no worries. His was positively elegant.
Wade stopped at a red light and glanced at her, but his shades hid his expression. “Don’t people in this town invest their money?” he asked. “Or do they just bury it, like pirate booty?”
“For the most part, they work hard for it,” she cautioned. “They may not be eager to entrust it to a stranger.”
“I’m not a total stranger,” he replied. “My grandfather, Morris Garrett, worked in the mill here. When I was a kid, I came up to see him a couple of times during summer vacation.” He accelerated when the light turned green. “I’ve been seriously considering a career change, though, so it may not matter.”
“If you become a full-time handyman, you’ll have to trade your car in for a pickup truck with oversize tires and a toolbox in the back,” she teased, expecting him to deny the idea.
His expression was unreadable. “I’ve learned that giving up material goods isn’t that difficult,” he said enigmatically before slowing for the turn into Builders’ Supply. “Is this place always so busy?”
Even though his previous comment stirred her curiosity, she had no choice but to go along with the change of subject. To do otherwise would invite him to return the favor and question her about things she would rather not discuss.
“Restoring the old Victorians has gotten quite popular,” she said as they drove down the row. “Some of them sell for over a million dollars.”
“Have you ever considered selling your house?” he asked as he slid into an empty spot. “Maintaining a place like that must be a lot of work.” Perhaps he was thinking about going into real estate.
“No, I would never consider selling Mayfield Manor,” she replied, unfastening her seat belt. “Someday I hope to finish the renovation that my mother started.”
“A noble ambition,” he said as they walked together toward the entrance.
As they passed the outdoor display of plant pots and barbecues, Pauline spotted a big man with shaggy blond hair coming straight toward them.
“Hi, Steve,” she said. “I should have known you’d be hanging out here.”
“Hey, doll,” he replied with a grin and a questioning glance at Wade. “Did the tarp hold okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” She glanced back at Wade, who was hanging back. “Steve Lindstrom, Wade Garrett,” she recited with appropriate gestures.
The two men exchanged wary nods, hands remaining firmly in their pockets.
“Sorry I haven’t finished writing up your bid,” Steve told her. “Since the last storm, I’ve been slammed. The price of lumber’s shot up like a rocket, too, so I’ve had to recalculate everything.”
“Wade’s going to do the repairs for me,” she replied.
“Oh?” Steve’s gaze sharpened as he took the other man’s measure. “I haven’t seen you around, Garrett.”
“Wade’s from California,” Pauline explained hastily. “He’s staying at the house, so we made a deal.”
Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “I see,” he drawled knowingly.
A muscle jumped in Wade’s cheek, but he remained silent. Pauline refused to justify herself in front of an audience, but she was beginning to feel as though she should have cards printed up.
It’s just business.
“Well, let me know if you need any help,” Steve said with a nod at Wade. “Garrett.”
“Lindstrom,” Wade replied gravely.
“Thanks, Steve,” Pauline said, marveling at the male protocol, so different from that of her own sex.
“Steve’s the contractor I originally thought you worked for,” she explained once he was out of earshot.
“Oh, the contractor,” Wade echoed, snapping his fingers. “I guess his attitude had me fooled.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she led the way into the store.
“He seemed a little territorial,” he replied. “As in, personal relationship.”
His comment caught her off guard and she didn’t even think about it being none of his business. “I’ve known him forever, but I don’t rob cradles,” she protested. “He was two years behind me in school and he dated my sister, so that makes him kind of a surrogate brother.” For some reason she didn’t fully understand, she wanted Wade to know that she wasn’t interested in Steve romantically.
“Good to know,” Wade murmured.
She didn’t bother to puzzle out his comment as she reached the door to the store manager’s office. “I’ll see about opening an account,” she said instead. “Where should I meet you?”
He glanced around. “I’ll be over in roofing.”
As Wade walked away from his landlady-slash-boss, he reminded himself that he wasn’t doing half bad after a shaky start with Wallingford and his damned lease. Wade had shelter and work to keep him occupied, while the truck with the rest of his stuff would be here this afternoon. So what was his problem?
It certainly didn’t have anything to do with meeting Pauline’s friend, Steve-o, or the fact that he’d called her “doll,” as if they had something going despite her protest to the contrary. When had Wade become afraid of a little competition when it came to a woman who interested him?
Perhaps it had begun with his castration back in Frisco. Apparently Sharon had cut off more than the obvious, but that was going to change.
By the time Pauline caught up with Wade a little while later, he’d found everything on his supply list.
“Sorry I took so long,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I ran into a customer from the shop who was here with her husband. They were picking out paint colors for their living room and I couldn’t get away from them.”
“No problem,” he replied, amused by her obvious agitation. “I ordered everything I need to start the job. It will be delivered in the morning.”
“That’s great.” Her face lost its anxious appearance. “Where’s the invoice?”
The young clerk who had been helping Wade stepped forward. “I just printed it up for your husband, ma’ am. All I need is a signature.”
Wade took the form. “Did you want to check it over first, sweetheart?” he asked Pauline with a lecherous grin.
She batted her eyes at him coyly. “Why, yes, honey. I know how crazy you can get when it comes to remodeling projects.” She turned to the clerk, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You should see our garage,” she confided. “I swear the man owns every power tool on the market.”
Wade rested his hand on her shoulder possessively. “Believe me, my tools don’t compare to her antique doorknob collection.
