Handyman Special

by Pamela Browning

  On the kitchen radio the Down Home Gospel Singers were singing "That Old Time Religion." Sage hated gospel music; it was the only kind of music she absolutely couldn't stand. Unfortunately, Irma loved it. If Irma hadn't had so many sterling qualities, Sage could never have put up with a steady diet of gospel songs. As it was, she told herself that any music was good for Joy, who had a well-developed sense of rhythm.

  In fact, Joy was sitting at the kitchen table in her youth chair, clutching her old one-eyed teddy bear in one hand and rocking blissfully back and forth in time to the music.

  "What did Dr. Hargraves say last night after he looked at Joy?" she asked Irma.

  "He said it looks to him like an allergy and that he'll give her some tests if you want to bring her into the office. He said he's sure it's not a cold."

  Sage felt relieved. She didn't think she could bear to experience again what she had gone through last year when Joy had been hospitalized for pneumonia. And it had started with only a cold. To be realistic, she had to admit that Joy would have other colds, especially after she started preschool, and that she'd better be prepared for them. Sage only hoped that when they did occur, Joy would be older and stronger.

  "Are you sick, Mommy?" Joy wanted to know, reaching up with fingertips soft as butterfly wings to touch Sage's cheek. Joy's speech was slow and deliberate. Some people might have a hard time understanding her, but Sage always understood.

  "I'm feeling a little sick, sweetheart," Sage said. She poured a glass of orange juice and sat down at the kitchen table. To Irma, who was now humming "In the Garden" under her breath, she said, "Has Adam called?"

  Irma stopped humming, and her eyebrows flew up as she glanced at the old oak octagonal clock on the wall. "It's only nine-thirty," she observed.

  "I'm expecting him to call about the Kalmia Hill property," Sage said quickly. She explained about the mix-up with Mrs. Purdy. "I'm expecting Bill Brinson to call, too," she added as an afterthought.

  "He's a nice fellow," said Irma, setting the Cream of Wheat down in front of Joy. Sage knew Irma wasn't referring to Bill.

  "Mm-hmm," Sage replied noncommittally as she removed Watson from certain asphyxiation by cereal. She set the stuffed bear carefully in a chair before she addressed Irma. "Do you have any more Cream of Wheat?"

  While Irma dished up another bowl of cereal, someone rapped on the back door. Sage peered through the curtain and saw her two assistants, Stanley Garth and Ben Cleaves, standing on the back porch. She also saw Poppy teetering to and fro in his old porch rocker in the sun. He was whittling as he often did on fine mornings.

  "Come in," she called. She waved to Poppy, who stopped whittling long enough to wave back.

  "Ms. McKenna, we heard you were sick again," said Ben. He wore heavy boots and painter's overalls, as did Stanley.

  "I'm going to take it easy for a couple of days, but you two can carry on without me," she told them. "First of all, I faithfully promised Olene Peterson that you'd get started on her wallpaper job today. The paper's been in for a week, so she's eager to get on with it."

  "That bathroom she wants us to paper has so many corners and angles that it's going to be one miserable job," said Stanley. He was a short, squat man with a permanent scowl. Sage had hired him because she'd thought she could make a good worker out of him. She'd had to admit lately that perhaps she'd been wrong. He'd called in sick a few times, and she'd heard afterward that Stanley hadn't been sick but tipsy in a bar called the Dewdrop Inn, an infamous watering hole located just across the county line.

  "Nevertheless, do your best job. Olene's a stickler for detail, and she'll notice if you fail to match the pattern accurately." Sage fixed Stanley with a no-nonsense glare. Sage could count on Ben to do good work. Stanley, now, she wasn't so sure.

  The house phone rang as the two men stomped off the back porch. Sage ran to answer it, but it was only a salesman pitching his line of aluminum siding. As she hung up, she admitted to herself how much she'd hoped it would be Adam.

  Of course, Adam would be moving into Kalmia Hill today. He'd be busy. He'd have a lot to do. He'd call later.

  Sage had never noticed how often the telephone rang around her house. All morning Irma received calls from her friends. Ralph called to ask how Sage was feeling. Bill Brinson phoned.

