Authors: Maureen Child
Going down on one knee, she smoothed the flat of
her hand across the pale oak floorboards. Part of the original structure, this floor had been in place for more than a hundred years. And now, it would be discarded—replaced by either the parquet Grace was talking about or, for all Jo knew,
linoleum
. But at least Jo could save the wood. She’d store it at her place until she could find a way to use it in something beautiful.
People had lived and died and dreamed in this place. Her fingertips caressed the scarred, worn planks, as she thought now of the cattle baron, and the madam, both of whom had walked here. “What stories you could tell, huh?”
“Talking to wood is the first sign.”
A deep voice spoke up from behind her and Jo grimaced tightly. Dammit.
Slowly, she stood up, refusing to be embarrassed for being caught indulging her romantic side. Turning around, she looked right at the man standing in the open doorway, watching her. “First sign of what?”
Cash Hunter gave her a lazy grin and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. His thumbs were hooked into the front pockets of his jeans and his black T-shirt strained across a chest that was, she knew, broad and well defined. He wore dusty cowboy boots that looked as though the only thing holding them together was the memory of once being shiny new. And his face . . . rugged angles, sharp planes, high cheekbones . . . well, his face was too handsome for his own good and
way
too handsome for
hers
.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “No way to tell without further investigation.”
Jo ignored the hot little ball of need that had burst into life at the pit of her stomach. She absolutely refused
to become one of Cash’s conquests. Ridiculous that women all over central California were lining up to fall at one man’s feet.
“How do you do that?” she demanded.
One dark eyebrow lifted. Amusement glittered in his nearly black eyes. “Do what?”
That ball of need in her gut iced over in reaction to his obvious ego. “Make every statement a seduction.”
“Did I?”
“There it is again,” she countered, throwing both hands high. “Seriously, do you
work
on your material, or does it just come to you?”
He laughed shortly and straightened up with a loose, easy grace that gave the impression that he was a man who moved slow at
all
things. Jo took a deep breath and would
not
think about that.
“What’s wrong, Josefina? I worry you?”
She flushed. Nobody, but
nobody
, called her Josefina. Not even Papa. Wishing she were holding a hammer instead of a tape measure, Jo glared at him. “Not only do you not worry me,” she snapped, “I don’t think about you at all.”
“Liar.”
Her head whipped around and she blinked at him. “You are a pitifully deluded man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jo started past him, but stopped beside him long enough to shoot him a hard look. “Not every woman in the known universe is susceptible to the Hunter charm.”
He stared down at her and damned if Jo couldn’t feel the heat sizzling in his black eyes. The man was a walking hormone.
“So you think I’m charming.”
Walked into that one
. “I think you’re dangerous.”
“Even better.”
She blew out an impatient breath. Her peaceful, quiet morning shot to hell, Jo glared at him again. “What’re you doing here?”
“Working.” He looked amused again.
Working? He wasn’t part of the crew she’d hired for the summer. In fact, Jo had made
sure
that he wouldn’t be around. She had a lot of female carpenters and hadn’t wanted to risk losing any of them to Cash’s weird hypnotic powers. “You’re not on my crew.”
He smiled. One brief, tantalizing smile that should have been accompanied by a loud set of warning bells. “Yeah, I know. Grace hired me.”
“To do what?” Jo demanded, already trying to figure out ways to avoid him.
He smiled as if he knew just what she was thinking. “First, I’m building a butler’s pantry in the first kitchen.”
“First?”
His smile widened and a flash of amusement sparked in his dark eyes. “After that, a cedar closet in the master bedroom.”
Which meant, Jo thought with an inner grumble, he’d be at the house all summer. “Perfect.”
“So I’m charming
and
perfect. Josefina, I’m touched.”
“Aaargh . . .” A growl wasn’t much of a comeback but it was all she could manage. If she stayed, she might have to kill him and that would only stain the great oak floorboards she had plans for. Besides. She had somewhere else to be. Stomping past him, she stormed out of
the room and toward the construction noise still bristling outside.
She didn’t see him watch her go.
Sam sat with her back to the
tres chic
restaurant so she wouldn’t have to watch Jeff and
Cynthia
canoodle over their chardonnays.
