Janet Dean – Wanted: A Family (страница 2)

She forced the tip of the crowbar under a board and pushed down with all her might. Instead of coming up, nails and all, the plank splintered, pitching her forward. Gasping, she staggered, dropped the tool, but remained on her feet.

Heart pounding from her near fall, she knelt and used a hammer to knock off the remaining pieces of wood until she’d removed one board. At this rate, the task would take weeks. Callie wiped a hand across her moist brow and let her gaze roam the neighborhood.

Up the street, a stranger strode up the walk to Mildred’s house. He was not a salesman. He carried a sack, not a sample case, and looked strong enough to handle this job. But if he sought work, she couldn’t spare a penny to hire him.

She repositioned the crowbar and shoved again. Nails squeaked in protest, then slowly the board lifted. A few more shoves and it pulled free. Smiling, she tossed the plank aside.

The screen door creaked. Elise Langley, just eighteen, her family home a few doors down, stood in the opening, resting an arm on the bulge beneath her apron. “That job’s too hard for you. Why not hire someone?”

From a family with money to spare, Elise wouldn’t realize that Callie didn’t have funds to hire anyone. Nor would Callie tell her, lest her houseguest feel unwelcome.

“It’s good exercise.” Callie grinned.

“I’ll help.” Before Callie could stop her, Elise, heavy and awkward with child, stepped onto the porch. The boards sagged and she stumbled, lurching sideways. “Ouch!”

The crowbar clattered to the floor. “Are you hurt?”

Elise hobbled to the door, pushed open the screen and lowered herself to the threshold. “I twisted my ankle is all.” She lifted her skirts and rubbed the injured spot.

Callie picked her way to Elise’s side and took a look. “It’s already swelling.”

Wrapping an arm around her middle, Callie helped Elise shuffle inside, settling her on the parlor sofa, then removed Elise’s shoe and elevated her foot on pillows. She hurried to the kitchen, returning with chunks of ice wrapped in a dish towel and propped it on Elise’s ankle with more pillows.

“I’m sorry, Callie. You warned me about the porch. Why do I always have to learn the hard way?”

“You were only trying to help.” She patted Elise’s hand. “If you’re all right, I’ll get back to work.”

After Elise’s mishap, Callie edged her way across the porch, determined to remove a few more planks before she had to change the ice on Elise’s ankle. She reached for the crowbar. A movement out of the corner of her eye stopped her.

The man she’d seen earlier ambled toward her, a jacket and sack tossed over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing tanned, muscled forearms. He moved with a loose-legged ease, suggesting he’d covered his share of ground on foot.

Strangers were rare in Peaceful.

What did he want?

At the bottom of the steps, he tipped his hat. “Ma’am.” His gaze landed on her rounded abdomen then slid to her face. “I’m looking for work. Heard at the Corner Café you’d lost your husband and might need help.”

“If I did, I’ve no money to pay you.”

His eyes roamed the house. “Your roof’s missing shingles, the wood siding needs scraping and a couple coats of paint.”

Hadn’t he understood what she’d said? “Lots needs doing, but—”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” His self-assured tone held no hint of arrogance. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a paper tucked inside. “This backs my claim.”

When had she encountered a pushier man?

When had she been as desperate for a man with push?

Callie picked her way down the steps, took the paper from his hand and read the reference praising Jacob Smith’s skill and work ethic, even his character.

What did that prove? He could’ve written it himself.

Above-average height with a wiry, broad-shouldered build, the man’s angular face looked hard, chiseled from stone. The power radiating off him reminded her of a caged tiger pacing its enclosure, ready to spring. A guarded look in his eyes, as if he’d lived under scrutiny and been deemed defective told her this man had been hurt by life as much as she had. But that didn’t make him honorable. It could mean exactly the opposite.

“Does anyone know you in this town?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t hire strangers.” Not after the incident with the last handyman. She gave an apologetic smile, then returned to the porch and began prying up the next board. As she shoved against the lever, a jolt of pain streaked up her arms. She bit back a moan.

Eyes flashing, he bounded up the steps and hauled the crowbar from her hands. “You can’t raze this porch in your condition.”

Angry tears flooded her eyes. She wanted to slap that disapproving scowl off his face.

As if reading her mind, he took a step back. “I don’t mean to criticize, but that much exertion could harm your baby.”

Ignoring her refusal to hire him, he bent to the task, removing the board with ease, and then tossed it to the yard. “How do you plan to replace the missing shingles on your roof?”

The mere thought of that roof made Callie queasy. “If I trusted you—which I don’t.” Her tone should make that perfectly clear. “I can’t pay you.”

Again his gaze roamed the house. “I’ll restore this beauty for a roof over my head and three meals a day, a price most folks appreciate.”

She appreciated the price all right. But he was still a stranger. “I’ve got to wonder why a man with your experience would work without a wage. I’ll still have to say no.”

“I can’t allow a woman to harm herself, even a head-strong woman like you.”

Of all the nerve! She glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever task I set my mind to.”

His eyes held a flicker of respect. “I’m sure that’s true, if setting your mind to a task got it done. But this job requires more brawn than brains.” He winked, bold as brass. “That makes me perfect for the job.”

Aghast at the rush of attraction that shot through her, Callie folded her arms across her chest, more determined than ever to send this rogue packing.

“One day I want a business of my own. Why not give me a chance to test my mettle by bringing this Victorian back to life?”

Though he’d used that spiel to manipulate her, she couldn’t argue with his logic. Fixing up her house would prove his ability and allow her to keep her home.

Besides, she didn’t see anyone else lining up to help her.

If the house wasn’t safe, Martin’s parents would insist that she live with them, putting an end to Callie’s dream. What would happen to Elise and her baby then?

As she grappled with the decision, the man returned to the task of ripping up boards. As if enjoying the effort, his sinewy muscles danced, her stomach dancing right along with them. She dropped her gaze to her feet, tamping down the ridiculous reaction. What had gotten into her? Those muscles of his merely proved he could handle the job.

Stranger or not, what choice did she have? Jacob Smith had a reference and the skill. Had offered a price she could afford.

Lord, I’ve prayed for an answer. Is this drifter Your solution?

The knot between her shoulder blades eased. The final assurance she needed. “I’ll risk hiring you.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Reckon we’re both taking a risk.”

“How so?”

“I’m taking a chance you’re a passable cook.”

She couldn’t contain a grin. “I’ll cook as ably as you work.”

“Good enough for me,” he said, the rumble of his voice ending on a chuckle.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’ll prepare a meal to fuel a working man.”

He shoved his hat brim up his forehead. “Appreciate it.”

The morning sun lit his face. A smile softened the hard edge of stubble on his unshaven jaw and spread to his eyes. Green. They were green as jade.

Callie’s mind went blank. “Ah.” What was she about to say? “While you’re, ah, waiting, you can put your things in the lean-to attached to the barn. The last hired hand had no complaints about the accommodations.” At the mention of that scoundrel, her hands fisted. “Thanked me by running off with the money from my sugar bowl. You don’t plan on doing the same thing, do you?”

His jaw jutted. “No.”

“In that case, settle in. I’ll serve your breakfast on the back stoop.” She turned then pivoted back. “Oh, I’m Callie Mitchell.”

“Folks call me Jake.”

“Just so you know, Mr. Smith, there’s no money in my sugar bowl or anywhere else in the house.”