“Summers I worked for a home-remodeling company. The first two years I spent on the wrecking crew working out any frustrations I had with school. Could you grab the pan?” He pointed to the extra-large dustpan in the corner.
Emma retrieved it and bent opposite the pile he’d made. “So, what did you do the other years?”
He grinned at her. “For a while I thought Grueber, the foreman, had it in for me with all those demolition jobs. But finally, in the middle of my third summer, he took me aside and handed me a carpenter’s hammer instead of a sledge. I thought he planned to make me tear a wall down with it.”
“That would take forever.” Emma scooped part of the pile, dumped it in the can and knelt for more.
“I thought that too. But he showed me how to measure and build new wall frames. By the end of that summer I was the chief framer for several jobs.” He swept another pile into Emma’s pan.
“Did you learn anything else?”
“Sure. The next year I moved into drywall and ceilings. By the time I finished my first year of med school I became a fairly good cabinet maker.”
“You can build cabinets?” Emma couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. What she wouldn’t give to have an experienced carpenter, albeit an out-of-practice one, helping her with this remodel. She resisted the urge to sigh. No way was she going to ask for his help.
Clint chuckled. “It’s been a few years, but I imagine the skills are still there.”
Emma’s cheeks filled with heat. God, she hated how easily she blushed. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just never think of doctors as having any other skills than medicine.”
“Oh, like mothers are only mothers?”
If possible, her blush grew hotter. Gathering the last of the rubble, she quickly took it to the bin. “I guess I deserved that.” She left the room before he could stop her.
Emma caught up with him at the front door. She held out several folded dollar bills. “I want to thank you for taking care of the boys’ puppy.”
“Keep your money, Emma. I did it for the boys.”
“But no insurance will pay you...”
“I don’t want your money.” He stepped out onto the porch.
She touched him lightly on the arm, stopping him in his tracks. “I wish you’d let me do something to repay you.”
“Okay, tell you what. Invite me for dinner and we’ll call it even.”
“Dinner?” Emma knew she sounded like a dunce, but his request surprised her.
“Yes. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in years. You can cook, can’t you?” A twinkle entered his eyes with his challenge.
“All we’re having is hamburgers and French fries.” She took her hand away.
“It isn’t McDonald’s, is it?” he teased her once again.
Emma found herself grinning at him. “No, but that is one of the boys’ favorite places to eat.”
He groaned in mock protest. “I practically lived there in med school. I think I have permanent Big Mac-itis!”
“Then I guess it’s home grilled.” She stood by the door as he stepped off the porch. “Are you done in your office?”
“I only have two charts to put away and then lock the clinic. It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, if that’ll be convenient for you.”
“By the time you return, Mama and I should have dinner about ready and the boys pried away from their new pet.”
He walked down the steps, then turned around. “Make it forty-five minutes and I’ll drive to the Pick-wick to get Hoppy some food,” he offered.
“I was just going to offer him a burger, too. A hamburger is good for any stray mutt, isn’t it?”
He chuckled. “Thanks a lot.”
Emma stood just inside her door, watching him jog across the street. She liked the way his shoulders and hips moved beneath the faded scrubs he wore. Even in loose-fitting clothes she could appreciate how each muscle rippled with the ease of his movements. She remembered just how that body had felt pressed against her.
She closed the door and leaned against it, thinking about the entire afternoon.
For the first time since he’d come to town, he seemed relaxed and friendly. In fact, since the day he accosted her in her bedroom, this was the first conversation they’d shared that neither finished with a confrontation or a threat.
A sudden shiver ran through her.
This Clint Preston presented more danger to her than the angry, self-righteous one from a week ago.
This one, she could learn to like.
Chapter Seven
“They’re finally asleep,” Emma sighed as she came down the stairs.
Clint stood in the doorway of the parlor room they’d finished demolishing earlier in the day. One of his hands draped on the frame, he rested his head against its wrist, his other hand thrust deep in the back pocket of his jeans. He seemed to be studying the room.
Curious, she peered over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Wondering what your plans are for your remodeling project.”
Emma leaned against the opposite side of the doorframe. “I toyed with the idea of making it a bed and breakfast, but that seemed like more work than profit.”
“So now what are you going to do?”
“I like living in Weston. I want to raise the boys here. I plan to open the parlor to the kitchen, making it one of those great rooms you see in all the magazines these days.”
“What kind of a building plan or designs do you have?” The skepticism in his voice challenged her. He didn’t believe she knew what she was doing.
“A friend of mine from college is an architect. She came out and looked at the two rooms. Then she drew designs for me.” She sighed. “She did it as a gift.”
“That’s nice of her. What did she design?”
The interest in his question took her by surprise. Apparently, he really wanted to know. Okay, he did ask. She pointed to the wall with the door connecting her front room with her kitchen. “That wall is a load-bearing wall, so I have to leave part of it there. I’ll cut a hole in it, so it looks like a big arch. Then the upper beam will be reinforced. I plan to leave the lower half in place, but make it into a rounded bar, so the boys can sit there and do their homework while I cook.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. Anything else?”
