He found a note inside the fridge, taped to a beer.
Finished? If so, drop over to Chez McGowan.
Come around back.
He grinned at the note. “Don’t mind if I do.”
She sat on the slate patio, at a teak table under a bright blue umbrella. A trio of copper pots, filled to bursting with mixed plantings, cheered the three stairs of the veranda. With her ball cap on her head, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles of her work boots, and roses rioting behind her, he thought she looked both relaxed and extraordinary.
She smiled-relaxed and easy-when he sat across from her. “I’m basking,” she told him, and gave Spock a rub.
“I noticed. When did you get this?” He flicked a finger up at the umbrella.
“It came in today, and I couldn’t resist setting it up. After I did, Shanna hauled over the planters. I picked them up on one of my sorties, and figured I’d get around to doing something with them, eventually. But she saw the table here, and ran out to the nursery, picked up the plants and did the job, just because. I’ll have to move them when we do the exterior staining and painting, but I really love looking at them now.”
She shifted, reached down and pulled two beers out of the ice in a drywall compound bucket. “And now, even better, you can bask with me.”
He twisted off the tops, then clinked his bottle to hers. “To the first of many basks under blue umbrellas. I take it you had a good day.”
“Ups and downs. It couldn’t get worse than it started, though there were bumps. My excitement over the flooring was short-lived when I discovered they’d delivered the wrong hardwood. Then claimed I’d called in to change the order from walnut to oak, which is just so much bullshit, and will delay the third-floor work schedule a full week. I did finish the closet in the third bedroom, and got a start on the one in the fourth. The vendor messed up the cut on a panel of the steam shower doors, which means a delay there, but the soaking tub I’ve had my eye on for the third bath, second floor, just went on sale. The insurance company is balking at giving me another loaner after getting hit with two claims in two days, and will surely raise my rates. I decided to bask instead of being pissed.”
“Good choice.”
“Well, delays and glitches go with the territory. The roses are blooming, and I have a blue umbrella. So enough about me. How was your day?”
“Much better than average. I solved a major problem in the work, and it rolled from there. Then I found a very nice invitation in my refrigerator. ”
“I figured you’d see it first thing, after you surfaced. I actually came upstairs first, but if I’ve ever seen anyone in the zone, you were.” Curious, interested, she cocked her head. “What was the problem solved?”
“The villain. Early version of him was Mr. Eckley, my tenth-grade algebra teacher. I’m telling you, the man was evil. But as the character developed, I knew I didn’t have the right look-physically. I wanted leaner, a little meaner, yet handsome, maybe slightly aristocratic and dissipated. Everything I tried ended up looking like John Carradine or Basil Rathbone.”
“Good looks, both. Hollowed cheeks, piercing eyes.”
“And too obvious for the character. It kept bogging me down. Today I hit on it. I’m not looking for dissipation, cut cheekbones and intensity. I’m looking for a thin coat of polish and sophistication over a whole lotta smarm. Not the lean and bony Carradine, but something slighter, edging toward effete. The contrast between looks and intent,” he explained. “Between image and purpose. It’s a lot more evil when a guy coldly destroys while wearing an Armani suit.”
“So you based him on a Hollywood agent?”
“Pretty much. He’s Number Five.”
She managed to swallow the beer, barely avoiding a spit take. “Mario? Are you serious?”
“Completely. One look at him out front today, and the scales fell from my eyes. He’s got it all-the build, the posture, the five-hundred-dollar haircut and that sheer, shiny layer of oil. I don’t know why I didn’t see it when I met him before. Too locked into Mr. Eckley, I guess.”
“Mario.” She jumped up to grab Ford by the hair and crush her lips to his in a hard, smacking kiss that sent Spock into his happy dance. “This actually makes that clusterfuck this morning worthwhile. Thank you.”
“I didn’t actually do it for you. Any enjoyment you get from it’s just a side benefit.”
“I’ll take it.” She dropped back in her seat. “This has, indeed, turned out to be a better-than-average day.”
CILLA TACKLED the next batch of trim in the shady shadow of the barn. She liked the work, and the quiet. There might have been miles of trim to strip, replicate, stain and seal through the farmhouse, but she wanted to keep the project her own. One day, she thought as she peeled away layers of white and, unfathomably, baby-blue paint from walnut, she’d walk through her house and admire every inch of restored trim. Best, she’d be able to say: I did that. Every inch.
She stripped down herself, to a tank and army-green cargo shorts as a concession to the heat that had snuck in, even in the shade. When she stopped to guzzle some water, she watched the pond crew removing and dividing water lilies, digging out over-propagated cattails.
Once it was done, she mused, ecologically balanced, she saw no reason she couldn’t maintain the pond herself. She’d need some help with the grounds, she admitted, even once she bought a riding mower. She thought she’d enjoy puttering around, cutting the grass, pulling weeds, blowing and raking leaves in the fall, shoveling snow in the winter, planting new flowers in the spring.
But it wasn’t realistic to believe she could handle it all-house, grounds, pond, gardens-and run a business.
Cleaning service, she thought, reholstering her water bottle and picking up her sandpaper block. That was a weekly definite. Maybe she’d talk to Brian about a once-a-month service, say March through October, at least until she got a better sense of what needed to be done, and just how much she could handle.
Plus, she needed advice on that kitchen garden she hoped to start, especially since she just hadn’t been able to work it in this year as she’d hoped. And she needed to know if the fields should be plowed and planted-and with what. And who the hell would do that? More advice if she gave in to that nagging longing and got a horse. Which would require exercise, housing, feeding, grooming, and was probably a crazy idea.
But… wouldn’t a couple of horses be gorgeous romping and grazing in one of the fields? Wouldn’t they be worth the work, the time, the expense?
Next year, she told herself. Maybe.
She couldn’t get cocky and complacent just because she’d had a couple of days of smooth sailing, because she was so damn happy. Reality included leaky faucets, and aphids and crabgrass, clogged gutters and fractious appliances. She’d be dealing with that, and a whole lot more, for the rest of her life.
And wasn’t that just fabulous?
She sang as she sanded the old walnut trim.
“I’d forgotten how much you sound like her.”
She looked up, squinted, then smiled as Gavin stepped from sun to shade. “Without her range, depth or natural vibrato.”
“It sounded wonderful to me, and interesting that a girl of your age would sing ‘Blue Skies.’”
“The place sort of calls for old standards. Or maybe she does. And, well”-she pointed up-“we’ve sure got them today.”
“I came in through the front and saw the finished product.” He tapped a finger on the trim. “That’s another thing I’d forgotten, or never noticed when I came here all those years ago. It’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.”
“It makes me happy. Hence the singing. I was wondering when you might drop by again, so I could talk you into picking up another paintbrush.”