supposed, all things considered, it could be that easy—if he weren’t dealing with wistful, turned-up little faces.
“Lucky me.” And then he stepped back, giving her some room. “Come on in. The girls have already invited you. Who am I to stand in your way?”
As if it were that easy, Kennon thought. If the good doctor didn’t want her here, she’d be gone in a heartbeat and they both knew it.
Even as he invited her in, he saw her turn toward her vehicle. Now what?
“Just let me get the rest of the pots and pans out of the car,” she told him.
There were more? Who did she expect Edna to be cooking for? A reserve branch of the marines?
“Can we help?” Meghan asked eagerly.
Kennon paused. “That’s up to your dad, but I would love some help if he says it’s all right.”
How had she done that? Simon wondered. How had she lobbed the ball back onto his court and stolen his team at the same time? He wondered if that was part of her business training or if executing sleights of hand like that just came naturally to her. In either case, this was not the simple, fluffy-looking woman she appeared to be at first encounter.
“Fine.”
Balancing the box she’d given him and shifting it to one side against his hip, he silently gestured for his daughters to go ahead and help the woman retrieve whatever else she’d decided to bring along to “lend” him.
For once, neither Madelyn nor Meghan needed to be told twice.
Chapter Six
The next half hour was a whirl of activity. Aided and abetted by her two pint-size assistants, Kennon took over the kitchen and within exactly twenty-eight minutes produced a small pork loin that tantalized with an aroma that whispered of Italian herbs and various grated cheeses. There was a side dish of brown rice, initially cooked in chicken broth, that had been mixed with shredded asparagus, shredded carrots and shredded zucchini, to mention only the three main vegetables that had been added to it.
His daughters, avowed vegetable haters both, couldn’t dig in fast enough.
Simon began to think he’d opened up his house to a sorceress. She had definitely charmed his daughters and his housekeeper within an inch of their lives. Edna was still in the living room, eating the same dinner that was being served in the kitchen. Kennon had seen to that, bringing out a full plate for the woman before finally sitting down at the table herself.
There was conversation at the table, something that had been seriously lacking in the last year. Both girls were eager to snare the sorceress’s attention. For her part, the woman was equal handed, giving both the same amount of attention.
No doubt about it, she was good. And, he supposed, he could learn from her. Meghan, and especially Madelyn, looked happier than he remembered them being in a long time.
“You know, if this decorating thing doesn’t work out for you …” Simon began after he realized that he had cleaned his plate not once, but twice. Only the fear of settling in for an evening nap rather than doing the work he’d brought home had kept him from taking a third helping. “… you could always get a job as a chef,” he continued.
Or as an all-round whirling dervish, he added silently.
Humor highlighted her face, fluidly moving from her lips to her eyes. She looked very pleased with herself. He supposed she had every right to be.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her eyes captured his. He had no idea what she was thinking, nor why he felt so intrigued by her.
“Could I count on a letter of recommendation from you?” She asked so straight-faced he actually thought she was serious for a moment. Until the slight telltale curve of the corners of her mouth returned and subsequently gave her away.
Simon shrugged. “Why not?” he replied.
“High praise, indeed,” she quipped dryly. “Don’t worry, the only recommendation I’m interested in has to do with decorating.” She had no intention of doing anything else, ever. “I’ve been in the decorating business for a number of years and I’ve ridden out a lot of highs and lows. This dip in the economy is all part of that.”
Although she had to admit it would be nice to get back to the point where she was juggling assignments, looking for a way to squeeze yet another one in, rather than waiting for the phone to ring so that she had something to do. Until this assignment—if indeed it actually was one—had come along, she’d quietly begun paying Nathan out of her personal account because the business account was close to flatlining.
“And speaking of references,” she threw in, switching gears back to his initial comment, “my references are available for viewing anytime you’d like to look them over.” She had a website, plus an actual physical file where she kept her letters of reference, all of which were glowing.
But Simon waved away her offer, uninterested. “No need,” he told her.
She looked at him in surprise. He struck her as a belt-and-suspenders kind of man, taking precautions, making sure everything was on the up-and-up—and then devising a backup plan just in case. Did this mean he’d changed his mind about hiring her for the job?
“You don’t want to see my references?” she asked, wondering why he’d suddenly switched courses. Had she said something to offend him?
“Recommendations from people I don’t know don’t impress me,” he told her. “An enthusiastic one from someone I know or have dealt with—like Ms. Sommers—does. She seemed to be very high on your ability to, in her words, turn a ‘sow’s ear into a silk purse.'”
Since Maizie was her aunt, the endorsement could be misconstrued as nepotism. But while Maizie would never bad-mouth anyone, she would never praise anyone if she felt their work was lacking in any way. She was far too honest to lie.
“Nothing quite that drastic,” Kennon assured him. “But I have been able to turn some pretty awful rooms into lovely extensions of the client’s home, bringing up the total value of the house.” Warming to her subject, she rose from the table, ready to make a quick run to her vehicle. “I’ve got an album of my work in the car that I can show you.”
His words stopped her in her tracks.
Wiping his mouth, Simon retired his fork. “You can save yourself the trouble, Miss Cassidy. I don’t have time to handle the job myself and I certainly don’t have time to conduct any more lengthy interviews.”
Any more? Kennon bit her tongue to keep from echoing the last part of his statement incredulously. Did this qualify as a lengthy interview in his mind? On what planet? He hadn’t asked her for any kind of information, any backup statements, nothing. This didn’t qualify as an interview. It didn’t even make the grade for a run-of-the-mill conversation.
Don’t antagonize the gift horse, Kennon, she cautioned herself.
Putting on her brightest smile, she asked, “So then I’m hired?”
Simon
