Jeannie Watt (14 page)

A decent guy probably would have stayed to find out what happened with Bidart, but Matt was afraid of what else might happen if he stayed. His willpower was shaky enough as it was.

He’d barely made it to the door.

T
ARA FORCED HERSELF
to concentrate on what Nate Bidart was saying—none of which seemed to be positive—and ignore the taillights turning out of her driveway, as well as the disappointment and shame burning deep inside of her. What did he find so lacking in her? She wanted to think it was the one-night stand proposal, but he’d withdrawn well before that.

“Nothing personal, here, Miss Sullivan—” she forced herself to focus on Bidart’s voice “—but tell me straight. Is your establishment ready for business?”

“It will be.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

No, it wasn’t.
“Are you in Night Sky, by any chance?”

“I’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

Tara went for broke. “Why don’t you stop by for a few minutes on your way out of town. At least then you can judge for yourself.”

“I’m leaving at close to four a.m.” He paused and then said, “I can come by right now.”

Tara glanced at her surroundings and then gave a fatalistic shrug. “I would appreciate it.”

“All right. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

He hung up without a goodbye. Matt had left without a goodbye.
Kind of a theme here.
Tara sank into a chair, pushing the loose hair back from her face. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Matt’s mouth on hers. She opened her eyes. Plenty of time for that later. Right now she had to concentrate on Nate Bidart.

Tara resisted the urge to tidy up. She got up and tossed the two beer bottles in the trash and then paced from room to room as she waited for Bidart. If nothing else, he’d get an honest look at the place, and at her.

It was almost twenty minutes to the second when the car pulled into the drive and Tara wished for a wild moment that it was Matt coming back, that they hadn’t argued. She was still trying to figure out what they had argued about.

When Bidart got out of his car, Tara’s first thought was that she’d expected someone taller, but as soon as she came face-to-face with him, she knew that this was not a man to be messed with—or easily cajoled, either. He resembled a bird of prey with his closely cropped gray hair and intense black eyes. And he looked tired. A hawk exhausted after a hunt. It must have been a rough few days negotiating business in Night Sky, Tara thought as she stepped back to let the man into her three-story work in progress. Well, the past few days hadn’t been that great for her, either.

“Good evening,” she said. “I’m Tara Sullivan. Thanks for taking the time to drive over here.”

“It was the least I could do under the circumstances.” He moved past her into the foyer with the air of a man who was doing his duty and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Tara closed the door and watched as Bidart studied the room, taking in the stripped staircase, the gallons of paint sitting in the hallway, the sheet dropped over the hall valet, the hanging capped wires where a light fixture on back order was supposed to be.

“Pardon my dust,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood and was rewarded with a cool, unsmiling stare.

Okay…we’ll keep things professional.

“Well,” she said, “let’s start on the ground floor. I’ll show you what I have and what I plan to have done.”

Tara conducted the tour briskly. She talked and Bidart listened as she took him through the house, laying the project out before him. He remained silent, giving no indication of what he was thinking as Tara showed him everything, ending the tour on the disastrously incomplete, stiflingly hot third floor.

Bidart did a slow circuit of the large open room, taking in every detail, from the scarred floor and crumbling plaster walls to the cracked windowpane mended with tape.

When he was done, he turned back to her and Tara had to force herself not to shift uncomfortably under his hard gaze. “Nothing personal here, Miss Sullivan, but this place is a disaster.”

“You should have seen it a week ago.”

“I can imagine.” His tone was not complimentary.

“This floor is a work in progress. I thought you should see the entire house so you could understand what had been accomplished on the lower floors.”

“I understand, but you’re still working under the gun on those lower floors, aren’t you?”

“A bit.” There was no use denying the fact.

Bidart pushed at a piece of broken wall plaster with the toe of his shoe. It left a trail in the dust.

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t be too concerned. But this reservation isn’t for me. I made it for my mother and her two sisters.”

