by Lisa Jackson
“Consider it done.”
“No way. I realize this isn’t the way you do things, Hayden, but when I agree to do a job,” she assured him, those intense eyes snapping green flames, “I do it. Now, you can stand there and argue with me all day long, but I’m really busy and I’d like to finish this room before I go home.”
“You’re a maid?” he asked, and saw her cringe slightly.
“Among other things. And right now, I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me…” Quickly she leaned over the tub and twisted on the faucets again. Water rushed from the spigot and she swished the last of the scouring soap down the drain.
“What other things?” he asked as she turned off the faucet.
Sliding him a glance that was impossible to read, she explained, “Oh, I have many talents. Scrubbing tubs and waxing floors and setting mousetraps are just a few.” She yanked off her gloves, and this time she dropped them into an empty bucket. Bending her head, she untied her bandanna and unleashed a tangled mass of red-brown curls that fell past her shoulders and caused his gut to tighten in memory. “Now, I’ve got to get home, but I’ll be back in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do any more—”
“Oh, yes I do,” she said firmly, and the determined line of her jaw suggested she was carrying a sizable chip on her slim shoulders. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I never leave a job unfinished—no matter who’s paying the bill.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out, Hayden,” she said, as if she were harboring a grudge against him—as if he had done her a severe injustice when she had been the one who had used him.
Seethingly indignant, she grabbed her mops, pails and supplies and walked briskly past him. Her flaming hair swung down her back and her jeans hugged her behind tightly as she bustled out of the room and clomped noisily down the stairs. Hayden was left standing between the bathroom and bedroom to wonder if she was going home to a husband or boyfriend.
He heard the front door click shut and moved to the window, where he saw her load her supplies into a trashed-out old Chevy, slide behind the wheel and then, without so much as a look over her shoulder, tromp on the accelerator. The little car lurched forward, and with a spray of gravel from beneath its tires, disappeared through the trees.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered again.
Well, at least she was gone. For the time being. He should be grateful for that. He reached for his duffel bag and a flash of light, a sparkle on the rim of the tub, caught his eye. He moved closer to inspect the glitter and saw the ring that she’d obviously forgotten. Frowning, he walked into the bathroom and picked up the tiny band of gold. A single blue stone winked up at him. Simple and no-nonsense, like the woman who wore it.
He wondered if this were a wedding band or an engagement ring, and told himself it didn’t matter. He’d take the damned piece of jewelry back to her and write her a check for services rendered as well as those not rendered. He didn’t need a woman hanging around right now, especially not a woman who, with a single scalding look, could set his teeth on edge and his blood on fire.
* * *
HAYDEN MONROE! BACK in Gold Creek! Nadine couldn’t believe her bad luck. She never should have agreed to work for the bastard, and she had half a mind to wring Aunt Velma’s long neck! But she couldn’t afford to say no to the sum of money that attorney Bradworth had offered. And she’d never expected to come face-to-handsome-face with Hayden again. She’d known, of course, that someone would be staying in the house, but she thought it was probably going to be rented or sold. She hadn’t expected Hayden. The last she’d heard about him, he’d moved to Oregon and was estranged from his father.
Ben had been right about Hayden and his dad. They were both cut from the same cloth—dangerously handsome, extremely wealthy; men who didn’t give a good goddamn about anything or anyone. Just money. That’s all they cared about. What was the saying? Fast cars and faster women? Whatever money could buy.
Hands clenched over the steering wheel, she mentally kicked herself. It was all she could do not to take him up on his offer and quit. But, in good conscience, she couldn’t tell him to take his job and shove it, as she’d already spent a good part of the money. And she didn’t want her two sons to lose out on the best Christmas they’d had in years because of her own stupidity.
“Damn, damn, damn and double damn!” she swore, her little car hugging the corners as she headed back to town. She frowned as she guided the Chevy beneath the railroad trestle bridge that had been a Gold Creek landmark for over a hundred years. Hayden Monroe! As handsome as ever and twice as dangerous. She steered through the side streets of town and stopped at the Safeway store for groceries. Christmas trees were stacked in neat rows near the side entrance, fir and pine trees begging to be taken home, but she didn’t succumb. Not yet. Not with the windfall she’d so recently received. Just in case she never finished the job. The trees would go on sale later. She picked up a few groceries, then climbed back into her car again, heading to the south side of Whitefire Lake.
She was irritated at having been caught by Hayden again, and was discouraged by the heady feeling she’d experienced when she’d stared into his blue eyes. But she was over him. She had to be. It had been years. Nearly thirteen years!
She only had to deal with him for a week or two. She rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip. Fourteen days suddenly seemed an eternity.
She had no choice, so she’d just make the best of it and avoid him as much as possible. She would simply grin and bear Hayden Monroe with his sexy smile, knowing eyes and lying tongue until the job was finished.
Then it was sayonara.
