she opened the door wide, her tone cool but polite.
“Evan…Evan Graham.” He gave Nellie one last pat on her head, then straightened so that his eyes met hers, again with a shrewdness that gave her pause. Extending his hand, he added with equal formality, “And you’re Mrs. James?”
“Hannah James,” she replied, pleased by the firmness of his handshake, but also relieved that he kept it brief, and eminently impersonal.
“I’m Will,” her son announced, squeezing next to her in the doorway, his dark-eyed gaze eager and inquisitive. “And that’s Nellie, the dog.”
“Well, hello, Will. It’s very nice to meet you.” As Will giggled with delight, Evan Graham turned in Nellie’s direction and made a formal bow. “And hello to you, too, Nellie, the dog.”
“She forgot that she’s not supposed to chew on the corner of the living room rug again, so she’s having a time-out on the porch.”
“Yes, she most certainly is,” Hannah agreed with another smile for her son. Then she glanced at Evan Graham again and noted a similar softening of his expression as he, too, eyed Will with kindly interest. Reassured in a way she couldn’t quite explain, she stepped back and gestured invitingly. “Why don’t you come inside the house, Mr. Graham. It’s much warmer in the kitchen than it is on the porch, and I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied with an appreciative smile genuine enough to chase some of the iciness from his eyes.
“Can Nellie come inside the house, too? Please, can she?” Will pleaded. “I’ll play with her in the living room while you talk to Mr. Graham and I promise, promise, promise not to let her chew on the rug again.”
Nellie gazed at Hannah contritely with her soulful brown eyes, as if aware that her fate hung in the balance.
“All right,” Hannah agreed, sure that she was giving in much too easily when Nellie scrambled past her without a backward glance, ears flapping and nails clicking on the wood floor, Will galloping after her, futilely calling her name.
“Sometimes I wonder who’s really in charge around here,” Hannah admitted in a rueful tone.
“You seem to have things pretty well under control,” Evan said, stepping past her into the house, then pausing to survey his surroundings as she closed the door.
Hannah couldn’t be sure, but she thought she detected the faintest hint of surprise in his voice. She wondered what he had expected to find there as she, too, eyed the neat and tidy interior of her home.
The door to the porch opened directly into the L-shaped living room, dining room and kitchen area. The rooms were all simply furnished with a mixture of recently dusted and polished antique rosewood and mahogany furniture and a more contemporary, comfortably upholstered grouping of sofa, loveseat, chair and ottoman.
Some of Will’s toys were scattered about on the rag rug, and some of her books and gardening magazines were handily stacked on an end table. But there was no real mess in evidence—never had been.
“I learned a long time ago that it takes a lot less energy to keep up with the housework on a daily basis than to let everything go and then have to deal with the upheaval. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to apply the same effort to my greenhouses and gardens during my husband’s illness. Now I need help getting the beds cleaned out and the seedlings in the ground so I’ll have plants and produce to sell at the market this summer.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Evan said.
He followed her lead into the kitchen area and paused by the round wooden table, eyeing her expectantly.
“Yes, well…weeding beds, turning compost into the soil and dividing perennials for replanting is hard, physical labor, and moving dozens of seedlings from their little pots to garden plots can be tedious. I can’t afford to pay you much, either,” Hannah advised, considering it best to be completely honest with him at the outset.
“I understand,” he stated simply.
Turning to take mugs from a cabinet, Hannah was tempted to ask him how he could possibly understand anything about her life when she often found it hard to do herself. Evan Graham didn’t seem the type to let such a question pass, though, and she wasn’t prepared to discuss with a virtual stranger those aspects of her recent past that were better kept to herself.
“Are you still interested in the job, then?” she asked as she glanced over her shoulder at him.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He met her gaze and smiled, seeming perfectly at ease in her small kitchen. Her heart fluttered as she realized that he almost seemed to belong there, too.
“In that case, have a seat and we’ll talk some more.”
With a small indrawn breath, Hannah turned away again, reached for the carafe full of hot, fresh coffee and filled both mugs.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Cream if you have it, please.”
“I do, but it’s the real thing. I have skim milk, too, if you’d rather have that.”
Holding both mugs in one hand, Hannah took spoons from a drawer and napkins from a basket on the counter with the other then carried the lot to the table.
“I’ll have the cream,” he said as she crossed to the refrigerator. “Indulgent as it is.”
“It’s a small splurge, all things considered, or so I like to tell myself,” Hannah admitted with a smile.
She retrieved the carton of cream from the refrigerator and set it on the table. Then she went over to the pantry and took the tin can of chocolate chip cookies that she’d baked yesterday afternoon off the shelf.
“Mmm, those look good,” Evan said as Hannah set the can of cookies on the table. “Another small splurge?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he favored her with a teasing smile.
“Only if you eat just one. More than that and you’ll be well on your way to intemperance,” Hannah cautioned in a playful tone—shocked that she was actually flirting with this man.
“And intemperance would be a bad thing?” he countered, bantering back easily.
“Not necessarily.”
Returning Evan’s smile ruefully, Hannah sat across from him, then looked away as she added cream to her coffee and chose a cookie from the can. She sensed his gaze on her, watchful and alert, but instinctively she sensed as well that he meant her and Will no harm. In fact, she felt quite comfortable, sitting with him in her warm, cozy kitchen, sheltered as they were from the cool, gray, rainy day.
He didn’t loom large and threatening in any way. Rather, he sat back in his chair, his posture loose, lazily stirring his coffee with the spoon he held in one long-fingered, masculine hand.
Had he cloaked himself in a brilliant disguise in order to gain entry to her home to commit some dastardly deed, she was sure that deed would have been done and he would have already