  "I'm really sorry about this whole situation between you and Aunt Octavia," Bill said apologetically while Sage gripped the edge of the telephone table and squeezed her eyes shut tight to cope with a letdown that cut into her like the lash of a whip. She'd expected this phone call to be Adam. She'd wanted it to be Adam.

  Bill went on talking, unaware of Sage's blighted hopes.

  "Aunt Octavia has agreed to sell Kalmia Hill to you, and the lease she signed with Adam will be declared null and void. I'll prepare a contract of sale and a new lease agreement, which you and Adam can sign when Kalmia Hill is yours. There'll be no charge for this, of course."

  "I'd be happy to pay you something for your trouble," Sage managed to say, remembering her manners.

  "Sage, I want to make up for what Aunt Octavia did. She's starting to show signs of dementia and can't handle her affairs the way she used to. I didn't realize how bad it was until this happened. I'll send you the papers in a few days."

  "Have you called Adam about this?"

  "No, our agreement was that I would call you. If Adam's moving into the house today as planned, I expect he's pretty busy. I suppose you'll be seeing him, won't you?"

  "I suppose," said Sage, but she hung up feeling uncertain.

  Very late that night, when it was too late to expect Adam to phone, Sage mentally played back the scene in her bedroom the night before, minutely inspecting it for some clue as to what had gone wrong. What she had done wrong. Surely she must have done something.

  For one thing, she'd brazenly asked Adam to kiss her, something that, upon reflection, she realized she probably shouldn't have done. And probably wouldn't have, if she had not been feverish. Or was she in denial about her yearning for his attention? At this point, the thought of actually asking for a kiss embarrassed her immensely. Perhaps it had turned him off. Yes, she was sure of it.

  Last night before he'd left her room, an emotion both grave and serious had filtered through the expression on Adam's face. Now Sage realized what had caused it. Some men didn't like being pursued.

  She should never have taken Adam seriously when he'd said he would call, she thought unhappily as she slid beneath the comforter and switched off the bedside light. It was one of the most meaningless lines that men handed women.

  She'd obviously been a fool not to have seen Adam Hracek's statement for what it was—a time-proven way to end a pleasant interlude that could all too easily have become an unwanted obligation.

  * * *

  He didn't call her. He kept putting it off all day long.

  Oh, he had the excuse of moving into Kalmia Hill. The moving van arrived in midmorning, and after that he had to direct the placement of his furniture and the unpacking of myriad boxes. But he thought of Sage the whole time, her striking features calling themselves to mind without any effort. Those amber eyes and hair and that little upturned nose were all very fetching. He even remembered in detail the wide, natural shape of her eyebrows and the silky softness of her hair beneath his hand. And her body, so lithe and lissome, straining toward his when he knelt beside her bed and kissed her. She had wanted more, he could tell. So had he.

  Sage McKenna struck a chord deep within him, and Adam was puzzled by it. In his travels he had carried on a series of relationships with women. He'd never made anything serious out of any of them. He wanted no complications, nothing serious and no one hurt. He told himself that his upbringing had rendered him incapable of a meaningful relationship. He'd tried marriage once, hadn't he? And it had come to nothing in the end. Well, not exactly nothing. There was his son, Jamie, and though he didn't see him as often as he'd like, he was grateful for Jamie's existence.

  Yet Sage M
cKenna was different from every other woman he'd ever known. She didn't seem like the type to accept a loosely constructed relationship. He sensed that she wasn't likely to engage in a sexual liaison for purely recreational purposes. Sage was the kind of woman who would love and love deeply.

  No, he needed someone who could be free as he was. Someone he wouldn't want to talk to the way he did with Sage. Someone who wouldn't want him to listen to her problems. He didn't need Sage McKenna.

  The trouble was, he thought with a clarity that was absolutely frightening, that he had already fallen more than a little in love with her.

  Chapter 4

  "The Hendersons are giving out apples," said Hayley, dumping Joy's Halloween bounty out into a big plastic jack-o'-lantern on the piano bench. Joy, wearing the orange pumpkin costume Irma had sewn for her, clapped her hands and reached for a lollipop.

