by Rose, Carol
"Nothing, I happen to like roofs," she lied, deliberately not mentioning her lifelong fear of heights. "And I want you to know that even though it suits me to work with you on this one house, I'm going after the contract for the rest of them. And I'm planning on handling them by myself."
"I know that," he bit out. "But I'm still not letting you do the roof. Do you have any idea how steep it is? Even my roofing crew isn't looking forward to it."
"I can handle it," she declared rashly.
"No. If you want to prove something, go do it on someone else's job. I'm not risking the liability of you breaking your neck."
"I am not your responsibility," Hayley yelled, a tremble of frustration and anger running through her. What was it about her that brought out the protectiveness in men?
"The roof isn't a negotiable item, Hayley," he replied, unshaken by her display of temper. "My men are starting on the plumbing repairs and the rewiring first thing tomorrow. We'll get to the roof by the end of the week. "
Hayley took a deep breath and held it long enough to count to three. "If this is your idea of our working together, maybe we need to reconsider the whole project. You aren't the foreman here and, as far as I'm concerned, everything is negotiable."
She held his gaze for a long moment, the blood rushing in her ears as it always did when she had to handle a confrontation. Not waiting for his response, Hayley turned and left the bedroom.
*
"Granger?" the unfamiliar voice barked through the phone line. "Henry Haslett here."
Colt straightened in his desk chair. He'd only met Hayley's father that once and the office complex he'd subcontracted on for the man was finished more than a year ago. Why would he be calling now?
"Nice to hear from you, sir," he offered, curious.
"I understand you're involved in a little project with my daughter." The older man's voice buzzed with an aggressive energy.
"Yes. We're involved in a restoration venture. "
"I heard this is a multiple-house deal. She's a spunky kid." Haslett paused. "But she's not a businesswoman. More creative like her mother, God rest her soul."
Not knowing what to reply to that, Colt waited. From what he knew of Hayley, he tended to agree with her father's assessment, but saying so felt like a betrayal.
"Oh, she's sharp as a tack," Haslett continued. "But she's never really been out in the world. She's too good-natured, sees the best in people, but doesn't know how to deal with the rough and tumble of business."
Colt made a noncommittal murmur in reply. As far as her father knew, Colt was a stranger to Hayley, and yet, he sat here discussing her as if she was a child and they were the adults.
"She's a real sweet girl." The older man's voice shifted meaningfully. "I'd hate for anyone to take advantage of her."
"I can understand that, sir," Colt said. "But Hayley strikes me as an intelligent woman. She's not exactly a pushover." That was an understatement. He could still see the determination in her eyes when she'd thrown the ultimatum in his face at the house.
"Hayley's as green as they come," her father shot back grimly. "And I don't want her getting burned in this little decorating business she's started."
"Restoration," Colt corrected. "She's doing restoration."
"Whatever. It's strictly small change, but it keeps her occupied."
For a brief moment, Colt felt a flare of anger. Hayley might be a little on the flaky side, but there was no doubt she would throw herself completely and passionately into her work.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Mr. Haslett."
Henry laughed a full, deep sound that rang with self-satisfaction. ''I'm glad to hear that, son. You have a good reputation, but a father gets into the habit of looking after his only chick. "
"That must be a hard habit to change," Colt commented, not that Haslett seemed to be trying.
"Yeah," Henry agreed. "Listen, son. It's nice touching base with you. We need to work together again sometime."
Colt hung up the phone a moment later, nagged by the impression that Haslett had just appointed him baby sitter. Making enemies was never a good idea in business, but kissing up wasn't his style either.
Haslett's phone call hadn't changed his intentions toward Hayley one bit. Colt still wanted her, and he planned on winning the contract. But he felt as if Hayley's father had violated her privacy and given him a glimpse of something too personal.
So maybe he would let her do the roof. She wasn't a fool, after all, and it didn't need that much work.
