by Zoe Ann Wood
“Right.” Ben laughed suddenly. “Maybe her temper will match my father’s.”
The nurse grinned. “It might at that.”
Ben said goodbye to his father, who didn’t reply, and left to find this formidable Betty Smith. The sooner he hired someone, the sooner his father would recover.
It didn’t take long to drive to the other side of town. He rolled past rows of houses that radiated wholesomeness and family cheer. There was even a beautiful home with a For Sale sign stuck in the front lawn—exactly the kind of house he’d want for himself one day if he ever decided to settle down.
But the neighborhood Betty Smith lived in wasn’t as affluent as the one his father lived in—even though his dad’s house wasn’t fancy by any standards. Here, yards were narrow, and the houses were small, run-down, and old.
The Smiths’ lawn was well-kept, though. Even if the house itself could use a good coat of paint, it seemed tidy at first glance. Ben parked at the curb and marched up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. A lawnmower rattled nearby, disturbing the quiet of the morning.
“No, thank you!” a shrill voice yelled from inside. “We don’t need whatever you’re selling.”
Ben’s eyebrows went up. He knocked and replied, “Mrs. Smith? My name’s Ben Charles. Dylan Sawyer mentioned you might be willing to take on a housekeeping job. I’m sorry for visiting unannounced, but he didn’t have your phone number.”
There was silence from the other side of the door, and then footsteps neared. The security chain rattled, and the door opened a crack revealing a woman’s face peering at him from behind the screen door.
“What kind of housekeeping?”
Ben had hoped to hold this conversation inside, but he supposed the woman was smart for not letting a stranger into her house. “My father, Robert Charles, suffered a heart attack three weeks ago. He’s sixty-seven years old and needs someone to clean and cook for him. Get his groceries, that kind of thing.” He told her how much she’d be making per hour and added, “It’s not a full-time position, though.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her blue eyes shrewd. “Don’t you want my references?”
Ben thought about this. “No. Nurse Sawyer recommended you, so that should be enough for now.”
“I’m allergic to dogs,” she said.
“That’s fine,” Ben replied. “My father doesn’t have any pets.”
Good thing, too, or the house would be in much worse shape now. Betty Smith made a non-committal, humming sound.
“So you’ll take the job?” he asked, hopeful.
She rolled her eyes and closed the door in his face. Ben stared at it, shocked, then heard the rattle of the chain again. She unlatched the door and pushed the mesh screen wide.
“You’d better come in and tell me all the details.”
Ben sighed in relief and followed the woman down the short hallway and into a bright, clean kitchen. The cabinets were old, the countertop chipped at the edges, but the surfaces gleamed, not a crumb in sight. A cat meowed and wound his way around Ben’s ankles before disappearing out the back door, which stood open a crack. Through the window, Ben saw a small lawn, on which a young man was pushing around an ancient lawnmower. The scent of freshly mown grass hung in the air, fresh and vibrant.
“My son, Oliver,” Mrs. Smith explained, then set a cup of coffee in front of Ben and offered him a carton of milk.
Ben shook his head and wrapped his hands around the hot cup. “So, the details.”
Mrs. Smith poured herself a cup of coffee and sat opposite him. Ben was struck by how similar this situation was to the one he’d experienced earlier at his father’s house, though his current companion couldn’t be more different from Dylan Sawyer.
Betty Smith’s white-blonde hair was curly and fizzy, giving the impression that she’d stuck her fingers into an electrical socket. Her skin was pale, with deep lines around her mouth and between her eyebrows as though she spent her days frowning. Ben guessed she was in her late forties, but life hadn’t been kind to her. A brief glance around the room told him why: a photo of a soldier with dark brown hair hung on the wall, a black ribbon in one corner.
He looked back at her and found her watching him, her chin lifted proudly. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
She nodded once, her bright blue eyes shining. Then she blinked and glanced out the window. “It hasn’t been easy. Especially on Oliver. He’s been getting into trouble. He’s a good boy, but losing his dad…” She trailed off and shook her head. “You’re not here to listen to me, though,” she said, her voice snapping again.
“Er, yeah.” Ben took a sip of the coffee, which was so hot it scalded the roof of his mouth. “My father. He’s resisting the doctor’s orders that he change his lifestyle. He’s supposed to be eating healthy, but all he seems capable of making is eggs with bacon and things he can stick in the microwave.”
Mrs. Smith’s lips twitched up at the corners. “And you need someone to whip his butt into shape?”
Ben laughed. “Something like that. I was hoping you could help me out.”
She nodded, and they went over the dietary restrictions and the chores Ben hoped she’d be able to do at his father’s house. She was brusque, and her words had an edge to them that would likely rub people the wrong way, but Ben was glad she wasn’t a shy, quiet woman. To manage his father, she’d need her temper and a good dose of patience, too.
The back door opened, and Oliver, her son, appeared, stomping grass clippings off before he crossed into the room. He washed his hands at the sink and poured himself a glass of sweet tea from the fridge.
Inspiration struck Ben.
