CHAPTER 5
Lowe
I sit out in my truck, sipping on some coffee and waiting for the clock to turn to seven AM. I had to seriously talk myself out of setting my alarm for oh-dark-thirty just to tick Mely off again by showing up at an ungodly hour. It was my original plan to get her so mad at the way I was disrupting her life that she’d just throw her hands up and tell me to stay away, so I’d be done with her.
Yeah, that was the original plan.
Then I thought I’d trying adulting, so showed up to her place last night where I was going to suggest we just part ways amicably. I’m sure she would have been fine with that proposal.
But that idea never manifested because my lips got in the way of hers, and well, then Floyd started shooting at coyotes, so I decided to retreat and think on things.
And I needed to really think because when she’d showed up at the door wearing pajamas that left very little to the imagination, with blue crap all over her face and fire in her eyes?
I was done for.
At that moment, I realized I didn’t want to walk away from Melinda Rothschild. She may have pulled the carpet out from underneath me by purchasing Mainer House, giving me plenty of reason to despise her, but I found I was very much enjoying this fight. She got my blood raging and not in a bad way.
And that kiss.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I don’t regret it at all. It was an amazing kiss made more so by the fact that she was all in. Of course, Floyd had to interrupt by letting loose a warning shot at a coyote. It was probably nothing more than an alley cat, but Floyd does love to shoot that gun.
Today, I’m going to try something different. I’m going to show Mely—and yes, I am going to call her Mely because I like that name—that I can be somewhat reasonable. Doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and bare my throat to her, but I’m not going to intentionally provoke her to the point where she might want to part ways. Truth of the matter is, she’s now got me intrigued. I can’t quite remember a woman doing that to me for a very long time.
My eyes cut down to my smart phone sitting on my lap, and I note it’s 6:55 AM. Close enough to seven to suit my purposes.
Getting out of my truck, I pocket my keys and trot up the front porch steps, cursing under my breath as some of my coffee sloshes over the top and onto my hand. I give a solid knock to the door, which is far less intrusive than the banging I had previously done but not so soft she’ll be able to ignore it. Stepping back as I wipe my hand on my jeans, I brace for her to throw the door open and snarl at me.
Instead, I hear her taking measured steps with shoes that make a clacking noise on the hardwoods, and then the door is swung gracefully open and Mely Rothschild stands there looking like an angel. I may be a country boy, but I’m not without culture. I spent four years in Chapel Hill attending the University of North Carolina, and I know money when I see it. Mely’s subtle perfume smells extremely expensive and her clothes are tailored to perfection. She’s got on a pair of cream-colored pants with wide legs that hang so low I can only see the pointed tips of her shoes underneath. I’m guessing there’s a spiky heel under there as she seems a few inches taller than normal. The pale lavender blouse she’s wearing gives a light purple tint to her blue eyes and as usual, her hair hangs in a straight, glossy sheet to just above her shoulders. I really, really would love to see that hair all messed up at some point.
“Good morning,” she says with a half-smile. The words are polite and genuine, but her tone is not overly effusive with any happiness to see me. It tells me she’s quite unsure of herself. I find this fascinating because she’s proven to be an overly confident woman in almost every way.
But if she woke up this morning thinking about that kiss the way I was, I’m going to take a guess and say she’s a little off balance right now. I know I sure as hell am.
“Good morning,” I say cordially.
“I’m not sure what to make of it… you coming at a reasonable hour,” she says lightly.
Inclining my head in acknowledgment, I merely admit, “I decided to be an adult.”
“Well, that’s refreshing,” she says with a tinkling laugh, and damn… I’d like to hear that again.
Would like to kiss her again too, but that would be awkward right now.
Instead, I shove my free hand down in my pocket so it’s not tempted to grab her. I take a sip of my coffee to reorient myself. She watches me carefully, not saying a word, and I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I was affected by that kiss last night.
But that’s a conversation better served for never, so I ask her, “May I come in?”
Shaking her head in amusement, Mely opens the door further and motions me to come in.
I step past her, but then wait for her to lead the way. I figure the first way I can act like an adult is to respect this as her home. While that chafes a bit, I have to remember that she did not purchase this house in any malicious way to me. This may seem like a drastic turnabout, but it’s me being true to my nature. I may have been acting on pure emotion when I foolishly boarded up the house and waved a shotgun around, and yes, I may have been acting on a little bit of stupidity when I painted stuff pink, but I’m generally not an idiot.
I’m also generally not a jerk.
What this simply means is I realize there is no way for me to win. There is no way for me to have Mainer House. So I need to cut my losses, lick my wounds, pay my debts, and I need to move the hell on. This is my grand plan, and I’m not deviating.
