Handyman Special

by Pamela Browning

  "You called me there?"

  She simply threw him a look. An inscrutable one, she hoped.

  "I never got the message," he said, looking annoyed. "I've been working on the production floor ever since I got there, and it's too noisy to take phone calls."

  She avoided his eyes.

  "You don't believe me?"

  A quick glance told her that he was genuinely perplexed.

  "I left a message on your office voicemail that I was ready to sign this lease." She spoke evenly.

  Adam looked exasperated. "It's that temp assistant that Ed hired before I arrived. She's extremely inefficient, and I discovered some terrific foul-ups in her record-keeping. She's been reassigned, and my new assistant starts Monday. I think you can count on her to see that I get my phone messages."

  "Wonderful," she said. "I doubt that I'll have any need to call. And now I really must go home."

  "You're not going?" he said in surprise. "You haven't even touched your cider."

  "I've been holding the cup," she said. "Right here in front of you." Pointedly she set it down. True, she hadn't drunk any, which she'd only just realized.

  Adam's mustache twitched. She was so obviously acting standoffish and removing herself from him. Perhaps he'd really hurt her by not calling. The thought that he had added even one more bit of pain to her life stabbed through him in a pang of remorse.

  "Come on, at least taste the cider," he said in a cajoling tone. "Otherwise I'll feel that I went to the trouble of making it for nothing."

  She was thirsty. Under his gaze she picked up the cup and raised it to her lips. Rich steam, fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and cloves, wafted into her face, warming her cheeks. Cinnamon and cloves, she thought bemusedly. The scent of Adam.

  "I had reasons for not calling you," he said, the words plucking at the invisible tightrope that they each walked in their minds. He didn't know for the life of him why he felt an urge to explain. He'd probably regret it later.

  She leaned forward and set her cup on the table. The persimmon scarf fell away from her neck, exposing the long white perfection of her throat. So much about her was perfect–her spectacular figure, the turn of her delicate wrists, the way she glanced over at him out of the corners of those remarkable eyes.

  "Don't explain," she said quickly, but too much emotion escaped in her voice. "We have a business arrangement. I'm your landlady now." She shrugged. "That's all."

  "That's not all," he said harshly. She swiveled her head to look directly into his face, all gilded in the firelight, and the pupils of his eyes enlarged fractionally, dark upon dark. Their expression was free of all social pretense so that she could easily see the man he was inside.

  Her gaze was level. She mustered all her willpower so that she wouldn't look away and lose the battle of wills, and then she felt herself being drawn deep into his magnetic and powerful gaze. Her sensory response to him was instantaneous, every nerve fiber in her body urging her toward him.

  He ran a hand through his hair so that it stood up crisply at his temples. The effect of his ruffled hair only enhanced his dark good looks, his black hair gleaming in the glow of the steadily flickering flames. For some reason Sage liked seeing the well-groomed Adam Hracek looking ever so slightly rumpled.

  "Adam. I must go. Joy..." and she gestured toward the child in the wing chair. She was amazed to see that her daughter had fallen fast asleep, her round cheek pillowed on the soft cushioned arm of the chair, the half-eaten Tootsie Roll stuck to the orange front of her pumpkin costume. Sage made a move to go to her, but Adam's arm swiftly blocked her way.

  "She's sleeping. Please don't disturb her." His words were soft but persuasive. Joy looked comfortable, her steady breathing stirring the wisp of pale fine hair that had fallen across her face.

  Adam didn't remove his restraining arm. Instead, he took Sage's hand in his, remembering the first time he had touched her hand. No calluses and no rough spots, he had said. He smoothed the skin thoughtfully, framing his words in his mind. It was important to him that she not get the wrong idea about what he was going to say.

  And then abruptly he decided not to say it. A declaration of his uncertainties would be wrong, all wrong. Intuitively he knew that she didn't need uncertainties.

  "Will you go to a party with me Saturday night?" he asked suddenly. He didn't know he was going to invite her before he did it, but once he uttered the words, he knew it had been the right thing to do.

  It was such an unexpected invitation that Sage felt the muscles in her jaw grow slack, but before her mouth could drop open like that of a cartoon character, she clamped it shut. She stared at him, her emotions fluctuating wildly.

