dollars off the price of the house.” She shot him a challenging glance. “I thought it was a good deal.”
“I see.” His eyes twinkled in that superior I-should-have-known male way and her hackles rose. If he said one word about being penny-wise and pound-foolish, she’d snatch the ladder away and leave him stranded.
Perhaps he sensed her intention, because he scrambled for the ladder and made his way down. When he reached the ground, he faced her, hands on hips, one foot propped on the ladder’s lower rung in a pose that emphasized his masculinity.
“How about a deal?” he suggested.
Dana was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth. “I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t even heard the offer yet.”
“I appreciate your interest and your time, Mr. Verone…”
“Nick.”
She scowled at him. “But as I told you, I do have another contractor coming.”
“Billy Watson will tell you the same thing, assuming he doesn’t poke his clumsy feet through some of the weak spots and sue you first.”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating slightly?”
“Not by much,” he insisted ominously. Then he smiled again, one of those crooked, impish smiles that were so like Tony’s when he knew he’d written something really terrific and was awaiting praise. Like father, like son—unfortunately, in this case.
“Why don’t we go inside and have something cold to drink and discuss this?” Nick suggested, taking over again in a way that set Dana’s teeth on edge. Her patience and self-control were deteriorating rapidly.
He was already heading around the side of the house before she even had a chance to say no. Once more, she was left to scamper along behind him or be left cursing to herself. At the back door she hesitated, not at all sure she wanted to be alone with this stranger and out of sight of the neighbors.
He’s Tony’s father, for heaven’s sakes.
With that thought in mind, she stepped into the kitchen, but she lingered near the door. Nick hadn’t waited for an invitation. He’d already opened the refrigerator and was scanning the contents with unabashed interest. He pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and poured two glasses without so much as a glance in her direction. To his credit, though, he didn’t mention the fact that the door was missing a hinge. She’d ordered it on Thursday.
Nick studied Dana over the rim of his glass and tried to make sense of her skittishness. She was no youngster, though she had the trim, lithe figure of one. The weariness around her eyes was what gave her age away, not the long, slender legs shown off by her paint-splattered shorts or the luxuriant tumble of rich brown hair hanging down her back. Allowing for gaps in her résumé, she was no more than twenty-nine, maybe thirty, about five years younger than he was. Yet in some ways she looked as though she’d seen the troubles of a woman twice that age. There was something about her eyes, something sad and lost and vulnerable. Still, he didn’t doubt for an instant that she had a core of steel. He’d felt the chill when her voice turned cold, when those intriguing brown eyes of hers glinted with anger. He’d pushed her this morning and she’d bent, but she hadn’t broken. She was still fighting mad. Right now, she was watching him with an uneasy alertness, like a doe standing at the edge of a clearing and sensing danger.
“Now about that deal,” he said when he’d taken a long swallow of the sweetened tea.
“Mr. Verone, please.”
“Nick,” he automatically corrected again. “Now what I have in mind is charging you just for the roofing materials. I’ll handle the work in my spare time, if you’ll continue to help Tony out with his homework.”
Dana sighed, plainly exasperated with him. “I’m more than willing to help Tony anytime he asks for help. That’s part of my job as librarian.”
“Is it part of your job to stay overtime? I’ve seen the lights burning in there past closing more than once. We don’t pay for the extra hours.”
“I’m not asking you to. I enjoy what I do. I’m not interested in punching a time clock. If staying late will give someone extra time to get the books they want or to finish a school project, it gives me satisfaction.”
“Okay, so helping Tony is part of your job. Then we’ll just consider this my way of welcoming you to town.”
“I can’t let you do that,” she insisted, her annoyance showing again.
“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re from that old-fashioned school that says women can’t accept gifts from men unless they’re engaged.”
“I don’t think fixing my roof is in the same league as accepting a fur coat or jewelry.”
“Then I rest my case.”
“But I will feel obligated to you and I don’t like obligations.”
“You won’t owe me a thing. It’s an even trade.”
Dana groaned. “Is there any way I can win this argument?”
“None that I can think of,” he admitted cheerfully.
“Okay, fine. Fix the roof,” she said, but she didn’t sound pleased about it. She sounded like a woman who’d been cornered. For some reason, Nick felt like a heel instead of a good neighbor, though he couldn’t find any logical explanation for her behavior or his uncomfortable reaction.
Changing tactics, he finally asked, “How come I haven’t seen much of you around town?”
“I’ve been pretty busy getting settled in. This place was a mess and I had the library to organize.”
He tilted his chair back on two legs and glanced around approvingly. “You’ve done a lot here. I remember the way it was. I used to play here as a boy when old Miss Francis was alive. It didn’t look much better then. We thought it was haunted.”
He was rewarded with another grin from Dana. “I haven’t encountered any ghosts so far. If they’re here, they certainly haven’t done much of the cleaning. The library wasn’t any improvement. It took me the better part of a week just to sweep away the cobwebs and organize the shelves properly. There are still boxes of donated books in the back I haven’t had a chance to look at yet.”
“Then it’s time you took a break. There’s bingo tonight at the fire station. Why don’t you come with Tony and me?”
He watched as the wall around her went right back up, brick by brick. “I don’t think so.”
“Can’t you spell?” he teased.
Her eyes flashed dangerous sparks. “Of course.”
“How about counting? Any good at that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem, Dana thought, was not bingo. It was Nicholas
