Chapter 4
Lesley woke with a searing pain from her temple to her left shoulder. The flat pillow she’d slept on caused not only a crick in her neck but also a throbbing ache in the back of her head. She tossed her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet on the ground. The movement ricocheted all the way up to her skull, triggering the pounding to worsen.
The springs poking up from the mattress hadn’t helped her headache either. Most of her night had been spent tossing and turning, trying to find a crevice to seep into that didn’t feel like coils prodded her behind.
The one good thing about the bed was the frame. A rich brown, the wooden headboard was adorned with decorative finials on each side. In structure, it wasn’t much more than a square base with just enough pizazz to make it unique—one thing she wanted to keep when she turned this place into a B&B.
Glancing around the room, her bare, decrepit surroundings made it hard to imagine this home as anything nice, much less a place to serve guests. An oil lamp sat on the end table, while old periodicals littered the floor. A few strips of flowered wallpaper remained on the walls—the only coloring most of the room still had was thanks to the old glue residue left behind from the paper.
No, not nice.
Yet.
“Miss Lesley,” Bea called from outside the bedroom door.
“Yeah?” She stood and arched her back, rotating her neck from side to side. The bones in her spine cracked as she moved. “Ow,” she whimpered.
“You, okay?”
Lesley reached for her neck to massage the muscles, and her shoulder ached with the motion. Blasted mattress. “I’m fine.”
“Well, Mister John’s here to see you, ma’am.”
“Now?” She darted across the room and opened the door. Bea stood there wearing an off-white gown, the neckline falling in a V, while her frail frame drowned in the extra material. “He’s here now? Why?”
“I reckon he wants to talk to you and get started on his work.”
“What time is it?” Seeing as how none of the outlets in the room worked, it was pointless to rely on her phone for a clock. The thing had died last night before she fell asleep.
“A little after seven.”
“Seven? Holy moly, why so early?” Placing her thumb and middle finger over her eyes, she rubbed her lids, trying to shake the blurriness of sleep away, and leaned her head against the doorframe.
“Didn’t you ask him to let you know as soon as possible what his plans were?”
Bea was right. Besides, if she didn’t get the wiring fixed soon, she’d have to learn to tell time by the position of the sun.
She refocused her gaze on the woman. “I guess I did.”
“You want me to tell him to come back later?” Her housemate pointed a thin finger toward the kitchen, her collarbone protruding a little more from the movement.
“No, don’t do that. If you do, he may never come back.”
When he left yesterday, he didn’t seem too thrilled about spending so much time with her, but Lord knew she needed him. If John truly was the only contractor in town, then she didn’t have much choice but to use him, or hire someone from Atlanta. Surely, that couldn’t be cheap with over a hundred-mile round trip. Problem was, she didn’t know if the money her aunt left her would be enough to fix the old place anyway.
I’m about to find out.
“Tell him I’ll be right there. Let me just get some clothes on.”
“You might want to brush your hair, too.” Bea shot a pointed stare to Lesley’s head. “Looks like a bunch of rats played in it all night.”
Instinctively, she raised a hand to the back of her head. Matted tangles splayed through her fingers. “Blasted pillow,” she mumbled under her breath as she shut the door.
One thing coming right off the top of her minimal budget was a new mattress and pillow, and a freaking window unit. Sweat seeped from every pore in her body. Maybe ol’ Early Bird would even help her get it in her room. She wouldn’t hold her breath. He didn’t seem too happy to help with her luggage yesterday.
Her suitcase sat on the floor in the corner. She tossed open the flap and reached for her clothes, then immediately recoiled her hand.
Yikes!
Mice droppings sat on top of her blouse. Not taking the time to re-zip her bag from the night before had been a mistake. While she tossed and turned on the bed from hell, a nice, fat mouse slumbered away on her Hermes.
Blasted, Angel. Where was that cat when I needed him?
Lesley gingerly reached in her suitcase and grabbed a shirt, shaking droppings all over the floor. If she’d been smart, she would have gone to a super store and bought some work clothes. Instead, all she had was designer brands in her luggage. Even her workout clothes cost as much or more as her regular wardrobe. Her yoga pants were probably sneering at their new surroundings.
She slipped on her jeans from yesterday, and shook the blouse a few more times for good measure. She had the right mind to change into her workout wear, even if the pants had been expensive, but everything she owned was dirty—super dirty—thanks to her extended motel stay waiting on her divorce to be finalized.