*
The unseasonable rain fell in warm sheets, solid and heavy all around the gazebo. Hayley leaned back against the cushioned seat, drawing the cool dampness into her lungs. In Southern California, water from heaven was a rarity. Later, the hills would turn golden brown and stay that way. But today, the sky opened and drenched the garden of the Palmer House with a soft, warm thunder of rain.
Through the shifting downpour, the house looked almost ghostly. Hayley had arrived first, setting pots beneath a half a dozen leaks. Alone in the house, surrounded by the curtains of rain, she had felt isolated but the feeling was somehow pleasant.
She had dashed exultantly through the rain to the gazebo, her small portfolio clutched close to her chest and her full, cotton skirt heavy with the damp.
All around her, roses bloomed, their old-fashioned scents heightened by the steady rain.
Hayley tucked her bare legs beneath the full spill of her skirt and shoved her wildly curling hair off her neck. The air seemed to cling to her skin like a lover, the damp coolness almost a physical caress against arms and neck bared by her camisole top.
With a sigh, she opened the portfolio and took out some of her drawings. She'd come to the gazebo to work and had been seduced into inactivity by her senses.
Footsteps sounded on the paved walk.
Hayley glanced up, an electric tingle startling her out of her concentration.
Through the shifting downpour, Colt materialized. In a wind-breaker and jeans, he seemed unaffected by the weather. Drops of water glistened on his tanned face as his gaze roved over her.
"Nice day for a walk," she greeted him, feeling impudent and reckless. She'd taken a risk with her ultimatum, challenging him and risking everything she wanted. Being courageous enough to do so had left her feeling invincible.
A reluctant smile glimmered in his eyes.
"Nice if you're a fish," he agreed, mounting the gazebo's shallow stone steps. As he unzipped his light jacket, his glance fell on the photographs and sketches on the seat next to her.
Tossing his jacket over a railing, he squatted down in front of the bench and shifted the drawings to examine her work.
"This is a good idea," he commented after a moment. "I wouldn't have thought to use black and white photos to create line drawings. But it gives you a great idea of tone."
"Thanks," Hayley said, squelching down an unseemly satisfaction at his praise. "This way I can tryout different color schemes for the exterior paint. I think the complexity of the spindles and trim calls for four to seven different colors, and the drawings let me play with unusual looks. I've never done a house with that many shades and I don't want to screw it up."
"Don't lose faith in yourself now," he teased. "You're the woman who can restore this house single-handed. Remember?"
Hayley felt her chin come up and knew there was a militant gleam in her eye.
"I've come back to the negotiating table with a counter offer," Colt said, rocking back on his heels as he crouched before the gazebo seat. "I'll concede you the roof repairs with two conditions."
Triumph flared to life in Hayley and she felt a smile curling her lips. "If it'll make it easier for you to concede, I'll consider your conditions."
Colt smiled appreciatively, the twinkle in his eye deepening. "It'll definitely make me feel better. First off, I want your promise that you'll be very careful on the roof--"
Hayley sat back in disgust and cast he
r gaze to the ceiling of the gazebo. "I am fairly intelligent, Colt."
"No question about that," he agreed. "But I'm used to looking out for the people I work with. It's habit by now. Can you just humor me on this?"
She sighed. "Okay, you have my promise to be careful, but it's still ridiculous."
"Good." Colt straightened and scooped her drawings off the seat. "There's one other condition." He settled onto the bench next to her. "I want my crew to help with the painting."
"What?" Hayley shifted on the seat, his nearness almost as startling as his suggestion.
He held up a hand to hold off her protest.
"You can direct the show, pick the colors, and all that. You're obviously a professional, but I want my men to have the experience of helping with the actual work."
With him sitting so close, the scent of his aftershave, faint and tangy, drifted to her. Hayley struggled not to look at him, knowing how easily she could drown in his laughing eyes. Instead, she focused on his hands, dark and strong against the sketches he still held.