  "Thanks for taking Joy trick or treating," Sage said, hurrying into the room.

  Hayley shot her a quick smile. The girl's cheeks were blooming from the outdoor chill, and her long brown hair fell loosely around the collar of her jacket. "I had a good time," Hayley said. "It reminded me of when I was a kid." She hugged Sage impulsively. "Thanks so much for letting me live with you. You're just like a big sister to me." Then, embarrassed, Hayley ruffled Joy's hair and turned and ran upstairs.

  It was she who should be thanking Hayley, thought Sage. The teenager was such a help with Joy. Never once had she regretted opening her home to Hayley after her mother died in a highway accident. A logging truck had barreled into her mom's car at an intersection, killing all involved. If Hayley hadn't stayed home at the last minute to work on an art project, she would have been with her mother and her friend on the way to the county fair.

  "Trick or treat?" asked Joy hopefully. Her eyes shone with anticipation.

  "One more trick or treat," Sage said firmly. She'd spent most of the afternoon replacing the broken headlight on the truck so that she could drive to Kalmia Hill tonight. Now that she was feeling better, she could attempt such chores. She also had another motive for wanting to drive her truck. She needed to see Adam Hracek.

  It had been ten days since Sage had fainted in the dining room. That made it also ten days since Adam had told her he would call her. During that time she'd recovered steadily, had regained her strength, had waited for his call. The call never came. She'd heard nothing from him about the lease or anything else. The past ten days had been days of feeling continually on edge, of waiting for the phone to ring, and of crashing disappointment when it wasn't for her.

  Sage had finally, when she'd signed the contract to buy Kalmia Hill, left a telephone message for Adam at the Wilpacko plant that she was ready to finalize a lease with him. He hadn't even called back. And she didn't have his cell phone number because they'd never exchanged them. She told herself that she needed to accept his lack of interest in her. He was no different from any other man who promised to call and never did.

  She'd settled on Halloween night as a good time to present the new lease to Adam for his signature because the holiday provided enough distractions so that she could cut the meeting short and keep it simple. Her plans were to approach him tonight and surprise him. Joy would provide her with the perfect excuse to leave promptly after he'd signed.

  Joy was gleeful about going on one more trick or treat, so she gladly slung her Halloween bag over her arm and let Sage boost her into her seat in the pickup. As Sage drove the truck up the winding road to Kalmia Hill, Joy sing-songed "Trick or treat, trick or treat" over and over to herself. A group of children dressed in a variety of colorful costumes waved on their way down the hill as Sage's truck accomplished the final bend to the top.

  Gracefully curving steps on either side of the rounded portico led up to the ornately carved door with its glass sidelights. Sage's heart began to thud against her ribs, and her palm felt damp against Joy's tiny hand as they stood in front of the door. She shouldn't be reacting this way to the prospect of seeing Adam, she told herself firmly. This was a business transaction, that was all. But it was more than business, and she knew it.

  She lifted the heavy brass knocker. It pleased her to see that it had been polished recently. Kalmia Hill deserved that kind of loving care. At her knock, the heavy door swung open, and she met the dark liquid gaze of Adam Hracek.

  She'd taken him by surprise. That she could tell by the way his eyes widened. She could scarcely believe it, but his lips beneath his mustache widened into a warm, welcoming smile.

  "Trick or treat!" announced Joy, her head thrown back so that she could look up at this tall, tall man.

  "Mostly treat, at least for me," Adam said. He was still smiling, and his gaze skimmed Sage's figure with interest. She'd dressed carefully for the occasion in a chocolate-brown sweater and slacks that did the most for her figure. She'd thrown a stylish multicolored mohair vest over them and topped it all off by wrapping a long persimmon-colored scarf around her neck. Sage had wanted to look her best for this encounter, if only out of a slightly perverse wish to let Adam Hracek see what he'd been missing.

  "I brought the lease for you to sign," she said hastily, dropping Joy's hand and whipping out the paper.

