Her Man Upstairs by Dixie Browning Read Free Book Online Page B

leave.”
    He’d nodded and said that would be safer.
    â€œIf you get here before I get back from walking the dog, the key will be under the doormat.”
    He’d rolled his eyes. Greeny gold eyes, thick black eyelashes, not-quite-bushy black brows. Be still my heart.
    â€œCome on up,” she called downstairs. “I just finished clearing out the big bedroom.” Without thinking, she massaged her lower back with both hands. Occasionally when she was in a hurry she still forgot to lift with her legs.
    It took two trips to bring up his tools. He handed her a roll of heavy-duty trash bags. “This first part’s going to be messy. I thought about renting a Shop-Vac, but—”
    â€œOh, I already have one,” she said proudly as if she’d just produced the winning lottery number.
    â€œGreat. I figure I can reuse most of the studs and rafters, but the rest—”
    She nodded vigorously. “I know, plasterboard walls can’t be reused. Will we have to take down the ceiling where the wall comes out?”
    â€œFirst, let’s settle this ‘we’ business. I work alone.”
    â€œOh, but I—”
    â€œMy way or no way. I do the cleanup as I go along. If it’s not clean enough for you, you can do it over again while I’m on a break.”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œMarty—Ms. Owens, I agreed to do the job. I did not agree to have to explain everything I do and then have to argue over whether or not I could have done it another way. I doubt if you have enough insurance—the right kind, at least—to compensate either of us when I trip over you and we both break a few bones.”
    She took a deep breath, trying her best to ignore the hint of aftershave, laundry soap and something essentially masculine. Dammit, you’d think an aching back would be enough of a distraction. “I only wanted to help.”
    â€œDon’t. I know what needs doing, I know how to do it. What I’m not good at is having my concentration broken every few minutes by questions.”
    She felt like telling him he was fired, but she didn’t dare. They had signed a contract…sort of. Besides, if she were honest with herself—and she always tried to be—she didn’t want him to leave. He was her last hope. He was also…
    Well. That was irrelevant. He was her employee, period. They’d settle later which one of them was in charge.
    She was backing toward the stairs when the phone rang. It was still sitting on the floor in the bedroom she’d just vacated. Bending at the knees rather than risking further injury to her back, she scooped it up, keeping one eye on Cole Stevens, who was tapping walls just a few feet away.
    â€œOh, hi, Faylene.” With a sigh, she leaned against the wall, resigned to listening as the long-winded friend who had also, until recently, been her once-a-week housekeeper, described the yacht that had recently berthed at the marina just south of Bob Ed’s place.
    â€œTwo men’s all I seen, but we could have us a boatload of ’em. If they’re still here for Bob Ed’s party Sunday night, I’m thinking ’bout askin’ ’em over.”
    Marty made some appropriate response, which wasn’t really necessary. Once Faylene got the bit between her teeth, she was off and running.
    â€œShe’s one o’ these fancy yachts with the kind of old-fashioned woodwork you don’t see much anymore. You think I should invite ’em to the goose-stew?”
    The goose-stew. Once the holidays were over, stews, fries and candy-boils constituted the main social eventsuntil box-supper season. “Why not? No point in wasting a yacht-load of men,” she said jokingly.
    â€œThat’s what I thought. How’s your man working out?”
    â€œMy—? Faylene, he’s not my man!”
    â€œThat’s what I’m talking about. If the one I sent you don’t