Close To Home (Westen Series) (15 page)

“If you say so, dear.”

Emma watched her mother deftly carry the vase of flowers past the power tools and mess of construction as if it were no messier than a flower garden and into the dining room. No matter what her mother thought, she planned to keep her relationship with Clint platonic and nothing more. It was the best plan for everyone.

So why did her body like her mother’s idea better?

* * *

The minute Clint walked in the house, Emma’s business-only plan seemed to fly right out of her mind. He and Joe were both dressed in work boots, jeans, and flannel shirts with white T-shirts beneath. While Joe’s clothes hung loosely on his lanky six-foot four-inch frame, Clint’s clothes seemed to hug every inch of his more powerful build. The man looked like every woman’s fantasy outdoorsman.

If she didn’t rein in her own hormones, not to mention her mind, heart and body, she’d be begging the man to help her get lost in the woods.

“Morning, Joe,” she said, trying to focus on anything but the way Clint’s jeans molded to his butt and thighs. “Nice of you to come help us out today.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” The man actually blushed.

“You let me know how much we owe you when we get the wall up and in place, okay?”

“No need to pay me, Miz Lewis.” He nodded toward Clint, who was holding his breakfast of coffee and Danish from the café. “Doc here and I have an arrangement.”

Emma saw red. It was her project and she damn well didn’t plan to let Clint pay for extra workers. She shot Clint an angry look. “I’m afraid the doctor isn’t paying the bills on this job, Joe, I am.”

Joe looked from her to Clint and back again. “Oh, the Doc ain’t paying me, ma’am. He’s promised to be my partner in next weekend’s Bass fishing tournament.”

Surprise and embarrassment replaced Emma’s anger. She swung her gaze back to Clint, who stood smugly watching her. Just when she thought she had the man figured out, he came up with something new to amaze her.

“Well, if you’re sure I can’t pay you, Joe,” she stammered.

“Not for this little job, Miz Lewis, but thanks for offerin’.” The man moved into the front room to study the state of their renovation.

“Emma,” Clint started toward her.

Emma held her hand up and took a step away. “Don’t. Just don’t touch me right now, Clint.” Because if he did, she might do something she’d regret, like bury her face in his shoulder and cry…again.

Instead of reaching for her, he leaned against the back counter and nibbled on the Danish, looking very much like one of her innocent sons. She wasn’t buying the act out of him any more than she did either of them.

He took a sip of his coffee then locked his gaze on hers. “When you told me not to pay for anything else, I got the message, Emma. I won’t pay for anything else without asking you first. But when Joe asked me to be in the tournament next week, I just thought we could get some needed muscle for free.”

“I feel really stupid.”

He shrugged. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yes, you should. I don’t look much like a foreman if I don’t even know what’s going on.”

He nodded. “Have you thought about what we need to do once this wall is in place?”

Good. They were going to talk only business today, nothing personal. She could handle that. “Yes. In fact, I’ve scheduled the electrician to come tomorrow to wire the room.”

Clint moved to stand next to her. Leaning forward, he studied the plans. “Do you have the money to pay him? Because we also need to replace the plastic coverings on your windows with thermal glass. The nights are already starting to get cold. If we don’t seal this room up, your family is going to be living in a refrigerator.”

Emma pulled out her checkbook. She’d opened a separate checking account for the remodel when she’d started saving for it. “The electrician is giving me a discounted rate for the first day, after that I have to pay the regular rate. I’m hoping it doesn’t take more than a day.”

“How’d you manage that?” Surprise registered on Clint’s face.

Good. Earlier he’d looked a little too smug when he’d set her up to look foolish in front of Joe. It was nice to know she could turn the tables on him.

“I helped the midwife deliver his grandson back in the spring. He wanted to pay me out of pocket, but I had a better idea.” She smiled. “Two can play the barter game, Doctor.”

“While we’re on the subject of playing, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He turned and leaned one hip against her kitchen table, hemming her in between it and the kitchen sink.

Suddenly, a whole different term for playing popped into her mind. The memory of being crushed in his arms while he kissed the breath out of her filled her whole body. And damn it, heat filled her face, and he
had
to know what she was thinking.

