shoved his hands into his pockets. “How much do you know about the house, Miss Grant?”
The man was nervous. Really nervous. Quite odd. “It’s a lovely old home.” She lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug. The house was for sale. Maybe he was interested. “Needs some TLC. But it wouldn’t be that difficult to bring her back.”
“I was told you do restorative work.” He glanced at the ladder a few feet away.
That explained why he’d been watching her. “Some. I specialize in restoring plasterwork.” As foolish as it sounded she was a little let down that he was interested in her work and not her. She shouldn’t be surprised, though. There hadn’t been so much as a movie invitation in the last year. She would have to work hard to recall her last real date. That was the trouble with small-town life. Everyone knew everyone else. Labels were stamped quickly. No one would dare risk hurting poor Mia’s feelings…or crossing her powerful uncle.
The hands came out of Mr. Reece’s pockets and he seemed to relax. “I’m considering buying the place and I wanted an estimate on the restoration work.” His gaze traveled down to her sneakered feet and noticeably slowed moving up her jeans-clad legs and over her apron and T-shirt. That he lingered on her breasts prompted another shiver.
Flustered, Mia hesitated. The first hint of uneasiness slithered down her spine. “I’ll have to check my calendar. This time of year folks are focused on taking care of things around the house.” That wasn’t exactly true, beyond exterior maintenance and upgrades—none of which were her specialty—but this man was a stranger. A girl couldn’t be too careful.
“Chandra Green suggested I speak to you.”
Had he read her mind and provided a reference? In any case she relaxed a little. Mia would be calling Chandra. It wasn’t unusual for real estate agents to recommend local contractors. Not that she was a real contractor. More a handywoman who’d marketed the only skills she possessed. “Chandra knows my work.”
Mr. Reece pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and offered it to her. “I’ll be in town for a few days. If possible, I’d like to make a decision on the house before I leave.”
Mia studied the card. Only his name and number were printed there, not one other detail. “I’ll call you this afternoon.” No point making the man wait too long. If Chandra gave him a thumbs-up, Mia would jump on the job. She could use the work. There weren’t that many historic homes left in town in need of her particular restoration speciality.
“That’s perfect. Thank you.” He stared at her another moment, then turned and walked away.
Very strange, Mia thought. She tucked the card into her apron pocket and walked to the window to watch Lincoln Reece stroll down the sidewalk toward the town square. Where was he from? He possessed no discernible accent. There was nothing to glean from the way he dressed. And certainly not from his card.
As if he’d once again sensed her thoughts, he stopped and turned back. Mia eased to one side of the window to prevent being spotted. He studied the Dowe house for at least half a minute before resuming his trek toward the center of town.
As she watched him blend into the pedestrians strolling on the tree-lined walk, she winced at her reflection in the glass. She looked a mess. Wisps of hair had fallen loose from her ponytail. She had plaster smeared on her T-shirt and jeans, despite the apron. Not exactly a professional presentation.
“So? Who is he?” Tina Marie demanded as she peeked over Mia’s shoulder.
Mia jumped. “His name is Lincoln. He’s looking at the Reid house. Chandra suggested he check with me about the plaster repairs.”
Tina Marie chattered on, but Mia didn’t get a word she said. The funny shock she’d experienced when she and the stranger had shaken hands still puzzled her. Spending so much time in these old homes, she met lots of strangers, tourists mostly. She’d never had one do that to her with a bear hug, much less a brief brushing of palms. And Reece was by no means the only handsome or enigmatic man she’d encountered, on or off the job.
“I’m taking a break,” Mia said, interrupting her friend’s lengthy supposition about the stranger. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”
Mia skirted the dozen or so tourists oohing and ahhing over the dining room and cut through the kitchen to reach the back gardens. She moved away from the house to avoid interruptions by those wandering the blooming paths of the gardens, slid her cell phone from her pocket and called Chandra.
According to Chandra, Reece was a serious potential buyer.
“So this guy is legit?” Mia asked.
“Definitely,” Chandra assured her. “He’s ready to buy and he doesn’t need financing. The man absolutely insisted I show him all three of the historic homes in town that are for sale. On Sunday no less.”
Another surprise. He hadn’t looked like the type with that kind of money or that sort of determination. “He picked the Reid house over the others?” It was by far in the worst condition.
“He preferred a fixer-upper,” Chandra explained. “Wants to get his hands dirty.”
Actually he wanted to get Mia’s hands dirty. “I guess I could call him.”
“Be sure you do, Mia,” Chandra urged. “You know how slow the housing market has been. I could really use the sale.”
Things were tough all over town. “You can count on me.” That was what folks did here in Blossom. They helped each other out.
After Chandra finished her drawn-out monologue about how handsome and mysterious Reece was, Mia grabbed the opportunity to end the call. Mr. Reece had better watch himself. Chandra had been divorced for three years. She had bemoaned the slim pickings hereabouts for that same time. Reece fit the Realtor’s image of the perfect man—hot and loaded.
Mia would call Reece. But not for a couple of hours. She could use the work but she didn’t want to appear desperate. Fair pay wasn’t too much to ask, even in this economy. If he pegged her as desperate he’d start trying to negotiate her prices in the wrong direction.
She propped her hands on her hips. This could be a godsend. Maybe she’d get that new stained-glass window for her bathroom after all. Not to mention a little cushion in her bank account.
Her uncle had offered to replace the window ten times. But Mia was a grown woman. She could support herself. Her uncle had done far too much for her already.
The journey had been long and arduous but Mia Grant was fully capable of standing on her own two feet. She smiled. That had not been the case just a few years ago. Funny how a person’s darkest hours could seem so far away and not so bad after all when looking from well on the other side of tragedy.
Mia liked this view a whole lot better.
Chapter Three
1:00 p.m.
It was her.
Linc braced his hands on the bathroom wall and peered into the mirror. It was Lori.
Her face was different, the nose mainly, like Mort had said. But Linc had watched her move. Every move. The way her hands stroked the plaster. The way she arched
