Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (8 page)

As angry as Francesca’s high-handedness made him, Keith didn’t want to fight her. Deep down, underneath all the anger and the hurt and the loss and the self-pity, he knew Francesca was right. He knew he needed to gain control of his life and the life of his daughter before it was too late—before Maddie was all grown and before he missed being a real father to her. And as repugnant as it all seemed, that meant making this insta-bride thing happen.

Liza could’ve been a contender, but she laughed in his face, as was her habit, and basically told him no fucking way. And yes, she’d dropped the f-bomb. So, Keith believed he met Gail today for a reason. Now, if he could only shake the feeling that pursuing the little bookworm was a terrible mistake.

In the upstairs hallway, he followed the sound of music and the unmistakable smell of vinegar. He stopped in the doorway of the room that would soon be Maddie’s.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bertie jumped at his voice and almost fell off the ladder she’d climbed to attack the ancient floral wallpaper. Keith sprinted into action just in time to slap his hand around the back of her thigh to keep her from tumbling. The ladder wobbled and then settled back in place.

“Jesus.”

“You scared me half to death!” Bertie said. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on people?” She held a scoring tool in one hand and the top of the ladder with the other. Part of her hair had slipped from the claw on top of her head and was plastered to her damp neck. She no longer wore the lacy tunic but a form-fitting, pale yellow T-shirt. Keith’s hand touched bare skin below her short khaki cargo shorts. Her soft thigh burned the inside of his palm, and he itched to slide his hand up to discover what kind of panties she wore. Fingers pressed into her flesh and lingered a moment too long. Bertie’s indignant expression hurtled into one of heated surprise.

“Oh my. Bertie, don’t you look darling?” Liza purred from the doorway, and Bertie jumped again at the sound. This time Keith grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off the ladder before she fell off. He held her against his chest for a second—or twenty—enjoying the feel of her breasts and the hint of gardenias from her warm skin. Crap. He needed to get a grip.

Bertie’s sanity prevailed. “Liza. What are you doing here?” She pushed hard against his chest with one hand while regaining her balance in her funky-colored clogs.

Liza strolled forward in black cords and brown riding boots. She held the coffee he’d bought for Bertie, which minutes ago he’d nuked in the microwave before heading upstairs. “Delivering a hot cup of coffee. Looks like you’re gonna need it,” she said, sounding amused.

With narrowed eyes, Bertie glanced from Liza’s self-assured stance to Keith’s blank face. He fought to keep the mask of indifference plastered in place. These two women had history. He’d be smart to find out what it was.

“Well, you didn’t have to come all the way from Chicago to deliver coffee, but I sure do appreciate it,” Bertie said with thick Southern sarcasm, taking the cup from Liza’s hand.

“Like what you’ve done with the place.” Liza’s gaze roamed the half-stripped walls and the plastic-covered carpeting. “Real nice…uh…homey touch,” she said, pulling a strip of loose paper from the wall and dropping it on the floor.

Bertie pierced Liza with a scathing glare.

“Uh, Liza, would you give me a minute? I need to have a word with my decorator,” he said.

“
Designer
,” Bertie said through clenched teeth.

“Sure, sugar…anything for you.” Liza trailed her fingers down his arm. “I’ll see you downstairs.” She sauntered from the room, taking her big smile and cocky attitude with her.

“If you’re done scaring me to death, I’ve got work to do.” Bertie placed the coffee on a card table next to the ladder and wiped her hands down her smudged T-shirt.

Keith returned his attention to Bertie. “You’re not going back up that ladder,” he said, punching off the music from the iPod sitting in its docking station on the card table. “What the hell are you doing anyhow? I hired you to decorate, not do manual labor.”

“Stripping wallpaper. I don’t have a paper hanger right now, and all my painters are busy working on the outside.”

“Where’s Barney? Your partner-in-crime?”

“Who?” Bertie picked up a spray bottle and started dousing the wall.

“Gary. Why isn’t he here helping you? Man, that stuff stinks.” Keith plucked the bottle from her hand and sniffed it.

“Excuse me, but I need that. It’s vinegar and water. Helps loosen the paper.”

He held the bottle out of reach. “Where’s Gary?”

Bertie planted a fist on one hip. “He’s working at the Milners’. I have more than one job, you know. Their house needs to be ready in less than three weeks. Now, may I have my bottle back?” she asked, extending her hand.

He shook his head. “I’ll strip the paper. You start slapping up some paint samples so I can make a decision.”

A mixture of alarm and relief flickered across her flushed face, then she scoffed, “Wouldn’t you rather be with your girlfriend? I can’t believe out of all the people in Harmony, you chose her,” she ended in a mumble.