It didn’t help much. Because she
felt
them there. Only thirty short feet away, they were dining in seaside elegance, while here on Antonio’s boat, Big Macs were the order of the day. Sort of underlined the differences between her and her not-as-former-as-he-should-be husband, didn’t it? He was always champagne to her beer, Jag to her truck, old money to her no-money.
Nine years ago, she’d told herself the differences didn’t matter. All that mattered was what they
felt
.Well, she might not learn fast, but she
did
learn. And no stolen kiss was enough to convince her otherwise. Besides, she thought, that kiss hadn’t meant anything. Just a blip on an otherwise flat surface. There was nothing left between them. Nothing but a little girl they both loved and wanted.
The ocean breeze skipped over the surface of the water, swept across the deck, and then left again, rushing on to play over the tops of the other boats at dock. Tourists wandered the boardwalk and hung over the railings to watch the seals. A kid on a skateboard whizzed past, darting between the clumps of pedestrians, his board roaring and thundering over the worn, wooden dock. Everything was just as it should be.
Except for Jeff and Perfect Woman.
“You like the harbor, eh?” Papa asked, his gaze fixed on his granddaughter.
“It’s fun!” Emma took another bite of her Happy Meal hamburger and tossed a French fry to Homer, sitting right beside her, trying to look as pitiful as possible. Which, considering his less than American Kennel Club looks, wasn’t tough. “Mommy says we can watch the men fishing on the pier, too.”
“Pier.” Antonio scoffed and shook his head until his straggly white hair writhed in the wind like albino snakes. “You want to see fishing, I should take you out on my boat. We’ll catch a whale.”
Emma’s eyes went as big as saucers.
Antonio leaned in close to the child and grinned. “When your mama was a little girl, I took her fishing. She caught a shark.”
Emma shifted her gaze to her mother and the jaw-dropping admiration shining in her eyes warmed Sam all the way through. The fact that the shark had been a baby and only a foot long, and they’d released it immediately, really wasn’t the point, was it?
“Can I go?”
Sam grinned and shook her head. “Not today, thanks, Antonio. We’ve got plans.”
“So what’s next for you two?” Papa asked, reaching out to tug one of Emma’s pigtails as if ringing a bell.
“Mommy’s taking me to a castle,” Emma said, handing off another fry to the little dog wiggling beside her.
“A castle?” Papa’s gray brows lifted high on his lined, deeply tanned forehead. Years of working in the sunshine had left their mark on his features.
“Castle’s,” Sam said, laughing. It had been Mike’s idea for the three Marconi girls—four now, counting Emma—to meet up at Castle’s Day Spa. A couple of
hours of buffing, polishing, and female bonding in great surroundings. In general . . . a girls’ day out. Glancing down at her less than fabulous outfit, Sam thought it had been a pretty timely suggestion. “I called Tasha last night. She said she’d make room for us.”
“You’re gonna pay somebody to paint your toes, little girl?”
Even though she was sitting beside her own daughter, Sam knew Antonio would always consider her a kid.
“You oughta come fishing with your papa and me instead.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, shaking her head. “But I think I’ll pass. I know you two,” she said. “You’d have me scrubbing the deck and washing down the bait tank.”
Papa and Antonio exchanged resigned shrugs that told her how right she was.
“I could go,” Emma said, dropping one hand to Homer’s ugly head, as if already reluctant to leave him.
“You come with us next time, mouse,” Papa said, before turning his head to look at Sam. “You be home for dinner, all right?
All
of you. Calzones tonight.”
“What’s calzone, Papa?” Emma asked.
“Oh! You don’t know calzones?” Hank slapped one beefy hand to his heart and staggered dramatically until the little girl’s laughter erupted like soap bubbles on the air. After a minute or two, he stopped, grinned, and tapped the tip of Emma’s nose with his forefinger. “I’ll teach you all you need to know about cooking, little mouse. You bring your mama home on time, eh?”
“We’ll be there, Papa.” Sam slid her sunglasses from the top of her head down to cover her eyes. Sunlight glanced off the water in blinding flashes. “Let’s roll, Em,” she said, holding out a hand for her daughter.
“We’ve got to get back to the house and clean up before we hit Castle’s.”
