Grace Green - His Unexpected Family

At the same time, Megan shot out through the kitchen door. She looked fresh and sweet in an ice-blue jumpsuit.

“Got everything, honey?” Kendra asked.

“Yes.”

“And you know the way? Along the—”

“Mom, we did that yesterday!” Impatiently, Megan grabbed the bike handles. “Thanks.” She jumped on the mountain bike and took off across the white gravel chips, her tires crunching. “’Bye, Mom! See you after school!”

“’Bye, honey! Take care...”

Kendra watched till her daughter disappeared around the corner of the house. Then she turned, letting her gaze sweep up over the enormous white mansion that had stood here, on top of the hill, for more than sixty years.

The breeze riffled pleasantly through her hair and the sun kissed her cheeks. She smiled and tucked her hands into the pockets of her white shorts as she walked toward the open back door. She was glad to be home. More than glad: elated! When her grandfather had thrown her out eight years ago, she’d left her heart in Lakeview. Now she was back, she would never leave again. No matter what.

She crossed the kitchen, walked along the corridor, and paused for a moment when she reached the foyer.

Sunlight flooded down from the tall window in the stairwell, its mellow rays glowing on the Persian rug and parquet floor. Sunlight gleamed, too, on the polished mahogany furniture, and enriched the opulent color of the tapestries adorning the walls. The staircase itself was the hall’s focal point, its elegant lines and luxurious blue runner drawing the eye up to the landing.

As a child she’d never been tempted to slide down the smooth banister...but Megan seemed to find it irresistible. Kendra was well aware that despite being cautioned several times to keep off it, the child still sailed recklessly, joyfully down it when her mother wasn’t around.

An accident waiting to happen—

The front doorbell clanged.

Kendra turned and crossed the foyer, and as she did, she found herself wondering if it wouldn’t be better to postpone the kitchen project and deal with the staircase first. Yes, that’s what she would do. And as soon as it was replaced, she could stop worrying...

Content with her decision, she opened the front door.

And came face-to-face with a man she had hoped never to bump into again. He was dressed to kill and she could smell the faintest hint of a musky aftershave over the sweet scent of roses drifting from a nearby flower bed.

“Brodie Spencer!” She rammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘What on earth are you doing here!”

CHAPTER TWO

“A SIMPLE ‘Good morning,’” Brodie returned innocently, “would have sufficed!”

His lips twitched as he saw her gaze become even more belligerent. Boy, she sure was something else when she got mad! Sparks exploded like fireworks in her brown eyes, and her breasts quivered! Yup, quivered. Under that cobalt blue tank top, they quivered.

“I said—” her voice was icy “—what do you want?’

He cleared his throat and jerked his gaze back to her face. What did he want? Hell, she wouldn’t like his honest answer to that question. No, sirree!

“Lakeview Construction at your service, ma’am.”

She stared at him blankly for a full seven seconds... which gave him time to scrutinize her hair. It hung loose this morning, the heavy blunt-cut tips brushing her tanned shoulders, and each strand glistened as if it had been individually dipped in white gold. He felt a strong urge to reach out and run his fingers through—

She made a sound that reminded him of a piglet’s snort.

“You’re kidding,” she said scathingly. “Of course.”

“No, ma’am. I am not.” He pressed his right hand flat against his heart. And noticed it was beating just a tad faster than usual. “I’m here to discuss your...kitchen.

He saw the incredulity in her eyes.

He showed her the work order.

She scrutinised it but when she handed it back, her expression had become only marginally less hostile.

“You’d better come inside.” She made no secret of her reluctance to invite him into the house. And she flounced away, leaving him to close the door behind him. The rich, it seemed, did not always have impeccable manners!

She halted in the middle of the foyer and turned to him. She’d schooled her features into an emotionless mask.

“There’s been a change in plan,” she said. “I want to postpone work on the kitchen and start with the staircase.”

Brodie smelled coffee.

He’d been in such an all-fired rush that morning he hadn’t taken time to have his usual caffeine fix. He sure could do with it now, to set him up before he got down to the nitty-gritty of telling his client she’d be a fool to tear down her magnificent antique mahogany staircase.

“Let’s talk about that,” he said smoothly. “Over...a coffee, maybe?”

He could feel her irritation coming at him in waves. But she said, albeit stiffly, “All right.”

She took off along the corridor to the left of the foyer, and he followed like a sheep.

Except that a sheep wouldn’t have ogled her derriere the way he was doing—well, how could he not? It was sexy as hell in those skimpy white shorts—and she still walked with that tantalizing little wiggle of her hips, the way she’d done when she was a teenager!

“You can see,” she said as he entered the kitchen behind her, “why I want this room modernized.”

He glanced around and murmured in agreement. The cupboards were faced with outdated Formica, the appliances were ancient and an unfashionable olive green, the linoleum so old the pattern was worn away in places, and the lighting fixtures pathetically inadequate. Yup, he thought, it would be a pleasure to gut this place out and start from scratch!