Veering off the road that circled the lake, she drove down a single lane that served as a driveway to several small cabins built near the shore. She slowed near the garage, a sagging building filled with cut cordwood and gardening supplies, and snapped off the ignition. Grabbing both sacks of groceries and her purse, she stepped onto her gravel drive. “Boys!” she sang out, not really expecting to hear a response as both bikes, usually dropped in the middle of the driveway, were nowhere to be seen and the raucous sound of their voices didn’t carry in the cool mountain air. “Boys! I’m home.”
Nothing.
Well, it was early. They were probably still pedaling from the sitter’s.
Juggling the groceries, she reached into her purse for her keys and opened the screen door, only to find that her sons had, indeed, been home from school. The back door wasn’t locked and book bags, sneakers and jackets were strewn over the couch and floor.
She left the groceries on the counter, then headed back outside. “John? Bobby?” she called again, and this time she could hear the sound of gravel crunching and bike wheels spinning.
She was carrying her mops, buckets and cleaning supplies into the house when she heard the sound of tires slamming to a stop.
“You’re a liar!” Bobby’s voice rang through the house, and Nadine walked to the window in time to see her youngest son, his lower lip thrust out stubbornly, throw a punch at his brother.
John, older than Bobby’s seven and a half years by a full eighteen months and taller by nearly four inches, ducked agilely away from Bobby’s wild swing and managed to step over Bobby’s forgotten bike. Wagging his wheat blond head with the authority of the elder and wiser sibling, John announced, “I don’t believe in Santa Claus!”
“Then you’re just stupid.”
“And you’re the liar.” John leered at his brother as Bobby lunged. Sidestepping quickly, John watched as Bobby landed with an “oof” on the cold ground near the back door.
Leaning down, John taunted, “Liar, liar, pants on fire, hang them on—”
“Enough!” Nadine ordered, knowing this exchange would quickly escalate from an argument and a few wild punches to a full-fledged wre
stling match. “Look, I don’t want to have to send you to your rooms. Bobby, are you okay?”
“We only got one room,” John reminded her.
“You know what I mean—”
“John’s makin’ fun of me,” Bobby wailed indignantly. A shock of red-blond hair fell over his freckled face as he looked to Nadine as if for divine intervention. “And I saw Santa Claus last year, really I did,” he said earnestly.
“Tell me another one,” John teased, sneering. “There ain’t no such thing as Santa Claus or those stupid elves or Frosty or Rudolph, neither!”
Bobby blinked hard. “Then you just wait up on Christmas Eve. You’ll see. On the roof—”
“And how am I s’posed to get there—fly?” John hooted, ignoring the sharp look Nadine sent him. “Or maybe Dancer or Vixen will give me a lift! Boy, are you dumb! Everything comes from Toys ‘R’ Us, not some stupid little workshop and a few lousy elves!”
“I said ‘enough!’” Nadine warned, wondering how she would survive with both boys for the two weeks of Christmas vacation that loomed ahead. Right now, her sons couldn’t get along and Nadine’s already busy life had turned into a maelstrom of activity. John and Bobby seemed hell-bent on keeping the excitement and noise level close to the ozone layer and they couldn’t be near each other without punching or kicking or wrestling.
“You’re not really gonna send us to our room, are you?” Bobby asked, biting on his lower lip worriedly.
“Well, not yet—”
“He’s such a dork!” John called over his shoulder as he found his rusty bike propped on the corner of the house. “A dumb little dork!”
“John—”
“Am not!” Bobby screamed.
But John didn’t listen. He peddled quickly down the sandy path leading to the lake. His dog, a black-and-white mutt named Hershel, streaked after him.
“I’m not a dork,” Bobby said again, as if to convince himself.
“Of course you’re not, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that!” He pulled himself up, dusted off his jeans and kicked angrily at the ground. His eyes filled with tears and dirt streaked his face. “John’s just a big…a big jerk!”
This time Nadine had to agree, but she kept her opinion to herself, and hugging her youngest son, asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But his hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“You sure?” Nadine asked, though she suspected little more than his pride had been bruised. “How about a cup of cocoa, with marshmallows and maybe some cookies?”
“You got some at the store?” he asked, brightening a bit.
“Sure did.”
He blinked and nodded, sniffling as he tagged after his mother into the house.
Nadine heated two cups of water in the microwave while Bobby climbed into one of the worn chairs at the scratched butcher-block table. When the water was hot, she measured chocolate powder into one cup and said, “And as for Santa Claus, I still believe in him.”
“Do you?”
“Mmm-hmm. But Oreos won’t do for him. No siree. You and I’ll have to bake some special Christmas cookies and leave them on the hearth.”
Bobby sent her a look that said he didn’t really believe her, but he didn’t argue the point, either. “Thanks,” he muttered when she handed him a steaming cup and a small plate of Oreos. “John can’t help us make the cookies, neither.”
“Well, if he has a change of heart—”
“He won’t. He’s too…too…dumb!”