“Over there,” she pointed to the opposite wall, “I want to build in one of those entertainment centers. Nothing too fancy. Just a place to house a nice television and stereo, with some bookshelves. So the boys and I’ll have a cozy place to spend the evenings together.” She sighed again.
“That sounded a bit sad. Something wrong with the plans?”
“No. I’ve always dreamed of having a fireplace, too. But stone masonry is really beyond my means or ability.”
The corners of his mouth lifted a little. “Where would you put it?”
Emma pointed to the two windows opposite the door. “I actually considered taking out one window and replacing it with the fireplace. I’ll just have to settle for opening the space for the time being.”
“So who did you contract to do the remodeling, after you have the demolition completed?”
Emma walked into the room, shoving her hands in her jean pockets. “No one. I plan to do that myself, too.”
Silence filled the room for a moment.
“Are you crazy?”
His censure made her want to cringe, almost. But she’d decided years ago that no man would shake her self-worth again.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she turned to face him. “Maybe. But there isn’t any money for buying supplies, except as I need them. That means no laborers, no fancy crew, no contractor. I’ll do it a little bit at a time, even if it takes me months.”
“You don’t know the first thing about construction, Emma.”
“What I need to know, I’ll learn.”
“If you don’t meet each inspection along the way, you’ll be forced to tear out what you’ve done and redo it unti
l it’s right. The project could take years.” His tone changed from one of disbelief to patience.
She wasn’t sure which she hated more.
“I do know that, Clint. That’s why I plan to only do a little at a time. I have copies of the building codes. My friend made sure I had them all. She also gave me a building plan. If I stick to it, am very careful with my cost and supplies, it should all work out in time.”
“Mind if I see the plans?”
“I really don’t need more advice. I trust my friend.”
He nodded. “I’d still like to see what she mapped out for the project.”
“They’re in the kitchen. I’ll get them.”
She retrieved the papers from their special spot where the boys couldn’t reach them. It felt a little exciting showing off her plans to someone, even Clint. She didn’t need his approval, but her own enthusiasm for the project spurred her down the hall.
When she returned she found him standing out on her porch.
“This is what I’ve got planned.” She held the folder out.
He turned so the light from the house illuminated the papers. For quite a few minutes he read the designs for the room, then the list of supplies, her work schedule along with its inspection requirements and finally her estimated cost. With each passing minute Emma grew more nervous. She couldn’t remember the last time someone acted interested in her ideas. At least, anyone male and Clint’s uncle certainly didn’t count.
“This is a very detailed proposal, Emma.” Clint finally looked up from the papers. “Your friend has done a good job.”
Emma couldn’t contain her enthusiasm any longer. “She did, didn’t she?”
He closed the folder, handing it to her. “What’s next on your agenda?”
“Once the demolition is completed I need to work on removing that section of the wall between this room and the kitchen—get the arch cut and reinforce the support beam. For safety’s sake all that has to be done before anything else can take place.”
“That’s going to be a little dangerous with the boys running all over the place, not to mention trying to keep an eye on your mother. You’re going to need more than a little help.”
“Mama and the boys will be fine. And as for help, I thought I’d ask Cleetus to give me a hand when the time comes.”
“Cleetus! Now I know you’re nuts. The guy’s a clown.”
“He’s a very nice man. He helps anyone in town who needs it. Besides, he’s got the muscle I don’t.”
“The guy makes Barney Fife look like RoboCop, Emma.”
She laughed at that. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Find better help. I don’t want you or Cleetus showing up with broken arms or legs at the clinic.” When she started to protest, he stopped her with, “If you’re hurt, who’s going to pay your bills?”
Damn it. She couldn’t argue with that. “I guess I could put that off for a month. Gage will be healed enough to help by then.”
“Who’s Gage?”
The question’s intensity caught Emma a bit off guard. He sounded almost jealous. “The sheriff’s son.”
His body seemed to tense, the faint lines at the edges of his eyes deepened. “An old friend, I suppose?”
Now he definitely sounded jealous. Emma felt herself flush. “Well, yes, Gage is a friend.”
If possible, his countenance grew stiffer.
For some reason she didn’t want him to think she was interested in Gage. “He’s also my cousin.”
“Oh. Okay. What’s he healing from? Surgery?”
If he hadn’t looked a little embarrassed, she would’ve laughed at him. “In a way. He was a cop in Columbus and was shot while undercover. He won’t say anything else about it. He’s been home recuperating at Uncle Floyd’s for a few months now.”
This answer seemed to take some of the steam out his posture and he nodded. “So you think you can keep the boys out of the demolition?”
“If I get the work done while they’re at school, they shouldn’t be too much of a problem, even though the older they get, the more supervision they seem to need.”
Clint chuckled, appearing more at ease. “They are a handful. In fact, they remind me of me and my brothers at that same age.”
