A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel

by Carol Burnside

  She tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and pitched forward.

  “Whoa!” His hands shot to her arms, righting her before she could complete a face plant.

  Mortified he might be able to see her body’s reaction to his touch, she jerked away and jogged in place, though she was supposed to be cooling down. “Well? What did you stop me for?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. You said ‘hey’ and did that come-hither chin thing.” A what thing? Just shut up already, Claire. Sheesh!

  “You’re nuts, you know that? Men don’t have a come-hither thing. Finish your run. I need to get by so I’m not late for dinner.”

  Claire startled at the amused indulgence in his voice, recovered fast and gave him her best look of disdain, which wasn’t easy seeing as he was a good head taller. “If LouAnne hires you, pretend I’m not there. I don’t want to spend the better part of a week dealing with your attitude.”

  With the waning sunlight glinting off his cornflower blues, Travis’s gaze roved over her and settled on her hair before he drawled, “You’re kind of hard to overlook. Besides, if I do decide to take the job? It’ll take a several weeks to complete.”

  “Seriously?” She felt a surge of something akin to excitement before her stomach plummeted into her trainers. Weeks. With Travis underfoot. At her job.

  “Yes, but don’t get your panties in a wad. I got your message loud and clear. Our date was a blip on the radar screen. A forgettable echo in time. So move on. I have.”

  “Moving on. See?” Claire jogged off, dissatisfied with the whole exchange. As a teenager, she’d had plenty of experience discouraging interest from the users in her mother’s life. She’d honed the routine to a fine art. This time it hadn’t been needed. Travis had already dismissed her.

  Trouble was, she hadn’t expected him to get under her skin, hadn’t expected him to be more than a casual date or maybe a satisfying one-night stand. That much she could handle.

  Within sight of her apartment, she again slowed to a walk.

  Once before, she’d let herself believe in a man’s lies of love and forever only to have him laughingly dismiss her when she’d needed him.

  Never again.

  After setting food outside for the cat and grabbing a quick shower, she wolfed down a chef salad and polished off another bottled water, mentally checking off her daily food groups. An apple and a cup of hot green tea before bed would meet her final requirement.

  Becoming a health nut at least gave her the illusion she was making a difference, helping her body stay healthy.

  Our date was a blip on the radar screen. A forgettable echo in time. Although she’d left him behind on Rosie’s sidewalk, Travis’s voice had tagged along on her walk home.

  So what if he’d moved past their encounter? Just because he’d expressed some interest at one time, didn’t mean she was memorable in his long line of conquests. She shook off the feeling she’d lost something precious. How ridiculous.

  Her cell chimed and she dug for it in a large Zebra-print tote bag, glad for the distraction. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Claire. This is Rita White from Southwest Regional Hospital. I’m sorry to disturb your evening, but I’m passing along a special request from a patient.”

  Claire frowned. The nursing staff usually collected messages at their station, and she picked them up on her next trip in.

  “Someone I know?” she asked, swallowing hard against the familiar lump of apprehension lodged in her throat.

  “Yes. Sadie says to tell you she’s ready for a shave.”

  Claire allowed herself a sigh of relief. She knew exactly which patient Rita meant. Claire had made the offer over a week ago, but Sadie hadn’t been ready. “What a gutsy lady. I’m working the late shift tomorrow, so I’ll stop by in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Claire. I’ll tell her,” Rita said, ending the call.

  The silence pressed in on her ears, suffocating in its intensity. She turned on her stereo, cranking the volume until music filled the small apartment and her head. Thank goodness her landlord was elderly and hard of hearing. She began to dance, pushing all thoughts of Travis, the needy cat, and cancer patients aside in the quest to exhaust her body enough to sleep.

  * * *

  “Great supper, Zeb. You may be out of practice, but you haven’t lost your touch.” Travis settled into one of the twin leather chairs facing his partner, Zebulon Massey’s desk, his stomach pleasantly full, but not so much that his jeans felt tight. Zeb was in a strange mood tonight, restless and pensive by turns. Thus far, he’d avoided talk of the salon remodel.

