Chik~Lit for Foxy Hens

by Ervin, Sharon

  “Katy Cole,” I said. “Isn’t this the strangest coincidence?” Better to attack the problem straight on, I always thought.

  “Luke Wallace.” His smile was a bit sheepish, as if he might be suffering a guilt pang or two. “Hope there’s no hard feelings over the furniture.”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  Then he shook my hand.

  Something like an electrical shock zapped unbidden through my body and took away my breath. I gazed into brown eyes turned amber by the bright sunlight. Could he be feeling the same excitement that was turning my knees weak? The people I know who judge folks by their handshakes would give this man an A plus.

  “I believe you want your foundation checked for possible structural damage?” he said with a grin.

  It was a minute before I could bear to release his hand. I wondered if he knew how his touch affected me. Hard to tell, but I gave him points for hanging in there. It was a long handshake.

  I barely had enough of my wits about me to take him in through the front door instead of the kitchen, which leads in from the garage. The kitchen was sure to be a disaster. If my teenage son Zack had wolfed down his usual snack after school, that area would be wrecked. But to my chagrin, the living room hadn’t fared much better. A Coke can, cracker crumbs, and yesterday’s paper was strewn over the coffee table. Of course that was my mess, which the unexpected libido attack had erased from my mind. I breezed by with an off-hand wave.

  “Kids,” I said, without even a twinge of guilt, and he laughed.

  “The crack I’m concerned about is here on the fireplace.” I pointed toward a split running through the concrete that surrounded the bricks. “And there’s a recurring wet spot in one of the bedrooms that’s a mystery.” I shuddered thinking what Jeannie’s room would look like. I’d asked her to tidy up, but she usually flung all of her clothes on the floor. I hoped we’d be able to walk across the carpet without stepping on her dirty underwear.

  Luke walked to the fireplace, studied the area carefully, then scanned the entire room. It gave me a minute to admire the view.

  Sharon had been right. This guy was really cute. And as a special bonus I loved the way he moved. He was a big man and walked sort of like John Wayne when he was young. (I’m an old movie buff and sometimes got crushes on guys who had been dead for years. Who knows, maybe I feel safer with dead guys—even pretend ones.)

  The knit cotton of Luke’s shirt molded to his well-made shoulders and for a split second I wondered how he’d look in Carmen’s midnight blue shirt. For sure his butt looked great in soft, stonewashed jeans. Suddenly, without even trying, I found myself mentally undressing this guy.

  He turned to face me and I must have had a really goofy smile on my face because he did a sort of double take. Our eyes met and my heart quickened as I visualized him naked on my bed.

  “Now where’s the spot?” Luke asked with a wicked looking grin.

  “And what spot might that be?”

  I swear the words were out of my mouth before I could think. Then I wanted to turn into vapor and evaporate up the crack in my wall. But Luke was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  “The wet spot.” His eyes had melted into chocolate and they twinkled before sweeping down my body, leaving me even more flustered.

  “Oh, that spot,” I said in a haughty tone, as if we had discussed several spots and I’d been confused as to just which one he meant. “That’s in my daughter’s bedroom. But I’d better warn you, I’ve threatened to pound nails in her floor because that’s where she hangs all of her clothes.”

  Luke’s laugh resonated through my house, warm and real and sexy. I shivered.

  “Sounds like a normal kid.”

  I didn’t tell him she was twenty and old enough to do better. We went into her room, which was a bit tidier than I had expected even though the bed was unmade. I pointed out the place where water sometimes seeped in through the carpet. He studied the spot, asked several questions.

  “Maybe it’s caused by a leak from the roof,” he said pointing to a dark spot on the ceiling.

  “Oh, no. I’ve already had that fixed,” I assured him. “And we never see anything dripping from there. I’m sure it’s coming from the floor.”

  “Humm.” He made notes in a small spiral.

  “I’d like you to check the entire house, inside and out, if you don’t mind.”

