like this? The last thing she wanted was to feel attracted to a man. Especially Matthew Sheridan.
She remembered how he’d looked in the coffee shop with sadness so huge in his eyes. How he’d leaned slightly away from her in his chair, placed right beside hers, so that their shoulders wouldn’t brush. As if he wanted to make it clear just how much distance he wanted.
Well, he was in luck. She wanted distance, too. And yet, she felt sorry for him. Sorry because beneath his easy grin lurked a great grief, one so obvious how could Nanna even think he’d want to remarry?
Not knowing what to say, Hope backed away, leaving the flashlight on the floor in case Matthew needed it, finding her way through the dark by touch and by memory.
Matthew listened to her light step against the stairs, tapping away into silence. Hope had looked at him like a deer blinded by headlights. Maybe it was the spider or the way he refused to look at her at the meeting today.
Either way, he knew he had to make things right. Since he couldn’t back out of his obligation to the committee, it looked like he’d be seeing Hope a lot during the preparations for the Founder’s Days dance. He didn’t want any strain or bruised feelings confusing things. As soon as he turned off the water and fixed Nora’s sink, he’d pull Hope aside and talk with her.
Unfortunately, the old valve was rusted wide open, and he had to use every bit of his strength to turn it. The old metal groaned, and he whispered a prayer for the ancient pipes to hold. They did, and the rush of water faded into silence.
Overhead he heard the soft tap of shoes—probably Hope’s. He tried not to think about that as he brushed the cobwebs off his shirt and retrieved the fallen flashlight. He hadn’t looked at a woman since he’d fallen in love with Kathy, and it bothered him. He didn’t know what to make of it as he headed upstairs.
Hope was in the kitchen, guiding a mop across the floor. Sunlight spilled through the back door, highlighting the sheen of her dark hair and the agile grace in her slender arms.
She knelt, wrung water from the mop into a bucket, then straightened. “You came to the rescue. Again.”
“That I did. I even survived the spider.” He couldn’t get over the sight of Hope Ashton handling a mop. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
“You’re a braver person than I am.” She bent to work, swiping with practice. “Sharing dark cramped spaces with arachnids isn’t high on my list.”
He knew she was from a wealthy family—she probably had her own housekeeper and cook, a chauffeur and gardener—but here she was in simple blue jeans and a light yellow T-shirt cleaning her grandmother’s floor with a steady competence. As if she mopped floors all the time.
Not that Hope’s lifestyle was any of his business, he reminded himself and he forced his gaze away. But as he crossed the kitchen with water slick against his work boots, he could hear the stroke of Hope’s mop back and forth.
“I’m going to have to replace this entire setup.” He checked under the sink to make sure. “Either that, or chances are this kitchen will end up flooded again.”
“Then we’ll just have you fix it right.” Hope swiped her forearm across her brow. “Kirby took Nanna outside for some fresh air. I think she’s more upset than she’s letting on.”
“She’s lived here, what, fifty years? It’s hard to see something you love damaged.” He eased onto his back and adjusted his pipe wrench, determined to concentrate on his job and not on Hope mopping the floor. “I’m going to take out the sink and all these pipes. Put in proper shutoff valves. She’ll even get a new faucet out of the deal. Lucky for you, I have a faucet in the carpenter boxes in the back of my truck—I get these emergencies often enough. It’s a nice white European one.”
“Oh, boy. I can’t remember the last time a handsome man gave me a new faucet.”
She was kidding—he knew that. But why did his pulse perk up? Did she really think he was handsome? He couldn’t see it—he doubted anyone else did, either. That was the thing that made him wary about women like Hope—easy flattery, a drop of kindness, it was superficial and not always innocent. He ought to remember that the next time he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Disgusted with himself, he gave his wrench a hard twist, and the old pipe came loose from the wall. “So, you’ll be staying in town through Founder’s Days?”
“If Nanna needs me that long.” Hope knelt to wring the mop. Water splashed into the bucket. “I’m sorry about the committee meeting. She’s just trying to throw us together. I hope you know I had nothing to do with that.”
“I figured it out easy enough.” He slid out from beneath the sink and caught sight of Hope hefting the full bucket toward the back door, so at odds with what he expected from her. Maybe that’s why his gaze kept finding her in the room. “I believe you. Remember, my mom blackmailed me.”
“Your own mother? That’s hard to believe. I remember how sweet she was.” Hope disappeared in the shimmer of the midday sun.
“Sweet? Sure, she once was, I suppose. Then she became a grandmother and started meddling.”
Hope breezed back inside, swinging the empty bucket, and her smile looked genuine enough to make his heart flip. She lifted one delicate brow. “Meddling?”
“Yep. Mom decided she wanted more grandchildren so I needed another wife to provide her with some.” He concentrated on coaxing the broken faucet out from the tiled wall. “It’s a desperate situation.”
“I understand that completely. Poor Nanna won’t be happy until she thinks I’m taken care of.” The mop smacked against the floor. “She isn’t satisfied when I say I can take care of myself. As if any man will do.”
Any man. A common, middle-class working man. Matthew knew it wasn’t a fair way to think, but even though Hope Ashton looked kind and casual and good-hearted and even though she was mopping a floor, she was a millionaire’s daughter. She was a renowned photographer. She wasn’t looking for just any man.
The pipe stuck, and he gave it a hard tug. It split into pieces and tumbled into the sink. “These pipes look as old as the house.”
“I’m sure they are.” Hope swept past him, leaving a lingering trail of sweet, light perfume. “Grandfather was notoriously frugal. Do you think you can get the water at least running today?”
“Sure can.” He shook his head at the rot where the pipes had been leaking for some time. Better to concentrate on his work. “This wall is going to have to be replaced. And this set of cupboards.”
“Nanna is going to be heartbroken. Grandfather made those cabinets for her. They’re custom—”
“I’m not a bad carpenter. I bet I can match them.” He couldn’t help teasing her, she looked so serious, so concerned. “Have a little faith, Hope.”
“I’m trying.” She smiled, soft and sweet, and he noticed the way her dark curls caught the light, shimmering like rare silk.
Heaven help him.
A bell rang, spinning her toward the front door. Long locks flicked over her shoulder, glimmering with such beauty he couldn’t look away.
