questioning. "And how old are you?"
She didn't hesitate. Might as well get it over with, but if he asked her one more personal question after this one, she was going to gut him with her broom handle. "I'm thirty."
If he made any judgment based on that simple calculation, it didn't show in his eyes. "Pack up your stuff."
"I told you, we're not going. We'll make this work."
"I'm not throwing you out, Evan," he said, talking to her much as he would a recalcitrant child. "What I want is for you to stay in the main house for a few days while I get this pigsty in livable—and safe—condition."
"Oh. Well..." Feeling half dumb and a whole lot unreasonably stubborn, she reddened. "I see. That's generous of you, Mr. Stew—"
"Linc, for God's sake," he corrected irritably.
"Yes, well like I said, that's very generous of you... Linc, but Cal and I are fine right here. Aren't we, Cal?"
Cal, who was still glaring at Linc, nodded quickly. His expression said he'd rather spend the night naked in the rain forest than go anywhere with the glowering figure standing in front of them.
"I'm not being kind or generous," Linc said. "I'm being practical. Aside from safety issues, this cabin forms part of an estate I paid a lot of money for. I was assured every part of it, including this place"—he looked around in disgust—"was in good order. My mistake—other than buying a house from across an ocean—was that I concentrated my attention on the main house. I'm not usually so careless. And while you may be willing to live in a hovel, I have an investment to protect. This place needs repairs, and I'll see that they're done. Now, if you'll please just pack up what you need for now, I'll take you up to the house. You can stay there until this mess is made right. If that doesn't suit you, I'll drive you to the nearest Cockroach Inn."
Evan chewed angrily on her lower lip. Rude, obnoxious, bossy—
"Well? Are you coming or not?"
"How long?" She stood her ground. For better or worse this ramshackle cabin was now her home.
"How long for what?"
"How long will it be before we can move back in?"
"Two weeks, maybe a month. Who the hell knows? What matters is that it's done and done right."
She stared at him. "I'd prefer a deadline, not a target, if it's all the same to you."
He scrubbed his chin, the gesture quick and impatient. "If I pull out all the stops and the work goes well, two weeks," he said. "Will that be satisfactory, Ms. North?"
"Two weeks," she agreed, not above a lift of her chin. "Cal, will you please get my other suitcase and your sport bag? We'll get anything else we need tomorrow."
Linc stood in the open doorway, waiting and tapping his fingers against his denim clad thigh.
When she was closer to him, she stopped and said, "Thank you, Linc. We're all yours—reluctantly—for two weeks."
* * *
The main house was reeling under trade-driven activity. Moving men, drapery hangers, painters, appliance installers, and on the second floor, carpet layers. It was a madhouse. Was the man crazy to have all this going on the day he moved in? She looked at him, certain her bafflement showed on her face. He was as sullen and distracted as ever. He cut her a sideways look before raking a hand through his hair. Obviously he was as put out about her being here as she was.
"Maud," he shouted up the stairs leading to a balcony Evan guessed would be off the second-floor bedrooms.
A head became visible over the banister at the top of the stairs. "I'm up here. Oh, it's you, Lincoln. Just a minute. I'm helping Jenny into her jeans. We'll be right down."
When Maud Cahane and Jenny came down the stairs, both were laughing as though at some private joke. When they spotted Evan, Maud's hazel eyes brightened. She was a pretty woman who exuded warmth and heart. Evan liked her on sight. Her age was elusive. While her hair hinted at sixty, her skin said forty, and her smile, warming as Linc introduced them, would put her at no more than
She didn't hesitate. Might as well get it over with, but if he asked her one more personal question after this one, she was going to gut him with her broom handle. "I'm thirty."
If he made any judgment based on that simple calculation, it didn't show in his eyes. "Pack up your stuff."
"I told you, we're not going. We'll make this work."
"I'm not throwing you out, Evan," he said, talking to her much as he would a recalcitrant child. "What I want is for you to stay in the main house for a few days while I get this pigsty in livable—and safe—condition."
"Oh. Well..." Feeling half dumb and a whole lot unreasonably stubborn, she reddened. "I see. That's generous of you, Mr. Stew—"
"Linc, for God's sake," he corrected irritably.
"Yes, well like I said, that's very generous of you... Linc, but Cal and I are fine right here. Aren't we, Cal?"
Cal, who was still glaring at Linc, nodded quickly. His expression said he'd rather spend the night naked in the rain forest than go anywhere with the glowering figure standing in front of them.
"I'm not being kind or generous," Linc said. "I'm being practical. Aside from safety issues, this cabin forms part of an estate I paid a lot of money for. I was assured every part of it, including this place"—he looked around in disgust—"was in good order. My mistake—other than buying a house from across an ocean—was that I concentrated my attention on the main house. I'm not usually so careless. And while you may be willing to live in a hovel, I have an investment to protect. This place needs repairs, and I'll see that they're done. Now, if you'll please just pack up what you need for now, I'll take you up to the house. You can stay there until this mess is made right. If that doesn't suit you, I'll drive you to the nearest Cockroach Inn."
Evan chewed angrily on her lower lip. Rude, obnoxious, bossy—
"Well? Are you coming or not?"
"How long?" She stood her ground. For better or worse this ramshackle cabin was now her home.
"How long for what?"
"How long will it be before we can move back in?"
"Two weeks, maybe a month. Who the hell knows? What matters is that it's done and done right."
She stared at him. "I'd prefer a deadline, not a target, if it's all the same to you."
He scrubbed his chin, the gesture quick and impatient. "If I pull out all the stops and the work goes well, two weeks," he said. "Will that be satisfactory, Ms. North?"
"Two weeks," she agreed, not above a lift of her chin. "Cal, will you please get my other suitcase and your sport bag? We'll get anything else we need tomorrow."
Linc stood in the open doorway, waiting and tapping his fingers against his denim clad thigh.
When she was closer to him, she stopped and said, "Thank you, Linc. We're all yours—reluctantly—for two weeks."
* * *
The main house was reeling under trade-driven activity. Moving men, drapery hangers, painters, appliance installers, and on the second floor, carpet layers. It was a madhouse. Was the man crazy to have all this going on the day he moved in? She looked at him, certain her bafflement showed on her face. He was as sullen and distracted as ever. He cut her a sideways look before raking a hand through his hair. Obviously he was as put out about her being here as she was.
"Maud," he shouted up the stairs leading to a balcony Evan guessed would be off the second-floor bedrooms.
A head became visible over the banister at the top of the stairs. "I'm up here. Oh, it's you, Lincoln. Just a minute. I'm helping Jenny into her jeans. We'll be right down."
When Maud Cahane and Jenny came down the stairs, both were laughing as though at some private joke. When they spotted Evan, Maud's hazel eyes brightened. She was a pretty woman who exuded warmth and heart. Evan liked her on sight. Her age was elusive. While her hair hinted at sixty, her skin said forty, and her smile, warming as Linc introduced them, would put her at no more than
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