by EC Sheedy
The place was a wreck.
There was dust an inch thick across the scarred plank floor, and the two broken windows, a scatter of broken furniture, and the pervasive odor brought tears to Evan's eyes.
"Needs a little TLC, I'd guess," Gary said, looking at her as though to gauge her reaction.
"I'd say you guessed right. What do you think that gruesome smell is?" She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and set out to follow it. Gary followed her.
"I think we found it," she gasped, clamping her fingers on her nose. "Yuck!" A recently deceased squirrel.
Gary picked it up with a piece of yellowed newspaper and disposed of it. Most, but not all, of the smell went with it. Evan opened the double doors leading to the porch and stepped outside to take in some refreshing, clean air.
Gary finished unloading the truck and was waving good-bye when Cal returned from the beach. He did a sixty-second tour of the cabin and joined her on the porch.
"Pretty gross. What do you think?"
She smiled for the first time since seeing the house. " 'Gross' about covers it, I'd say." She ruffled his dark, curly hair. "Feel like making a miracle?"
"How?" Cal said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"That broom over there might help. You can start with your room."
He cringed and made a sour face, but picked up the broom and headed down the hall.
Evan smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead and looked around the dingy space.
Next payday, some paint; and the one after that, curtains, she decided. She'd spend enough to make the place bearable and not a penny more. Cal's college money came first.
"This place is a dump."
Evan spun to face the door. She was in time to see Linc Stewart step in. He looked around in disgust. "There's no way you're going to live here." He tested his weight on the plank floor. His expression was thunderous when the old boards groaned and creaked under the pressure. "The damn place is dangerous."
Evan's surprise at his sudden arrival was instantly replaced with fear. He was going to send them away. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him.
"Pack up your things and—"
"It's fine. Really it is. There's nothing a healthy shot of elbow grease won't fix." Her words came in a rush. "Cal and I will fix everything. There's no need—"
"You heard me. Pack. I can't take the risk."
"No." She lifted her chin. "We made a bargain. This cabin—free—for no less than one year. If I have to, I'll, uh, take legal action, if you try to send us away." Evan was bluffing, but she had to convince him.
His angry look turned to a frown. "I said—"
"Mom, is this any good?" Cal came into the room, holding up a mangled wicker table. He stopped when he saw Linc glaring at his mother and instinctively glared back.
"Cal, this is Mr. Stewart. He's the owner of the cabin," she said.
Cal drew himself up to his full five feet ten inches and eyed Linc warily.
"This is your son?" Linc's amazement was obvious.
Evan steeled herself for the next question, and nodded. She hated this, more for Cal than for herself. Of course, there was the remote chance her landlord troll might err on the side of courtesy.
He didn't. "How old is he?" He gave Cal a quick once-over, taking in the dark, curly hair, the full, strong, young body, the boyishly handsome face that was a harbinger of adult masculine beauty.
"Sixteen."
His gaze swung back to her, questioning. "And how old are you?"
She didn't hesitate. Might as well get it over with, but if he asked her one more personal question after this one, she was going to gut him with her broom handle. "I'm thirty."
If he made any judgment based on that simple calculation, it didn't show in his eyes. "Pack up your stuff."
"I told you, we're not going. We'll make this work."
"I'm not throwing you out, Evan," he said, talking to her much as he would a recalcitrant child. "What I want is for you to stay in the main house for a few days while I get this pigsty in livable—and safe—condition."
"Oh. Well..." Feeling half dumb and a whole lot unreasonably stubborn, she reddened. "I see. That's generous of you, Mr. Stew—"
"Linc, for God's sake," he corrected irritably.
"Yes, well like I said, that's very generous of you... Linc, but Cal and I are fine right here. Aren't we, Cal?"
Cal, who was still glaring at Linc, nodded quickly. His expression said he'd rather spend the night naked in the rain forest than go anywhere with the glowering figure standing in front of them.