Keith cupped her stubborn chin where he glimpsed vulnerability edged with jealousy in her troubled eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. We just met. But I do like her. She’s smart and funny and—” Bertie jerked her face from his grasp.

“Spare me the details, Don Juan. I know her better than you, and believe me, she’s only out for one person: herself. You two would make a perfect pair.”

“Uh-huh. And you know me so well.” Bertie pulled a frown and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back. Drink your coffee and do not get back on that ladder.” Keith reached for a wayward piece of wallpaper stuck to the side of her shirt, brushing the plump side of her breast in the process. On purpose. A hiss of air passed from her lips, and her nipple puckered from his touch. Yep. The charged sexual current still existed for both of them. He needed to leave before he gave in to temptation. And she needed to work at warp speed on this job. The faster she worked, the sooner she could be out of his house and his life.

Bertie jerked back from his touch. “Whatever you say, boss.” She looked like she wanted to take that scoring tool and run it down his face.

“By the way, Maddie is coming home in a few weeks for spring break.” He moved toward the door. “This room better be done.” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Or you’re fired.”

Fired!
He wouldn’t do that. Would he? Bertie slipped down the steps and out the back door, avoiding Keith and his unreasonable orders. She needed a break from manual labor. She also needed some answers. What an arrogant jerk. No, that wasn’t right. Maybe sexy, arrogant jerk. Or sexy, dangerous, arrogant jerk. Yeah, that was it. She still trembled from his blatant touch. Why couldn’t she control her physical response to him? Because he was far too dangerous, and she found him far too alluring.

Bertie rubbed her hand down the recently sanded railing on the porch, coating her palm with dust. She knew why he harassed her: A, because he could; B, he didn’t want her working on his house; and C, he didn’t want her anywhere in his life. As if she was thrilled to be here. Well, okay, maybe she was thrilled a little bit. Bertie’s heart stammered, remembering how Keith cupped her chin and blasted her with his intensity. She’d never had a famous athlete for a client. Quite a coup for a small-town designer. His bossy personality aside, he had sexual attractiveness down to an art. Not to mention the exhilarating ring of one hundred and fifty thousand big ones. Bertie needed that money. She’d made big promises to Dwelling Place, and she planned to keep them.

Bertie made a quick stop at the side of the house to answer a few questions from Julio, her head painter. Her head popped up as she saw Liza wave good-bye and skip down the front porch. Christ on a cracker. What was Liza doing back home? Of all the places in town, she had to walk in on Bertie looking her worst at a job site that didn’t look much better. And of course, Liza had to witness Mr. Studly Do-Right catching Bertie from the ladder and holding on to her a little too tight. Okay, well, maybe that part was really good, because he smelled all musky…way better than vinegar and water. And he held her in full view of Liza, which gave Bertie some satisfaction. So it hadn’t been all bad, but it’d be a heck of a lot better if Liza hadn’t shown up. At all.

Bertie jumped in her parked car on the side street, glancing across Keith’s lawn where the majestic oaks provided great shade. She’d always loved this neighborhood with the eclectic mix of homes and the winding sidewalks. Liza also lived in a nice neighborhood near Aunt Franny, where the lots were large along with the homes. Bertie lived on the other side of the tracks—literally—in a small, humble bungalow. She and Liza had competed all their lives over everything from grades to who sold the most Girl Scout cookies. But when it came to boys, Liza always won with her long legs and blond hair.

Bertie had turned the key in the ignition when an old Chevy S-10 compact truck skidded to a halt in front of Keith’s house, missing the lamppost by mere inches. Oh geez. Only one person drove that pink restored 1982 pick-up truck. Jo Ellen Huggins jumped out, carrying a Bundt cake wrapped in pink cellophane with a big, pink flower on top. Bertie enjoyed a good laugh. Keith might have to install a revolving front door. Jo Ellen wouldn’t be the only one showing up with baked goods. At least there’d be food in the house. She giggled to herself as she put the car in drive and pulled onto the street.

***

Maria, the housekeeper, opened the back door for Bertie and told her where to find Francesca.

“Aunt Franny!” Bertie called, moving through Francesca’s kitchen to her office. “We need to talk. I’m already having issues with your nephew, and I’m like, only one day on the job.”

Francesca looked up from the magazine in her lap. “Not Keith. He’s so reasonable and even tempered,” she said, lowering the glasses from her face.

Bertie flopped down on the rosy-pink damask lounge chair and propped her feet up on the matching ottoman. “You’re kidding, right? Mr. Control Freak?”

Aunt Franny chuckled, folding her hands on her desk.

“Is Maddie coming home for spring break? Because he told me I had to finish her room in a few weeks or I’m fired.”