  I managed to make small talk as we walked through the house. When we came into my bedroom Luke’s gaze fell on the oversized lamp perched precariously on a scruffy looking TV tray. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  “It looks like you needed that nightstand as badly as I did.” The look of guilt that flashed over his good-looking face gave me a huge surge of satisfaction.

  “My ex snagged our nightstand on his way out of the house,” I said, trying for a light touch.

  “Yeah? How long have you been divorced?” Luke’s eyes warmed with interest and my breath quickened.

  “Final papers were signed six months ago. It’s a done deal.” A familiar empty-stomach feeling flooded through my body and to my total humiliation I felt the sting of tears.

  A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “I’ll bet he misses you like hell,” Luke said.

  The kindness of his words almost unraveled me. For one horrible moment I thought I was going to throw myself into his arms and bawl like a baby. To keep from self destructing I forced a laugh.

  “I expect he’s too busy planning his wedding. My spies tell me that it’s scheduled for next Saturday.”

  “How long were you married?” Luke asked.

  I considered lying. Like most women I’m sensitive about my age. If I told him the truth he’d think that I was older than trouble. Then I shrugged. What the hell? I was fifty and had survived every year.

  “We were married thirty-one years,” I said. That got me a surprised look from his big browns.

  “No kidding? Where can you legally get married at ten?”

  His voice was serious and suddenly I really, really, liked this guy.

  “I was eighteen,” I said with a laugh. “I started college part time at sixteen. That’s where we met.”

  Luke shook his head again. He looked around the room, then his gaze landed on my aquamarine bed. I felt my color rise.

  “I know how you feel, though. My wife left me a couple of years ago when the company where I worked downsized and laid me off. Then she started dating the president of her company.” Luke shook his head as if he were still trying to figure out the puzzle. “Can you believe that? And the guy was married to someone else.”

  This heart-to-heart with Luke so near to my bed was starting to get to me. Time to move on before I did something really embarrassing, like laying my head against his chest and growling.

  “I guess it’s an old story,” I said.

  “Yeah. Well, I’d better get back to work.” Luke seemed to pull himself out of the past and went back to examining walls and checking the closet door to see if it closed properly. “Now I’d like to check the rest of the house.”

  Roundtable voices echoed inside my head reminding me to flirt. I sucked in my stomach, put a smile on my face then trailed Luke through my house wishing he’d glance at me.

  In the hallway my gaze followed his to the biggest cobweb I’ve ever seen. I rolled my eyes. Why hadn’t I flicked a duster through the place? The answer, of course, was that I’d expected the engineer to be short and fat and married.

  “I’ll take a look outside now,” Luke said. So I led him through the sliding glass door at the back of the living room. He studied every line of the house, paying special attention to the area directly outside Jeannie’s room. His rapt attention put my focus back on possible repairs where it belonged.

  “So what do you think my problem is?” I asked, forgetting about flirting and starting to worry about the high cost of renovation.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “You don’t seem to have any structural damage. The crack in th
e fireplace is a cosmetic thing. Just leave it alone. If you try and patch the thing with new cement, it will only look worse.”

  Relief washed through me. Thank God. No expensive piers to buy.

  “But what’s causing the wet spot?”

  “It’s always possible that you need French drains.” Luke made a few more scribbles. “Let me take my notes home and evaluate the data.”

  “How much do French drains cost?”

  “I’m not sure. Not exactly my area. A couple of thousand maybe.”

  My heart sank. Where in the world would I find that kind of money? Not even his chocolate syrup eyes could cheer me up.

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me think about this. Maybe something will occur to me later. Basically your house is in sound condition.”

  “Then why is water leaking through the foundation?”

  “That’s what I need to think about.” He smiled and I noticed a dimple that I had missed. Suddenly I was once again imagining this guy in my bed. My carnal thoughts caused heat to rise in my cheeks. Talk about a hot flash! And blushing was most unsophisticated. Especially for a woman of fifty.