"I'm not being kind or generous," Linc said. "I'm being practical. Aside from safety issues, this cabin forms part of an estate I paid a lot of money for. I was assured every part of it, including this place"—he looked around in disgust—"was in good order. My mistake—other than buying a house from across an ocean—was that I concentrated my attention on the main house. I'm not usually so careless. And while you may be willing to live in a hovel, I have an investment to protect. This place needs repairs, and I'll see that they're done. Now, if you'll please just pack up what you need for now, I'll take you up to the house. You can stay there until this mess is made right. If that doesn't suit you, I'll drive you to the nearest Cockroach Inn."
Evan chewed angrily on her lower lip. Rude, obnoxious, bossy—
"Well? Are you coming or not?"
"How long?" She stood her ground. For better or worse this ramshackle cabin was now her home.
"How long for what?"
"How long will it be before we can move back in?"
"Two weeks, maybe a month. Who the hell knows? What matters is that it's done and done right."
She stared at him. "I'd prefer a deadline, not a target, if it's all the same to you."
He scrubbed his chin, the gesture quick and impatient. "If I pull out all the stops and the work goes well, two weeks," he said. "Will that be satisfactory, Ms. North?"
"Two weeks," she agreed, not above a lift of her chin. "Cal, will you please get my other suitcase and your sport bag? We'll get anything else we need tomorrow."
Linc stood in the open doorway, waiting and tapping his fingers against his denim clad thigh.
When she was closer to him, she stopped and said, "Thank you, Linc. We're all yours—reluctantly—for two weeks."
* * *
The main house was reeling under trade-driven activity. Moving men, drapery hangers, painters, appliance installers, and on the second floor, carpet layers. It was a madhouse. Was the man crazy to have all this going on the day he moved in? She looked at him, certain her bafflement showed on her face. He was as sullen and distracted as ever. He cut her a sideways look before raking a hand through his hair. Obviously he was as put out about her being here as she was.
"Maud," he shouted up the stairs leading to a balcony Evan guessed would be off the second-floor bedrooms.
A head became visible over the banister at the top of the stairs. "I'm up here. Oh, it's you, Lincoln. Just a minute. I'm helping Jenny into her jeans. We'll be right down."
When Maud Cahane and Jenny came down the stairs, both were laughing as though at some private joke. When they spotted Evan, Maud's hazel eyes brightened. She was a pretty woman who exuded warmth and heart. Evan liked her on sight. Her age was elusive. While her hair hinted at sixty, her skin said forty, and her smile, warming as Linc introduced them, would put her at no more than twenty.
But while Maud's smile deepened, Jenny's dropped from her face with the speed of an overripe apple. Wariness replaced it. Ignoring Evan, she turned her attention to Cal, shooting curious glances at him from a safe place behind Maud's hip. Evan crouched down to say hello.
"So you're Jenny," she said. "Your aunt Caressa's told me all about you, but I didn't know how pretty you are. I'm Evan, and this"—she gestured at her tall, handsome son—"is Cal."
Jenny clutched Maud's hand and took Evan's measure with the cautious consideration of a foreman hiring a new recruit. This
was not a child who easily gave her affection. Good for you, Jenny. A touch of reticence saves you from a lot of pain. Something I didn't find out until I made one too many mistakes. She touched the girl's light golden hair, a forerunner of her father's much darker shade, she guessed. When Jenny pulled away from her touch, she let it happen. Children liked to do things in their own time.
The introductions complete, Linc asked, "Maud, are there a couple of rooms we can use for a few days? That damn cabin's a shambles."
"So is this house, in case you haven't noticed," Maud said good-naturedly, "but we'll figure something out. Evan can use the room adjoining yours. The carpeting is complete in that one, and"—she tapped a finger against her chin—"if it's all right with you, Cal, you can sleep in the attic playroom. It should do for now. Another bedroom should be ready in a couple of days." She gave him a warm smile. "Will that be okay, or will all those dolls and tea sets up there be too much for you?" she teased.
Cal, who hadn't smiled since leaving the cabin, grinned before answering, "It'll be okay, thanks."
