[The Sons of Lily Moreau 01] - Remodeling the Bachelor

by Marie Ferrarella

  “But I’m just curious about one thing.”

  She stopped in her tracks, waiting for the shoe to drop.“Go ahead.”

  “Why isn’t she in preschool, or nursery school, or whatever it is that they callit these days?” Janice had her own philosophy about that. She believed that the first few yearsof life should be spent around the people who love you. She’d been farmed outwhen she was Kelli’s age. Her father couldn’t deal with raising children so sheand Gordon had been sent off to day care and left with people before and afterschool. She’d always promised herself that her own child would be raiseddifferently, that her daughter would never waste a single moment of her lifewondering if her parents loved her.

  “Kelli’s going into kindergarten this fall. I just wanted to keep her around foras long as possible. She has friends on the block and there’s nothing she couldlearn in preschool that I can’t cover.”

  He nodded, getting the feeling that he’d intruded.“Fair enough.”He regrouped.

  “All right then, why don’t you knock it off for today and then come backtomorrow with reinforcements?”

  “You’re the boss.”The tone she used had him sincerely doubting she believedthat.“You going to go back in there and work now?”she guessed. It was getting close tonoon .“After I go out to get something to eat sinceyou’ve taken away my stove.”He looked at the barren area where his stove hadonce stood. She hadn’t asked him for help, the way he’d assumed she would.“Howdid you manage that, anyway?”

  “I used a dolly and a ramp and I walked it across the floor.”

  “How?”

  She grinned.“You move each side one at a time. First right, then left, thenright and so on until you’re across the room.”

  He and his brothers had always subscribed to the brute force method.“How didyou get it on the truck?”he asked.

  That had been the simplest part.“I borrowed a friend’s truck. He’s got ahydraulic lift.”

  It made sense, he supposed. It still bothered him a little that she was so muchmore adept at this kind of thing than he was.“Answer for everything, eh?”

  The wide smile on her lips took him aback for a minute, as did the churningsensation in his stomach that came in response.“Including your lunch.”

  “Come again?” “I made you something.”Thinking he’d remain in his office the way he had theother three days, she’d planned on surprising him and having the meal ready onthe dining room table bynoon . The best laid plans of mice and men…

  He stared at her incredulously.“You cook for your clients?” This was a first, but then, Kelli had taken such a shine to him and she did feelas if she were invading his space just a little. But in response to his question, Janice shrugged.“I made lasagna last night. Ialways make too much so I thought I’d bring some over.”She tossed him a smileover her shoulder as she walked out to her truck.

  “But I don’t have a stove,”he reminded her.

  “There’s a microwave buried on the sofa somewhere. Besides, it’s good cold,”shepromised, leaving the room. He was still staring at the jumbled mess on his sofa, trying to make out theshape of the microwave, when J.D. returned a few minutes later, carrying whatappeared to be a large, rectangular blue and white chest made of hard plastic.

  It look unwieldy and he moved to take it from her. When he did, he discovered that it was more than unwieldy, it was heavy.“You’rea lot stronger than you look,”he told her, bringing the chest over to thedining room table.

  “I have to be,”she quipped.

  Setting the box down on the table, he saw her raise one eyebrow in a silentquestion.“I’ve decided to have it cold.”

  “Translation.”She laughed.“You can’t locate the microwave.”

  “Beside the point,”he declared nonchalantly. He had, however, located twoplates and he had one at each place setting now.“Join me?”

  She was surprised he asked.“I thought I was being dismissed.”

  He supposed he had sounded rather abrupt. But he hated being stumped and theprogram was driving him crazy.“Is that how it sounded?”

  Taking her seat at his right, she noticed that Philippe hadn’t actuallyapologized.“You have a very authoritative voice.”

  He laughed, taking a seat himself.“Comes from telling my brothers what to do.”

  “You were a fledgling bully?”she asked. Because the lasagna was hers, she didthe honors, cutting portions. “I was the father figure. Or, I should say,”he amended,“the stable fatherfigure since there were an abundance of other father figures milling around mostof the time.”He stopped abruptly as his words echoed back to him. This wasn’tlike him.“Why am I always spilling my guts to you?”