He returned his attention to the woman walking to the countertop by the sink, and watched her reach up to a side cupboard for two mugs.

She was in front of the window, and backlit against the brilliant sunshine. All he could see of her was her shape—her slim shoulders, her hand-span waist, her curvy hips.

She had some gorgeous figure!

“How do you like it?” Her voice came to him through a scarlet mist of lust.

“Oh, I like it just fine!” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her frosty tone jarred him out of his carnal fantasies. “Ah, the...er...coffee. Black‘l be just fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

She didn’t invite him to sit, so he leaned back against the countertop, ankles casually crossed.

She stood, like a robot, with her hands cupped around her mug, the steam rising so that her face seemed to shimmer.

OK, he thought, time to get this over with.

He leveled a steady look at her luminous brown eyes, with their luxuriant fringe of wheat-blond lashes.

“Your husband,” he said. “Does he agree with you about tearing down the staircase?”

He saw her fingers tighten around her mug. “I’m a widow, Mr. Spencer. Every decision I make is my own.”

A widow. So the lovely little heiress hadn’t had it quite as easy as he’d thought.

“Sorry to hear it.” And he was. Being a single parent was a tough row to hoe. “Must be lonely for you. How long is it since...”

“Six years.”

The answer came out as reluctantly as if he’d forced it at gunpoint! “And you’ve been living... where? Vancouver?”

“Yes.”

“Did you graduate...from U.B.C.?”

“No. I wanted to stay home when Megan was a baby.”

“You were fortunate to have that choice. And now...well, you still have that choice—to be a lady of leisure...as you pretty much would be, with Megan in school. But Pete tells me you’re planning to run this place as a B and B. Surprised the hell out of me—”

“I’m not a parasite, Brodie.” Anger flared in her eyes. “I want the satisfaction of knowing that I’m earning the money my child and I will be living on. And while we’re on the subject of money, there’s something I’d like to clear up. Your daughter loaned Megan some money yesterday, for hot dogs. I’ve had a talk with Megan about this—she’s been brought up never to lend or borrow. I gave her money this morning to repay the loan—”

“No problem.” He waved her words aside. “Glad Jodi could help.”

“The point I’m making is that I don’t want it to happen again.” A vein pulsed at her temple. “In the future, if Megan doesn’t bring lunch money, she’ll have to go hungry.”

Brodie got the distinct feeling that there was more to this than seemed on the surface. Like a dentist who suspects a tooth may not be as healthy as it looks, he decided to probe.

“Jodi tells me she’s invited Megan to spend this Saturday afternoon with our family. I’m supposed to confirm that she can come.”

“Megan mentioned something of the kind.” A pink flush colored her cheekbones. “I’ve told her we’ll discuss it on Friday. She’s only just started school here. I don’t want her to...rush...anything...” Her voice trailed away, but her chin came up in a stubborn tilt.

There it was, then; a crack in the beautiful white enamel. And... something rotten underneath?

“Ah,” he said. “In case a better offer comes up.”

The flush in her cheeks deepened till her skin was as red as ripe raspberries. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, that’s not what you said.”

God, he could hardly believe it But he might have known. Despite being an adult now, the Westmore brat—the Westmore Widow!—was just as much a snob as she’d been at seventeen. No way was she going to allow her precious daughter to become friends with Brodie Spencer’s kid

No way.

It was Jodi he felt sorry for. She’d seemed very taken with this new girl. She was going to be mighty disappointed—and hurt—when she discovered that Megan Westmore was forbidden to play with her.

Dammit, he detested snobbery!

He slammed his mug down on the table.

“Right!” he said. “We know where we both stand. So let’s not waste any more of each other’s time on it. Let’s get back to business! You want us to rip down that staircase? Fine, we’ll rip it down. The only problem is that the replacement you told my estimator you wanted—white-enameled wrought-iron—is back-ordered and won’t be available till late October. So in the meantime, we’ll do the kitchen. I’ll get a couple of men up here this afternoon and we’ll get the project under way. You realize you’ll be without a kitchen in the meantime?”

“Yes.” The raspberry color had seeped from her face; now it looked pale as cream. “Megan and I will use the kitchenette in what used to be the servants’ quarters. You’ll just have to let me know when you’ll be shutting off the water, electricity, and so on, so I can work around it.”

“You’ll need to choose new cupboards, appliances, floor covering, wall tiles, paint...” His gesture was wide. “Come down to the store sometime, just call first and set up an appointment and I’ll show you around. Give you advice.”

He sensed her hackles rise when he mentioned giving her advice.

“You do that, too?” she asked. “As well as the...donkey work?”

The hands that had itched to reach out and touch her hair a few minutes ago now itched to reach out and wrap themselves around her pretty little throat.

“Yes,” he said in a gritty voice. “As well as doing the donkey work I do, on occasion, dole out advice.” If he stayed, he knew he’d say, or do, something he’d regret, so he excused himself and made for the door.

As he strode angrily out to the foyer, he knew exactly what she was thinking: Hell will freeze over, Brodie Spencer, before I ever seek advice from you!