Wife In Disguise. Susan Mallery

deep breath for courage, then began the laborious process of walking up to the front door and entering the Victorian mansion.

      The sound of conversation and power tools filled the old place. She stood just inside the foyer and breathed in the scent of wood, dust and change. Above her the old chandelier glittered in the bright morning light, while rays of sunshine illuminated floating clouds of dust.

      Huge, heavy squares of canvas protected the hardwood floors from footsteps and spills. There were ladders leaning against walls, piles of tools and supplies in various corners and plans pinned up on walls. As she walked into the main room she saw a ratty old brown sofa and three recliners. She recognized the threadbare pieces of furniture. The crew carried them from job to job and sprawled on them during breaks, lunches and meetings.

      Josie turned in a slow circle taking in the differences brought by only two days of work. Already the kitchen was gutted. Someone had chipped the tiles out of the guest bath on the first floor and a breeze cut through the house from an opening left by a removed window.

      A tall, lanky man with bright-red hair walked by. He balanced several boards on one of his broad shoulders.

      “Ma’am,” he said, giving her a polite nod as he passed.

      She smiled and reminded herself that calling Jerry or any of the men by name would be a mistake. She couldn’t know them until they were introduced.

      She followed his progress, noting that he didn’t break stride or turn for a second look. She was a stranger to him. Which was good. She hadn’t come this far to have her cover blown. She consoled herself with the thought that if this was a year ago, when she was still wrapped in bandages and could have easily doubled for a mummy woman, she would have sent the entire crew screaming for sanctuary.

      “What’s so funny?”

      She hadn’t realized she’d been smiling until she felt her lips straighten. She glanced up and saw Del standing in the entrance to the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame, looking as strong and handsome as ever, darn the man. Today he wore a navy T-shirt tucked into jeans. The soft fabric of the T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining every inch of muscle. Just to make her situation worse, she knew what he would look like without his clothes and that image was even better.

      Her breath caught in her throat when he pushed off the support and walked toward her. Or maybe her breathing problem came from the fact that he actually sauntered. A slow, male movement that reminded her of a tiger staking out territory. Is that what he was doing with her? She desperately wanted to believe it was true.

      “You were chuckling about something,” he said when he came to a halt less than a foot in front of her. “Are you afraid we’ll never get your house back together?”

      “Not at all. I was thinking about some surgery I had a while back. How I would have frightened everyone if I’d come in wrapped in bandages.”

      “I think we would have survived.”

      He touched a hand to the small of her back, urging her to take a step to the side. As she did, a man of medium height but built like a fullback came through carrying armfuls of tools. She recognized Mark right away, but again didn’t say anything to the man. Like Jerry, Mark gave her a polite nod.

      She saw his gaze slide to the cane and then to her legs. Self-consciousness flooded her. Today was one of her bad days, when getting out of bed and forcing herself to stand had taken nearly all her reserves. She was stiff and suffering from muscle cramps and fatigue. The result of missing too many therapy sessions. But that couldn’t be helped. Once she got settled in the house on Friday, she would find a therapist close by and get back to her treatments. Until then she would survive—on sheer will if necessary.

      “Come see what we’ve done,” Del said, pointing to the kitchen. “It’s empty.”

      “I noticed. I guess I’m going to learn the phone number of every nearby takeout place, huh?”

      He pointed to a list on the wall by a battered black phone. “Already done. Just part of the excellent Scott family service. I recommend the Chinese place. It’s the best. So’s the Mexican, but that’s better at the restaurant because they have terrific margaritas.”

      He stepped back and touched a small refrigerator tucked under a makeshift counter made of sawhorses topped by plywood. “It won’t hold a week’s worth of shopping but it will get you by for now.”

      She pointed at a microwave sitting on top of the counter. “A loaner?”

      “Exactly. We want you to be comfortable during the construction. Dust and noise can’t be avoided but we try to make everything else as pleasant as possible.” He slapped one hand against a bare wall. “As you can see the old cabinets are down. I’ve already taken measurements for the new ones and I’ll get started on them this week. In the parlor you’ll find an assortment of paint samples and wallpaper sample books for you to peruse in your free time. And in the main room you probably noticed our luxurious seating accommodations.”

      She glanced over her shoulder at the ratty sofa. “I thought that was the trash pile,” she teased.

      He stepped back, obviously outraged. “It’s an antique.”

      “Uh-huh. Del, it’s junk. I can see through patches of the fabric and there are springs poking out all over.”

      “Having it around is kind of a tradition. Is it too offensive?”

      “Not as long as it leaves when the job is over.”

      “Deal. We have clean sheets we toss over the sofa and the recliners at the end of the day. So you’ll have something clean to sit on.” He paused and frowned. “I never thought to ask. How much furniture are you going to be moving in?”

      “Less than you’d think. I have a bedroom set being delivered Friday morning. Otherwise, just what I can fit in my car.”

      “You travel light.”

      “I’ve learned to.”

      She’d spent the past year in three different hospitals and multiple rehab centers. Furniture hadn’t been much of a priority. She still had a few things in the Los Angeles apartment she’d shared with her stepsister, Dallas, but saw no need to tell that to Del. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she would be moving anything up to Beachside Bay. That sort of depended on whether or not she decided to stay here.

      She remembered the contents of her car trunk. “Did you already get paint for the guest bedroom and bath?” she asked.

      “No. Why?”

      “I did some shopping this weekend and ended up buying paint and wallpaper.”

      His dark eyes brightened with laughter. “Let me guess. Pink and lavender. And the wallpaper had flowers on it.”

      “How very sexist.”

      “Am I wrong?”

      She reached in her skirt pocket for her car keys. “Why don’t you see for yourself. Everything is in the trunk.”

      He grabbed the keys, then called for one of the guys to get the supplies. “Want to show me what goes where?” he asked.

      Del led the way to the stairs and waited for Rose to follow. She hesitated a moment before nodding her head in agreement and coming after him. He watched her walk, noticing that her movements were slower than usual, as if every step caused her pain.

      “You all right?” he asked.

      “Sure. Some days are easier than others. Today’s turning out to be one of the hard ones.”

      As she spoke, he noticed the lines of tension and hurt around her eyes and mouth. She’d pulled her long blond hair back into a sleek ponytail that left her slender neck bare. A white T-shirt hugged her top half while a crinkly white and teal skirt fell to mid calf. He tried to concentrate on anything but the full curves outlined by her shirt. She was big enough to fill a man’s hand and while he’d never considered