  Her smile was encouraging, understanding.“I have the kind of face people talkto. I’m more or less invisible,”she explained.“They don’t feel that they’llsee me again once the job is over, but for the duration, they have invited meinto their home and since I’m there, they come to regard me as someone they cantalk to.”She grinned, sinking her fork into the piece she’d taken.“I’m likethe family pet without the emotional investment.”

  That definitely was not the way he saw her.“We never had a pet.”

  “Not even goldfish?” He shook his head.“For a while, Mother traveled around too much for us to havepets. And then when she finally bought the house and we stayed behind while shewent on her tours, she made it clear she didn’t want anything with fur, feathersor fins finding its way to our mailing address.”Because he felt that he’d saidtoo much again, he changed the subject. He nodded at his plate.“This is good.”

  “Thank you.”His compliment pleased her more than she thought it might. Careful,J.D., you’ve slid down this path before and all you got for your trouble isskinned knees.“I wouldn’t have brought it if it was bad.”

  The reply tickled him.“So, what other talents do you have?”

  She didn’t have to stop to think.“That pretty much covers it.” In his estimation, that was more than enough. She cooked like a house afire andcould build a replacement if the need arose.“You ever think about starting yourown restaurant?”

  Not even for a moment.“Ninety-five percent of all restaurants fail in theirfirst year. I need a sure thing and working with these—”she held up her hands“—is a sure thing.”

  He could understand her reasoning, not that the world of contractors was allthat stable.“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “It was necessity.”She paused to take a bite herself.“After my mother left, itwas either learn to cook or eat ready-made things out of a box.” He curbed the desire to ask her about her mother. If she wanted him to knowmore, she’d tell him. As for preparing things out of a box, she’d just describedthe way he lived.“Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Have you read what they put inside that stuff?” He shrugged, then swallowed what was in his mouth before answering,“Food.” “Food whose ingredients are guaranteed to give you high blood pressure and shutdown your kidneys by the time you reach middle age.”Turning, she reached intothe blue and white box and took out a small round bowl.“I brought you fruit

  fordessert.”She took off the cover.“Blueberries. They’re rich in antioxidants.”

  He laughed, shaking his head as he looked at the offering.“Anyone ever tell youthat you’re pushy?”

  “Maybe once or twice,”she allowed.

  He was willing to bet it was more than that. Philippe glanced down at his plate. Somehow, he’d managed to eat the entireportion without realizing it. The blueberries, however, held no interest forhim. He moved back from the table.

  “Thanks, that was really good. But you don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I know.”She gathered up the dirty dishes, putting them back into the chest.

  Philippe started to offer to do them for her and then realized that he couldn’t. She’d ripped out his sink that morning. With the chest between her hands, shebegan to make her way to the front door. He noticed that she was leaving hertools behi
nd.

  “Don’t you need to take anything else with you?”

  She glanced back at the toolbox.“Why? You’re my only client.”

  He took the chest from her, indicating that he was going to follow her out withit.“I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it means that business is bad, right?” She shook her head.“No, it means that I only do one client at a time.”Sheunlocked the door and took the chest from him, placing it behind the front seatof her truck.“I was serious about that. This way, it’ll get done faster.”

  “And with your brother working with you, it’ll be even that much faster.” She was going to have to keep after Gordon, she thought. He did good work— whenhe was working. But given half a chance, he’d take off for a few hours or catcha nap.

  “Absolutely,”she promised. Ten minutes later, J.D. had left and he was back at his desk. His appetiteappeased, his brain cleared, Philippe was in a much better frame of mind to takeanother crack at the program.

  Bathed in absolute quiet, after a few minutes, Philippe realized that he foundthe silence almost deafening.

  With a resigned sigh, he shook his head and turned on the radio to fill up theempty spaces.