  “The key to cookin’ a good steak is gettin’ the heat just right. Martha always said I built a good fire.” Zeb guffawed and slapped his khaki covered knee at the double entendre.

  Travis smiled, glad the older man could speak of his deceased wife with fondness instead of grief.

  Zeb moved a yellow hard hat paperweight back and forth on a stack of papers. He focused on the action with a determined expression.

  The home office spoke of understated wealth with its cherry wood furnishings and elegant drapes. Martha’s impressive decorator skills were evident in everything from the high bookshelves to the matching filing cabinets that all but faded into the background. She and Zeb had made a dynamic team, meshing both their private and professional lives.

  Impatient to get to the subject that brought him here, Travis decided to broach it again. “Zeb—”

  “I’m sellin’ the house, Trav. It’s goin’ on the market tomorrow.” Zeb’s voice rang with finality and a tinge of defiance. He tugged at the open collar of his white western-style shirt.

  “Okay.” Travis shrugged, unsure how he should respond to the sudden news.

  “It’s time I moved on with my life, made some changes. This place was Martha’s creative canvas. I’m constantly reminded—”

  “Zeb. There’s no need to explain. Martha liked change as well as your steaks. She would understand.” Travis opted for a little humor, hoping to ease the tension in his friend’s posture.

  Air whooshed from Zeb’s lungs on a bark of laughter. “Yeah. You’re right. She would.” He nodded once as if dismissing the subject and turned his gaze on Travis. “I guess you want to know what’s goin’ on with the Sweetwater Springs estimate.”

  Finally. “Considering we usually approve all projects together, yeah. I’m not opposed to the job, but I’d like to know what you’ve committed us to.”

  “Before you go gittin’ all riled . . . Wait. You’re not opposed to the job?”

  “I’ll be the first to admit I thought you were pulling my leg at first. A job like this wouldn’t normally hit our radar, but I’ve seen the condition that place is in, and I know you and daddy feel protective where LouAnne is concerned.”

  “Harry was our best friend, Trav. When he asked us to look after his widow, we didn’t realize we’d have to fight her to do it. This may be my only chance to honor his request.”

  “I figured it was something like that.”

  “So how bad is LouAnne’s place?”

  “It’s not safe. Realistically, it needs to be ripped apart and put back to rights. The wiring needs to be replaced right away. Then the plumbing, floor joists and roof need to be addressed.”

  “That bad?” Zeb frowned and stood, tugging at pants riding low under a small belly. He headed toward the hallway. “How about a beer?”

  “Sure,” Travis answered to an empty room. When he arrived in the oversized, professionally equipped kitchen, Zeb already had two longnecks open. He stood with arms wide, bracing himself behind the breakfast bar.

  “LouAnne’s got some money saved back, but not nearly enough to cover the major kind of renovation an old buildin’ will require. I can’t let her lose the salon. It’s all she’s got.”

  And Claire’s too, as far as Travis knew. Not that she couldn’t find a job elsewhere with her skills. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

 
“Maybe. I say we do the job, but get creative on the invoices so LouAnne doesn’t know the true costs. I’ll personally cover the difference so it won’t impact the bottom line.”

  “You sure? We’re talking about a lot of money.” Travis hiked a hip onto the nearest barstool. Though he’d hoped for one or two slack weeks, the salon would be a nice change of pace after dealing with Bostwick’s finicky ass and all the changes he’d wanted implemented after construction had started. Done right, this could be a short and satisfying project.

  If he acted as foreman, it would give him more opportunities to explore the attraction he and Claire shared without it appearing obvious. But not if it meant more money out of Zeb’s pocket. “We could give Curt Rider that shot at foreman he’s been wanting.”

  “Yeah, see, that’s a problem,” Zeb drawled in his deep Arkansas accent. “LouAnne asked for you, and I want the invoicing situation kept on a need to know basis. The fewer people who need to know the better.”