Emma scooted off the chair, then looked from the homely little dog to her mother. “Can Homer come?”
“He’s going fishing,” Sam said, folding her fingers over Emma’s.
“I need him for bait,” Antonio said on a laugh.
“Not really,” Sam corrected quickly as Emma’s eyes filled up and her chin quivered. “Antonio’s just joking.”
Emma didn’t look convinced. “Can I show Homer to Daddy before we go? He’s only right there.”
Sam shot a look at the couple still sitting over a leisurely lunch. The purely female half of her was shrieking,
No way, don’t go near them looking as bad as you do
. The purely Marconi half was shouting just as loudly,
Go face ’em down. You can take her
.
Emma was dancing in place, holding on to Homer’s collar with one hand and her mother with the other.
“Please?”
What the hell? Who was she trying to kid? Why would she worry about how she looked in comparison to the Perfect Woman? So what if Jeff saw her looking and
smelling
like a rag used to wipe up the deck of Antonio’s boat?
“Okay,” Sam said, then shot a look at her father and his friend. “We’ll bring Homer right back, then you guys can hit the high seas.”
But Papa wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was frowning at Jeff and the woman with him. Sam groaned inwardly but wasn’t too worried. Papa would never say anything in front of Emma. Though she could tell just from the set of his chin that her father
would like nothing better than to bull up the walkway and take a swing at Jeff. Nobody hurt one of Hank Marconi’s girls and lived to do it again.
Dropping Emma’s hand, Sam threw her arms around her father’s neck and gave him a big, smacking kiss on the cheek. He’d always been there. Through thick and thin, that was Papa. As steady as the sun, and just as warm. “Thanks, Papa.”
He squeezed her tightly, briefly, and tore his gaze from Jeff to focus on her. “You and my little mouse have a good time, okay?”
“We will.” She stepped back, kissed Antonio, then grabbed Emma and headed for Jeff.
Once clear of the boats, Emma sprinted ahead of Sam, running up the wide boardwalk toward the restaurant. Homer, like an emissary from Ugly Smelly Planet, raced alongside her, his excited yips startling a pelican into swooping off his perch to cruise the ocean looking for lunch.
The crowd parted in front of the girl and the dog, as if by magic and Sam was given a clear view of Emma’s reception. Jeff’s whole face lit up when he spotted his daughter and Sam’s heart flipped over in her chest. Cynthia the Perfect was less enthusiastic. Emma reached to give her a hug and Cynthia grabbed the child’s hands and held them safely to one side as she bent to kiss Emma’s cheek.
Scowling, Sam thought,
Bitch
. Instantly though, she told herself that she was overreacting. What woman wouldn’t protect a beautiful silk dress from a grubby kid and a dirtier dog?
Forcing a smile, she walked up behind Emma and nodded first to Jeff, then to Cynthia. While Jeff forced
himself to admire the ugliest dog on the planet for his daughter’s sake, the beautiful blonde stood up and offered her hand.
Sam shook her head. “Better not,” she admitted wryly. “I’m afraid Emma and I smell like the docks.”
Cynthia’s smile was warm and filled with understanding. “That just means you’re having fun together,” she said, half-turning to link arms with Jeff as he stepped up beside her.
Beautiful, elegant, and
nice
, dammit.
How was she supposed to hate the woman who was going to be Jeff’s wife if she made herself so damn likable? Not fair at all. And then there was the whole neat-and-tidy thing Cynthia had going for her. Suddenly, Sam felt even more dirty and disreputable than she had before. Inwardly sighing, she told herself she and Cynthia could star in a road production of
Beauty and the Beast
. No question about who would play the Beast.
Thankfully, the restaurant patio was nearly deserted. Most people had no doubt opted to eat inside, out of the reach of the sun. Which meant that the startling difference between Sam and Cynthia wasn’t put on full display. Small favors.
“I’m so glad to get the chance to meet you,” Cynthia was saying. “Jeff’s told me all about you.”
“Has he?” Sam shot him a quick look, but Jeff’s features were carefully, studiously, blank. What had he said? she wondered. What had he told his fiancée about the woman he was still married to?
“I have to say,” Cynthia continued, her light laugh rippling around them, “I was a little concerned. You know what they say about someone’s first love . . .”