“Nonsense.”

“Nonsense, she’s not coming, or nonsense, he can’t fire me?”

“He can’t fire you. I won’t allow it.”

Relief flooded Bertie’s system. “What about Maddie’s room? I can’t possibly finish before she gets here.”

“That won’t be necessary. Maddie will be staying with me. Although she can’t wait to see her new room and all your ideas.”

If Maddie had the same personality as her dad, Bertie might have to hurt someone. “Uh, that would be nice.” Bertie edged forward in her seat. “Aunt Franny, please don’t take this the wrong way, but is Maddie anything like her dad? I mean, I’m sure she’s beautiful and talented and smart, but…”

“Oh, Bertie. Trust me. You’re going to love her.”

“Aunt Francesca!”

Bertie stiffened at the sound of Keith’s bellow. All animation slid from Francesca’s face as she listened to the sharp thud of his footsteps on the hardwood floors.

“You need to call off your dogs.” Keith burst into the room. “I’ve got a pink cake, pigs in a blanket, and green Jell-O with tiny marshmallows shimmying in my refrigerator. And that decorator—” Keith stopped at the sight of Bertie. Relief flooded his expression, and his aggressive stance seemed to melt away. She could feel the air being sucked from the room as he hit her with his dark, fathomless eyes.

“Funny, I didn’t take you for a quitter.” His voice held an almost intimate quality.

Bertie scrambled to stand. “Uh, okay…here’s the thing—”

“Bertie tells me you’re threatening to fire her,” Aunt Franny interjected, saving Bertie from coming up with an explanation.

His gaze never left her face. “Are you going to run and tattle every time we have words? Because I didn’t peg you as a chicken always needing backup, either.”

“Chicken?” Bertie straightened to her full five-foot-two height. “You’re being an unreasonable bully because you don’t like me and—”

“So, Jo Ellen dropped by? Who else?” Aunt Franny doused the flying sparks between them with her question. Keith blinked and then turned his attention back to his aunt.

“Uh, there was Jo Ellen, driving a pink truck.”

“Isn’t she beautiful? She sells Mary Kay cosmetics. Her skin is flawless.”

Keith’s clenched fist by his side told Bertie what he thought of Jo Ellen’s flawless skin.

“And then someone with red hair in big curls. Mary something with the mini hotdogs.”

“Mary Ann Howard. She’s a nurse at Dr. Miller’s office. Lovely girl. She volunteers at the first aid station at the state fair every year,” Aunt Franny explained.

“Yeah? And then the one with the green Jell-O—”

“Arlene Tomlin!” Aunt Franny and Bertie said together. Bertie started to snicker but sobered up at Keith’s icy glare.

“Arlene is famous for her green Jell-O. Makes it for all the festivals in Harmony. She’s a real hoot. And she wins most of the karaoke contests at the Dog. Doesn’t she, Bertie?”

Keith gave an aggravated sigh and crossed his arms. “Flawless skin, Florence Nightingale, and a Faith Hill wannabe? What did you do, Aunt Francesca? Take out a billboard on the interstate?”

“Don’t be silly. I only mentioned you to Jo Ellen. You know how news travels. As you can see, there are plenty of lovely ladies, all ready to start dating you. You need to ask a few out to get to know them better.”

Keith let out a huge breath as if all the life was being sucked out of him. “I’ll do my own hunting, if you don’t mind. I don’t need any more eager women dropping by with hungry eyes and grandma’s recipes, auditioning to be my wife,” he said in a strained but calm voice.

“I’m only trying to help, dear. You need to meet these women so you can make a decision.” Aunt Franny patted the back of her classic, short hair. “Now, please tell me you haven’t been growling and scowling in front of all these lovely ladies because you’re likely to scare everyone away.”

Keith stiffened. “I’ve been a perfect gentleman.” He locked gazes with Bertie, daring her to blow his cover. Message received. He’d been nice to everyone
but
her.

“Wonderful to hear. I expect no less from you.”

Bertie jerked as Keith grabbed her hand and drew her toward the door. “Sorry to cut this visit short, but we need to get going. We have a lot of work to do.” He stopped with his hand on the doorframe. “Dinner at seven?” he asked Francesca.

“Beef tenderloin. Your favorite,” Francesca said, not missing a beat. She appeared to be busy shuffling papers on her desk, biting her lip, and Bertie knew she was hiding a smile.

Keith grunted as if satisfied. “Good. See you then.”

“Nice visiting with you, Aunt Fra—”

Keith yanked Bertie from the room and bellowed over his shoulder at Francesca, “And stop matchmaking!”