“I see,” Tara said in a low voice.

“My mother has always loved this house. Once she tried to buy it from your aunt.” His gaze traveled over the deeply disguised carved oak molding that framed the door. It had been painted at least a dozen times, but Tara knew what was underneath. She wondered if Nate knew, too, from the way he was studying it. “Your aunt wanted to keep it in the family.”

“So do I,” Tara murmured. “Will you be attending the reunion?”

“I have reservations at Somers Inn. I tried to get Mom to stay there, too, but she’d wanted to stay here. I have to tell you, I was under the impression the house was ready for business.”

He gave the room one last critical inspection and then shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”

He started walking toward the stairs.

“It could work.”

Bidart stopped, surprised at Tara’s blunt statement.

“The rooms will be ready, and, if you keep the reservation for your mother and aunts, you can stay here at no additional charge.”

The offer was met by a very long silence and Tara felt her blood start to pound. Like saving a few bucks would be all that important to this man. Then, to her surprise, he came close to smiling. “Where?” he asked simply.

“We’ll find room,” she said, unable to suppress a hint of dryness. “We are starting this floor tomorrow.”

“We?”

“My carpenter.”
Who had better come back. If not, I am very, very sunk.
“And a few friends.”

“I was under the impression you had difficulty keeping help.”

Tara’s eyebrows went up with mock surprise.
Yeah, I’ll bet you’ve been given that impression.

She swallowed the words and smiled. “My carpenter is very reliable.”

Nate Bidart gave her a considering look. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll hold the cocktail party here regardless. Martin had me convinced the entire house was a shambles, but I see he was mistaken. I’d already made some alternate arrangements with him for the party, but seeing as that was all a misunderstanding, we’ll change those.”

Misunderstanding, her butt.
Tara decided to go for broke.

“Look. You’ve been honest with me. I want to be honest with you.”

Bidart nodded.

“My aunt took out a loan with the bank prior to her death to renovate this place. It has a hefty balloon attached to it. There are some other circumstances involved, but the bottom line is that I need to make this house start paying for itself. I can fill the rooms before the reunion. I’ve had calls, which is why I’m working on the third floor.” She paused, met Bidart’s steady gaze. “But having someone like you or your mother stay here…well, I was hoping that perhaps in the future, you’d keep my place in mind when you hold a retreat or meeting in the area. Or maybe you might recommend my place. I think if you keep your reservation, you’ll be impressed.” She glanced around. “And surprised.”

For a moment she was afraid she’d been too candid, had looked too much like a money-grubber. She didn’t want to grub money. She wanted to put Nicky through school, keep her house and survive during the process.

“How old was your aunt when she took out this loan?”

Tara was taken aback by the unexpected question. “Seventy-four, I think.”

Bidart nodded. “Which lending institution?”

“U.S. Trust.”

“Surprising.”

Tara frowned and was about to ask why, but Bidart just shook his head.

“Never mind,” he said.

He started down the flight of stairs without another word and Tara automatically followed, wishing she hadn’t been quite so candid. It had been a calculated risk. She’d lost.

When they reached the ground floor, Bidart headed for the door, but he wasn’t walking as quickly as before and Tara realized he was still assessing the lines and architectural details of her house. He stopped in the foyer and took a moment to study the carved oak molding that framed the archway, running his fingertips lightly over the newly finished surface.

“This house must have been something in its day,” Bidart said, dropping his hand to his side. “I can see why Mom is so taken with it. But, frankly, you have a very long way to go.”

“And I have several days to get there,” she replied shortly.

His gaze settled on her. “You think you can pull this off?”

“I know I can.”

Bidart’s mouth worked for a moment. “I’ll want to see the place before they arrive.”

It was all Tara could do to keep a foolish grin from spreading across her face as the meaning of his words sunk in. “You’ll keep the reservation?” she asked, wanting reassurance that she had not misunderstood.