“How did your mother ever survive it?” Emma asked, only half teasing.
He turned sideways to lean his back against the porch rail to stare at her. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “With a lot of humor and patience. And three magical genies didn’t hurt matters.”
“Three genies?” Emma cocked her head sideways in question. She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.
“Actually, two genies and one ogre. Don’t look so stunned,” he said then winked at her.
Heat rushed to her face at his teasing words.
“As for genies, I don’t think anyone could’ve been better at granting wishes than Uncle Ray and Aunt Caroline. I learned to fish on Rock Pond, canoe the Mohican River, and sled down Yoder Hill, and I decided to become a doctor under Uncle Ray’s guidance. Aunt Caroline had the patience to put up with all five of us every summer and winter holiday. That really gave Mom a break.”
“And the ogre?”
“Harriett, of course. I swear I was twenty before I wasn’t afraid of that woman.”
“How is your mother?” Emma asked, steering the conversation away from her own problems. Telling others her woes had never been her strong suit. It still amazed her that she’d unburdened so many of her past problems and future plans to Clint.
“After putting five of us through college, Mom’s finally going to earn her own degree.”
“She is? That’s wonderful. What’s she studying?”
“Interior design. She was always good at decorating on a shoestring budget. Now she’s decided to open her own business and teach others how to do it.”
“I always liked your mom. She was so young compared to my parents.”
“They were older when they had you, weren’t they?”
How had he flipped the conversation back to her family once more? She glanced at his face. The intense concentration in his eyes said he’d wait all night for an answer.
Emma inhaled deeply. “I was a surprise. They’d given up the idea of having children. Then I came along. I was nothing but trouble ever since. At least the last few years.”
“I doubt that your parents saw you as trouble.” Clint gave her a skeptical look.
A heaviness filled her heart. She stared out into the night sky. “I’m sure the embarrassment and worry over me and my problems took their toll on my parents. I wonder if helping raise two rambunctious boys perhaps didn’t lead to Papa’s heart attack last spring.”
“Surely you don’t think you’re responsible for your father’s death, do you?”
His anger surprised her. She took a step back toward the safety of her door. “Well, I didn’t actually kill him myself, but you have to admit the stress wasn’t good for either of them. Look what it’s done to Mama. I never know from one day to the next if she’d going to have a normal day or not.”
“How old was your father?”
“Eighty-two.”
“And your mother is how old now?”
“Seventy-seven. Why?” His taunting attitude grated on her nerves.
He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at her a bit mockingly. “I realize your problems are the center of your universe, but don’t you think it’s a little egotistical for you to believe that they killed an old man who had lived a full and happy life and caused an elderly woman to have periods of irrational behavior?”
“How dare you!” Emma’s hand swung out at his jaw, only to be stopped in his palm. Her anger spurred her on. She swung the other one. This time he grabbed both arms and wound them around behind her waist, hauling her against his chest and imprisoning her there.
“Good to see your ex didn’t take all your spunk, Em,” he whispered near her ear, sending shivers of heat down her spine.
Emma sagged against him.
“I know you didn’t kill your father and you do, too. You can quit beating yourself up because of it. If you want to accuse anyone, let’s put the fault on your ex-husband.”
“I’m not beating myself up over it.” She resumed her struggles. “And you can let go of me at any time, Doctor. Or do you manhandle all women like this?”
If possible, he drew her closer, his voice just above a whisper. “Believe me, if I wanted to manhandle you, Emma, you wouldn’t be complaining. And if you ever take another swing at me, you’d best be prepared for the consequences.”
With that warning he released her, and started down the porch steps.
Emma fought the urge to flee into her house. She’d be damned if she’d give the man the satisfaction. Her body both seethed with anger and trembled from the awareness of being held so close to him.
“By the way, thanks for dinner,” he called over his shoulder as he crossed the street.
“You’re not welcome,” she shouted into the dark after him.
Only his laughter drifted back through the night at her.
* * *
Two mornings later, a loud clatter outside her window woke Emma. Startled and half awake, she glanced at the clock to see if she’d overslept for the first day of school.
Six-fifty-five. Another five minutes before the alarm goes off.
She jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs to see what mischief the boys had gotten into now.
Out on the porch she found them standing side by side with her mother, all of them wiping sleep from their eyes. In her drive sat a large lumber-supply truck. It took her a moment to realize the clattering wasn’t coming from her sons, but from Clint and the driver of the truck. As she watched, they unloaded ladders, buckets, lumber and a variety of tools and paintbrushes from the truck.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as Clint came around the corner of the truck carrying one end of a stack of lumber.
“Helping Joe unload supplies,” he answered, walking past.
Emma gaped at him. Her hands clenched tightly around the top of the porch rail.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Lewis, Ms. Lewis, boys,” Joe Hillis greeted them as he followed behind Clint with the other end of the stack of wood. They laid it on the lawn beside the house. “Deliver any babies last night, Ms. Lewis?”
Close To Home (Westen Series) Page 8
