you could do me a favor and wheel her in here.”
Dillon and Hayley picked up where they left off. “If the mess bothers you, why didn’t you demand they at least clean it up first?” Hayley asked Dillon.
“Marge said I should take it as is and get another five percent off the already low purchase price, rather than pay the bank to oversee the cleaning of it. At the time the decision made sense.” Dillon grimaced. “Now I don’t know.”
“Marge was right,” Hayley agreed. She looked at the sofa and saw how sturdily it was built. The crushed red velvet could be removed. So could the black tassel fringe. “This way you can sort through everything yourself, figure out what’s usable.”
“For what? Starting a bonfire?”
Hayley grinned. “You’d be surprised what recovering a sofa can do. Besides, you’re going to need plenty of furniture. This place is huge.”
“Forty-five hundred square feet,” Dillon remarked proudly.
“And don’t worry about the decor,” she assured him as they continued to walk around shoulder-to-shoulder. “That too, can be fixed.” Hayley stopped and turned to face him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face. Both his height and their closeness were disconcerting to her. As was her potent reaction to his attractiveness. Every time she was near him, her heart beat a little faster, her senses got a little sharper, the loneliness she’d felt since Hank’s death became more acute. “Not much of a visionary, are you?” she teased, wishing all the while he weren’t quite so handsome and intelligent and kind.
“Not when it comes to domestic stuff,” Dillon admitted.
Deciding she’d looked into his dark blue eyes quite long enough, Hayley turned away from Dillon once again. “Well, at least it’s got the most important feature built-in,” she remarked as she checked out the heavy, moth-eaten drapes.
“Indoor heating?” Dillon hazarded a droll guess.
“Two master bedroom suites with their own bathrooms. That’ll give us both maximum privacy. We won’t have to see each other running around in our pajamas.”
Briefly Dillon felt disappointed. “Well, as long as you’re sure I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my life investing my life savings in this dump,” he said dryly, “I guess all’s well.”
“It’s not as bad as you think it is,” Hayley said.
“Come on, Hayley, don’t patronize me.” Dillon stopped in front of the fieldstone hearth in the living room. “Even I know a little paint and elbow grease can’t fix this place.”
Hayley grinned, not disagreeing. “So we’ll start from scratch.”
“No, you’ll start from scratch,” Dillon reminded. “I want nothing to do with it. I don’t so much as want to be shown a paint chip. ’Course, I’m handy at some things around the house.” Dillon leered at her comically, leaving no doubt in her mind as to which room his thoughts were in.
“Save the bedroom antics,” Hayley advised, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “I’m immune.”
Dillon snapped his fingers and humorously feigned distress. “Darn.” His eyes met hers, held. “No fringe benefits, hmm?”
“Not a one,” Hayley said, spelling out the rules bluntly. She might be attracted to him, but she wasn’t a fool. It would be hard enough living here with him in such a wonderful place, knowing it would never really be hers, without starting a love affair.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Marge came in, carrying Christine in one arm, pushing the stroller with the other. Marge looked as smitten as her daughter. “I guess we don’t have to ask if the two of you got on all right,” Hayley said.
Marge smiled warmly at Hayley before turning once more to her brother. “You could still introduce me more properly to our friends, Dillon.”
“Sorry, Marge. This is Hayley Alexander and her baby girl, Christine. Hayley, meet my sister, Marge.”
“Alexander. Where have I heard that name before?” Marge queried, perplexed. Christine reached out for Hayley, and Marge handed her over.
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Dillon insinuated himself between the two women. “I don’t know. There are plenty of Alexanders around. Alexander Haig. Alexander the Great. There’s even a St. Alexander—”
Marge aimed a punch at Dillon’s sternum. “Cut it out. You know what I mean.” She pivoted back to Hayley. “I’m serious. Have we met?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just met Dillon yesterday when we first talked about the job,” Hayley said. “Unless he mentioned to you that he had hired me as his new housekeeper.”
“Hayley is your new housekeeper?”
Dillon nodded. “Close your jaw, Marge, or Hayley will be insulted.”
Marge made a face at him, then turned back to Hayley. “Sorry, Hayley, no offense. But I thought Dillon was going to hire someone much older and—uh—settled. You know, someone with the efficiency of a Marine.” Catching her brother’s dark warning look, she amended with an elegant little shrug, “Guess not.”
“As it happens, Hayley is very efficient,” Dillon put in.
How would he know? Hayley wondered, very much aware she hadn’t yet been given a chance to prove herself.
“Did I say she wasn’t?” Marge countered.
“She even knows how to replace the washers in a faucet.”
“That’s good, because you sure don’t.” Marge grinned. She turned back to Hayley. “I’m sorry I was so surprised. I thought—by the way you were dressed and everything—that you were Dillon’s friend.”
Meaning “lady friend,” Hayley thought, uncomfortably embarrassed. Was this a conclusion everyone else would make, too? Would she constantly be explaining to everyone they weren’t lovers? Piqued she hadn’t thought about that before, she looked at Dillon. “Did you want me to wear a uniform?” she asked.
“No, of course not.” Dillon’s glance slid approvingly over her shawl-collar menswear jacket, red shell and black stirrup pants. “You can dress any way you want.”
Marge nodded vigorously. “I agree. There is absolutely no reason why Hayley should have to a wear a uniform. Not in this day and age.”
Christine squirmed and Hayley put her down. As the three of them talked some more about the strengths and weaknesses of Dillon’s new house, they watched Christine crawling about, exploring the sprawling first floor.
While Dillon went into the utility room off the large country kitchen to check out the fuse box, Hayley observed Marge’s rapt gaze. “You really like babies, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Marge admitted with a yearning smile. “Even more so, now that my own children are out of the nest.”
Dillon rejoined them, adding, “To the point,
