Nicki could talk to Granddad about art,” Sherrie argued. “It might help him. We’ve tried everything else, why not this?”
Uncertainty flickered across Luke’s face. It was the first time Nicki had ever seen super-confident Luke McCade look unsure of himself. His unshakable confidence was one of the most irritating things about him. Even lying in a hospital bed with one leg suspended lamely in the air he’d managed to be cocky.
And heart-stoppingly handsome.
It was Luke who’d made her really aware of the opposite sex—not that she’d known what to do about it. She’d stayed ignorant until she’d met Gregory “Butch” Saunders in graduate school. It was too bad that for the second time in her life she’d fallen in love with the wrong man. Only that time she married the wrong man—someone who expected her to just look the other way when he cheated. She sometimes wondered if Butch had picked a not-so-gorgeous wife in her because he thought she’d be so grateful for a husband that she wouldn’t object to his indiscretions.
“We don’t want to impose,” Luke said finally.
Nicki’s eyes narrowed.
She didn’t want to be around Luke any longer than necessary—and part of her hoped he’d talk Sherrie out of the appraisal—but you helped a neighbor because you cared, and because it was the right thing to do.
Someone like Luke wouldn’t understand that.
He’d always wanted to make it big. First he’d planned to be a famous football player, then, after his accident, it was all about making a million dollars by the time he was thirty—something he’d accomplished numerous times over according to the newspaper and Divine’s inescapable grapevine.
“It’s no imposition. I’d love to help,” she repeated, trying to sound sincere. She did want to help, she’d just prefer helping when Luke was out of town. “I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t meant it.” She almost said something about men with cash registers for souls not understanding old-fashioned neighborliness, then decided it would be too rude.
Really, for his grandfather’s sake somebody ought to save Luke from himself. Not her, of course, but somebody.
“That’s terrific,” Sherrie said. “You’re hired.”
Nicki shook her head. “Not hired. I’m not teaching this summer, so I have plenty of free time. And it’s a privilege to do something for Professor McCade. I’ll come back in the morning, if that sounds all right.”
“No.” The word burst from Luke and they both looked at him. “That is, go ahead and start tomorrow, but we’ll pay you.”
Nicki gave Luke a smile she hoped would drive him crazy. “No thanks. I’ve already been on the McCade payroll once, and I don’t care for the working conditions.”
He glowered at the reminder of their adolescent encounters. Or maybe it was just his stubborn pride. She didn’t know why Luke had resented her so much, or why he’d alternated his resentment with killer smiles, blinding charm and invitations to “warm up” his hospital bed. She did know that every time she’d refused, or kissed him and drawn back again, he’d gotten more outrageous…and his sarcasm had gained a sharper edge.
But they weren’t teenagers any longer, and she wasn’t the same uncertain girl who’d found herself in a situation she couldn’t handle. She was twenty-nine years old. She’d gotten a doctorate by the time she was twenty-one. She had been married and divorced from the worst philanderer on the planet. She knew Luke could only turn her world upside down again if she let him.
And she had no intention of letting him do any such thing.
Chapter Two
“Drat,” Nicki muttered as she rang the McCade doorbell.
She’d told him she would be here at nine this morning and it was nearly a quarter past. As a rule, she was never late. But her neighbor had come down sick and needed some groceries, so she’d run to the store first.
“You’re late,” Luke growled as he opened the front door.
Normally she’d apologize, but this was Luke, and it wasn’t a good idea to let him get the best of her. “Then I guess you’ll have to dock my pay.”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable at the reminder she was donating her time out of respect and appreciation for his grandfather.
“May I come in?” Nicki asked. “Or should I use the back door with the rest of the help?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Luke growled.
A smile tugged at her mouth as she stepped inside, this time better able to appreciate her surroundings.
A wide, graceful staircase swept down from the second floor to hardwood floors that contrasted nicely with scattered Oriental rugs. Mahogany framed the doors and archways, while delicate eggshell-white walls lightened the overall effect.
And once again, through an archway, Nicki saw Professor McCade sitting in the rear living room. This time he was awake, though he seemed to be staring at nothing at all.
Instinctively Nicki took a single step toward him, then stopped and sighed. She’d never seen anyone look so sad. What would it be like to love someone so much that when you lost them your entire life turned gray and empty? It was scary; yet at the same time it was the kind of love she wanted—the kind of unconditional love she’d always heard about but never found, not even from her own father.
“I guess you’ll want to start in the attic,” Luke said. “There’s a lot of stuff up there.”
“Er…I thought I’d do a general walk-through to begin with,” Nicki murmured, still distracted by the elderly man’s distant eyes. Was he remembering the good days, when his wife would bring cut flowers into the house and he’d rush home, just to be with her? Nicki had never spoken about personal matters with John McCade, but as the author of several books, he’d written eloquently of his wife and her passion for gardening.
“Come along, then.” Luke proceeded to give her a ruthlessly efficient tour of the large house, pointing out various places where paintings had once hung. “We think they’re in the attic,” he explained.
“Like the portrait of your great-grandmother?”
Luke glared. Trust Nicki to bring up that damned portrait. He’d done some Internet research on Arthur Metlock the previous evening, and the information had shocked him. If it were genuine, the painting she’d returned was indeed worth a huge chunk of money.
He didn’t know anything about art, though Granddad had tried to interest him in the subject. And Luke had certainly never realized anything in the collection was worth more than a few dollars. John McCade had always spoken of his art in terms of its beauty rather than its monetary value. If he’d attached a dollar sign to the lessons, it would have been more interesting.
“I’m sure that was just an accident,” Luke said, wincing at his stuffy tone. “My mother talked about getting rid of things in the house that the family wouldn’t care about keeping. She probably started collecting things together and stuck the painting in with the rest of the stuff Granddad
