pulled out the papers, scanned them, flipped to the last page, had a brief pang of conscience—considering all those years when she couldn’t even buy her mother flowers—then held out her hand. “Got a pen?”
Clearly, Patrick hadn’t expected that. “You sure? I mean, no questions—?”
“Nope.” She dug her checkbook out of her purse, discovered a pen already in it. “Never mind, I have a pen. I take it you’d like half down now?”
“Actually, we do it in thirds—”
She wrote out the amount, signed the contract, then handed it back to him with the check. “So when can you start?”
He separated the copies from the original, slipped hers into another folder, then set the folder in front of her. “Next week? The weather looks like it’s going to stay decent at least through the middle of the month.”
“Great,” she said, getting to her feet, then extending her hand, which he took. Another mistake, but too late now. And the sizzling would subside eventually.
The folder tucked against her side, she started out the door, wanting to get away from that intense, puzzled gaze. But he stopped her with, “I don’t get it.”
She turned, frowning. “Pardon?”
“Why you didn’t haggle.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“People … usually do.”
Somehow, she caught the subtext. “Rich people, you mean?”
She thought his cheeks might’ve colored. “Didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant.”
“Okay. Yeah.” His crossed his arms, high on his chest. “In my experience the better off the client, the more they’re inclined to try to get a better deal. But you didn’t. Why?”
By rights, his borderline impudence—not to mention his assumption that all rich people thought and acted the same way—should have ticked her off. And probably would have, except for the genuine mystification underpinning his words. As well as her having to admit there’d been a time not that long ago when she might’ve been tempted to do some pigeonholing of her own. So she didn’t take particular offense. Nor, in theory, was she under any obligation to explain herself.
Except this little exchange had only illustrated what she’d already learned, which was that people treated you differently when they thought you had money. And not always in a good way. So if she was going to be judged, at least let it be on who she was, not on who Patrick thought she was.
Maybe it wasn’t up to her to right all the wrongs in the world, but she could at least address this one.
His mother had always said his big mouth was going to get him in trouble one day. Judging from the look on April’s face, Patrick figured that day had come. But she was like … like a little hoppy toad, never doing what he expected. Making him crazy.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “That was out of line.”
So of course she laughed. And, yes, he almost jumped.
“It’s okay, I’m used to dealing with people who say whatever’s on their mind. My mother-in-law was like that, and we got on like gangbusters. Then again, I get on with most human beings. I kind of see it like my mission in life. Anyway …” She waggled her left hand, the rings glinting in the overhead light, “the thing is, I didn’t always have money. To be blunt … I married into it.”
“Really. Another … mission?”
She laughed again, then glanced down at the rings, the light dimmed in her eyes when she looked up again. “No. Not at all. But what I’m saying is, this is still pretty new for me. Believe me I know what it’s like to try to make a living. To hopefully get an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work, and then—” she sighed “—to wonder if that’s going to be enough to meet the bills. So I can’t tell you what a relief it is to not worry about money any more. To be able to sign that contract without a second thought.”
Or any thought, apparently. “Did you even get other bids?”
“I considered it. Of course. But for one thing, your ratings on Angie’s List are through the roof. And for another, based on your discussions with Blythe, she gave me a ballpark figure for what it would probably cost. And you were right on target.” She pulled a face. “It also doesn’t seem fair to make other companies go to all that trouble when only one can get the job.”
“It’s just business, Mrs. Ross.”
“True. But sometimes you have to trust your instincts. This is one of those times.” Then she chuckled. “Unless you deliberately padded the estimate?”
“No!” he said, only to smile himself when she chuckled again. “Although it will be nice to make a halfway decent profit margin on a job, for once. Especially since Christmas is coming. Bonuses for our workers,” he said when she frowned. “They were pretty lame last year, although they all said they understood. At least we didn’t have to lay off anyone, but it was touch-and-go there for a while—”
What the hell? Talking about the business, especially with a client … he never did that. Ever.
Her expression softening, she shouldered her giant purse and pulled on her gloves. Good leather, he was guessing. As were the boots. And the purse. Maybe she hadn’t been born into wealth, but she wore it well all the same.
“Something tells me it’s going to be real nice working with you all,” she said, then looked around. Although God knew what she thought she was seeing. Then her gaze touched his again. “I know this is really pushing it, but … do you think it’ll be done by Thanksgiving? I’d love to have my parents come stay. My mother hasn’t been back to the house for nearly thirty years.”
His phone rang. But since it wasn’t his mother’s ring, or his sister Frannie’s, he ignored it, figuring it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait five minutes. “The planting will have to be done in stages, some specimens don’t take kindly to establishing over the winter. But all the brickwork, the walks and walls … those, we can do. I promise, we’ll have it looking pretty good by then.”
She grinned. “No more mud?”
“No more mud,” Patrick said, nearly overcome, as he watched her walk away, with something that felt an awful lot like envy, that some other dude had it better than him. An indulgence he hadn’t allowed since he woke up in the VA hospital. And one damned if he was going to allow now.
Then he remembered to check his voice mail, only to feel his gut turn inside out when he heard Natalie’s voice, saying she wanted to see Lilianna that weekend, was it okay?
Okay? No. Since every time his ex blew into town and disrupted their daughter’s routine, it took a solid week to get Lili back on track. Four-year-olds weren’t good with change. Or understanding why Mama kept disappearing. But it wasn’t like he could deny either of them some time together. And, if nothing else, dealing with that would take his mind off pretty, married, out-of-his-league clients.
Although he had a good idea it would take a lot