Nadine blew across her cup, not wanting to condemn her eldest quite yet, but needing to placate Bobby. “Look, honey, I know how tough it can be with John. I’m the youngest, too, you know,” she said, thinking of Ben and Kevin. A knot of pain tightened in her chest at the memory of Kevin, the eldest of the Powell siblings, a golden boy who’d once had it all, before his dreams and later his life had been stolen from him. Now there was just her and Ben, she thought sadly, then, seeing her son’s expectant face, she forced a grin. “Remember Uncle Ben?” She dunked a tea bag into her cup, and soon the scent of jasmine mingled with the fragrance of chocolate, filling the cozy little kitchen.
“Is he a creep?” Bobby asked, his little jaw thrust forward as he dunked an Oreo into his hot chocolate.
“Ben?” She laughed, her melancholy dissolved as she stared at the hopeful eyes of her son. “Sometimes.” Nadine wished that Ben were still around. He’d be home soon, after ten years in the army and she couldn’t wait to have him back in Gold Creek. Ben was the only member of her fractured family to whom she still felt close.
Bobby seemed placated slightly. “Well, John doesn’t know anything! I saw Santa Claus and I’m not gonna say I didn’t!” he stated with a firm thrust of his little chin. He dropped a handful of marshmallows into his cocoa and watched them slowly melt.
To her son’s delight, Nadine broke open an Oreo and ate the white center first, licking the icing from the dark wafer. “And what was Santa doing last year—when you saw him?”
Bobby lifted one shoulder. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Prob’ly tryin’ to figure out which present was mine.” His brow puckered again. “I hope he gives John a lump of coal!”
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” Nadine said as he gulped his cocoa then wiped one grubby hand across his mouth.
“Sure it will. Santa knows when John’s lying. He knows everything.”
“I think it’s God who knows so much,” she corrected.
Her son lifted a shoulder as if God and Santa were one and the same, and she didn’t see any reason to start another argument. Obviously Bobby’s imagination was working overtime. But she loved him for his innocence, his bright eyes and that mind that buzzed with ideas from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep each night.
“Come on, you,” she said, touching him fondly on the nose. “You can help me dig out all the Christmas decorations and wrapping paper. I think most of the stuff is in the closet under the stairs—”
“Mom, hey, Mom!” John’s voice echoed through the small house.
Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. “Oh, great. He’s back.”
“Hey—there’s someone here to see you! Says you left somethin’ at his place,” John yelled.
Nadine glanced out the window to see John, riding his old bike as if his tail were on fire. Hershel galloped beside him, barking wildly.
Nadine froze for an instant when she recognized the reason for all the commotion. Her back stiffened to steel. Behind the boy and bike, striding purposefully up the path to the house, his angled face a mask of arrogance, was none other than Hayden Garreth Monroe IV.
CHAPTER SIX
BRACING HERSELF, SHE walked onto the front porch, arms crossed over her chest. In his beat-up jacket, flannel shirt and faded jeans that fit snugly around his buttocks and rode low on his hips, he didn’t look much like the multimillionaire he’d become overnight. He was still too damned sexy for his own good. Or hers.
“I think you forgot something,” he said as he strode up the slight incline to her house. His gait was a little uneven, but that was probably due to the rocky ground rather than the result of his boating accident years before.
“Forgot something?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Believe me, Hayden, I haven’t forgotten anything.” She glared at him, and all the bitter memories of her youth washed over her in a flood.
His eyes narrowed and his anger was visible in the hard angle of his jaw. Digging into the front pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a ring. Her ring. Instinctively she touched her fingers, assuring herself that the band with its imitation stone was really missing. “Yours?” he asked as he climbed the two long steps of the porch.
“Oh.” She felt suddenly foolish. And trapped. He was too close. Too threatening. Too male. Squ
aring her shoulders, she managed to find her voice. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I’d left it.” She took the ring from his outstretched hands, careful not to touch him. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I would’ve been back for it tomorrow.”
His eyes held hers for a heart-stopping second and her lungs squeezed. Quickly he glanced away. “I wasn’t sure you’d be returning.”
“I said I would—”
“You’ve said things before, Nadine,” he pointed out and the comment cut her as easily as the bite of a whip. He was insulting her, but why? She’d never done anything to hurt him. Or his family.
“Hey, mister, is that your boat?” John’s eyes were round with envy as he stared at the dock where a speedboat—shiny silver with black trim—was rocking on the waves.
“It is now.”
“Oh, wow!”
“You like it?”
John was practically drooling. “What’s not to like? It’s the coolest.”
“Is this your son?” Hayden asked.
Was it her imagination or was there a trace of regret in his question? Reluctantly, she made introductions. “Hayden Monroe, my oldest son, John,” Nadine introduced, and spying Bobby peeking through the window, waved him outside. Bobby came cautiously through the door. “And this is my baby—”
“Don’t call me that,” Bobby warned.
“Excuse me.” Nadine smiled and rumpled his red-blond hair. “This is my second son. Bobby. Or are you Robert today?” she asked, teasing him.
“Hello, Bobby. John.” Hayden shook hands with each of the boys, and Nadine wondered if the shadow that stole across his summer-blue eyes was a tinge of remorse.
“Are you the guy who owns the sawmill?” John asked, and Nadine’s polite smile froze on her face.
“For now.”
“The whole mill?” Bobby asked, obviously impressed.
