few places where we’ll have to do some reproduction work, but not many.”
She moved close to a wall to peer at the darkened wallpaper that had once been a bright sunflower design, more indicative of the 1970s than the early 1900s. “I bet there are at least a half-dozen layers of wallpaper on these walls. Homeowners often used to paper right on top of existing patterns. If that’s the case, I should be able to re-create original decor by studying the earliest layers.”
“I counted six layers in the master bedroom. Five in the kitchen.” He’d dug through all that in his initial examination of the house’s condition.
“Were the early patterns distinguishable?”
“In places, yes. You’ll probably want to see it, though I’m not interested in an exact reproduction of the original decor. Just a look that’s appropriate for the period.”
“The townspeople have always referred to this place as a Victorian mansion, but it isn’t strictly Victorian, is it? More a combination of Queen Anne, Italianate, and even a little Early American craftsman influence. Sort of a hodgepodge, but it works. It must have been spectacular.”
Despite her disclaimers that she wasn’t a professional decorator, he was satisfied with the observations she’d made thus far. He had seen examples of her work, having learned that she’d decorated several of the businesses he’d visited in town, and he knew she had a flair for color and proportion. Now he was even more confident that he hadn’t made a mistake approaching her about this project.
Her friendship with the McBrides might be useful to him later, but it was her decorating expertise that interested him at the moment. At least, that was what he told himself, though he was all too keenly aware of how nice she looked in her pale blue spring-weight sweater and fluidly tailored gray slacks that emphasized the slender waist his hands had spanned so easily.
He reminded himself again that he didn’t have time for that sort of distraction now. He might notice her blue-green eyes and sweetly curved mouth, the shallow dimple in her left cheek, the graceful line of her throat or the feminine curve of her breasts beneath the soft knit sweater she wore, but that was as far as he intended to take it. He had a job to do—and the Garrett place was only a part of it.
Though his voice was casual, he was watching Sharon closely when he led her into the next room. “This,” he said, “is the kitchen.”
The smile that lit her face when she saw who was waiting there was full, warm and beautiful. Mac couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to be on the receiving end of a smile like that from her. “Trent,” she said, and even her voice was warmer now. “What a nice surprise.”
Though Mac had summed Trent up as a somber, even brooding, type, the smile he gave Sharon held a natural charm with a hint of mischief. Having heard through the local rumor mills that Trent had been involved in a near-fatal plane crash that had left him with both physical and emotional scars, Mac suspected he was seeing an echo of the cocky young ladies’ man Trent was reported to have been before the crash.
“Hi, Sharon. It’s good to see you again.” Trent kissed her cheek with the ease of long acquaintance.
Mac found himself frowning as he watched Trent’s casual touch against Sharon’s smooth cheek. He cleared his expression immediately, forcing himself to study the pair objectively.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Sharon said. “You look great.”
“So do you. I was glad to hear you weren’t seriously injured Friday night.”
“Only a few bruises. I was lucky. So how are the wedding plans coming along?”
A glow of satisfaction warmed Trent’s usually cool blue eyes. “Everything’s on schedule. Annie and I will be married the last Saturday in August.”
“I know your mother is looking forward to having another wedding in the family.”
Trent grimaced. “Oh, yeah. She loves a big fuss—any excuse to get the family all together.”
Mac stuck his hands in his pockets.
Sharon and Trent exchanged a few more pleasantries and then the conversation turned to the project at hand. “What do you think of the house?” Trent asked.
“I have to confess, I’ve always wanted to come inside and look around this place.” Sharon made a slow circle to study the kitchen, her attention lingering on the huge fireplace. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“It definitely has potential. You’re doing the decorating?”
“Mr. Cordero and I are discussing that possibility.”
It was beginning to irk Mac that she continued to call him Mr. Cordero in that prim, rather prissy way. It couldn’t be more opposite to the warm and informal manner in which she spoke to Trent. “Mac,” he reminded her, deciding it was time for him to do a little fishing. “I take it you two know each other?”
Trent chuckled. “You might say that. Sharon and I went to the prom together.”
Sharon’s smile turned a few watts brighter. “Trent was a senior, I was a junior. He had already been accepted into the Air Force Academy. I was so impressed, I spent the whole evening looking at him and giggling like an idiot.”
“I don’t remember it quite that way,” Trent said gallantly.
Mac told himself he should be pleased to hear this. After all, her connection to the McBrides was one of the reasons he was interested in her. Right? And yet he still found himself changing the subject rather more abruptly than he had intended. “Yes, well, perhaps we should talk about the renovation project now.”
He stepped smoothly between them and opened the briefcase he’d left on a rough-surfaced counter. “I have some blueprints and sketches here…”
Sharon and Trent moved closer on either side of him to study the paperwork in the yellow light of the battery-powered lanterns. It annoyed Mac that he had to make such an effort to concentrate on the job instead of Sharon’s spicy-floral scent.
This wasn’t working out exactly as he had planned.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Trent left, explaining that he had an appointment with his fiancée. Sharon was touched by the eagerness that glinted in his eyes as he left. For almost a year after his accident, Trent had barricaded himself in his solitary rural home, brooding and alone. He’d held his friends at a distance, seeing no one but family—and Annie Stewart, the housekeeper his mother had hired for him against his will. Now he and Annie were planning their wedding, and Trent was learning how to smile again.
Sharon was delighted for him.
Mac cleared his throat, drawing her gaze away from the back door through which Trent had disappeared. “Prom, hmm?”
She smiled. “Yes. I wore a flame-red satin slip dress and Trent wore a black tux with a red cummerbund and bow tie. I thought we looked sophisticated and glamorous—like movie stars. My mother still keeps our prom picture on the piano with all her other family pictures.”
When Mac didn’t seem particularly amused by her reminiscing, she cleared her throat and turned the conversation back to business. “At what point would you want me to
