a man find shoes like that? Anyhow, she’d decided the guy was probably the town’s one eccentric and that she really shouldn’t cause trouble for someone so obviously a cookie or two short of a full box. She certainly hadn’t felt threatened by him or his penchant for knocking on strangers’ doors, after all. At any rate, she hadn’t alerted anyone. The sheriff would probably have laughed it off anyway.
When the normal-looking man on her doorstep knocked again, Linda opened the door and said “Yes?” in a polite but questioning manner.
“I’m here.”
Another eccentric? Good grief! Linda suddenly wasn’t so polite. “So you are,” she said dryly. “Would it be too much trouble for you to explain why you’re here?”
“No trouble at all. You’re next on my list.”
How many nutcases lived in Rumor? Linda asked herself with an inner sigh. This one was awfully cute with his longish dark hair and twinkling hazel eyes. Very tall—over six feet, Linda was sure—and lanky. And he had the most incredible mouth—sensual lips—and an adorable grin. But precisely what list had he placed her on? Should she be worried?
No, she wasn’t afraid. This good-looking guy had to be a salesman. She started to shut the door. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. Didn’t Heck tell you I was going to be here today to get started on the renovations to your apartment?”
Heck Sommers managed the building, the man from whom she’d rented her cozy and rather unusual two-story apartment. The two bedrooms were on the second floor. One had a tiny wood balcony, just big enough for a couple of chairs, and the other had a skylight. Linda had signed the lease immediately, envisioning warm summer evenings on that little balcony. Plus, the bedroom with the skylight made a perfect studio.
Heck had mentioned some building renovations when she’d first rented, but she’d put the whole thing from her mind. Besides, she liked her apartment just fine, and she had turned it into a cozy little home for her and Tippy.
“I don’t need you to do anything in here, but thanks,” she said, and again tried to shut the door.
“Look, my name is Tag. Call Heck for confirmation if you wish, but I have a contract to do some work in this apartment and I’m supposed to start today.”
“Good idea,” Linda snapped, getting impatient with this guy, cute or not. “And I am going to shut the door while I make that call, so let go of it!”
“Fine.” Grinning, Tag stepped back.
Linda slammed the door shut and made sure it was locked. She went to the phone and dialed Heck’s number. When he answered she got right to the point.
“This is Linda Fioretti. There’s some guy named Tag at my front door who says he has a contract to destroy all the improvements I’ve made in my apartment. Does he? Do I have to let him in?”
“Now, Linda,” Heck said in a voice that Linda found annoyingly obsequious; Heck Sommers wasn’t even slightly servile in person, and he was putting on a big act to soothe her ruffled feathers. After all, teacher or not, she was still just a woman. Sexist attitudes really fried Linda, but she let Heck finish without interruption. “Tag has a contract to do renovations to the whole building. He’s a darn good carpenter and painter, and I’m sure he isn’t going to destroy any of your improvements.” Heck was suddenly his normal gruff-speaking self. “Which, by the way, consist of what? Your lease clearly states no painting or wallpapering without owner approval.”
Oh, for crying out loud! “Believe me, I haven’t challenged or compromised the terms of the lease in any way. All I’ve done is hang a few pictures and…oh, forget it. I’ll let him in. Goodbye.”
Linda returned to the front door and jerked it open. “Come on in,” she drawled. “Make yourself at home, which for some reason I’m certain you fully intended to do.”
Tag had been told that a single lady lived in this apartment, and now that he’d seen her he deemed that information to be good news because she was just about the prettiest woman he’d ever met face-to-face. He was especially taken with her long blond hair and gorgeous green eyes, although the rest of her was just as noteworthy.
He held out his hand. “Tag Kingsley.”
Linda didn’t want to shake his hand. She touched it tentatively and said, “Linda Fioretti.” Drawing back quickly, she asked, “So what are your marching orders? How much mess am I going to have to contend with?”
Tippy yapped, which Linda knew was a bid for attention. Obviously, the little dog didn’t sense danger from Tag, and if the nice man wasn’t dangerous he was a friend.
“Tippy, Tippy,” she said with a sigh that labeled her best buddy a traitor.
Chuckling, Tag bent down and petted the dog’s head. “So you’re Tippy,” he said. “Well, maybe your mistress will let me bring you doggy treats next time I come by.”
“No, she won’t,” Linda said, getting more put out by the minute. “I would appreciate knowing what you intend doing to my apartment.”
Tag stood again. “I’m going to check the woodwork and paint in each room, for starters.” He took out a small spiral notebook and pen. “Where would you like me to begin?”
“How about Siberia?”
“Very funny.” With a crooked grin curling his lips, Tag walked away from her and went into the kitchen.
Linda stewed for a moment then followed. He had the nerve to look into her cupboards! Every one of them, even the one under the sink.
“You’re a good housekeeper,” Tag remarked, making some notes in the spiral. He went on to the adjoining laundry room, checked it out and made more notes.
Linda followed him into the living room, stood in the hall while he inspected the first-floor powder room and then up the stairs into the bedroom she used as a bedroom. Then there was the main bathroom and finally her studio.
“Hey, you’re an artist,” Tag said, visibly impressed by the canvases he could see around the room.
“Big deal,” Linda muttered.
“It is a big deal.” Tag squatted to better see the detail in a painting leaning against a wall. It depicted a crowded-street scene. “This is terrific. You didn’t use Rumor as a model for this one,” he said with a laugh.
“Of course not.”
“Is this oil or acrylic?”
“You actually know there’s a difference?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Tag stood and, eyes twinkling, looked at her. “Imagine that,” he drawled good-naturedly. “So, what’s on the easel? May I take a look?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. I never know if I’ll finish anything until it’s actually…finished. Some pieces start out good and then inspiration sort of dribbles away to nothing.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I’ve started dozens of projects in my shop through the years that ended up on
