relocated a stack of papers to give him the needed space on the desktop so he could fill out the application. “I bet I can peg Double H,” she declared. “High-dollar Rolex on his wrist to match the expensive rings on his fingers. BMW sitting in his personal parking space that no one else is allowed to use under penalty of death. Glitzy cover-model types of females on his arm. A different glamour goddess for each day of the week, no doubt. Carries a state-of-the art cell phone, dresses in the best clothes his money can buy, and surrounds himself with every power and prestige symbol known to mankind to impress the rest of us peons.”
Daniel inwardly grimaced. So far, Mattie had been right on target. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of her speculations.
“Double H’s interest, I suspect, is the enterprise’s bottom line of dollars and cents. He probably doesn’t give a rip if customers are getting their money’s worth, only that the profit margin pads his pocket. And his sales policy,” she added with a snort. “His so-called big sales are his way of getting rid of stuff no one wants. I’d like to see a sale on expensive items that customers on fixed incomes can purchase, instead of stare at whimsically.”
Head downcast, Daniel filled in the blanks on the application, while listening to Mattie comment on company policy.
From behind him, Mattie glanced over his shoulder. “Joe Gray, is it? Nice to meet you. I’m Mattie Roland, your new employer.”
He lifted his head. “You’re pretty trusting. I haven’t even filled in the blank about whether or not I have a criminal record.”
“You don’t,” she said with great confidence. “You aren’t the type.”
“You know several criminals personally, do you?”
She laughed, and the sound whispered through him like a breath of spring air. God, she was good for him—all that vibrant spirit and enthusiasm. Not to mention the arousing effect she had on him when she was close enough for him to pick up her enticing scent.
“The small-time criminals I deal with in Hobby Hut are easy to spot. In your case, the way you dress, the way you speak, and your passion for working with your hands comes through loud and clear. I think you’re just what this store needs. It’s time some of the Neanderthal males in Fox Hollow realized that art, woodcraft and interior decor are not sissy stuff. Having you mind the shop will put them at ease—once they get used to the idea,” she tacked on, then took another peek at his application.
“Thirty-five years old. Last permanent address in Oklahoma City. Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Got tired of the hustle and bustle, did you? I presume you like to hunt, fish, and get in touch with nature. You’ll like it here in Fox Hollow. I also expect the eligible females hereabout will be on your trail once they’ve spotted you.”
Daniel—or rather, Joe Gray—glanced over his shoulder to see Mattie grinning impishly. “You think I’m a babe magnet? Me? In my faded polo shirt that’s been through too many spin cycles in the washing machine, and these old jeans?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Clothes don’t make the man. It’s what’s inside, but yeah, I’d have to place you in the babe magnet category, Joe. You’re tall, handsome, and those amber eyes of yours are gorgeous. They remind me of sunrise and sunset all rolled into one. But not to worry, you won’t get the slightest pressure from me. I’m your employer, and we’ll be friends who share mutual interests.”
He was disappointed to hear that, he really was.
“If you need background information on prospective dates, I’ll be happy to fill you in, since I’ve lived here most of my life.”
They were going to be just pals? Damn, his suddenly rowdy male body didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. After a long dormancy, his masculine engine was revving up, only to be shut down by this spunky, spirited little pixie who had captured his interest without trying. Maybe that was what he deserved for being lukewarm toward those cover-model types who fluttered around him because of his wealth and reasonably good looks.
Having completed his application—falsified though it was, and his conscience was nipping at him for that—Joe handed her the paper. He watched as she perched a shapely hip on the edge of her desk to scan the information.
“You left your current residence blank,” she noted. “Where do you plan to live, Joe?”
He shrugged. “I noticed that Hush-a-Bye Inn on the outskirts of town rents rooms by the week. I can store my stuff there while I’m looking for something else.”
“Or you could move into the furnished garage apartment where I used to live,” she suggested. “Now that my grandfather has moved into Paradise Valley Convalescent Home I’ve taken over his house. At Pops’s insistence, I might add. He wouldn’t be in the nursing home if his arthritis and diabetes hadn’t flared up on him.”
“Judging by the sound of your voice, I presume Pops isn’t enthused about the assisted living center.”
“Hardly.” Mattie bounded to her feet and paced the narrow confines of her office.
He noticed that standing or sitting in one place wasn’t Mattie’s thing. She had so much energy that she needed to be in constant motion.
“Pops is a lot like me, I’m afraid,” she confided. “He has to be doing something constantly, and inactivity has never agreed with him. Lately, he’s been giving me fits because he keeps escaping from the home at odd hours, putting the doctors and nurses into one tizzy after another, because his ability to escape reflects on their reputations. They don’t like to keep losing him, and he delights in sneaking off.”
Joe chuckled in amusement. Pops reminded him of his own grandfather. One year ago, J. D. Grayson announced he was leaving the company to take life easy. Since then, J.D. had taken an Alaskan and Caribbean cruise, offered his supervisory services for two Habitat for Humanity projects, and volunteered as director of activities for the nearby senior citizen center.
“Mattie!”
Mattie gestured for Joe to follow her. “You might as well take a tour of the work area while I wrap it up with Alice Dawson. Part of your job involves handling tools for special projects.”
Curious, Joe followed in Mattie’s wake, his gaze still magnetically drawn to the hypnotic sway of shapely hips wrapped in denim that molded to her fanny like gloves. Damn, there was such an intriguing aura about this woman, he marveled. An hour ago, he’d felt tense and frustrated. Then, poof! It was as if he’d been transported into another dimension in time with this delightful pixie as his tour guide.
Joe skidded to a halt the instant he entered the workroom. His eyes popped as he panned the area that reminded him so much of the workshop where he and J.D. had designed crafts almost two decades earlier. It was where Joe had spent his spare time, working with his hands, dealing with the frustration of his parents’ abandonment, then the loss of his grandmother. Together he and J.D. had poured their grief and disappointment into creative projects that somehow turned into an enormously lucrative business.
“Does all this equipment belong to you?” Joe croaked. It had to, because he knew perfectly well that the work space at Hobby Hut Enterprises did not come equipped with state-of-the-art power tools like these!
Mattie glanced up from her consultation with Alice Dawson, then nodded. “Most of the tools are mine. Some of them were donated by my grandfather. He used to help me until his arthritis hampered