"Let me get this straight. You want me to conduct on-the-job training for my competitor's workers?" she asked dryly.
"Yeah," he laughed. "Pretty clever, huh?"
"Positively devious," she replied, though without any heat in her tone. She had to admit though that the plan had benefits for her as well. The painstaking work of preparing the house and actually painting it was a mammoth job. With help from Colt's crew, the work would go faster. She hadn't been looking forward to trying to find painters capable of assisting her small, dedicated painting team.
"So, what do you say?"
"Okay, I'll agree to that, but only if you really let me direct it," she cautioned.
"No problem." Colt leaned back against the seat, resting his arm on the gazebo railing behind her.
In the shadowy light, his expression seemed deceptively lazy. He looked very much like a jungle cat considering his prey.
Hayley lifted her eyebrow and considered taking offense. But she could hardly take him to task for the expression he wore. And here with him, in the soft spring rain, she didn't exactly feel like fighting.
It would have been wiser to fight than to do what she wanted with Colt. Every feminine part of her shrieked to respond to the signals he sent. She looked into his face and saw desire, a sensuality that went far beyond interest. His presence struck up a clamoring in her chest, an instantaneous urge to respond.
Hayley wasn't inexperienced with men, but she'd never before felt such ambivalent reactions to a man. How could she want to snarl at him and melt into his arms, all at the same time?
She had to get a grip. "I forgot to tell you," she said. "I found something yesterday, when I spent some time in the attic--"
"Sounds like fun," he commented, propping a foot on the bench beside her.
"Attics are always fun. It amazes me that people manage to leave so many things behind them when they move out of a house. Sometimes, they leave wonderful stuff."
"So what did you find here?" he challenged. "D. B. Palmer's plan to tar and feather his daughter's carpenter?"
"No," Hayley said, unable to repress the smile that his image conjured up. "I found household inventories dating back to when the house was built."
"Really? That ought to interest the Preservation Society," Colt said, straightening. He came closer, and leaned against the gazebo railing, a hand's width from her.
Hayley's breath came more quickly in reaction to his nearness. "There weren't any personal papers among the inventories."
"Too bad." Colt's voice was low and laced with an undercurrent of something sexual. "Tell me. Do you suppose Corinne met her carpenter here in the gazebo?"
"I-I hadn't thought about it."
"Maybe they met here," he murmured. "In the dark, to exchange forbidden kisses."
"I--" Hayley's words died as Colt leaned closer. Her eyes fluttered shut with annoying speed as her body went its willful way, melting into Colton Granger's arms.
His mouth settled against her, soft and yet firm. Hayley's every sense vibrated with the contact. He surrounded her, the strength of his arms branding heat through the thin material of her camisole as his lips brushed hers. Swamped by his warm, male scent, she felt drugged, drawn as if by an irresistible force.
Echoing her own unruly heart, Colt's pulse thundered beneath her fingertips as her hands clutched his shoulders. Hayley shivered and opened her mouth beneath his, blindly trembling in his arms.
His body felt hot and hard, comforting and disturbing against her softness. Shuddering with the effort, Hayley drew back, wrenching herself out of his arms. She turned away, facing the damp, gray air, one hand clutching the gazebo's railing.
She swallowed, her throat feeling dry. From behind her came the ragged sound of Colt's breathing. Hayley closed her eyes for a second, fighting against the seductive knowledge of how she affected him.
The problem was that he affected her, too--so much so she was afraid of losing herself in him.
"It's probably better," she said in a tight voice, "to keep this a purely business deal."
Colt took a long minute before responding. "If that's the way you want it, I'm not going to argue. But business is the last thing I want from you."
*
Why on earth had she insisted on repairing the roof? Hayley couldn't remember now. She stood in the small circular tower at roof level, hesitating.
She'd always been afraid of heights. Why hadn't she taken that into account when she was challenging Colt? True, she had remembered, but at that moment, nothing had been as important as proving herself to him.
