A Small-Town Reunion. Terry McLaughlin

of whiny, yappy little Yorkies to sit and stay behind. She wore casual, caramel-colored slacks and a sporty linen top on her tall, amazingly youthful frame. But the pearls at her ears and the elegant twist of her upswept gray hair reminded him she was a no-nonsense woman who expected proper behavior in all things, at all times. “I’d like you to hear what she has to say,” she said.

      As he followed his grandmother back toward the entry hall, he wondered what the old lady was up to. She was up to something—Geneva’s demands were never eccentric and sometimes Machiavellian. He didn’t like being caught like a cog in her current machinations, but he didn’t know how to avoid it as long as he was taking advantage of her hospitality.

      And he’d continue to take advantage of the situation because he was up to something, too. Several somethings, he mused as Geneva greeted her beautiful—and single—stained-glass specialist. For the time being, he was content to remain exactly where he was, following his grandmother’s lead.

      Trailing after the ladies provided an unexpected bonus. At about eye level, Addie’s shapely butt swayed back and forth as she climbed to the landing between the first and second floors. Nice. She’d always been a looker—and it seemed he’d always been looking in her direction. Hard to avoid it, with her attending the same schools and spending so much time in the same house. No point in avoiding it, not when the looking was such a pleasure.

      And Dev had never seen the point in avoiding pleasure.

      He’d done his best to avoid Addie, though. At first it had been easy—she was just a kid, three years younger and a useless female. A timid little thing with big, watchful eyes, a golden-haired mouse who’d scurry out of his way whenever he entered a room. He’d been confused and lonely after his parents had divorced, lonelier still after his father had wrangled custody from his mother and then left him, for the most part, in Geneva’s strict care.

      So Dev had vented his frustrations on the naive girl who was his most convenient target. Even if he hadn’t already ruined the possibility of a friendship with his bullying, he’d never have lowered himself to seek the companionship of a shy, dreamy kid who spent her time drawing pictures.

      Beautiful pictures. Fanciful, dreamlike scenes. Yes, he’d done his best to avoid her, but he’d been smitten with her all the same.

      And years later, after he’d discovered females weren’t entirely worthless, he’d realized Addie had more to offer than most of them. Her dreaminess had blossomed into a creativity that intrigued him. And her shyness had transformed into a calming presence that attracted him with its promise of peace.

      But there’d been no point in making a bigger mess of his life than necessary. Geneva had warned him about putting the moves on the housekeeper’s daughter, and Addie’s mother had given him a silent version of the same message. Addie herself had flashed the hands-off signal like a neon skyscraper on the Vegas strip. This morning’s chilly exchange had let him know nothing had changed.

      Nothing but the passage of twelve years since his high school graduation, a mouth-watering deepening of her sexy voice and a refinement of the padding on those interesting feminine curves. And his own deepened and refined appreciation for both her curves and her attitude.

      He frowned as he remembered that awkward pause earlier when he’d opened the kitchen service door and they’d stood there, staring at each other like a couple of dumbstruck kids. She’d looked at him as if she’d expected him to slip a snake into her pocket or trip her as she walked up the steps. And he’d wondered how her expression would have changed if she’d known his thoughts involved something scarier than a slithery reptile and just as likely to knock her off balance.

      Now she dropped to her knees beside the damaged windows and plucked a few bits of glass from the carpet runner. “Is this everything that came loose?”

      “No. Most of it’s outside, on the ground beneath the foundation shrubs.” Geneva clasped her hands at her waist. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d need those fragments, so I left everything as I found it.”

      “How did this happen?” Addie peered more closely at the long crack in a wavy yellow panel. Beside that piece, dented metal framework outlined empty spaces. “Stained-glass windows are usually sturdier than others.”

      “One of the statues on the upper level fell from its pedestal. The tremors must have sent it rolling down the stairs, and it crashed against the glass, as you see.”

      Addie ran her fingers over a section of damaged lead. “How old are these windows?”

      “My husband had them installed when the house was built, shortly before he and I were married. So they’re at least fifty years old.”

      “I’ll take a look at the exteriors to see if there’s any sign of deterioration.” Addie leaned in closer to the glass. “I don’t see any signs of bowing, so it might be another twenty or thirty years before they need complete reconstruction.”

      “Reconstruction?”

      “You’re close to the ocean here. Salt in the air can cause the lead to deteriorate over time.”

      Addie frowned as she studied the windows. “I’m not going to be able to simply patch these up, you know. I’ll match the missing pieces as well as I can, but they may not be exactly the same. A lot of this is high-quality antique glass, and suitable replacements are going to be hard to track down.”

      “I’m sure whatever you can manage will be acceptable.”

      “I’m sure you’ll be pleased with whatever I ‘manage.’” Addie wiped her hands on her jeans as she stood, and then she leveled a bland look at Geneva. “And whatever that is, I assure you it will be a great deal more than acceptable.”

      Geneva gave her a tight smile. “Very well, then. When can you start?”

      “Once I find the glass I need and order it. This weekend, perhaps. More likely the week or two after that.”

      “Sooner would be better.”

      “I’m sure it would.”

      Dev smiled at the subtle clash of wills, grateful his grandmother had insisted he stick around for the show.

      “Well?” asked Geneva, raising one eyebrow. “Will it be sooner, then?”

      “I’ll need to arrange for some help getting these windows removed.”

      “You need to take the entire window?” Geneva stroked a hand over a curve of ruby-red glass. “Can’t you fix them here?”

      “Not without setting up a duplicate shop.” Addie trailed her fingers along a twisting length of lead, her gesture resembled Geneva’s. “And even then, I’d still have to remove the windows from their frames.”

      “Then take them.” Geneva inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. “Do what you need to do. As quickly as possible. Devlin will help you.”

      “I need expert help,” Addie clarified, ignoring Geneva’s suggestions and his presence. “And I’ll need crates made to brace and transport them. I’ll call Quinn to come and take a look at what needs to be done.”

      Geneva hesitated and then nodded. “All right. I’ll have Devlin arrange for Quinn to meet you here, and then the men can get the windows out of the wall and into their crates.”

      Addie narrowed her eyes. “Quinn and I can take care of everything.”

      “I’m sure the windows must be quite heavy,” said Geneva. “Quinn will need Devlin’s help.”

      “If he needs any help,” said Addie, “he can—”

      “Don’t bother checking with me.” Dev crossed his arms and leaned against a newel post. “Just pretend I’m not here, that I have nothing better to do while you two make your plans.”

      Though she didn’t move so much as an eyelash in his direction, the flare of pink in Addie’s cheeks told him