  "Just say yes," he urged softly. "There's no other possible answer."

  What did he mean? He'd ignored her for the past ten days. "What party?" she managed to ask.

  "A welcoming party for me," he told her. "Ed and Lyndell Sheedy are giving it, and they told me to invite anyone I wanted. I don't have any friends here except you. Besides, I need you to explain to me what chicken swamp is. They said that's what we're going to eat." He looked faintly puzzled.

  "Chicken swamp?"

  He shrugged. He held her hand less tightly now. "That's what they said. Evidently it's some kind of local delicacy."

  Sage stared. Then it dawned on her, and a tide of laughter swept over her in waves. "Chicken swamp! Oh, Adam." She started to laugh and couldn't stop. His misconception had broken the ice.

  He looked vaguely disconcerted. "Have I said something wrong?"

  "It's chicken bog," she managed to say when she could stop laughing.

  "Chicken bog. Well, can you blame me for the error? Do you actually eat the stuff? What is it, anyway?" His expression was one of definite distaste but appealing nonetheless.

  Sage allowed herself one more giggle. "It's a concoction of chicken and rice, a sort of stew. I don't know why it's called chicken bog, but it's a specialty in this section of South Carolina. Chicken swamp!" She stifled more laughter.

  "Sage, you've got to come with me. Otherwise I won't know how to act and I'll make a fool of myself over this chicken bog." He looked so droll and doleful at the same time that she shook her head in reproach.

  "I happen to love chicken bog," she told him. She paused for a moment, moistening her lips, unaware of how this titillated him. "All right," she said, wondering what madness made her want to give in to him. "I'll go."

  A triumphant spark flared briefly in his eyes. "Good," he said. "I'll pick you up at your house at seven."

  Sage set her mug on the coffee table and stood. She walked softly to stand beside the chair where Joy slept so peacefully. "This is one little pumpkin who's had a bagful of Halloween." She reached down and plucked the sticky Tootsie Roll from the front of Joy's pumpkin costume before placing it carefully on a tray on the table.

  Adam walked up behind her, grasping her shoulders with strong, steady hands. He stood looking down at Joy, too. His warm breath feathered along the side of Sage's neck.

  "She's a lovely child," Adam said quietly, but the words came from his heart.

  Sage bit her lip as sudden grateful tears sprang to her eyes. "Thank you for saying that," she said. "Sometimes people focus on Joy's handicap and miss the good things about her. And there are so many good things."

  His heart went out to her. Sage seemed somehow very gallant in that moment. Silently he turned her until she faced him, and then he drew her close to him in a warm and firm embrace. She could feel his heartbeat strong against her breasts. Her eyes drifted closed as she drank in this offering of solace. She'd forgotten how consoling a heartfelt embrace could be. Despite the family she'd created for herself, she'd forgotten how lonely her life really was.

  Adam deliberately held her for a long time, forcing himself to forego the kisses that he wanted from her. The moments slipped by, inexpressibly tender. It was she who finally lifted her face to his, and in that face he read the dazed hunger which she didn't ev
en try to conceal.

  Slowly, his eyes glittering with the sheen of passion in the firelight, he lowered his lips to hers, spinning down into the luxury of kissing her, his passions whirling blindly as their lips melded. She met him, gave measure for measure as much as she received as their tongues sought, found and then desperately sought again.

  Sage's arms slid upward, and she found his flannel shirt so tactilely reassuring. Her slender body felt fragile and delicate to Adam, and he slid his hands up under her vest to spread his fingers wide against her back, pressing her to him until he could feel the contours of her breasts crushed against his chest. But then even that wasn't enough, and so he slipped his hands beneath the sweater and brushed her satiny skin with unhurried fingertips.

  She pulled her lips away to rub her face hypnotically against the irresistible silken luxuriance of his wide mustache, breathing in his spicy fragrance, tasting it on his lips, drawing it into her on a long and yearning sigh, so that the scent of Adam Hracek became a part of her.

  "Sage," he whispered. "Such an unusual name, and yet so beautiful. It suits you."

  She felt that he had spoken to suspend the mood for a moment, to keep things in check.

