Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight. Maureen Child

in me.

      Seely drove with the same unrushed efficiency she did everything else. “I still don’t know how I let you talk me into taking you by the office. You aren’t supposed to be working yet.”

      I pointed out that I hadn’t worked—I’d just checked on the work others were doing. I hadn’t even insisted on going to the Pearson site.

      She grinned. “I suppose you think you get Brownie points for that.”

      “I ought to.” If sexual frustration was robbing her of sleep and nudging stupid ideas into her head, it didn’t show.

      “You’re staring at me.”

      “I like looking at you.”

      The faintest flush mounted her cheeks. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d been careful not to since letting her know my intentions. That was the right thing to do. Sexual innuendos were out of place while she was working for me. Besides, self-preservation called for restraint. I had to keep my eye on the line I’d drawn, or I’d find myself tumbling off another edge.

      But I liked seeing that flush.

      I’d spent too much time the past three days trying to figure out what was going on in her head. We had something strong and hot flowing between us. I knew that much because I’d caught her looking at me a few times, too. At twenty, I’d have assumed that meant she agreed with me, that she wanted to have an affair as soon as the employer-employee thing was out of the way.

      At forty, I knew better.

      At least she hadn’t told me to forget it. I figured she was still making up her mind about me. I didn’t say anything else until she’d shut off the engine, hoping she’d spend the time thinking about the heat between us.

      I pushed open my door. “You sure you want to tackle this? Putting up shelves isn’t easy. Goes a lot better with two people, and I won’t be able to help much.”

      “You won’t be helping at all,” she retorted, coming around the car.

      I made a noncommittal noise. No point in mentioning that there would be parts of the job where two pairs of hands would be necessary.

      She matched her pace to mine—which was slow. I didn’t limp anymore as long as I didn’t try to outrace a snail. “This is my chance to learn from an expert,” she said. “I’m not about to pass that up.”

      “Well, the expert suggests we get red oak. It’s not easy to work with, but it should look great.” I paused, considering the state of my office. “Eventually.”

      “It is a bit of a mess in there.”

      I grunted. The doors opened for us and I crept along to the left, where the lumber was stacked. I’d pick out the wood myself, that being the reason for this trip. Well, that and a bad case of cabin fever. We wouldn’t be able to take it home today, obviously, since I didn’t have a truck.

      And we wouldn’t be able to do much with the wood until we’d cleared the place out. The room I used for a home office used to be a bedroom—my parents’ bedroom, actually. I’d taken their bed out about a month after they died, unable to stand seeing it there, all made up and waiting for them. Eventually Annie had claimed their dresser. Somehow I’d never gotten around to clearing everything else out, though.

      My two favorite spots in the store were the tool aisles and the lumber section. Tools are always interesting, and being surrounded by all that wood hits me viscerally. I think it’s the smell—cut wood, sawdust, a whiff of sap.

      Ed noticed my sling and the walking stick, so of course he had to hear the whole story, then felt obligated to spend some time assuring me I was lucky to be alive before he could put my order together. I arranged to have it picked up in a couple days. “That will give me a chance to clear the room out,” I told Seely as we headed for the front of the store with the ticket. Our slow speed wasn’t just due to my pace this time—she kept stopping to look at paint chips and light fixtures.

      “Us,” she said. “It’s not as if I have much else to do. And we don’t have to remove everything. You have some good pieces in there, like that occasional table with the Queen Anne legs.”

      “Yeah?” I smiled, pleased. “I made that when I was sixteen.”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “Shop class. It was a Christmas gift for my mom. I was trying to copy a picture I found in a magazine. Put in a lot of extra hours on it…had a lot of help, too.” As I spoke I saw Mr. Nelson’s face. He’d been the soul of patience, often staying late so I could work in the shop. “Lord, I hadn’t thought of Mr. Nelson in years.”

      “Your teacher?”

      “Yeah. He retired while I was away at college, moved to Albuquerque to be near his sister. He was an old bachelor, you see. I stopped in to see him once when I was there on business…” My voice trailed away as I remembered that visit. How sorry I’d felt for the old man, living alone, no one but a sister nearby. All of a sudden I could see my own future, and it didn’t look much different.

      I had Zach, I reminded myself. Some of the time, at least.

      “What’s the matter?”

      “Nothing.” We’d reached the front of the store. I headed for the nearest checkout. “I’m amazed that you let me get up here without buying anything else. Why is someone who calls herself a wanderer so interested in everything to do with houses?”

      She shrugged. “The fascination of the exotic, perhaps. I’ve never rooted anywhere long enough to do much in the way of home improvement, so it seems novel and exciting. Does your interest in construction go back to that woodworking class?”

      “Partly. Do you do that on purpose?”

      “What?”

      “Turn the conversation away from yourself and back on me. Annie tells me that all a woman has to do to appear fascinating to a man is to get him to talk about himself. Maybe that’s true. But I’d like to hear about you sometimes.”

      A flush climbed the crest of her cheekbones. She gave me a teasing smile. “Does that mean it’s working? You think I’m fascinating?”

      I’d have enjoyed her flirting a lot more if I hadn’t thought she was using it to duck the question. “Look, I don’t know—what is it?”

      She’d gone dead pale. She was staring over my shoulder. I turned.

      Someone was staring back. An old woman, every inch as tall as Seely but skinnier, like a dried-out string bean, had stopped a few feet away. She had a real lost-in-the-fifties look going, right down to the low heels and pearls. Her coat was dark-blue wool. Her gray hair had been permed, teased and sprayed into submission.

      And her expression was venomous. “You! What are you doing here?”

      “Buying lumber.” Seely’s voice was steady. Her face was blank and much too pale. “Why? What are you doing here?”

      “Don’t you smart off to me! You’re not supposed to be here! You said you were leaving. You don’t belong here. We don’t want you here. Don’t think you’ll get a penny from me, whatever tricks you pull!”

      “I don’t want your money. I never did.” Seely started to turn away.

      “Nasty baggage! You’ll listen when I talk to you.” The woman started after her. “I won’t have you confusing John, making him miserable again—”

      “Mrs. Lake,” I said loudly. “Do you realize how worried your daughter has been?”

      She jolted. I don’t think she’d noticed me until that second, which says a lot about how focused she’d been on Seely. I’m not easy to overlook. Faded-blue eyes blinked behind her bifocals. “What? I’m not—”

      “I know,” I said soothingly, and switched my walking stick to