"Good, Why don't you come with me then, and I'll show you where it is. We might have to go on a bit of a treasure hunt for bed linens."
Cal looked at his mother, and then at Linc. When the men's eyes met, Cal's smile vanished and he straightened. "You okay here, Mom?" he asked. Evan sensed his real question was, are you okay with him?
"I'm fine. Go ahead, Cal. I'll see you later."
The trio set off, leaving Linc and Evan alone at the bottom of the stairs. Linc frowned after Cal, then was immediately distracted by a workman asking him a question about the electrical work. Evan took the alone time to look around for the first time.
It was a truly grand house. The wide staircase curved gracefully down to the spacious foyer, where its newel posts rested on aged floors with the patina of polished bronze. Evan couldn't resist crossing the hall to look into what she was sure would be the library. A house like this just had to have a library. She was right. A long, pleased sigh escaped her as she scanned the room.
Two walls were bookshelves, from the floor to the ten-foot-high ceiling; a third wall was a mere framework for a magnificently arched, beveled-glass window. The last wall had French doors leading to a patio looking out over Evan's cabin and the ocean beyond. Although the room was a mess, full of tools, drop cloths, and paint tins, it was easy to visualize the finished product. In her thirty years, Evan had only imagined a room like this. She had never seen one. She leaned against the doorjamb as her eyes roamed the still-empty bookcases.
"Like it?" Linc asked from behind her, his voice coolly questioning.
"Love it would be more accurate." Smiling, she made no attempt to hide her feelings. "It's perfect."
He gave her a strange look. "It's far from finished."
"Is that where you'll work?" Evan gestured toward the area in front of the tall window. "The light will be wonderful."
He nodded. "When I'm here. I travel a lot, though I'm hoping that will change now that we're settled. Would you like to see the rest of the house before I show you your room?"
She looked up in surprise. While she was determined to be courteous, she'd given up expecting the same consideration from him. "I'd like that," she said.
"We'll start with the kitchen. Maud made sandwiches earlier, and I'm hungry. You?" He cocked his head. "Or are you into starvation? I've yet to meet a friend of Caressa's who didn't bemoan the calorie count of head lettuce."
He looked so irritable at the thought, Evan laughed. He reminded her of a lion with a thorn in its paw. "Do I look like I starve myself?" The minute the question was out of her mouth, she regretted it. His eyes scanned her boldly, pausing briefly on her full breasts. When his eyes came back to hers, her face was hot. He'd made her shapeless tracksuit feel as revealing as a bath towel.
"No, you don't. You look very... healthy," he drawled. Then, as if an icy wind had just frozen his vocal cords, he took her by the elbow and added, "Come on. The kitchen's this way."
The tour was whirlwind. It was as though Linc regretted his original offer and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He walked her through fifteen rooms in what felt like fifteen minutes, ending the tour at the door of the master bedroom. His room. Newly carpeted in a deep forest green, it was dominated by a massive four-poster bed. Boxes lined the walls, and a suitcase lay open on an antique chest at the foot of the bed.
"Your room is through there." Leaning casually against one of the bedposts, he pointed to a door leading off to the right.
"You're kidding! You mean I have to go through your room to get to mine?" She looked up at him in startled disbelief. This wouldn't do. Not at all.
Her reaction seemed to amuse him. "That bothers you?"
"Of course it bothers me. There must be another room I can use. If not, I'll sleep in the den. I noticed a sofa bed there. It will be fine."
Still propped against the bedpost, he nodded his head in the direction of his bed. "Isn't this more what you had in mind?"
Her mouth fell open. She closed it and stared at him. She couldn't have heard right. She absolutely, positively could not have heard right. The man had barely skirted courtesy all afternoon—and now he was propositioning her—or worse yet insulting her?
"Very good." He crossed his arms and nodded his head approvingly. "Just the right amount of shock. And the way your mouth softened? Perfect. Caressa has outdone herself this time. Between this performance and the one at the cabin, you almost had me convinced."
"What"—she swallowed—"what are you talking about?"