***

Bertie tripped after Keith as he pulled on her hand. She wondered if this was the way they would always react around each other, like a push-me-pull-me toy. Wait a minute—he didn’t own her, and he couldn’t boss her around. Well, technically he could. But that wasn’t the point. She needed to set some boundaries.

“Stop!” she said, digging in her heels before he dragged her halfway through town. Keith came to a halt only when he reached the front of his car parked in the driveway.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, noticing no other cars parked in the driveway.

“Around back, next to the carriage house.” Bertie tried slipping her hand free, but he squeezed tighter, sending a shiver up her arm and down her spine.

“Listen, I need you to come back to the house with me. Okay? I can’t go in there alone.”

Bertie snapped her gaze to his face where he appeared a little wild around the eyes. She would’ve laughed if she didn’t think he looked close to going over the edge. She gave him an understanding nod. “We’re getting to you, aren’t we?”

A soft chuckle spilled from his firm lips, catching her off guard. She’d never really heard him laugh before, except at her expense. A smile lifted her lips in return.

“If you’re referring to this town, then you have no idea.” Keith inched her closer until only a thin slice of cool March air whispered between them.

Bertie patted his arm with her free hand. “There, there. It will get better.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and his eyes crinkled in the corners from years of playing in the sun. “The thing is, I don’t see how it can, not with this ridiculous deadline and ultimatum from Francesca.” He mindlessly caressed her hand. “I’m sorry I yelled in there, but I had no idea I’d be facing a full-court press with all these women. Kind of took me by surprise,” he admitted sheepishly.

He really seemed rattled, and it was kind of endearing. Kind of. As he continued to play with her hand, every organ and body part inside Bertie went still. She’d have to be dead not to be aware of the sexual energy coursing between them. Her fingers were already in love. God help the rest of her.

“I need my small-town decorator.” His voice held a sexy, throaty quality. Excitement prickled her nerve endings.

For what? For a clandestine meeting at a sleazy motel? Or down by the lake where everyone used to go to make out?
I’m in, just say the word.
For once, Bertie stopped herself from blurting her thoughts, because her desires were off-the-charts, insane, nutso. She needed a good, bone-rattling shake. She didn’t have time for this stupid, unwanted physical attraction.

“Why? To run interference?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “This match I have to play on my own with no coaching.” His laugh sounded self-deprecating. “So, I’m leaving town in a few weeks…” In a flash, disappointment replaced her unruly excitement. “To take care of some business and pick up Maddie.” This did not sound like a good seduction from a frustrated, professional athlete in desperate need…of her. “I need you to go back to your other job at the Milners’ and finish up,” he said in a soft but firm voice. The message behind the tightening of his jaw and dark eyes didn’t take a genius to decipher.

Bertie gasped in outrage. He
was
firing her. She knew it. She tugged on her hand, gaining her release.

“I’m not firing you.” Keith must have read the horror in her expression. “I’d just prefer you send Gary over in your place. Until Maddie gets here.”

“What? I don’t understand.” Bertie stepped back, away from the delicious heat of his body that had wrapped her into a false sense of lusty haze. “I can do this job. I’m a good
designer
.”

Keith rubbed his forehead as if his head ached. “I know. I’ve looked over the drawings and your furniture specs. So far, I’m on board.” He leaned against the hood of his car. “Look, things are really fucked up for me right now. I need some time to think and, uh, sort things out. And I can’t with everyone auditioning to be my wife.”

Heat flamed Bertie’s cheeks. Did he think she was throwing herself at him? That she wanted a crack at being Mrs. Keith Morgan? Like hell! Wanting one night of hot sex did not translate into settling down and darning socks. She wanted out—as soon as she finished this job and collected her bonus. She wanted to concentrate on her design profession, not her gofer/dog-walking/waitressing career. She had a metropolitan city to explore and bigger and better houses in her future where she could really grow her talent. She would not be joining the long line of future Mrs. Morgan wannabes with a hot apple pie in her hands.

“If you think I’m auditioning to be your wife, you’re sadly mistaken. I’d rather shave my head and join a religious cult than play wife and mother right now.” Bertie planted her fists on her hips to keep from smashing them in his arrogant, square jaw.

Keith’s harsh laughter cracked the air. This time she didn’t feel any warm and fuzzies. “That’s the
last
thing I want. I don’t want any wife. And you are not wife or mother material,” he said, pushing away from the car and invading her space. “You’re my decorator only, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

A rush of anger surged through her, loosening her tongue. “I’m a
designer
, you ass. With a degree and a license. And as your designer, I have a job to do. What kind of game are you playing?” Bertie gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Either you want me or you don’t.”

Sudden, smoky desire lit the backs of Keith’s eyes and Bertie jumped from the heat. “I meant…as a designer…not as…uh…”