a brotherly squeeze.
“You’re discouraged,” he said.
She shrugged.
“It’s going to be a lot of work, but I’ll help. By the time the furniture arrives, we’ll have the place clean and painted.”
Sandy made a great show of pulling free of his arm, then walking to the other side of the kitchen. “I appreciate your willingness to help,” she said. “But no thanks. The kids and I want to do this by ourselves. We don’t want, or need, a man in our lives. The children and I have everything under control.”
“I could tell by how you all reacted to the mouse.”
She looked away. “Yes, well, that was different. I wasn’t expecting to find a mouse. Now that I know there might be more, I can handle it.”
He glanced around at the dusty cupboards, the trail of ants and the limp, gnawed curtains. “You’re not planning to sleep here tonight, are you?”
“We’re staying at a motel in town.” She took a step toward him, then paused. “Look, Kyle, you’re being really nice and neighborly, but it isn’t necessary. I’m not the sort of woman who needs rescuing. I knew the house hadn’t been lived in when I bought it. It needs a little cleaning and some paint. We’ll manage.”
“The ceilings in most of the rooms are over ten feet high,” he said. “Do you have the equipment to handle that?”
“I’ll buy a ladder.” She pointed back the way they’d come. “I don’t want to keep you.”
She was throwing him out. Okay, maybe putting his arm around her had been a little too much, but she’d looked as if she’d needed a good hug. If she was a widow, she probably hadn’t had a hug in a long time. Unless she was seeing somebody. He frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He stared at her. She wore her wedding ring on her left hand. Was she still in love with her late husband, or did she use the ring to warn men off? From what he remembered of Sandy, it could be either. And he was willing to bet there was no other man in her life.
“Kyle?”
“Hmm? Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking. Okay, Sandy. You win. You want to take care of this by yourself, you go ahead. If you need me, I’m just at the end of the driveway.”
“I’ll remember.”
She escorted him out the door and down the porch steps. Her three children were waiting for them by the station wagon.
“Any more mice?” Lindsay asked.
“None that we saw,” Sandy answered briskly. “So there’s no reason to avoid the cleaning.” She opened the back of the car and started pulling out buckets and brooms. Lindsay and Blake groaned. Nichole grabbed a feather duster and smiled.
Kyle didn’t want to leave them. The job was too big. There was no way they would finish before the furniture arrived. The downstairs had been bad enough. Who knows what it was like upstairs. There could be carpet to tear up and—
Let it alone, he told himself. Sandy had made it clear she wasn’t interested in him or his help.
“See ya,” he said, and started toward the gatehouse.
“Wait,” Sandy called.
He turned toward her.
“Would you mind calling an exterminator about the mice?” she asked. “The phone here won’t be hooked up until tomorrow.” She looked down at Nichole and smiled. “We need one who doesn’t kill the mice, but just traps them and takes them away.”
“No problem,” he told her. “If you need anything else—”
“I know. I’ll let you know. And thanks for calling the exterminator.” She waved, then turned back to the station wagon. The children gathered around her, Lindsay and Blake grumbling about their chores.
Kyle walked over to his motorcycle and slipped on his leather jacket. After pulling on his helmet, he settled onto the seat and started the engine, then slowly drove back to the gatehouse.
He parked the bike by the back door, next to the small garage where he kept his Camaro. Ever since he’d found out Sandy had bought the Michaelson place, he’d been eager for her to arrive. He could have walked the twenty or so yards between their two houses, but he’d taken the bike, because, dammit, he’d wanted to impress her.
Sandy had been so impressed she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. He’d come on too strong. He shouldn’t have teased her. Impatiently, Kyle grabbed his jacket and helmet and headed for the back door. When had he started second-guessing himself about his behavior with women?
He unlocked the gatehouse door, then stepped into its compact kitchen. His entire place would fit into about a third of Sandy’s downstairs, but it suited him fine. The living room was large, as was the master bedroom. There was a small study alcove off the dining room, and the bathroom had an oversize shower. He lived alone, he didn’t need any more room. He liked his house, even if it was a little quiet sometimes.
After dumping his jacket and helmet on the kitchen table, he crossed the floor to the refrigerator next to the window. He pulled out a soda and popped the top. Before he could turn away, a faint sound of laughter caught his attention. He looked out the window. Sandy and her three kids still stood by their station wagon. Blake was carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Lindsay was loaded down with brooms and mops. Sandy wrestled with a ladder that was taller than she was but that would never reach the high ceilings. They were all looking at little Nichole, who held the feather duster behind her like a tail. She pranced around the yard, scratching like a chicken looking for worms. Sandy said something and they all laughed again. Then they started toward the house.
Nichole climbed the stairs and went inside last. The yard was empty, the laughter gone. He was alone. He told himself he should be used to the silence. But he wasn’t. He glanced at the phone. There were any number of people he could call. Any number of women. They would spend his afternoon off with him, and the night, if he asked. He didn’t, as a rule, bring women to his place. He preferred visiting them at theirs. That way, he could leave when he wanted to. He preferred to be in control. A little like Sandy.
Had it really been fifteen years since he’d last seen her? He remembered her leaving as though it had just happened. She’d been going off to college. In his heart, he’d known she wasn’t coming back. She’d never suspected how he felt about her. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have cared. She had been seventeen—almost eighteen and already graduated from high school. No one had known how he’d dreamed about her.
Kyle turned away from the window and walked into the living room. He grabbed the book he’d been reading and carried it over to the leather recliner in front of the small, stone fireplace. But instead of reading, he closed his eyes and pictured Sandy as she’d been all those years ago. What was it about her that appealed to him? She wasn’t all that pretty, at least not in an obvious way.
Someone had once figured out that between the four of them, the Haynes brothers had dated every cheerleader in town for ten years straight. When Kyle had been old enough, he’d carried on the family tradition. He’d dated the prettiest girls, the most popular ones. But not always. Once
