to the table.
“Ms. Marlowe.” Adam paused, filling the doorway.
She hadn’t been as aware of his height and breadth in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. Here, there was just too much of him.
Her hands clenched. Concentrate on the work.
“I have some materials I thought you might be interested in.” She gestured toward the table.
He didn’t move. Instead he glanced around, as if it had been a while since he’d been in this room. His gaze went from sofa to mantelpiece to bookshelves. His eyes looked darker in the twilight, like the ocean on a cloudy day. He’d changed from the white shirt and khakis he’d worn earlier to jeans and a gray pullover that fit snugly across broad shoulders.
“My cousin Miranda must like you, if she’s letting you use the family parlor.”
“I didn’t realize.” She followed his gaze, suddenly off balance. Now that she looked around, it was obvious this was the family’s quarters. She’d been too caught up in herself to notice. Photos of babies, children riding bicycles, fishermen holding up their catch, weddings—a whole family’s history was written on these walls. Everything about the space was slightly faded, slightly shabby and obviously well loved. “I didn’t mean to impose.”
“Miranda wouldn’t have told you to use the parlor unless she wanted you to.” He crossed to the table, moving so quickly that she took an automatic step back and bumped into its edge. He reached out to flip through the photos she’d spread out. “You’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Her efforts to impress him suddenly seemed too obvious. “I thought you might like to see projects I’ve worked on.”
“Trying to convince me of your abilities?” His smile took the sting out of the words.
“Not exactly.” She took a breath, trying to find the best way to say this. It was too bad diplomacy wasn’t her strong suit. “This is an awkward situation. Your mother-in-law hired me, but it’s important that you be satisfied with my work. After all, you knew your wife better than anyone.”
The strong, tanned hand that flipped through the photos stopped abruptly. He pressed his fingers against the table until they whitened.
She’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned his wife, but how else could they discuss the memorial?
An apology lingered on her tongue, but that might make things worse. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry if—”
He cut her off with an abrupt, chopping gesture. “Don’t.” He seemed to force a smile. “It’s irrelevant, in any event. My mother-in-law chose you from all the people who answered her ad. She must have been satisfied with your ability to do what she wants.”
“You’ve talked with her, then.” She couldn’t imagine that conversation.
“Yes.” His lips tightened. “She’s very enthusiastic about this project.”
She might as well say what they both knew. “But you’re not.”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say you caught me by surprise today and leave it at that. All right?”
There was more to it, but she wasn’t in any position to argue. Not if the battle she’d anticipated was unnecessary.
“All right. I hope I can come up with a design that pleases both of you.”
His gaze lingered on her face, as if he assessed her. She steeled herself not to look away from that steady gaze.
He frowned. “My mother-in-law has asked me to take care of all the details about this project.”
“I see.” She kept her voice noncommittal. “So you’ll be supervising my work.”
“I would in any event, since I’m chair of the church’s buildings and grounds committee.”
This wasn’t any ordinary church business they were talking about, but a memorial to his late wife. She had to show a little more tact.
“Perhaps you’d like to take with you some of my designs.” She put the folder in his hand. “They might give you an idea of what would best memorialize your wife.”
He dropped the folder, spilling photos onto the table. “No. Not now. Pastor Wells and I feel it best if you do the repair work first.”
She stifled the argument that sprang to her lips. “Of course.” She could only hope she sounded accommodating. “But I’ll need to have some idea of what you want.”
“Later.” His tone didn’t leave any room for argument. “We’ll talk about it later.”
The customer is always right, she reminded herself. Even when he’s wrong.
“I’ll start the analysis of the existing windows tomorrow then.”
“I can be reached at the boatyard if you need me.” He took a quick step away from the table, and she suspected only his innate courtesy kept him there at all.
“Mr. Caldwell, I…” What could she say? “I’m glad you’ve decided to go ahead with the project.”
“It’s my mother-in-law’s project, not mine.” Again she had the sense of strong emotion, forced down behind his pleasant, polite facade. “We’ll both have to try and make her happy with it.” He held out his hand, and she put hers into it. “Welcome to Caldwell Cove, Ms. Marlowe.”
His firm grasp had as much ability to flutter her pulse now as when she’d been fifteen. Her smile faltered.
Don’t be stupid, she lectured herself. The man means nothing to you. He never did.
Now if she could just convince herself of that, she might get through her second encounter with Adam Caldwell a little better than she had the first.
Chapter Two
At least Adam hadn’t shown up yet with another reason she should leave the island and forget this project, Tory thought as she studied the church’s east window the next morning. She half expected to hear his step behind her, but nothing broke the stillness.
She’d had an early breakfast at the inn, a place that seemed overly full of Caldwell cousins, all curious about her project. Then she’d hurried through the village of Caldwell Cove to the church, eager to begin but half-afraid she’d find another Caldwell waiting for her.
Adam had given in, she reminded herself. He’d agreed to his mother-in-law’s proposal. So why did his attitude still bother her?
His face formed in her mind—easy smile, strong jaw, eyes filled with integrity. He had a face anyone would trust.
But Tory had seen the flash of feeling in his eyes every time the memorial to his late wife was mentioned. She hadn’t identified the emotion yet, but she knew it was somehow out of place.
Lila Caldwell had died four years ago. One would expect to see sorrow on her husband’s face at the