“My mother wasn’t too happy about the cancellation anyway,” he admitted. “But—” his expression became matter-of-fact “—as far as business arrangements go, retreats and such, I’ve been using Somers Inn for a number of years. Martin is a friend. We have a mutually satisfactory arrangement and I have every reason to believe it will continue that way.”

“I understand.”

Nate reached for the door, then paused. “You do know that if I end up sharing a room at Somers Inn with my mother and two aunts…well, let’s just say I’m not going to be happy with you or your establishment.”

“That won’t happen.”

“It had better not. Or you won’t get any referrals from me. Good night, Miss Sullivan.”

She smiled. “Good night.”

Tara gently closed the door behind him and turned to lean against it, blowing out a breath that lifted the tendrils of hair off her forehead.

She didn’t have a promise of Bidart’s return business, but she did have her reservations back, and the possibility of referrals, which she desperately wanted. She’d won. Kind of. On the professional front anyway.

As for the personal front…she wasn’t even going to think about that. It was simply too humiliating and confusing.

“H
EY
,
BABE
.” Jack’s deep voice rumbled over the line early the next morning. “I hate to ask this of you. I know you’re damned busy, but my mom’s sick. Ben just took her to the hospital in Elko. They’re running tests. I gotta get over there.”

“When do you need me to work?” Tara immediately asked.

“Six to ten tonight.”

“No problem.” Matt’s truck turned into the drive and Tara’s heart jumped. Okay. He’d come back. They would work from there.

“Tonight and tomorrow…” Jack was saying.

“I’ll plan to work every night until I hear from you.” Matt shot a look her way as he came in the door. He crossed to the counter and filled his cup from the coffee carafe. He looked tired.

“Thanks, Tara. It’ll only be those two nights. I have the rest of the shifts covered. And I promise I’ll lend a hand fixing up your old barn in return.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Tara knew he’d have no time, but the offer was sincere. She hung up the phone and looked at Matt leaning against the counter, his expression distant, just as it had been when they’d first met. She’d managed to take them back to square one. She didn’t particularly like it there, but she was going to live with it.

“Jack’s mom,” she explained, even though he hadn’t asked. “She’s in the hospital.”

“Something serious?”

“They’re running tests.”

At the sound of a car coming up the drive, she went to the window and saw Hailey’s station wagon pull to a stop next to Matt’s truck.

“Hailey’s here to set up her pottery stuff. I hadn’t expected her quite this early, but she’s excited to get started.”

“Tara…about last night…”

Her heart rate increased in spite of herself, but her expression was purposefully cool.

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I wasn’t insulted,” she said in a flat voice. “Confused is a better word.” As were
hurt
and
abandoned
. She walked to the door and stepped out onto the porch before he could say anything else to tie her stomach in knots. She didn’t move fast enough.

“It wasn’t easy to leave last night,” he muttered as he caught up with her.

“Oh, that makes rejection so much easier.”

“It should.”

She stopped on the top step, her hands on her hips. She wanted to put an end to this…rehash. Once and for all.

“Look. I got your messages loud and clear. You don’t want to hurt me and I shouldn’t get involved with you, even for
one night
. Fine. I understand and I am not insulted. I just want to move on without losing my carpenter. There? Does that cover all of the bases? Have we talked enough?”

“Just about.” Matt grated out the words, his eyes narrowing. “What happened with Bidart last night?”

“I got the reservation. Thank you for asking.” Tara’s tone matched Matt’s exactly.

Hailey had the tailgate open and was busy dragging a heavy bucket of clay out of the back as Tara and Matt approached.

“Let me get that,” Matt said as he moved to the rear of the car. He easily hefted the remaining five-gallon plastic bucket and reached for the one Hailey had let thud to the ground.

“The shop?”

“The shop,” Hailey said with a smile. “Thanks.”

Both women watched Matt as he walked away, a bucket in each hand, flexing the muscles in his arms and back

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about him.”