  "Please come in," Adam said, standing back and opening the door wide. At the moment, he couldn't understand why he hadn't called her. Sage looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

  Sage's throat went dry as she followed Adam into the hall, watching his easy, coordinated walk as he preceded her into the living room. Tonight he wore a flannel shirt in deep russet, tapered to display his narrow torso to advantage. His hips and legs were encased in an ordinary pair of blue jeans, which seemed anything but ordinary the way he wore them.

  "For small trick or treaters, I have Tootsie Rolls," he said, stooping to Joy's level so that he could be face-to-face with her. Joy grinned and took the candy.

  Adam studied Sage with a small questioning smile as he straightened up. "For big trick or treaters, I have hot cider," he said. "You'll have some, won't you?"

  "I can't stay," she said, hardening her heart to his persuasiveness. "I really just came to get the lease signed." She tried to keep her tone aloof, but she failed miserably.

  "I'll have to read it through," he said, looking more serious. "That'll take a few minutes." The doorbell rang again, and he smiled at Sage. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back with the cider," he said over his shoulder. He hurried away to hand out more candy.

  A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace, warming the whole big room. Sage walked over to bask in front of the flames, taking a professional interest in the condition of the plasterwork frieze that decorated the wall in an ornamental band just below the crown molding.

  "Up, Mommy," Joy said, trying to climb into a big winged armchair facing the fire.

  "Oh, honey," began Sage, intending to tell Joy that they would be leaving in a minute and there was no point in settling in. But then she decided that it would be a good idea for Joy to be installed in the armchair. That way Sage wouldn't have to keep an eye on her while she and Adam talked business.

  Joy nestled into the down cushions with a contented sigh and stuck one end of the Tootsie Roll in her mouth, staring peacefully into the fire with her eyes half closed.

  Sage restlessly sat down on one of the twin settees that flanked the fire. This furniture was definitely not the rental type. The settees were upholstered in ivory silk velvet, and she could have sworn that the Louis XVI chair in the corner still had its original finish.

  At that moment Adam appeared carrying two mugs of cider, one of which he handed her. She avoided touching his fingers.

  His smile as he sat down beside her was friendly and relaxed. "You're looking well, Sage," he told her.

  She wrapped her hands around the mug, drawing comfort from its warmth. "I'm feeling fine," she acknowledged, a statement that wasn't strictly true. He acted as though he didn't know how he'd turned the last ten days of her life upside down. She also didn't want hi
m to be reminded about how she'd practically thrown herself at him by kissing him in her bedroom. She was still embarrassed about it.

  This night was to be business only, and she made herself concentrate on what needed to be done. "Here's the lease," she said, thrusting it toward him.

  He took it from her hands and slid on a pair of reading glasses. He leaned back, scanning the tight paragraphs of print. Once he said, "Mm-hmm," as he read, but otherwise he was quiet.

  The ticking of an antique clock on the mantel punctuated the steady crackle of the fire. Sage felt her palms growing moist but refused to chalk this development up to nerves. It's the condensation on the cider mug, she told herself as she watched him. The reading glasses, horn-rimmed, enhanced the shape of Adam's face. She wondered idly what he'd look like if he grew a beard. Or even part of a beard. She couldn't imagine him looking bad, ever.

  "Fine," he said finally, producing a pen from the pocket of his shirt before he leaned over and rested the lease on the square lacquered-brass table in front of them. He signed his name with a flourish. He refolded the paper and presented it to her with ceremony. As she accepted it, she noticed the fine downy dark hairs on the backs of his hands, and she was overcome with an urge to tip those hairs with an exploratory finger. Quickly she pulled her gaze away and shoved the signed papers into her purse.

  The silence between them was growing awkward, but she was reluctant to reopen a conversation.

  He cleared his throat. "When do you want to start work?" he asked.

  "Monday."

  "Wonderful. You have a key?" They were uttered briskly, but the words seemed inviting. She told herself not to read too much into them.

  "Bill Brinson sent me one."

  "All right. Feel free to go anywhere in the house. I won't be here most of the time, but you can reach me at Wilpacko if you need me."

  She smiled thinly. "Oh?" she couldn't resist saying. "I didn't have much luck reaching you there this week." And then she could have bitten her tongue. Why had she sounded so peevish? Why had she let him know she had tried to reach him?