moment. “That’s something you’ll have to work out with Gran. She sprained her ankle a week ago and she’s in a wheelchair. I imagine we can get our supplies at Craig Lumber, don’t you think?”
“If they don’t carry it, I’m sure they’ll order it.”
“Good, I’ll call them tomorrow and make sure Gran’s account is in order.”
“Jasper Craig still own the lumberyard?”
“Yes, but I’m told Farrel— Ah, his son runs the business now that his father’s retired.”
By the look on her face, Johnny was sure she knew about the bar fight that had landed him in jail—at least, Sheriff Tucker’s version. “My parole states no physical confrontations. What that means, cherie, is I’m not supposed to engage in any violent behavior. I don’t plan on killing Farrel Craig the next time I see him.”
“Should that make me feel better?”
Johnny shrugged. “For the record, I didn’t start that fight at Pepper’s. Even though I’m sure that’s what you’ve heard. The truth is, if I had wanted Farrel dead, I would have killed him years ago. Leastwise, that’s what I told the judge. Now, maybe after I’ve been in town awhile I’ll feel different—Farrel being the number-one jackass that he is.”
“So you’re saying the bar incident wasn’t your fault?”
“I’m saying, maybe I defended myself a little too good.” Johnny paused. “Now about those repairs. The place looks like hell. Where do we start?”
For the next half hour, they discussed what Johnny would tackle first. The rotten roof and porch were the most urgent. But there was more: inside jobs for a rainy day, a dead tree in the front yard, painting, window repair.
After a while, Nicole stood, peeling her legs away from the chair one at a time. “If you could figure out some kind of a supply list, I would appreciate it. That’s really not something I understand. If you can’t—”
“I can.” Johnny stood.
She looked nervous suddenly, and as she attempted to step around the chair she stumbled. Before she landed on the floor, Johnny took one long stride and reached out to grip her upper arm, quickly bringing her back to her feet. She was as lightweight as a hollow-legged bird, he noted, letting her go as quickly as he had rescued her.
Hastily she handed him the empty water glass then pulled herself together without delay, impressing him once more with how cool and collected she could be.
She crossed to the door, surprising him when she suddenly turned around in the doorway. “Gran called you her friend. I’m curious to know if it works both ways. Do you consider my grandmother your friend, Johnny Bernard?”