Mouse blouse it was.
She slid the garment over her head, checked the inside of her shoes for any lingering varmint then reached for her toiletry bag. At least that had been zipped and safe from rodents. Her toothbrush could last another day.
The en suite bathroom housed an old porcelain sink and claw foot tub. Rust stains dripped down the back of the basin like a slug leaving a slime trail. Had the tub ever seen water? And the vanity mirror was so stained she could hardly see her reflection staring back at her.
One more thing to replace.
What she did see, however, was comical. She looked silly in high-end clothes in such a drab place.
Oh well. Welcome to your new life, Lesley.
She reached for her hairbrush and wondered if rats really did play in her hair last night. The brush got stuck twice in the tangled mess, leaving its bristles behind in her locks before she decided to give up and throw on a ball cap.
Grabbing her toothbrush from her bag, she placed the brush under the faucet. Brown goo rushed out of the pipe covering her bristles. Horrified, she tossed the wand in the trash, and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. So much for her toothbrush lasting another day. Besides, vanity was overrated, and she wasn’t trying to impress the moody contractor anyway.
Shoulders back, she opened her door and plodded down the hall. The smell of something yummy and sweet floated in the air.
“Bea? Did you make breakfast?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did Leo?”
“No, ma’am. He went into town to get the oil changed on the truck.”
“Well, what do I smell?”
She turned the corner to the kitchen. John stood behind the counter, cargo jeans, white work shirt, and a drink tray holding four to-go coffee cups in his hands. She raked her gaze over his face, then down his torso, stopping short of his waist.
Hot damn.
His unkempt hair, stubble worn face, and proud chest were all too much for her to look at so early in the morning. She turned away from the mess of a man standing across from her. A smoldering, delicious mess, and she suddenly became very aware of him.
All of him.
And the fact she looked like something a mischief of rats played on in her silly, expensive clothes. The only thing hot about her was her breath, and she prayed one of the coffee cups in his hands were for her, so she could boil the stench seeping from the pores of her tongue.
“Oh, hello.” She kept her gaze to the floor.
“Morning.” He set the tray on the table then shoved a mug her way. “This is for you. I didn’t know how you took it, so cream and sugar is on the counter, along with some muffins.”
That’s what she had smelled. Bread. She’d be sure Bea ate one.
“You brought breakfast?” She anxiously grabbed the Styrofoam cup, added some sugar then took a sip, burning her throat, esophagus, and everything inside of her in one quick swig. She reached for her neck.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thanks,” she croaked. “I didn’t notice.”
A soft smile played across his lips, and her cheeks burned as bad as her throat.
“Best coffee in town.” He pointed to the mug. “My sister owns the bakeshop. Has the coffee sent in from Atlanta.”
“When I’m able to taste again, I’ll check to see if you’re right.” She held up her mug in salute.
“Well, we better get started. I’d like for you to get everything out of the house first, besides the items in your rooms.” John nodded from her to Bea, who stood by the doorway to the kitchen, listening to their conversation. “The best way to know what needs to be done is by clearing out all the mess first—”
“So, you’ll take the job?”
He narrowed his gaze at her again. “Why else would I be here so early?”
“I guess you have a point.” She sipped her coffee, hoping the mug hid the flame of her cheeks from his watchful stare.
“Like I said, clear the house out first—”
“I agree. I can hardly walk around some of the rooms for all the papers scattered all over the place.” She didn’t know much about her aunt, but one thing she did know—the woman was a packrat for literature. Such a fire hazard, too. If someone lit a match the wrong way in here, the whole thing would go up in flames like the Fourth of July. What a pain in the butt that would be. “But, where do you suggest I put all of this stuff?”
“If you’d let me finish, I’ll tell you,” he said, his tone hard.
“Oh. Sorry.” She shot her gaze to the floor and snickered into her mug. Someone didn’t like being interrupted. Noted.
“Anyway, as I was saying, do you really want to keep any of this stuff?”
“Some of it, maybe.”
Lesley skirted around him, taking in his scent. He smelled like soap and wood. Hazard of the job she supposed. His six-foot frame suddenly seemed very large and in charge to her vertically challenged height of five-two.
