again that Mac had only assisted her, Sharon resisted the impulse. “How did your doctor’s appointment go? Everything check out okay?”
Glancing again toward the door, Tressie answered absently. “She said I’m a healthy, red-blooded woman in my prime. So I guess it must have been Mac Cordero’s gorgeous dark eyes and delectable bod that made my heart rate go crazy, hmm?”
Since Sharon had been experiencing similar symptoms during the past twenty minutes or so, she couldn’t argue with Tressie’s conclusion. Apparently, they were both healthy, red-blooded women. Now that they’d settled that, it was time to put adolescent foolishness aside and get back to work. “About those wall sconces you ordered…”
Tressie waved a hand impatiently. “We can talk sconces later. What was Mac Cordero doing here? What did he say? What did you say? Did you find out anything interesting about him?”
Tressie was an active participant in local gossip circles and her membership in the Honoria Community League gave her an inside track to the most juicy tidbits. Her gift of gab and easy way with people made her an asset to the shop, but Sharon sometimes found her co-worker’s chatter exasperating. If she told Tressie that Mac had offered her the decorating job, the news would be all over town within the hour, and Sharon hadn’t even given him an answer yet. She settled for half the truth. “He said he wanted to make sure I’d recovered from the incident Friday night.”
“Really? That was nice of him.”
“Yes, it was.”
Tressie’s expression turned speculative. “Do you know if he’s married or anything?”
“No, I don’t know. The subject didn’t come up.” For some reason, Sharon would have bet he was unattached. Educated guess—or wishful thinking? she wondered with a slight wince.
Looking disgusted, Tressie shook her head. “I’d have made sure it came up. Why didn’t you ask him?”
“Because it’s none of my business.” Sharon could only hope the hint got through as she moved across the shop to straighten a display of clearance items. “So why don’t you call and check on those sconces? They should have arrived two days ago.”
Tressie hesitated a moment, reluctant to drop the subject, but then she nodded and moved toward the telephone. As much as she loved to gossip, she was efficient and hardworking, and Sharon was still grateful that Tressie had come to work for her.
Feeling a little guilty for not telling Tressie about the decorating offer, Sharon went back to work, herself, her thoughts divided between details of her business, worry about her brother and anticipation of her next meeting with Mac Cordero.
THE MAN in the gutted-out kitchen with Mac was young—no more than twenty-six—golden-blond, blue-eyed with glasses and a little on the thin side. Picturing his own solid build, black hair, dark eyes and brown skin, Mac was well aware that he and Trent McBride could not have looked more different. No one could have guessed from looking at them that they shared a blood relationship—and no one but Mac knew about that relationship. Even he didn’t know exactly how close the connection was.
“So you want a state-of-the-art modern kitchen concealed behind solidly built, period-appropriate woodwork,” Trent summed up with a comprehensive glance around the large, shadowy room. The electricity wasn’t turned on yet, so the only light came through the filthy windows and from the two battery-powered lanterns Mac had brought with him.
The house had been empty for years, and the deterioration was pervasive—so much that there were some who openly doubted the renovation was worth the time and expense. With his experience, Mac knew better. He’d taken on more daunting projects, and the results had been both satisfying and profitable. There were plenty of people who were willing to pay for history and quality. Of course, Mac’s previous jobs had been in areas with a bigger money base and more historical interest—Atlanta, Savannah, Charleston, Birmingham. It might take a bit longer to find a buyer here. But he wasn’t too worried about it. He’d come to Honoria for reasons that were far more personal than professional.
Even if it cost him every dime he’d managed to accumulate in the past few years, he would consider it money well spent if he finally got some answers to the questions that had haunted him all his life.
Because Trent was still waiting for a response, Mac nodded. “I want every modern convenience, but I don’t want it to look like a restaurant kitchen. We’ll use appliance garages and custom cabinetry to camouflage the equipment.”
Trent seemed to approve. Mac could tell the younger man was picturing the end result as he looked around the cavernous room with its big windows and massive stone fireplace at one end. “It’s going to be expensive.”
Mac shrugged. “Quality costs. Of course, I’ll be keeping a close eye on expenses, making sure I’m paying fair prices and spending no more than necessary.”
Trent didn’t seem concerned about the prospect of close supervision. “I’ll work up a detailed cost analysis for you,” he offered. “If anything unexpected comes up, we’ll discuss then how to handle it.”
“That’s the way I prefer to do business. I’m not crazy about surprises.”
Trent smiled a little at that. “I could have guessed that from the few meetings we’ve had.”
Mac wondered how Trent felt about surprises. He could give him a whopper of one right now, if he wanted. But he would wait until the time was right—until he had his answers—before he decided how, or whether, to break his news to the McBrides.
A woman’s voice came from somewhere in the front of the house. “Mr. Cordero?”
Mac swiveled toward the sound, then wondered why his pulse had suddenly quickened in response to Sharon Henderson’s voice. A decorator, he reminded himself. That was all she was to him. All he intended for her to be. And this was his chance to find out just how friendly she was with the McBride family.
CHAPTER THREE
MAC FOUND SHARON waiting just inside the front door, which he had left open. In marked contrast to the dull, colorless surroundings of the run-down entryway, she looked fresh and pretty, dressed in clean, bright colors. She was studying the broken, curved staircase, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve never been in here before,” she said when he joined her. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
He found it annoyingly necessary to remind himself that he was only interested in her because of her interior-decorating skills and her friendship with the McBrides—not because she was the first woman he’d been attracted to in months. Dragging his gaze away from her, he glanced around the entryway. “Most of the damage is cosmetic. This place was built to last, and it has, despite the neglect.”
“It’s really worth saving?”
He rested a hand on an intricately turned newel post. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was.”
Wearing the same contemplative look he’d just seen on Trent, she glanced slowly around the big entryway and then through an arched doorway into a room that had probably served as a front parlor. “It must have been beautiful once.”
“And it will be again. Let me show you around downstairs. I’d rather save the upstairs until the staircase and upper floors