  "It's a family name, my mother's maiden name," she murmured into the collar of his shirt. His fingers moved in lazy circles on her back, reaching up to outline her shoulder blades, then down again. He nudged her temple with his chin until her face aligned itself properly, and then, very slowly and deliberately, he began kissing her once more. She trembled in his arms, her knees so weak that she doubted they would have supported her if she hadn't been leaning into Adam.

  His gentle fingers now moved slowly with sweet torture to the sensitive skin beneath her arms and lightly traced the undercurves of her breasts. She arched toward him, reveling in the sensations. Just kissing Adam Hracek fanned fires in Sage which had smoldered silently below the surface for too long, sending a surge of heat through every vein in her body until she felt she must have him or die.

  Yet there was Joy, sleeping so angelically a few feet away. Sage lifted her hands from where they curved at the nape of Adam's neck and slid them around to the front of his shirt, where they flattened against his collarbone and attempted to impose a space between them. His lips still held hers, evoking a passion and a madness that must stop. When her efforts to halt the proceedings failed utterly, she wrenched away from him.

  "Adam," she managed to say. "I shouldn't be doing this."

  "You're right," he murmured lazily into her ear where his breath fairly seared her skin. "The timing is awful." He withdrew his hands, pulled her sweater neatly down over the waistband of her slacks, and rested his palms ever so lightly on the curves of her hips. At that moment the doorbell chimed and several exuberant cries of "Trick or treat!" rang out.

  Ruefully he looked down at her, arched an eyebrow and said, "A dirty trick, I'd say. What time do kids go home on Halloween in Willoree, anyhow?"

  Quickly she turned away, trying desperately to catch her breath and to still her wildly beating heart. "If you'll turn out your porch light, they'll stay away." Her voice quavered; she simply couldn't help it.

  He dipped his head around over her shoulder and kissed her once more on the tip of her nose before striding toward the door.

  She was grateful for the time to compose herself. Mentally she pulled herself together, arranged the scarf more carefully around her neck, smoothed her hair, and wondered if her makeup was smeared. A quick check in a gold-framed mirror over the mantel told her that she looked presentable, if a bit wild-eyed.

  "I'll carry Joy," said Adam, returning after the trick or treaters had been duly treated. "Let's not wake her abruptly." He spread a fringed woolen shawl over the sleeping child. "To protect her from the cold," he whispered. Then he lifted Joy easily in his arms.

  "You go ahead and open the door of the truck," he told Sage in a low voice. And then Joy, sleepily protesting, was carried into the cool October air and bundled carefully into her car seat. With innate tenderness, Adam gently tucked the ends of the shawl around her before he closed the door.

  Sage was ahead of him, ready to get into the truck, but he was too fast for her. He spun her around and imprisoned her in his arms.

  "A good-night kiss," he said before his lips found hers, playing with them, teasing, testing. It was a kiss that dizzied her and whirled her around and made her skin tingle until her nipples stiffened against his chest. She pulled away, not wanting him to know how he aroused her.

  "I'll see you Saturday night," he said as she opened the door of the pickup and, willing herself not to tremble, climbed in.

  "Saturday night?" His kiss had so disconcerted her that she honestly didn't remember.

  "You know. The chicken bog."

  "Oh. Yes." She fumbled with her keys in the ignition. She switched on the headlights, outlining Adam's tall form and casting his shadow sharply against the crisp whiteness of Kalmia Hill.

  But then he was at the window of her pickup, tapping briskly. She rolled it down, wondering what he wanted. His eyes gleamed at her, laughter in their depths.

  "Thanks for the treat," he said.

  Chapter 5

  At the "Welcome to Willoree" party for Adam, at least fifty people milled about Ed and Lyndell Sheedy's fashionable contemporary house on the shore of Lake Willoree. The chicken bog buffet dinner was over, and someone had begun to play beach music records on the old-time jukebox, a bubbling relic of the 1940s, in the downstairs recreation room. The room overlooked the lake, and on the sloping lawn, a group of Wilpacko managers had gathered to talk football. It was a topic that didn't interest Sage, so she'd been mingling with the other guests until Adam was pulled away by Ed.