  “Can I write you a check for your services?” I asked in a businesslike tone to try to cover my embarrassment.

  “Don’t worry about that, I’ll mail a statement with my evaluation.”

  I’ll swear that the man was chuckling. To cover my confusion, I thanked Luke in a cooler tone than I had intended to use. So much for my flirting skills. When it came to men I was a dunce. I said a hasty goodbye then fled into the house. One thing was sure, except for sending me his report and bill, I’d never hear from Luke Wallace again.

  “You made a royal ass of yourself, Katy Cole,” I said, then burst into tears.

  The phone rang in the middle of the night, waking me with a start. I hate late night calls. I know it’s going to be the hospital or the police telling me one of my kids has been hurt in a car accident or that my mother is ill. I glanced at the glowing red numbers on my bedside clock. Two o’clock. A fist-sized knot closed my throat. I knew the kids were all home, so it must be Mother. I could hear rain pounding on the roof, and the damned stuff was no doubt also seeping up through my foundation. I reached for the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi. This is Luke Wallace. I hope my call didn’t alarm you.”

  Luke? I blinked hard. Had he read my lusty thoughts and gotten in the mood for romance? I wasn’t sure whether I should be flattered or insulted.

  “Hello, Luke.” I knew that I should complain about the late hour, but hey. This was one good-looking man and after all, I was the Queen of Flirtation. Maybe magic did happen. Maybe he was enraptured and enthralled and devastated by my siren appeal. I lowered my voice an octave to what I hoped was a sexy tone and continued. “It’s so nice to hear from you.”

  “I’m calling about your roof,” Luke said.

  “My what?”

  “Your roof. Even though you had it repaired, I think that’s where the water on the carpet is coming from, not through the foundation.”

  “I can’t believe that, I paid a bundle to have that fixed.”

  “Maybe so, but roof leaks are tricky. I’ve been thinking about your water leak all evening and when the rain started it occurred to me that the rain might run down your chimney just on the other side of the wall and then onto the bedroom floor.”

  “Really?” A rush of helpless repairman-frustration swept through me. All that wasted money spent for nothing.

  “Do you have a pair of pliers?” Luke asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.” Where on earth I had put the rusted pair that Garry Ray had left? His good tools had gone out the door with him.

  “Use them to pull back the carpet. If you can see water on the floor, you’ll know it’s coming from the roof. It hasn’t been raining long enough for it to be seeping in through the foundation yet. That’s why I had to disturb you at this hour. I can hold on while you check.”

  “You mean pull the carpeting loose from the floor? Is that an okay thing to do?” I must have been goofing off somewhere in the library when God passed around mechanical ability, because that particular gene totally skipped over my head.

  “Easily. It’ll pull right up from the tack board. Then later you can push it back down.”

  I mumbled something, laid down the phone and stumbled into the kitchen to hunt that elusive pair of pliers. To my great relief they were in the bottom of my junk drawer along with a flashlight that worked after I shook it. I tiptoed into Jeannie’s bedroom not wanting to wake her. It belatedly occurred to me that someone skulking through her room in the dead of night might be more upsetting than a light.

  Jeannie groaned. The bed squeaked and a light clicked on. My daughter glared over at me, her eyes cloudy with sleep. “What are you doing? Are you having a nervous breakdown?”

  “I’m checking for a leak. The nervous breakdown’s scheduled for next winter.” Jeannie rolled her eyes but I ignored her. I figured that going through a divorce and menopause at the same time entitled me to a smart remark even if I didn’t have time for mental collapse. “The structural engineer called me. He thinks the water is coming in through the roof.”

  “But we got that fixed,” Jeannie said.

  “He thinks maybe not.” I took the pliers, gripped the carpet and pulled hard. The carpet came away from the wall and I watched water seep across the concrete floor. “Guess he’s right.” I spotted a discarded towel in the clutter and used it to sop up the moisture.

  “That dirty rotten roofer,” Jeannie said. “Where do you find these contractors, anyway?”

