Designed for Love (5 page)

What was she thinking? Was she really going to have a fling with her contractor? Well, it was too late to ask that question, since essentially she’d already begun it. Wasn’t that what this was—a fling? Well, so what if it was? Shouldn’t she just enjoy it for whatever it ended up being? She’d spent all of her life planning for the future, and it was about time she lived in the now for a change. What better time than when she had no plans whatsoever and a gorgeous prospect sitting inches away. Her life had been absolutely derailed when she’d lost her job, and she’d pounced on the opportunity to come to Redmond and sell the house. Now that she’d set a precedent for spontaneous change, she might as well continue it.

She glanced out the window as Wil pulled to the curb in front of a stone cottage-style home. The porch tucked under the low roof sagged, and one of the oversized green wood shutters flanking each narrow, arched window hung lopsided.

She got out of the car and studied the house, making mental notes. This was the first impression a buyer would get, and it was important to dress it up if they hoped to get anyone to look at the inside. The shrubs in front of the house were in desperate need of pruning, and some path lights would dress up the walk. A low stone retaining wall followed the length of the property line, and the creeping phlox that blanketed it had run rampant.

“You need to shore up that porch,” she murmured as Wil joined her and they walked up the stone path.

“Okay. Listen, Rose has lived here for more than half her life. Be gentle with the criticism.”

“I
have
handled this type of situation before.” She bristled at Wil’s attempt to tell her how to do her job. She didn’t get where she was by being insensitive to her clients’ needs. People took criticism about their homes personally, and, while she didn’t let that deter her from delivering an objective assessment, she was considerate of that fact.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply—”

Wil fell silent when Rose appeared on the porch.

“Good morning,” she called. Her eyes moved between the two of them, and Jillian suddenly realized Wil stood very close and her hand lightly touched the small of her back. “It’s lovely to see you again, Jillian.”

“It’s very nice to see you too.”

Rose turned to Wil. “Wilhelmina, it’s been too long. How is your mother?”

“She’s well, Miss Rose. She’s still living in D.C. with my stepfather.”

“Come inside, girls.”

Behind Rose’s back, Jillian whispered, “Wilhelmina?”

“My mother’s idea,” she mumbled.

Jillian giggled, but as Wil’s expression hardened she choked her response off. “I’m sorry. It’s a wonderful name.”

“But it doesn’t exactly fit me. Does it?” When Wil straightened, hooked her thumb through her belt loop, and thrust her shoulders back, Jillian was struck by the aggressive sexuality she exuded.

“Not really.”

Rose held the door open for them. “I made lemonade and sugar cookies.”

“Miss Rose, how do you always manage to make me feel like I’m twelve years old again?” Wil climbed the steps to the porch.

Jillian tried to imagine Wil as a twelve-year-old girl and immediately pictured a gangly tomboy in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt. Was Wil always tall, or did she have a growth spurt during her teenage years?

“You spent as much time over here as you did at home that summer.”

The front door opened into a small foyer and Rose led them to a spacious kitchen. The linoleum was yellowed and the white cabinets needed a coat of paint. Actually, they needed to be replaced, but Jillian wasn’t sure what Rose’s budget was. The appliances were outdated—in fact, she guessed the fridge was circa 1950—but she didn’t think replacing them would gain that much value for the house. Besides, vintage was in again.

“Nancy and I were inseparable.” A smile softened by reminiscence touched Wil’s lips.

“Nancy is my granddaughter,” Rose said to Jillian as she took three glasses from the cabinet. To Wil she said, “Get the pitcher from the refrigerator, dear.”

“Then the next summer I started working for Dad.”

Jillian watched as Wil’s face took on a stubborn sadness. “Wasn’t that also around the time your parents split up?”

“Yeah.” Jillian thought she saw a look of understanding pass between them.

After a sympathetic smile, Rose changed the subject. “It’s such a nice day. Let’s sit on the back porch.”

Rose carried a plate of cookies and they followed with the lemonade and glasses.

Behind the house a large oak tree cast shade over most of the moderately sized yard, which would provide space for children to play and would be a selling point for potential buyers. The surprisingly large porch held a cedar table and chairs. A flower box on the railing was overflowing with lush purple flowers that Jillian couldn’t identify.

Wil pulled out a chair for her and, as she sat, Wil’s hands brushed across the top of her shoulders to tease the bare skin of her neck.

“It’s good to see the two of you together,” Rose said.

“We’re not—I mean—we didn’t. Wil is doing some work on Aunt Mary’s house for me.” Responding both to the ripple of pleasure along her spine at Wil’s touch and to something she thought she’d heard in Rose’s tone, Jillian rushed to explain her presence and felt Wil stiffen beside her.

“Of course, dear. Thank you for bringing her along on your visit. I would have called her father after our meeting anyway,” Rose said calmly. If she noticed Jillian’s discomfort, she’d obviously chosen to ignore it.

While Rose served the lemonade, Jillian outlined some of her suggestions. Rose once again offered compensation for her time, but since Jillian wasn’t licensed in Tennessee, she didn’t feel right accepting.

“Well, then at least let me make you dinner tomorrow night.”

Jillian held up a cookie. “If these are any indication of your culinary skills, I accept.”

“I thought you might. You’ve been eating too many meals down at the diner. You need a good home-cooked meal.”

She grinned. “I’m not really very good in the kitchen. And I enjoy the nightly walks through town to the diner.”

Rose looked at Wil, who toyed with her half-empty glass, tracing her fingers through the condensation on the outside. “Wil, you’re welcome too, of course.”

“Thank you, but I already have plans.”

To Jillian, Wil’s reply sounded false, but Rose seemed to accept it easily.