“Hi,” he greeted the boy, who looked to be just past high school years. “Can you do more than just mow a lawn?”
The young man regarded him coolly. “Depends. What did you have in mind?”
Ben grinned at this show of attitude. “Your mom agreed to take care of my father’s house for a while. Would you be willing to get his backyard ready for the winter?”
Oliver Smith shrugged. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Great.” Ben stood and shook hands with Betty Smith. “Thank you both.”
On his drive back to his house, he realized a weight had rolled off his shoulders. He hoped the Smiths wouldn’t be scared off by his father, but he suspected they were both tough enough to handle one old man. And some company would do his father good—maybe Mrs. Smith could even convince him to get out of his house once in a while.
He was looking forward to hard work this afternoon while tackling the horrible lean-to garage that some genius had built from corrugated iron several decades ago. The ugly storage space needed to be torn down; he’d be adding a covered parking space a little way off once the yard was cleared. There was no need to mar the beautiful structure of the house.
As he put on his protective gear—his tetanus shot was up-to-date, but he had no wish to stab himself with rusted iron anyway—he decided to have an early night. Jade Marshall would likely be up before dawn again, waking him with another practice session.
He grinned. Maybe there was something wrong with him, but he couldn’t wait to hear what piece of music she would choose to torture him with in the morning.
6
Jade
This was impossible. Jade threw down her pen and pushed her chair away from the window. She was trying to get through the note sheets for the jazz band practice the next morning—she had two saxophone players this year, as well as a junior drummer and trumpet player who’d been in her class last year—but Ben-freaking-Charles was apparently tearing down his entire house. There was so much noise, Jade’s head rang with it, despite the fact that all her windows were closed.
At this point, it was a toss-up between going mad or suffocating first.
She could have gone to the library after school or stayed in the music classroom to do the work, but it had seemed cowardly to be chased from her own home by one handsome renovat
or. Besides, he’d indicated that the work would take months, and she couldn’t camp out at the school for that long. This was her home.
Jade put on a pair of jeans and sneakers because she wasn’t eager to repeat the leggings-and-rubber-boots fiasco from the other day, but she stopped short of fixing her hair to see a man who would be dirty and sweaty anyway.
And, oh my, why did her heartbeat speed up at the thought of that?
To take her mind off that image, she hurried over her lawn and past the fence.
“He’s obnoxious,” she muttered to herself. “He’s making enough noise to wake the dead, and you hate it.”
She rounded the house to find Ben on the roof of the hideous metal garage, pulling up a sheet off the roof. His broad back was bent, his work pants tight across his…
Jade looked away, blushing. She did not come here to ogle the man. She couldn’t help it, though, with the way he was leaning down. Resisting the urge to cover her eyes with her palm, she stepped closer.
“Hey,” she called.
The man reached behind his back for a tool, and more hammering followed.
“Hey, Ben!”
She put more force into the words, but still, he didn’t turn around.
Jade stepped to the side and rounded the garage, trying to put herself in his field of vision. The moment she caught sight of his head, she realized why he was ignoring her: a pair of heavy-duty ear muffs covered his ears, likely cutting off all sound. She hopped up and waved.
Ben stilled and looked over at her. A grin spread across his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes, and Jade’s breath lodged in her throat. How was she supposed to yell at him if his smiles turned her brain to mush?
With a graceful leap, he swung himself over the edge of the roof and landed in front of her with a thump. Straightening, he pulled the headphones from his ears and rubbed the sides of his head where the ear protectors had flattened his hair.
“Hi,” he said, tugging off his work gloves. “What brings you around?”
Jade stared at him. How could he not know? Or was he being deliberately insulting, playing clueless to mess with her?
“You’re ripping apart metal. It’s making an awful lot of noise.” There, she said it in a calm voice. She was proud of herself, actually: she didn’t even grit her teeth.
Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought we were over this. I mean…” He turned to look at the sagging garage. “This has to go. And there will be more. Hammering, sawing, grinding. I can’t help it, Jade, that’s just how construction works.”
She knew that. She did. But that didn’t mean she was happy that it was going on in her neighbor’s yard. Loud noises and messy environments destroyed her inner equilibrium, and if she had to endure months of this…
“It’s just the noise.” She swallowed, unsure of how to convey this to Ben.
He studied her. “You used to play in the school marching band. If you dislike noise, how’d you handle that?”
She glanced at him sharply. It bothered her that he seemed to remember so much about her. He’d been a popular football player, and she’d been the brainy kid no one ever talked to. And then he’d asked her to prom with almost no preamble, shocking her into saying yes. It had been her most secret dream, going to prom with the handsome wide receiver, wearing a princess dress and dancing in his arms.
Jade pulled herself back to the present, focusing on Ben’s curious expression. “That was a long time ago. Before—”
She stopped herself just in time. He didn’t need to hear her entire life story, and she absolutely wasn’t going to share her issues with him.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low.
He stepped closer, into her personal space, and Jade smelled the sharp scent of rusted iron coming off him. It mixed with the smell of him, a softer, more enticing whiff of fabric softener and man.
