The woman who’d bought him would consider a broken nail a life-altering event. And her child no doubt took after her.
“I’d like to talk to your mom. Is she here?”
There was a ten-year-old car in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the mom in question was on the premises.
“Mommy’s in the attic. It’s upstairs, and the ladder is pulled down.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m watchin’ TV before I hafta go to bed and I don’t have a lot of time.”
“It’s okay. I can find her.”
After Kimmie went back to her show, he looked around. Abby’s place was small, but very nice. And very pink. It was like living in a Pepto-Bismol bottle. Everything he’d seen so far confirmed his decision to return her money. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs and found the attic access just as Kimmie had said. As he got closer to the ceiling opening, there was the distinct scraping sound of boxes being moved followed by a lot of grunting and panting.
Riley poked his head through the opening and noticed the attic was crudely finished, with a wooden floor and unpainted wallboard. Obviously she used it for storage, but judging by the boxes stacked against the walls and so high over her head she couldn’t reach them, he figured she hadn’t put them there. She’d said she didn’t have a husband. But that didn’t rule out boyfriends.
In sweatpants and a white T-shirt, a barefoot Abby stood with her back to him. Without the flowing skirt, he could see for himself that she was as curvy as he’d guessed. Before he could shut down the thought, he realized he was glad she wasn’t wearing jeans that would compress her softness into stiff denim. Quickly he clamped the lid on that image even as his palms tingled at the idea of touching her.
She reached up for a box and maneuvered it forward, then staggered under the weight. He moved quickly to take it from her and when she saw him, she jumped back with a screech of surprise.
She pressed her hand to her heaving chest. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?”
“It’s my business. I’m in security.”
“Funny how that doesn’t make me feel secure.”
Ignoring her verbal projectile, he said, “Kimmie let me in.”
She rubbed a finger beneath her nose. “I guess I need to give her a refresher course in stranger danger.”
“I’m not a danger. Besides, she asked who was at the door.”
“Because she’s not tall enough to see through the peephole.”
“Are you?” He gauged her height. “Tall enough to see out of it, I mean.”
“I think it was installed by the Jolly Green Giant. But that’s beside the point and doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“I wanted to talk to you, Ms. Walsh. To apologize for my behavior earlier.”
“Oh?” She fixed him with a skeptical look as she folded her arms beneath her breasts.
Her stance did interesting things to her chest and he had to regroup to remember why he was there. Charm. Yeah. That was it. “I may have been a little abrupt—”
“May have been? Abrupt? Buster, you could give lessons.”
“Okay. I deserve that. And I’m here to say I’m sorry.” He watched her face, waiting for a sign that his charm was working. A second later, her mouth softened and a small smile set off her dimples. He wondered how many men she’d brought to their knees with them.
“I accept your apology, Mr. Dixon.”
“Riley,” he said.
“And I’m Abby. As opposed to Ms. Walsh.”
“Okay. Look, I wanted to talk to you about the survival weekend.”
“Actually if you hadn’t stopped by tonight, I was going to drop in at your office tomorrow to discuss it.”
“Great minds,” he said, referring to thinking alike.
“Yeah.” She rested her hands on her hips. “You first. What did you want to say?”
“First, may I say what a lovely daughter you have.”
Her face brightened at the words. “Thank you. I think she’s pretty special.”
“And very pretty, too. The pink satin princess thing works for her.”
“Yeah. She likes to take her bath early and watch television before bed. The pajamas and robe are her favorites and—”
“Not warm enough for camping.”
The expression of benevolence disappeared, replaced by skepticism. “I wouldn’t let her wear them camping.”
“It’s not just the sleepwear. Camping is an all-or-nothing sort of thing. You admitted it’s not your cup of tea,” he pointed out, recalling her remark about pools and sissy drinks.
The sweats were good, but he’d give a lot to see her in a bikini by that pool, and maybe wet… Damn, he was going to have to get his thoughts under control or he was dead in the water. Nora was right. There was a striking physical resemblance between Abby and his ex-wife. But, now that the shock had worn off, he could see the differences. Abby’s eyes were brown, a warm rich shade of cocoa, and there was a sweetness about her Barb had never possessed. But there were similarities, too, like they both needed him. Different reasons, but Abby still wanted something from him. He needed to get out of this ASAP.
“The outdoors isn’t my cup of tea,” she confirmed. “But Kimmie wants her hiking and camping badges. I figured a survival weekend would kill two birds with one stone—maximize my auction purchase. It’s only one night. I can suck it up.”
“You think so? Without hot showers, or cold, for that matter, since there won’t be running water. Dirt is a major component. The ground is hard and damn cold. TV is out of the question. No electricity,” he explained. “It’s dark and Mother Nature didn’t think to install street lights. Not a whole lot to do but sit around and watch the leaves fall. No froufrou food or microwaves.”
“Because there’s no electricity?” she asked sweetly, too sweetly.
“Even if there was, a microwave would be too bulky and heavy to backpack in. Only necessities get lugged over rugged terrain.” He planted his feet wide apart and rested his hands on his hips as he stared down at her. “It’s primitive and uncomfortable. So you see—”
“No.” She started to walk by him.
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. What does that mean?”
“You should know. It’s what you told me a little while ago. What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
“I know what it means. Are you saying you got the message that camping isn’t for you and you’ll let me reimburse you—with interest—for what you paid at the auction?”
“And