Colt Granger was more than a bad influence. He seemed to steal her sanity whenever he came near.
Below Hayley, the garden of the Palmer House gleamed lush and green in the sun, its foliage still sparkling from yesterday's rain. She didn't even have the excuse of the slate roof being wet and, therefore, too slippery to climb. The sun had shone all day and, along with the wind, buffed the roof dry.
She could have waited and had a roofer climb out on the steeply pitched peak to measure how much slate needed replacing, but then yesterday's numerous leaks made it clear that the roof had to be dealt with immediately.
And darn it, she had to prove to herself that she could do anything Colt could do. She'd go out there and measure how much slate had to be ordered. The sooner the roof was fixed, the sooner they could finish the interior.
It's no big deal, she told herself. Just ease out of the tower and scoot up the roof backwards. The position of the open tower made access to the roof much easier. The tower looked like a cross between a miniature gazebo and an open Grecian temple. Surmounting the second floor tower, it rose another twelve feet and was capped with a rounded dome, complete with a rusted, dilapidated finial.
The tower dome was the tallest part of the house, but fortunately, its rounded roof was shingled to match the house siding, rather than being topped with slate.
Even to prove her independence, Hayley couldn't go up on that precarious perch.
The rest of the roof, however, awaited her. Hayley glanced down into the yard, forcing away her giddiness. She'd waited as late in the day as she could, hoping no one would witness her obvious terror of heights, but she couldn't wait much longer, and some of the men still lingered below.
Heck, she thought, snapping her measuring tape onto the pocket of her cutoffs. It wasn't the workmen she hoped to wait out. She wanted Colt gone. True, she didn't want anyone seeing her inch her way over the roof on her bottom, but she especially didn't want Colt there. Not after making such a big deal about doing the roof herself.
He'd probably fall over laughing if he saw her up here.
The ten-foot-wide tower had no railing, only a low, ornamental wall that was easily stepped over to reach the roof. Straight across the rooftop from the tower, a large dormer window also faced the front. The space in between held an unusual eyebrow dormer window, so named because of its shape. There wasn
't that much roof to measure, Hayley reassured herself.
The sun was setting behind a large oak beside the house. She knew she had to do it now. Stuffing a small notepad and pencil in the pocket of her chambray shirt, Hayley took a deep breath and stepped over the tower wall.
She stood on the steep roof, a wisp of breeze drifting over the pitch to cool her neck and stir the tendrils that had escaped her ponytail. Fear clenched in her stomach, and Hayley drew in a deep breath, the soles of her lightweight tennis shoes seemingly glued to the roof.
From below she heard the slam of truck doors and revving engines. Maybe fate had smiled on her and Colt was leaving.
Her hand slid down one of the tower's slender columns as she set her fanny on the roof. Sliding backwards, Hayley inched her way to the crest of the pitch. Forcing herself to relax, she looked over the roof cresting, admiring the intricate filigree.
She moved over the roof, checking for loose and cracked sections, making careful notes on the notepad. Above the windows, the front had only a few areas that needed replacing, but she could tell with a glance that the largest part of the back needed re-roofing.
Relief rose in Hayley as she finished making notes about the small western portion, the finial, and weather vane. Almost done. She'd been crazy to dread this so much.
All she had to do now was look at the narrow strip of roofing beneath the eyebrow dormer. Since the window didn't open from the inside, she also needed to make notes about any trim repairs around the glass.
Five minutes later, she straightened slightly from her crouching position and rolled her neck. The eyebrow window was an architectural gem that added a unique touch to the house. Drawing her feet up under her to shuffle closer, Hayley leaned forward to check a piece of loose trim.
It happened in an instant. The soles of her tennis shoes caught a damp patch at the roofs edge. Hayley felt her legs whoosh out from beneath her, her knees banging uselessly on the slate as she fell. A shriek tore loose from her throat, her hands grabbing frantically at the smooth slate.
Panic exploded in her as she felt herself fall over the edge.