“I don’t think we need to discuss what happened last night,” she said moving past him to wash out her juice glass.

He chuckled behind her. “Yes we do, but not today.”

Oh, yeah. He knew what she’d been thinking.

“Then what are you talking about?” She faced him, determined not to let him tease her into a further blush.

“Your sons.”

He couldn’t have said anything else to get her attention quicker. “What about them?”

“I think I may have figured out why they’ve been getting into trouble lately.”

“Oh? Why?”

“They miss their grandfather.”

Feeling her knees wobble a little at this news, she leaned back against the sink for support. “You’re kidding me. They’ve been misbehaving because they miss Dad?”

Clint nodded. “I think they miss the things he used to do with them. In particular, taking time to fish with them.”

“I hate fishing.” She couldn’t help it, she really disliked slimy things like worms and fish.

He had the audacity to laugh at her. “And here I spent an entire evening convincing them girls could like fishing as much as boys. You’re not helping your gender’s cause, Emma.”

“Hey, I like camping and hiking, even football and baseball, but I am not going to put my fingers on slimy worms and wet scaly fish.” A real shudder ran over her body.

Clint stood and nudged her away from the sink with his hip. Turning on the water, he washed the remnants of his breakfast from his hands. Emma watched him work the soap over his fingers, refusing to move further away, despite wishing she could feel his arms wrapped around her once more. Feel of those hands on her flesh.

“Luckily for you, I’m just what you need.”

He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

“Excuse me?”

“A fisherman,” he replied as he dried his hands. “You plan a day for a picnic for us all, and I’ll bring fishing gear. The boys need the attention from their mom, and frankly, we could all use a day of fun and play.”

He stepped away from Emma, then grinned at her. “What else did you think I meant?”

The heat in her face told him more than her words, and she knew it. He chuckled as he left the room.

Oh yeah, she could keep this business only. Right! And the sun was going to set in the east tomorrow. Her only other choice was to keep some distance between them.

* * *

A week later, the door to Emma’s room opened upstairs and Clint listened to her footsteps head toward the bathroom. One of the reasons he’d wanted to take on this job was so he could spend more time with her and her sons. Yet every time the phone rang, she practically ran out of the house to the hospital or the café. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to earn the money to pay him for the supplies and his time.

After the kiss they’d shared last week, he’d bet his autographed Louisville Slugger she was also avoiding being alone with him. If the situation wasn’t so frustrating, her scared-rabbit act would amuse him.

A moment later, Emma sailed into the room in a fresh pair of jeans, T-shirt and running shoes; her ever present bag of paraphernalia and scrub clothes on her shoulder. She walked past him and stopped short with a puzzled look.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked.

The boys looked at their mother and shook their heads no. Then they turned back to Clint. He realized he was scowling at Emma and quickly covered his anger with a forced smile. She’d get a piece of his mind all right. But he intended to chew her tail out in private, not in front of two pairs of ears that absorbed every word said around them.

With feigned indifference, he shrugged his shoulders. “No. I was just thinking about something.”

“A problem?” She tilted her head to one side, just the way her youngest son had a habit of doing.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Taking a nail from Brian, he turned back to the drywall she’d helped him start to hang before the phone rang. “Have fun at work,” he said over his shoulder.

That caught the boys’ attention.

“Aw, Mommy, do you got to work?” asked Ben.

“You worked last night, Mommy,” came the equally whiny complaint from Brian.

Clint heard the soft thud of Emma’s bag hitting the floor and knew she’d knelt to talk to her sons. He listened to the soft words of comfort she whispered to her children. He heard their hiccups as they tried to swallow their tears of disappointment.

Damn! Now he felt like a heel using her sons to bring out a little guilt in her.

“Hey, guys,” he heard her say. “I may not have to stay the whole night, you know.”

“You won’t?” one of the boys asked.

“No. If I get home and get some sleep tonight, since tomorrow is Saturday, maybe we can do something fun. What do you think of that?”

“Can we go fishing?”

“And have a picnic?”

“And cook our fish?”

Her soft laughter filled Clint’s senses. “Well, we can definitely have a picnic. I don’t know about fishing.”