  Chapter 9

  Somewhere between the time his alarm sounded and he toweled himself dry fromhis shower, it hit Philippe like a bullet right between the eyes. He was looking forward to seeing J.D. Looking forward to seeing her even withthe accompanying wall of noise. The realization caught him off guard. He triednot to dwell on it, tried not to attach any sort of deep meaning to it. Hedidn’t, by definition, dislike people and she was a person. The woman had turnedout to be a decent sort, that was all. No big deal.

  If it was no big deal, why did he feel compelled to convince himself of that? Itshould have just been a given. Making a disgusted noise that drew into service a mangled French phrase, one ofthe few things he had learned from his father, he focused his mind on what wasimportant. His work.

  Philippe had forced himself up early, showering and shaving a good ninetyminutes before he usually left the confines of his bed. With a stale piece oftoast and marginal coffee, he sat before his computer, pondering the merit of aparticular equation on his screen when he heard the doorbell.

  Or thought he did.

  It turned out to be a false alarm. Just his ears playing tricks on him.

  There was no one at the door.

  Glancing around, seeing only a jogger in the distance, Philippe experienced asmattering of disappointment. He retreated. Somehow, this was all wrong,although he couldn’t begin to untangle the reasons why. He had work to do. Maybe he was working too hard. Rather than take his time or kick back, as washis cousin Beau’s habit, Philippe was always doggedly at his desk, working everyavailable moment he had. Because he believed that all work and no play not onlymade Jack a dull boy but also helped contribute to the death of his brain cells,he had gone out of his way to institute his weekly poker game, making sure neverto miss one.

  But maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe, like his mother had said to him time andagain, he needed to get out of his shell. Needed to go out. With someone of theopposite gender.

  Philippe frowned.

  The fact that he was even thinking like this was proof that he needed to let upa little. To let go.

  Right after this baby’s packed up, he promised himself. Famous last words, he mocked. He’d thought somewhere along the same lines whenhe’d worked on the last program—and all he’d done was jump right into this one.

  Just before he reached his office threshold, Philippe stopped abruptly. Cockinghis head to the right, he listened intently.

  No, this time the doorbell wasn’t his imagination. Retracing his steps back tothe front door, he swung it open.

  And smiled. Kelli was clearly the one who had rung his doorbell. She was standing on hertoes, stretching as far as she could, about to press her small finger to thewhite button again. When the door opened, she offered him a smile that heimagined angels looked to as a standard by which to measure their own smiles.

  “I’m here,”she announced brightly. He exchanged looks with J.D. who was standing beside her. A man in jeans and aTshirt was behind them. His wheat-colored hair and fair complexion fairlyshouted that he was related to both.

  “So I see,”Philippe said, turning his attention back to Kelli. He hadn’t reallyintended to take the girl’s hand, but Kelli had other ideas. She slipped hersmall hand into his and then tugged him back into his house.

  “I brought stuff to do,”she informed him.“So I won’t get in your way.”

  How could someone so young sound so adult? He nodded in response.“Verythoughtful of you.” She beamed. Then suddenly, as if she’d forgotten her manners, she turned aroundto look at the man behind her.“This is my Uncle Gordon. Mama says you want yourhouse done faster.”A little pint-sized feminine pride slipped into hernarrative.“Uncle Gordon is fast, but not as fast as Mama.”

  Philippe caught himself wondering just how fast Mama was. Reining in histhoughts, he slanted a glance toward J.D.

  Damn, but worn T-shirts never looked so good to him before.“I’ll bet,”heacknowledged.

  Something in his tone had Janice struggling to tamp down a wave of warmth. Sheraised her chin a little, not certain if she should be defensive or not. But she could be polite. She nodded at her daughter, her eyes on Philippe’s.

  “Thanks for letting me do this.” “No problem.”He glanced at the man standing behind the little stick of dynamitewho still had his hand.“I’m Philippe Zabelle.”He extended his other hand toKelli’s uncle.“Nice to meet you.”

  Gordon was nothing if not friendly. Grinning broadly, he shook the hand that wasoffered to him.“Yeah, likewise.”Walking toward the kitchen, he looked aroundas he passed.“Nice place you have here.”