She glanced away and gazed at all the stuff cluttering the old house. The disarray made her feel claustrophobic and more aware each minute of just how close they were.
She walked to the table with the bakery bag, opened it, and, with a smile, handed Bea a pastry before grabbing one for herself and heading into the living area to catch her breath.
“Like what?” He and Ms. Bea trailed behind her.
She pointed to the large oak cabinet in the corner of the room. “That chest is nice.”
“Leo built that back when his hands were good.” Bea tore off a bite of the bread.
“He did?” John placed his mug on the coffee table and ran a hand over the edge. “I didn’t know Leo had woodworking talent.”
“He didn’t.” The housekeeper shook her head. “Miss Myrtle made him learn. Had him chop down an old tree on the land and make furniture out of it. He even built the bed that the missus is sleeping on now.” Bea pointed toward her then popped the piece of the treat in her mouth.
“Wait.” Lesley placed her coffee mug by John’s. “Didn’t Aunt Myrtle have a little bit of money?”
Her roommate swallowed then hooted. “Ha! Yeah, you could say that. More than she knew what to do with little bit.”
Lesley didn’t understand why her statement was so funny. While the amount her aunt left her seemed like a lot to some, she wouldn’t call it rich. At least, not by her old standards. “Then why did she make Leo chop down a tree and make furniture? Couldn’t she just have bought new? Why go through all that trouble?”
“I suppose she could have, but she said that tree had sentimental value to her.” Bea took another bite.
“What value?” Lesley asked.
The housekeeper shrugged and chewed her food. “Don’t know. She wouldn’t ever say.”
“Now that we’ve learned that tidbit of information, can we get started, please?” Brows dipping, John pulled out two stacks of sticky notes and a white envelope from his back pockets.
“You’re going to help?”
“All part of the job.” He waved the letter in the air. “This is the contract. Read through it tonight, sign it, and we’ll be official. We can talk deposit money tomorrow.” He slapped the envelope on the mantel then held up a pad of bright green papers. “Green means keep. Yellow…” He switched to the other set of stickies. “Means trash.” He placed the notes in her free hand. “Whatever you choose to lose, I’ll be behind you tossing in my truck.”
“What are we going to do with all this stuff? Keep and toss. Where are we keeping, and where are we tossing?” she asked before sinking her teeth into the warm muffin she’d been holding. The bread melted in her mouth. “Oh my,” she said around her food. “This is good.”
“I know.” He gave a cocky nod. “Best muffins in―”
“Let me guess,” she interrupted him again, “Town?”
“Yep.” He pursed his lips. “Anyway, to answer your question, toss will go to the local charity where all proceeds go to the pet shelter.”
Angel wrapped his hairy self around her legs, undoubtedly smelling the sweet pastry she ate. “Can we give Angel to the shelter?”
The cat hissed.
“I doubt they would take him. Now…” The contractor gave her back a little shove. “Let’s get started.”
“Fine, but can we switch the colors?”
“What do you mean switch the colors?” His eyes narrowed again.
“Can green mean trash and yellow mean keep? It reminds me of ‘going green’ doing all this recycling.”
“Whatever floats your boat, princess. Time’s a ticking. Let’s get moving.”
“Will you stop with the princess word? Only my dad calls me that.”
“Ha!” John barked. “I knew it was fitting.”
Why did everything she say seem so comical to these people?
She pointed a finger at him. “Remember who’s going to be paying you.”
He winked. “Got it…princess.”
Lesley placed her muffin by her coffee, took a green sticky note off the pad and pressed it to the middle of his chest. He looked down at the paper and crossed his arms.
A giggle erupted. “Only kidding.”
His eyes took on that same broody expression they did when she met him yesterday.
“You know, your face is going to get stuck like that if you’re not careful.” She peeled the sticky tab off him and poked his nose with her finger.
He responded with a low growl, forcing her to turn to hide her smile.
His mouth was suddenly close to her ear. “Hey, Lesley.” His breath tickled her neck.
“Hmm?” She fought the urge to lean back into him. Despite his agitated attitude, she couldn’t help but feel an attraction to this beefy contractor.
“You might want to take another swig or two of that coffee,” he whispered. “I can still smell your morning breath, princess.”
“Uh.” She whipped around and threw a hand to her mouth.
A smile splayed across his face before he turned and marched back toward the kitchen.
Butthead.