His hands dropped to his sides. "Look, sweetheart, I don't have time for games. If Caressa talked you into coming here in the hopes you could warm my heart on a permanent basis, you can forget it. On the other hand, if you choose to warm my bed—temporarily—you're more than welcome. But if you think for a minute I'm going to buy the fact you're here to live in my rundown cabin as a backup sitter, you're nuts, and so is my meddling sister. And another thing; if that tall, good-lookin' kid is yours, I'm the pied piper. I can count, and unless you—"
The feel of his cheek under the palm of her hand was immeasurably rewarding. The jerk of his insolent head was a bonus. Evan was wild with rage.
"You pompous, arrogant bastard! Just who in hell do you think you are?" She swung again, but this time he caught her hand, but that only fired up her rage. "Where do you get off insulting me, insulting my son?" She yanked at her hand, but he held her wrist fast. "Let me go, let me out of here. You self-important, egotistical excuse for a man. Let me go!"
"You're trying to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about?" He cocked his head suspiciously. His cheek painted red by her handprint.
"I'm telling you I think you're an insulting, depraved egomaniac, and I wouldn't warm your damn bed, as you so crudely put it, if you were Adam and I were Eve and the future of the human race depended on us. Is that clear enough?" She yanked at her hand. This time he let her go, but he still looked unconvinced.
"This wasn't something you cooked up with Caressa?" he asked.
"Are you paranoid or what?" She barely restrained herself from belting him again. "I barely know her. I met her three months ago when she joined my reading group."
"Reading group? Caressa? Hah!" His distrustful frown returned "Tell me another one. Besides, she told me she'd known you for years."
"For some reason the poor, misguided woman thought she was doing me a favor." She rubbed at her wrist. "Boy, was she wrong. This kind of favor, I don't need." She turned toward the door. "I'm out of here."
"Wait."
Her hand was on the doorknob.
"Just a minute," he added.
She turned as he took a step away from the bed. He used two fingers to rub distractedly at his right temple. "If what you say is true..."
She straightened, turned the doorknob, and gave him a murderous stare.
"Wait. One damn minute, will you? I didn't mean that." He held up a hand. "I'm... sorry
. It's just that..." He stopped as if considering what else to say, how far to go.
As far as Evan was concerned, he didn't look one bit sorry. He looked petulant. Yes, that was it. Like a boy forced to make an apology to a girl after he'd gleefully put a frog down her dress. It was obvious apologies didn't come easy to him. But she was enjoying his discomfort. He deserved every minute of it. She waited.
"It's just that, well, I thought you were another of Caressa's attempts to... She swore you weren't... but I didn't believe her. You wouldn't, either if you knew her better," he added with a touch of belligerence.
"Run that by me again. Caressa's attempts to what?"
He sucked in a fortifying breath and raked a hand through his hair. He looked as though he'd just swigged sour milk. "Attempts to—as Caressa puts it—find me the right woman."
"Caressa is trying to fix you up?" Instantly intrigued, Evan's hand came off the knob.
He scowled at her. "That's a charming way to put it."
"We're long past being charming."
He rubbed his cheek. "Yeah, I guess so."
Evan was unrepentant. "Not that I can't see why you'd need help in that department... being fixed up, I mean." She smiled sweetly to spike the barb. "But why me? I'm hardly in the market for a husband—or child," she added. That's about the last thing I want. I might never have had a husband, but I've been a mother over half my life. My time is coming and I plan to live it—alone.
"Does my meddling sister know that?"
"Probably not. We like each other, but we haven't exactly reached the heart-to-heart stage."
"She hasn't been, uh, promoting me then?"
"She told me you were bossy, quick-tempered, distrustful, and rude. Does that count?"
He smiled grimly. "Reverse psychology?"
"Not as I see it."
When the silence between them advanced to awkward, Evan again reached for the doorknob. "Look, your love life, or lack of it, is endlessly fascinating, but it's getting late. If I'm going to find a place to stay tonight, I'd better get going."