“Can Doc Clint come too?”

Surprised at how much he wanted for her to agree, Clint paused his hammer in mid-air as he awaited her answer.

“It would be okay with me,” she said after a long pause.

Thump. The hammer hit the nail into the drywall board.

“But you’ll have to ask him while I’m gone.”

Clint grinned to himself. Nice distraction to leave on. He kept pounding as he listened to the exchange of little boy and mommy kisses. Then the door opened and closed.

“Doc Clint,” Brian peeked around his left side. Ben appeared on his right. “Can you go fishing with us tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, guys. If—” He set the hammer down and leaned back on his heels to look at them. “—we manage to get our work done today. And if your mom gets home early.”

“Yeah!” They both jumped on him, laughing.

* * *

“Mommy!” Brian yelled as he ran past Clint coming around the back of the house. He moved to the side as Emma’s youngest son hurled himself up the back steps and in the kitchen door. “Ben says I can’t take Wiggles with us fishing!”

Clint stood outside the kitchen door, peeking in and listening.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, Brian. Wiggles definitely won’t like going fishing.” Emma placed a covered dish into the picnic basket then added paper plates.

Brian leaned his elbows up on the table and stared at his mother with a pout on his lower lip. “Why not?”

“Yeah, why not?” Clint chimed in as he walked in behind Brian. “It’s okay if the boys bring a pet fishing with us. We’ll keep an eye on him, won’t we Brian?”

“I really don’t think it would be a good idea to take this particular pet fishing.”

Emma crossed her arms over her waist, leaning against the kitchen counter with that I’m-the-mom expression on her face that Clint remembered well from childhood. Did they teach that particular look at a special class for all new moms?

“Doc Clint said I could, Mommy. Please?”

Clint hunkered down next to Brian, mimicking his expression. “Please?”

“Maybe you should show Clint what kind of pet Wiggles is.”

“Why don’t you show me Wiggles, Brian? You know I like all your pets.” Clint glanced up at Emma. She smiled at him, one of those I-know-something-you’ll-wish-you’d-known smiles.

Brian turned around and held out his hand. There on his palm lay the fattest night crawler Clint had ever seen. His gaze flew up to meet Emma’s. Her eyes twinkled with the mirth she was trying desperately to keep contained. His own lips twitched with suppressed humor.

“Uh, Bri?” Clint stopped to clear his throat before continuing. “It would seem your mom has the right idea. I don’t think Wiggles would like to go on this trip. In fact, I think he’d feel safer staying here at home.”

“But why, Doc Clint?”

“Well, Wiggles is a worm, Brian.”

“So? I could hold the fishing pole for him, Doc Clint,” Brian replied with all the sincerity of a six-year-old.

Clint glanced up at Emma in a silent plea for help.

She simply shrugged her shoulders. At least he hoped it was a shrug. He had the feeling it was silent laughter that moved her shoulders. His attention returned to Brian. The little boy’s face held such excitement and expectation, and Clint didn’t want to destroy that innocent joy. He carefully chose the right words to explain.

“You know what, Bri?”

“What?”

“We need someone to stay home and keep an eye on things since Hoppy is in the Jeep already. Don’t you think that would be a good job for Wiggles?”

“A worm can’t keep an eye on things.” Now Brian had the selective wisdom of a child.

Desperate to get out of this situation, Clint stood and reached for the jar they used to catch fireflies in each night. Every morning the bugs mysteriously disappeared, and the jar stood empty on the counter.

“Why don’t we put Wiggles in here, and leave him on the back porch. That should frighten off any robbers seeing such a fine worm on guard, don’t you think?”

Brian thoughtfully considered the worm, then the jar. Finally he nodded to Clint. “Okay, but we’ll hafta put in some dirt and leaves so he won’t get hungry while I’m gone.”

“Good idea, Brian.” Clint patted him on the shoulder and handed him the jar. Brian took it and ran out the door, yelling for his twin.

“You’d better be sure Wiggles doesn’t end up in the sun, doctor. Or your guard worm will be baked by the time we get home.” Emma could no longer hold in her laughter.