following me?”
He looked surprised. “Following you? I was driving to the same place, and I figured it was rude to pass you.”
She didn’t know if he was telling her the truth or pacifying her.
“Are you mad at me, Shana?”
The way he angled toward her, almost intimately, lowering his voice a bit, threw her off, but she stood her ground.
“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out of my apartment.”
“Technically, it’s your sister’s apartment.”
She frowned. “I clean her spa business downstairs in trade for the rent.”
“But who writes the rent check?”
“Dixie does, because her name is on the lease.”
“She doesn’t have a lease on the apartment, only on the spa.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “Do you think the number of hours you work covers what she pays me in rent?”
“That’s what she told me.” She looked away, tallying up the numbers. “Probably not,” she said finally, quietly. More charity to pay back … someday.
He didn’t say anything.
“Would you really evict me?” she asked.
He seemed to dig deep for patience. “Shana, I’m offering you a chance to do the work you’ve been wanting to do. I’m offering you a home with a yard for your daughter to play in, and the opportunity to make enough money that you could save for a down payment on a house of your own in time. No,” he said as she started to speak. “No, I wouldn’t evict you. Dixie would never speak to me again. But why would you let this chance pass you by?”
There it was at last—the truth. “So you’re doing this because of Dixie?”
He shoved his hands through his hair, fully regretting his decision now. “I’m doing this because I need help, and you fit the bill.”
“What will people think, me living with you?”
“Do you really care?”
“Yes. And you should, too.”
“I give up,” he said, walking—stalking—away. “Forget the whole thing.”
Shana saw her future flash before her eyes. “No, wait!” She rushed after him. “I’ll take the job, on one condition.”
“This should be good.”
She almost laughed at his sarcasm. “You have to start dating.”
He stared at her, as if shocked. “How do you know I’m not?”
Good point, especially since he’d said it so fast. “You have to start visibly dating. Or, at least bring your girlfriend to the Stompin’ Grounds on Saturday night or something. No one has ever seen you date.”
“Because I keep my private life private.”
She crossed her arms. “Take it or leave it. I don’t want people to think we’re living together for any reason other than business ones.”
“So, I should lead some woman on instead? Make her think I’m dating her because I’m interested, even if I’m not?”
She despised his logic, especially when she was too emotional to counter it, so she just looked him in the eye and waited. She needed a guarantee from him, although she wasn’t sure whether she could trust it. He hadn’t hesitated to go after her sister, after all.
“All right, Shana,” he said at last. “I’ll date. In public.”
“The first Saturday night after I move in.”
“Okay.”
He said it too easily, as if he was already dating someone. “And you have to look cozy.”
He laughed finally. “What I do on a date isn’t yours to command. I’ll show up with a woman at the Stompin’ Grounds on Saturday night. That’s all I’ll promise.”
She decided not to press. He’d already conceded more than she expected, so she stuck her hand out. “Deal.”
His large, callous, warm hand engulfed hers. They’d never touched before. Bolts of lightning zapped her. He was a strong man. It would be easy to lean on him.
But she wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever. She would just do her job and be grateful. Thanks to Kincaid, she wouldn’t be anyone’s charity case anymore.
Chapter Two
Shana pulled up in front of Aggie McCoy’s house, turned off her engine and just sat, letting her nerves settle. Aggie had become Shana’s rock in the year since she’d returned to town. Aggie was also Shana’s key to success. If she could convince Aggie this was strictly a business deal, word would spread through town and no one would start speculating—or placing bets, a common occurrence.
Shana released her death grip on the steering wheel and headed toward the house and the woman who’d become her refuge. Sixty-nine years old and widowed for over twelve years, Aggie defined the title “Mother,” having raised eight children, who’d given her a whole lot of grandchildren to love. She tended to mother just about everyone who crossed her path, related or not. Plus she gave great big, cushy hugs that Shana’s mother never seemed able to do.
That wasn’t important now, she reminded herself. She had Emma, the only thing that mattered.
Shana knocked twice then opened Aggie’s door. The scent of apples and cinnamon greeted her. Had she made pie or strudel? “Anybody home?” she called out.
“Mama! Mama!” Emma came running out of the kitchen and straight to Shana, who scooped her up and swung her around, her fine blond curls flying behind her, her Callahan green eyes a perfect match for her frilly T-shirt.
“Here’s my baby girl. Something smells good.”
“Apple. Mmm.”
“You’re early,” Aggie said, coming into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “How’d it go?”
Shana cuddled Emma, who toyed with her pendant. “I got the job. Full-time, right here in town.”
“So, who’s the boss?”
“Kincaid.”
Aggie’s black-penciled brows shot up. “Doing what?”
“Jill-of-all-trades. Housekeeper, property cleaner, office help, designer.”
“Sounds like more than forty hours a week.” Aggie headed toward the kitchen. “I need to take my pie out. Come on back.”
“I’m not sure about the total hours, but it’s a mixed bag of work. And it’s live-in.”