“I’d offer for us to go sit in the living room,” Mely says with a smile. “But alas, no furniture. I’d also say let’s go sit at the kitchen table so we can talk, but you’ve been in there and you’ve seen there’s no furniture as well.”
“And I’m not crass enough to suggest we go sit on your bed,” I quip, then I internally wince that she may not have found that as funny as I did when I tested it out using my inside voice.
Thankfully, Mely gives a charming laugh and shrugs. “That would be even more uncomfortable than standing since I only have a mattress on the floor.”
One of my eyebrows rises. “You don’t have a bed?”
“I have a mattress,” she deadpans. “It’s a bed.”
Suddenly, I’m feeling a little bit hot under the collar over the mere thought of this woman and me tangled on that mattress together. While Mely may be one of the most gorgeous and sexy women I’ve ever known, she should really stay off limits. She’s here to destroy my family home. Even though there’s no way I can stop it, it does not make for a good bedfellow.
Giving a cough to clear my throat, I change subjects to appropriate conversation. “What would you like for me to do this morning?”
Mely twists her wrist and looks down at her watch before looking back up to me. “I actually have to get out of here as I’m catching a flight to New York in a few hours. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days. I was hoping I could have you work on the kitchen while I’m gone.”
“Just tell me what you want done,” I say easily, wondering why she’s going to New York. I’ll be darned if I’ll ask her, but I am curious.
“I’d really love the paint fixed if the weather is good enough, but the forecast looks like rain over the next few days. You could work indoors for a while. I had some of the linoleum in the kitchen peeled back, and it looks like the hardwood underneath is in decent shape,” Mely says as she turns to grab her purse that’s hooked over the end of the banister. It’s then I notice she has a small rolling suitcase sitting there as well. “If you could pull up all the linoleum, I can get someone in to look at restoring the finish.”
“I can have the linoleum up by the end of the day today. Do you want me to work on restoring the hardwood?”
Mely looks at her watch again and then back to me as she shakes her head. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”
Immediately, my hackles rise and I snap, “My work is impeccable. Contrary to what you believe, I don’t just refinish outhouses.”
Mely brings up a hand in self-defense and says, “No, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that restoring the hardwood is a huge project, and I didn’t want to take advantage of your time. Seeing as how you can only spare a few hours here and there, I thought I would just have you do smaller projects. And of course, once the weather turns dry, I’d really like the paint fixed.”
Well, crap. That makes sense. Now I feel guilty for snapping at her.
“Listen, I really need to get going,” she says as she picks up her suitcase. I immediately step forward and take it from her; I do this only because I’m a southern boy and my mama raised me right.
“Thank you,” she murmurs as she walks to the door. I follow her out and down the front steps where she stops on the sidewalk before turning to me. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a set of keys and hands them to me. “Here are the keys. You can come and go as you please. Just make sure everything is locked up.”
Since I have a cup of coffee in one hand and a suitcase in the other, I can’t take the keys that she’s offering. I make a fumbling move to raise the suitcase up so I could potentially rest the cup in the crook of my arm to free up a hand, but before I know what’s happening, Mely’s reaching forward and tucking the keys into the front pocket of my jeans.
And whoa boy… her hand near my pocket is not a good thing because it makes me think of things I ought not be thinking about this woman. I breathe a sigh of relief when she pulls away, but I don’t miss the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
Mely walks past me to the driveway that runs along the side of the house where her rental car is parked. I follow along and put her suitcase in the backseat.
“When are you returning?” I ask casually. “Because like I said, that linoleum won’t take long to get up.”
“I’ll only be gone a few days,” she says vaguely. “If you want something to do so you can start knocking out the hours that are owed, I intend to take all the wallpaper off the walls from the bedrooms upstairs so you could do that.”
“You intend to do what?” My voice is acidic, and Mely blinks at me in surprise.
“I’m going to remove the wallpaper,” she says with deliberate purpose and a touch of ice in her voice that lets me know this is her house and she’s going to do as she pleases.
“You know that wallpaper represents history,” I grit out.
Her eyes narrow at me. “That wallpaper is turning yellow and peeling.”
“Have you no appreciation whatsoever for the historical significance of this dwelling?” I ask her hotly.
Mely stares at me hard as if she’s trying to determine the best tact to take, but before she gets the satisfaction of once again reminding me this is her house and no longer represents anything at all to do with my family, I decide to back away from this conversation.
“Forget I said anything,” I say gruffly as I spin on my heel and head toward the house. Turning my head slightly, I tell her over my shoulder, “I’ll get the linoleum and wallpaper done before you get back.”
“Lowe,” Mely calls out.
I don’t stop. As I trot up her porch steps, I call back, “Have a nice trip.”
I don’t look at her as I walk into the house that no longer should mean anything to me but still very much does.