  "Lyndell, do you need help in the kitchen?" Sage asked their hostess, who was passing after-dinner mints.

  "Thanks, but Betty Sue has it all under control," Lyndell said. Betty Sue was the Sheedys' long-time cook and housekeeper, reputed to concoct the best chicken bog in the county. Seeing that Sage was alone, Lyndell paused to chat for a moment.

  Her expression grew conspiratorial. "So, Sage, what do you think of Adam Hracek?"

  Sage and Lyndell knew each other well, so Sage didn't consider the question out of line. Still, she was perplexed about how to answer it.

  "Adam seems nice," Sage said truthfully after a moment's hesitation. That was probably enough information to put out there for now, especially since this was a small town where news traveled fast. All she'd have to do is confide that she liked Adam, and by the time church was out on Sunday morning, half the townspeople would believe they were engaged to be married.

  "Ed thinks he's wonderful," Lyndell said, tucking one lock of her sleek blond pageboy behind her ear. "We hope he'll like it here. Uh-oh, Betty Sue's calling me." She patted Sage on the arm and hurried away after promising to catch up with Sage later.

  As Sage congratulated herself on not giving away what had become her fascination with Adam, she wended her way through clumps of people to the middle level of the house, where she spotted Adam in conversation with Ed Sheedy. The heavyset, florid-faced owner of Wilpacko Industries gestured wildly, bending Adam's ear with shoptalk. But before Sage reached the two men, she was cornered by one of her customers.

  "I'm telling you, Sage, it's a perfect disaster," drawled Olene Peterson, rolling her eyes to the oak-beamed ceiling. "When I saw it, I could have died. Died, I tell you!" Her powdery forehead wrinkled in indignation.

  Sage drew a deep breath. Olene was one of her more difficult clients. "I'm really sorry," she began. "I'll come over and look at your wallpaper as soon as I can."

  "How could they ever have run out of wallpaper, I ask you? And then that stupid Stanley trying to patch it up with an entirely different color."

  "Stanley should have checked the run number on the back before he put it up," Sage agreed. "He tried to use the scraps left over from the Burguns' wallpaper installation, and—"

  "Well, if I'd known Patty Burgun ha
d that wallpaper in her bathroom, I'd never have chosen it in the first place," Olene said in a huff.

  Adam appeared at her elbow. "Sage, may I borrow you for a moment? Ed and I were just talking about..." Smoothly he drew her away, and Sage shrugged in a what-can-I-do-but-go-with-him gesture at Olene, who immediately found someone else to bore.

  "Thanks for the timely rescue," Sage said when Adam had spirited her out onto the flagstone patio overlooking Lake Willoree. The patio was deserted, the cool temperature having driven the other party guests inside.

  "If this shindig weren't being given in my honor, I'd split," Adam confessed mournfully. "I'm overcome by culture shock. Before tonight I couldn't have imagined anyone eating soupy chicken and rice at a full-fledged dinner party."

  "Didn't you like it? Lyndell even used her best china, silver and crystal to serve. Wedgwood, Towle Legato, and Waterford." Sage tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard with Adam's expression so comical.

  Adam shook his head. "The saying that comes to mind, and I first heard it on the shop floor the other day, is that if you put lipstick on a pig, it's still a pig. I've got ham and cheese and a loaf of rye at Kalmia Hill," he said. "What do you say we escape to my place as soon as possible for a decent meal?"

  Sage laughed. "Do you really think the chicken bog tasted that bad? Honestly?"

  He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in her ear. His mustache teased her earlobe. "I thought the chicken bog tasted awful," he said, "but don't tell anyone I said so. It could ruin me in this town."

  "Your secret is safe with me," she whispered back, and then they both laughed.

  They gravitated toward the long wooden dock, a dark path on the slick moonlit water of the lake. Sage pulled her suede jacket more closely around her to cut off the chill from the breeze blowing across the water.

  "Would all my secrets be safe with you?" asked Adam.

  She looked up at him quickly, aware of the underlying seriousness in his question. In the light of the full hunter's moon, Adam's complexion took on a topaz hue, and he looked breathtakingly exotic. "Why, yes," she said in surprise. "If you have any secrets."