  Travis hid his surprise. He’d bet his last dime he knew why the fiery-haired woman wanted him on the job.

  Two words: Claire Larkin.

  Since his and Claire’s disastrous single date, LouAnne always found a way to bring the dainty hairstylist’s name into any conversation. Give the woman a hint of unresolved issues and she was like a dog with a bone. More tenacious than his mother—and that was saying something—but twice as sneaky.

  “How about we give her a nice discount on my hourly rate then, make it easier all around? My contribution for dad, if the subject ever comes up with him.”

  “You sure?”

  “Wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t. Any other conditions I should know about?”

  Zeb grinned and lifted his bottle in a salute. “I knew I could count on you and that white-knight complex. This last one might be tricky. If you can persuade her differently, more power to you.”

  Yeah, right. And horses can fly. Travis ignored Zeb’s dig about his altruistic nature and reached for his own bottle, taking a long swig as Zeb did the same. “You better tell me.”

  “LouAnne’s conducting business as usual and wants minimal impact to customers. She—”

  “That’s not going to fly when we start demolition. If she’ll clear out, we could do one of those round-the-clock makeovers. There’s nobody downtown at night to raise a fuss about the noise. She could be back in business inside of two weeks.”

  “We know that. She doesn’t. Try convincing her to move to a temporary location or better yet, take a long week off without letting on how expensive the project is. If you can’t, finesse something creative.”

  “Damn, Zeb.” Travis lifted the beer to his mouth, enjoying its cool bite. “You sure know how to challenge a guy.”

  More sixteen hour days when he needed a break. At least he could get back with Claire long enough to get her out of his system, though it worried him some he hadn’t felt this level of attraction for anyone in . . . maybe ever.

  Zeb chuckled and came around to claim the third barstool. “What’re you so grumpy about? Worried about the bottom line?”

  Travis shot him a get-real look. Thanks to careful handling of the last few projects, they were sitting pretty. Zeb had even talked about taking a vacation. “When does this little job start?”

  “Try to get some subs in there tomorrow and demand fast estimates. We’ll outline a plan to minimize the inconvenience over the weekend and try to have a crew ready to start demo early next week.”

  “What if the inspector finds something on the Bostwick project to delay the CO?” Travis asked, referring to the certificate of occupancy. Bobby Bostwick, IV would have a cow if anything delayed the scheduled move-in for his new office complex.

  “He won’t. You’ve been damn thorough. I can’t see him finding anything we couldn’t fix on the spot. Curt can handle the inspection.”

  “How’d you know I left him in charge?” Travis grinned and drained his bottle. “Been checking up on me?”

  Zeb snorted. “My days of inspecting your work and decisions are long gone, and you know it.”

  Travis stood and fished in his jeans pocket for his truck keys. “I thought we decided on projects together, too.”

  “Aw, Trav, don’t start. You tellin’ me you would’ve turned LouAnne down?”

  Travis took perverse pleasure in Zeb’s wheedling tone. Not because he wanted to make his partner feel guilty, but because he needed to make a point. “Regardless of the circumstances, I wouldn’t have agreed to the job without consulting you first. That was our agreement.”

  Zeb tucked his chin to his chest and pushed his lips into a thoughtful pucker before replying in a gruff voice. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

  It was the closest to an apology he would get. “I’d better get home. I stopped by earlier to feed Phoenix and let her into the back yard, but she’ll be getting worried.”

  “How is your mangy mongrel anyway?”

  “Except for missing a leg, she’s good.”

  At the front door, he paused as an odd thought struck him. “You’re not selling your house to free up cash for this project are you?”

  Zeb shook his head. “Nuthin’ to do with it. I told you. It’s time I moved on, joined the living again. Heck, I may even try to date some, if I can find somebody willing to stand my ugly mug.” He laughed. “Think that’s possible at my age?”

  Travis nodded. “Could be. You’ve still got a few miles on you yet.”