“Come by if your plans change. It sounds as if I’ll need help with some of these projects. Would you ask your father to call me when he has someone free?”

“I can fit you in between work on Mary’s place.” Though Wil’s mind was elsewhere, she had been half listening to Jillian and Rose talk about getting the house ready to sell. She had to admit, Jillian had handled the suggested changes delicately and seemed sensitive to Rose’s limited income.

“Oh, I don’t want to interfere with your other work.”

She waved off Rose’s concern. “My crew can handle some of the work over there without me. I’ll squeeze yours in between supervising them.” She could feel Jillian’s eyes on her but didn’t look at her. She’d caught Jillian’s nervousness when she’d misinterpreted Rose’s comment about the two of them. And she’d very quickly understood from where Jillian’s reaction stemmed. So now she jumped on the excuse to be away from the job site at Mary’s place whenever possible.

*

Wil strode out to her truck and Jillian hurried to keep up. She barely managed to slide into the passenger seat before Wil accelerated away from the curb.

“Is something wrong?” She touched Wil’s arm.

“No.” Wil jerked her arm away and gripped the wheel with both hands.

For several silent moments, Wil tested the strength of the seat belts, careening around a corner and screeching to a halt at a stop sign. Jillian’s body lurched forward until the belt caught and locked almost painfully across her chest.

“Jesus, what is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. As long as I remember my place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jillian didn’t have a clue what had set Wil off, but from the harsh bite in her voice and the firm set of her jaw, she was plenty mad.

“You were pretty quick to make it clear I was
just
an employee.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Was Wil joking? Maybe Jillian simply didn’t know her personality well enough to tell. If she was, she deserved an Oscar for this performance because she looked livid.

“Is it? You overreacted to Rose’s statement. Would it be that horrible if Rose figured out that there was something going on between us?”

“This isn’t personal. But I don’t need this whole town gossiping about what I’m doing with—”

“The handyman?”

“Now who’s overreacting?” Jillian muttered. The derision in Wil’s voice hit home and Jillian was getting angry too. After last night, she’d thought they were on the same page. It was just sex. Surely Wil could see that’s all they could share. Hell, she was only here for a short time anyway. She’d thought they were both adults and could merely enjoy each other, but here Wil was blowing everything out of proportion.

“I just don’t think Miss Rose is the type to gossip. Especially—”

She waited, but Wil didn’t continue. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Frustrated, she shook her head. “Look, I just didn’t want her to assume there’s anything going on between us.”

“I don’t think she assumed anything.”

“Wil, please don’t make this difficult.”

Wil pulled the truck up to the curb in front of her house and slammed the gearshift into Park.

Jillian tried again. “Well, is there something wrong with wanting to appear professional?”

Wil scowled. “That’s not what this was about. You’re worried about what people will think about you
doing
the hired help.”

“How dare you presume to know what I’m thinking. You don’t know me.” Wil had hit closer to the truth than Jillian was willing to admit.

“You’re right. I don’t.” Wil threw up her hands and stared out the windshield. “And that’s precisely why I shouldn’t have fucked you.”

Jillian flinched at Wil’s blunt language, even though moments ago she’d also reduced their encounter to just that.

“It’s okay, Miss Sealy.” Wil’s expression was blank, her voice emotionless. “I’m quite used to being seen as a second-class citizen in this town.”

“Wil—”

“Get out.”

“I just want—”

“Get. Out. Of my truck.”

She sighed and shoved the door open. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she slammed the door behind her. She didn’t turn around, but seconds later she heard gravel fly as Wil sped away.

Chapter Four

Wil pulled a beer from the refrigerator and resisted the urge to slam the door. She tossed the cap in the sink on her way to the attached garage. After she flipped on the light, she set the bottle on the workbench where her tools were laid out neatly just inside the door. In the center of the garage, the makeshift table she’d fashioned out of a sheet of plywood and two sawhorses held four drawers. She’d finished assembling them the night before for a rolltop desk she was making for her father’s office. Tonight she would begin cutting the pieces for the base.

Six years ago, after she bought this house on fifteen acres on the town’s outskirts, she had transformed the garage into a workshop. A decade old, the house was more modern and sterile than she liked. As subdivisions crawled out from nearby cities, construction companies had begun to build cookie-cutter houses, and Wil’s was no exception. She’d been more interested in the land than the house. But the relatively cheap cost of maintaining the small home allowed her to save until she built the house she really wanted.

Still, it was much nicer than the place her family had lived in when she was younger. Bud had been struggling to rebuild the company that her grandfather, with a series of bad business decisions, had nearly run into the ground. They had rented a dilapidated house that probably should have been condemned years ago. Bud made what repairs he could with no money, but the house needed major work.

Wil knew her mother wasn’t happy. She heard them arguing when they thought she was asleep. Her mother screamed at her father that her college education was wasted while she waited tables at the diner. She hated living in a small town and wanted to move back to D.C. where she had grown up. He usually tried to convince her that things would get better, but one night when Wil was twelve years old, he told her to go. And she did. Wil remembered standing in front of the house watching her drive away. Her mother had tried to explain why she was leaving, but Wil was too hurt and angry to listen and ignored her until she finally gave up and got in the car.

After that Bud had taken nearly any job he could just to keep food on the table. And still Wil had gone to school many days with no lunch money, in clothes from Goodwill. In such a small town, that meant the other kids recognized their own discarded, season-old clothing.

Wil took pride in owning her home because no one had ever expected anything from her. She and Bud had worked hard, and Johnson and Son now had a reputation for quality work and dependability. But she suspected many residents would always view her as the poor girl in secondhand clothes. She’d seen more than her share of pitying looks from her elders over the years.