She retreated a step, and his face closed off. Jade regretted it because something had her wishing she could blurt out all her troubles to him, but that didn’t make sense. He’d never really been interested in her. It had all been for show, a stupid teenage prank, and she didn’t want to get tangled up with him.
With a shuddering breath, she turned away, suddenly eager to leave. Okay, so she’d occupy the local library for the foreseeable future. Maybe she could convince Sara, the head librarian, to save her a good seat every afternoon. She didn’t need to work from home, even though she’d miss Felix, who liked to curl up on her lap, purring.
A warm hand closed around her upper arm.
“Jade, wait.”
Ben’s voice was low and gruff, and she faced him again, pressing her lips together to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.
He let go of her arm, then offered her his ear muffs. “These might help.”
She stared down at the protective gear, stunned by the kind gesture. It wouldn’t solve the problem, but it might just tide her over until this monster of a project was over.
On second thought, though, Jade shook her head. “I can’t take those. You need them—you’ll hurt your ears without protection.”
Ben’s smile was a little crooked and a lot endearing. “I have a second pair in my trailer.”
“Trailer?” Jade repeated the word after him without thinking.
Ben pointed at something behind her. “That’s me.”
She swiveled around to see a small, compact trailer parked in the shade of a beautiful oak tree, steps descended from it, and a folding chair sat in front of it. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it from her kitchen window, then realized it was hidden from view by the wild bushes on this side of the fence. Did Ben live there?
“I like to stay on-site when working on a project,” he explained as though reading her mind. “It helps discourage people from running away with my power tools while the house is still open.”
“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
He closed the distance between them again; she felt him near even though her back was still turned to him.
“Does that mean your five a.m. practice sessions weren’t payback for me making noise?”
His words were low, but she’d swear she heard a hint of a smile in there.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, unable to fight a grin of her own. She thought he might be staying at the house itself, and the idea of waking him up had filled her with a grim sort of satisfaction. “I’ll play even louder now I know that’s the added bonus.”
He chuckled, and the small hairs on the back of her neck lifted in awareness. She wished he’d step even closer, wrap those strong arms around her and…
What? No! This wasn’t what she’d come here to do. There would be no wishing, no pining, and certainly no more daydreaming about this man.
She schooled her features in a neutral expression and faced him again. “I’ll take the headphones, then, if you don’t mind.”
“What?” He appeared confused for a second, then blinked and looked down at the earmuffs. “Oh, right. Here.”
She took them, careful not to touch Ben’s fingers. At least she’d be able to do her work if she wore them.
“Thanks,” she said, already wishing she was back in her house, away from Ben’s piercing gaze.
“Listen,” he said, “I’ll try to do most of the heavy-duty stuff in the mornings when you’re at work. Maybe I can…” He half-turned toward the house and studied it. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I have other things to do that aren’t as noisy, like ripping off all the wallpaper. I can do that in the afternoons.”
Jade was speechless for a beat. Then she swallowed and said, “Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”
He nodded, and just like that, the conversation was over. She stammered a goodbye, and he went to his trailer, likely in search of a second pair of headphones. Jade left, confused, and more than a little angry at herself for feeling that way.
This man was completely different from the boy s
he’d known—or rather, not known—in high school. He was considerate and gruff, and she had no idea how to interact with him. The only thing that hadn’t changed in the last decade was how handsome he was.
Sure, his frame had filled out, strong muscle replacing the lean stature of an eighteen-year-old. But his gray eyes were just as mesmerizing, and his hair, long enough to hold a bit of a curl, tempted her to run her fingers through it.
Jade stopped her thoughts and stuffed the image of Ben’s grin deep down, locking it into an imaginary chest where it wouldn’t bother her. So what if he was handsome? He’d been cute as a boy, and he’d still managed to hurt her. She’d do well to remember that.
7
Jade
The next day, she was putting away the note stands from choir practice when the principal, Meera Chandra, knocked on the half-open door.
“Hello, Jade,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Jade put down the last metal stand in the corner and perched on the edge of her desk. “What’s up?”
“I was hoping you’d drop by my office this morning,” the principal said, “like you usually do.”
Jade shook her head ruefully. Normally she did say hi to the principal since her office was right off the staff room. She liked Mrs. Chandra, who’d been a teaching assistant at the school when Jade herself had been a student here.
“Sorry,” she replied, “I was running late this morning. I barely had time to grab my things before I had to rush to class.”
The principal smiled. “No problem. But I did want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Jade fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan. “What’s wrong?”
The older woman opened her mouth as though to assure her that nothing was wrong, then closed it again. She sighed and came over to sit on the table right next to Jade. She was shorter, and as she hopped up, her feet didn’t reach the floor.
“I just got news that they’re preparing to cut the budget for arts programs again.” Her voice was quiet but held an edge of anger. “Not by a lot, and the changes won’t happen until the following school year, but it’s enough to make it impossible for us to keep all the classes intact.”