  He didn’t have the words to tell the older man how much he respected and cared for him. Zeb was good people, no doubt about it. A woman could do worse.

  “Well, we’ll see, I guess. I’m LouAnne’s hero for agreeing to this project.”

  Her hero? Zeb shifted his stance, looking the teeniest bit uncomfortable. Or was it embarrassment?

  “You and LouAnne?”

  Zeb stuffed his hands in his front pockets, his shoulders pinching forward. “Maybe. Crazy fool notion, most likely.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The two of you have history and you’re friends. That’s a start.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Zeb repeated.

  Travis pulled open the front door and stepped through it before pivoting back with a grin. “Oh, and Zeb? Looks like I’m not the only one with a streak of that white-knight complex.”

  He left Zeb red-faced and speechless.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Twenty minutes later, Travis parked beside his small ranch home with its stacked rock front. He eased from the truck, feeling every one of his thirty-two years.

  He’d hoped for a week or two of slack before having to delve into another project. Though it promised to be quick, the salon remodel would be fast-paced and intense.

  He hadn’t taken two steps before the voice of his elderly neighbor, Ruby Montrose, hailed him. She stood on her porch under a yellow bug light, her short silvery hair mashed on one side as if she’d fallen asleep in her favorite winged chair.

  “Travis,” she called again. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It is.”

  “Could I make use of your youthful body again?”

  Lord, he was tired, but she had no family to help her, even if she did have the worst timing. At the edge of her porch, he forced a smile and hoped it appeared genuine. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure I could keep up with you tonight, Miss Ruby.”

  The half-delighted, half-embarrassed look on her face was worth the effort.

  “Oh, my! Well . . .” She giggled like a young girl. “You know I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m kidding. Was there something you needed?” he asked to distract her.

  “Travis!” She chastised and turned to go inside. “You’re such a tease. Why some young lady hasn’t snapped you up I don’t know. Come in quick before the bugs do. The light in my hallway is out again. Things sure don’t last like they used to.”

  A simple bulb change he could handle. He performed the chore, thinking this had to be the th
ird time in a month he’d had the dubious pleasure.

  “Do you leave this light on at night, Miss Ruby?”

  “Well, of course not.” Indignation colored her tone. “I can’t waste electricity like that. I live on a fixed income.”

  “Then I don’t think it’s the bulbs. You must have a short in the wires. I’ll have one of my guys come by tomorrow and take care of the problem.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t let you—”

  “I insist. Meanwhile, try not to use this light unless you absolutely have to.”

  “Well, let’s see. I guess I could leave the lamp on . . .” Miss Ruby continued figuring how to negotiate the hallway without turning on the light, but Travis strained to hear another sound.

  Phoenix whined and yipped from his back yard, confused because he hadn’t come to get her. It was after eleven o’clock. Within minutes the whole neighborhood would be awake.

  “I’d better go see to my dog.” Travis nodded his acceptance of her profuse thanks and backed through the door, raising a hand in farewell.

  “Easy, girl,” he called in a low voice as he crossed the lawn. Phoenix pawed at the gate. He released the latch, and she bounded out, jumping around him with clumsy excitement.

  He glanced at the dark, silent house. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ve got a rawhide with your name on it.”

  When he bought the place, he’d assumed a wife and kids would naturally happen at some point. About four years back, a broken condom had brought into sharp focus the emptiness of his personal life, despite having a girlfriend at the time. He’d had mixed feelings upon learning they’d dodged that particular bullet.

  J.T. had gotten married years ago and had two boys. Not long ago, Rosie had fearlessly taken the plunge along with the challenge of a stepdaughter too.

  He’d adopted a gimpy dog.

  Maybe this was as good as it got for him—not that he had a bad life—but it wasn’t what he’d envisioned nor expected. A bottled-up feeling plagued him, like the fabric Snake In A Can toy he and J.T. had tormented girls with in grade school. On nights like this, the feeling became acute, and he found himself wishing for something more. Another good reason to get Claire out of his head so he could start working toward getting the family he wanted.