  “The Yellow Pages, where else?”

  “That’s the worst possible place,” Jeannie said, her eyes rolling again.

  “Seemed better at the time than a sign on a light post,” I snapped. “Now go back to sleep.” I clicked off the light and walked back to my room and picked up the phone.

  “Water’s oozing across the floor,” I said. “The roofing contractor was a fraudulent jerk.”

  “Not necessarily. Roof leaks are tricky to fix. I spent most of last summer fixing one at my house.”

  “You know how to repair roofs? Would you fix mine?” I blurted the words before considering that I might not want to pay the hourly rate of a structural engineer to nail shingles onto the roof. But after Jeannie’s criticism of my choice of contractors, Luke’s defending my selection comforted me. His low chuckle over the phone also made my spine tingle.

  “That’s not what I usually do,” he said. “But you might have trouble finding a really good construction company that would take on a small job.”

  “I don’t have a clue who to call. I sure don’t want the same guy who swore he’d already fixed it. And to think that I was considering having French drains installed. That would have cost a fortune and been a total waste of money.”

  I babbled on, helpless to stop my own senseless chatter, and well aware that I sounded like an idiot. I was supposed to be flirting with the guy, sending him sexy thoughts, charming him. Instead I sounded, for all the world just like my mother. I shuddered and bit my tongue. I had almost blurted out that I was desperate enough to seek advice from my curmudgeon of a neighbor who always preceded his advice by saying that women had no business being single. Like that was my fault. Luckily for me Luke was already talking.

  “Tell you what,” he said in his rich baritone. “If you don’t mind me working nights and weekends I could probably find time to fix your roof. I learned a lot while I was working on my own, and to tell the truth I sort of like a challenge.”

  Delight swept through me. My luck must be changing! A competent person to do repairs. And a hunk at that! I licked my lips and asked him to quote me a price. When he said a hundred dollars plus supplies I jumped at the chance. We talked awhile longer then Luke told me he’d show up early Saturday morning to begin work.

  It was impossible to get back to sleep even though I gave it a good try. Finally I glanced at
the clock. Three a.m. An awkward time. Too late for Magda, who was a night person, and too early for Carmen or Pam who would be up in another couple of hours. So I lay in bed, eyes wide open, and listened to the rain pour down on my leaking roof. I’ve been told how many thoughts race through a human mind in a minute, and mine was doing double time.

  Luke’s call had taken me totally by surprise. Was he always such a night owl? Surely he hadn’t been lying awake pondering the structural problems to my house? Was it possible he found me attractive as a woman? A shiver slid down my spine. Maybe I was a better flirt than I thought.

  Chapter 6

  Discussing the possible success of my flirting required an emergency Royal Roundtable meeting be called. After I related every detail, my loyal friends insisted that I’d enchanted a new conquest.

  “No one repairs a roof for one hundred dollars,” Magda shouted. “Luke is interested!”

  This put a big grin on my face, but I hesitated to believe her. Deep in my heart I knew that I was a woman who men left. First, my father flew the coop years ago, then my husband of thirty-one years fled in like manner. Men came then left. Thank Heaven for my friends.

  “He wants you!” Magda insisted, her throaty voice projecting through her small five-roomed house. “You’ve captivated the man. No one wants to pound nails on a hot Oklahoma roof in the summertime. This guy is after something else entirely. He wants you.”

  “She’s right. And it’s all because you pictured him naked in your mind.” Pam smiled. “The mind is a powerful tool. No man can resist such force.” She licked her lips. “Besides, it’s so much fun. Don’t you agree?”

  Color rose in my cheeks and I nodded. I was the most sexually inexperienced person in our circle and I had bowed to their superior sophistication. And it had been great fun.

  “You’ve become a man-magnet!” Carmen shouted. “Make that your mantra. Say over and over to yourself: I’m a man-magnet. Write the affirmation on an index card and tape it to the mirror in your bathroom.”