  Philippe’s laugh was dismissive.“For a bomb shelter.”

  Gordon turned around.“No, I mean it. You’ve got a really great exterior.”Hejerked his thumb toward the front of the house.“It gives the place a ritzylook.” Philippe supposed so, but that had never been the draw for him. The fact that heand his brothers could all lead separate lives but still be in close proximityto one another was what had sold him on the house.

  That, and that the fact that the outside was painted Wedgwood blue with whitetrim. Most of the other houses in the immediate vicinity were painted either inshades of rust or in some drab, strange color never to be found in nature. Bluehad always been his favorite color.

  The clock was ticking, Janice thought. Both for her and, probably moreimportantly, for Philippe. She broke up the impromptu meeting. “C’mon, Kel, let’s get you settled in,”she said, taking the little girl’s freehand. In her other hand, Janice was carrying a large portfolio filled withseveral drawings and a painting that Kelli was currently working on. Pausing,she eyed Philippe hesitantly.“It is all right that we use your dining roomtable, isn’t it?”she asked, quickly adding,“I brought this tablecloth so thatit doesn’t accidentally get dirty.”

  “Actually,”Philippe cut in,“I’ve got a much better idea.” Kelli watched him eagerly, a kernel of corn about to pop. Janice, hearing thesame sentence, felt very protective of Kelli’s feelings. She didn’t wantanything to diminish the girl’s zest.“Such as?”

  He led the way to an alcove just off the living room. Yesterday, there had beena refrigerator shoved into the space. He’d moved it last night to the alreadyoverflowing family room. He had something different in mind for the space.

  “I thought Kelli might like to use something else instead of just a flatsurface.”Walking past the living room, he gestured over to the alcove. It wasempty now—except for the small easel that stood in the center.

  Kelli’s eyes became huge.“Look, Mama, it’s kid size,”she exclaimed, runningover to it. She touched the easel reverently, as if afraid it would disappearonce her fingers came in contact with it. And then she looked at him over hershoulder, joy tinged with a hint of hesitation.�
�This is for me?”

  He came up to join her. It had taken him several hours to hunt this up.“Thisused to be mine,”he told her.“But it’s a little too small for me now and it’sbeen rather sad, sitting all alone in storage. So I’d take it as a personalfavor if you used it.”

  Excited, the girl shifted from foot to foot as if about to break into animpromptu game of hopscotch.“Where’s your new one?”

  He laughed, shaking his head.“I don’t have one.” “You don’t paint anymore?”Surprise was imprinted on every inch of the smallheartshaped face. It was a long story, built on rebellion and not one to tell a child, even achild as stunningly intelligent as Kelli. The easel had never really been put touse and he was surprised he’d saved it. But to keep things simple, he merelysaid,“No.”

  Surprise was replaced with sympathy. It was obvious Kelli felt that everyoneshould experience the joy of painting. Reclaiming her hand from her mother, shepatted his.“Bet you could ask your mom to get you one and to give you lessons,”

  she told him.

  It was an effort to retain a straight face. She was darling as well asintelligent and gifted.“She’s a very busy lady.” Kelli nodded slowly, absorbing the excuse and its ramifications. And thensuddenly, her head bobbed up, her eyes shining as she looked at him.“I couldteach you.”Saying it out loud reinforced her enthusiasm and she clapped herhands together.“I could. It’d be fun.”

  He thought of all the years in his past that he’d actively turned down everyattempt his mother made to mate him with a paintbrush and a canvas. He hadstaunchly refused to enter her world, wanting one of his own to colonize andleave his mark on.

  But with this small, eager little face looking up at him, all that melted away.

  “Maybe it would be,”he allowed.“I’ll see if I can find another easel fortomorrow.”

  Kelli’s smile grew even wider.“Good.” God, she sounded more adult that half the people he knew, Philippe thought,completely charmed. He noted that J.D. had placed all of her daughter’s jars ofpaint along the easel’s edge and mounted the painting against it.