Getting Lucky Page 12

  Lynda’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I don’t recall … I’m sure she mentioned it and I simply forgot. She’s very reliable.”

  And, according to Melina, Lynda was a walking, talking computer. He doubted she ever forgot anything, but if she wanted to give Mrs. Martin the benefit of the doubt, that was fine with him. “Anyway, Gloria’s fixing chicken salad sandwiches, pecan pie, and—”

  A crash from the side of the house interrupted his words. He cleared the steps in two leaps and raced around the corner of the porch to find Sophy lying on her back in the grass, staring at the sky, her legs resting on an eight-foot section of railing that lay crookedly across the bushes growing next to the porch.

  “Remember I said that later we’d tighten the railings?” he asked as Lynda came to a stop beside him. “We don’t have to remove them to do it.”

  “Are you all right?” Lynda demanded.

  “Oh, sure. You know, I’ve spent so much time up there looking down”— Sophy airily waved at the sky—“I’m just enjoying being down here looking up.” Her face crimson, she sat up, then easily got to her feet. She brushed her clothes, removed her cap, and combed her fingers through her hair, then replaced it. “Sorry about that,” she said as she moved between two bushes. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Ben gave her a hand up to the porch. She took the big step easily, with no sign of injury, unless bruised pride counted.

  “Maybe you should see a doctor,” Lynda said.

  “Really, I’m fine. Just embarrassed, that’s all.” She gestured toward the back door. “I—I think I’ll see how lunch is coming along.”

  “I hope she’s more proficient in the kitchen than she is out here,” Lynda murmured after Sophy had disappeared from sight.

  “The homeowner and employer who would be sued if Sophy were so inclined shouldn’t be snide about her abilities,” Ben said, crouching to examine where the section of railing had broken loose. “Some people, including whoever fell through the porch by the back door, might say these premises are a tad unsafe.” As long as he was down on the floor, he let his gaze slide the length of her legs, from the heels he estimated at four inches, over slender ankles, shapely calves, nice knees. That was as far as he could go, since the hem of her skirt grazed just above her knees. Too bad she didn’t dress more like the lady lawyers on Ally McBeal, Emmaline’s favorite show, with skirts so short that a deep breath could lead to a little unplanned exposure.

  But as soon as the image formed, he pushed it away. That was Melina’s style, not Lynda’s. No doubt she could make a man weak in the right clothes, but right for her. Elegant. Classy. Tasteful.

  Lynda cleared her throat, drawing his gaze higher. She raised one delicately arched brow, a silent comment on his interest in her legs, and said in that low, husky voice of hers, “The bruises have finally healed, and, yes, I’ll agree the porch isn’t the safest place, which is why I’ve hired the two of you to make it so. One might argue that Sophy was aware of the risk and should have been more careful.”

  “One might.” He stood up again. “On the other hand, one might argue that she’s young and poor, and you’re richer than sin. Not that it matters. Sophy’s not the lawsuit type.”

  “You know that for a fact?”

  “I’ll bet you a buck.”

  “And how do you prove it? Ask her if she wants the afternoon off to see a lawyer about possible legal action? No, thanks. If the idea hasn’t already entered her head, your question would put it there.”

  “You don’t have much faith in people, do you?”

  “Of course I—” As they started toward the back of the house, she broke off. “I have a world of faith in certain people.”

  “Your parents, your brother, Melina, Ross. Who else?”

  Because she didn’t like the answer, he suspected, she turned the question back on him. “And who do you have faith in? Your parents? Brothers or sisters? Friends?”

  “My mother, my father, and I are happiest never acknowledging the others’ existence. Fortunately, in a city the size of Atlanta, that’s fairly easy to do. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and no friends like Melina.” He held the back door for her, then followed her inside. “I have faith in myself.”

  And that was one sad fact.

  In the week he’d been working there, he hadn’t seen much of the house’s interior, but he didn’t imagine he’d like any of the other rooms as much as the kitchen. The room was large, with a fourteen-foot ceiling, glass-fronted cabinets of fine old oak, marble countertops, and a black-and-white checkerboard floor. A long, broad oak table stood in the center of the room, home to a row of cookbooks without so much as a splatter on them, and hanging from a rack above was an expensive-looking set of cookware that looked as if it hadn’t seen any more use than the cookbooks.

  This was a room that could easily be the heart of the house. It needed children coming home from school, sitting at the table for a snack, and sharing the details of their day while dinner simmered on the stove. But in this house, they would have to share with the housekeeper, since Mom—man, picturing Lynda as a mother wasn’t an easy jump to make—would be busy conquering the business world.

  Sophy was leaning against the island, her hands and face scrubbed clean of the paint that dotted her arms and clothing, while Gloria cut thick slices of homemade bread and explained the secret of French onion soup. “It’s the onions,” she said, lifting the knife to emphasize her point. “You have to—”

  “Caramelize the onions.” Ben reached past her to snitch the discarded end of the loaf.

  Gloria fixed a surprised gaze on him. “You hammer, you saw, you make incredible noise, and French onion soup, too?”

  “Nope. But it was one of Emmaline’s favorites. We had to have something to keep us going when we ran out of possum. You know, roadkill’s not always that easy to find.”

  She studied him a long time before waving the knife again. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m teasing. I’ve never had possum in my life. I was raised on biscuits and gravy, fried chicken, pork barbecue, grits, sweet cornbread, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Lynda murmured from the table, where she was sorting through the mail. When they all turned her way, she looked up as if just realizing that she’d spoken aloud. A blush colored her cheeks an appealing shade of rose. Instead of explaining or apologizing, though, she changed the subject as she approached the housekeeper. “I’m Lynda Barone, Mrs.…?”

  “Just Gloria. Muriel did clear this with you, didn’t she? She’s so excited about the new grandbaby that she’s just tickled pink. Wouldn’t surprise me none at all if the whole thing slipped her mind. ’Course, it’s good for grandmas to be excited—shows the little ones how much they’re wanted. I can provide references if you like. My most recent job was at the café in town. I’m sure Hank will be glad to speak for me.”

  “Hank?” Lynda echoed.

  “Harry,” Ben replied.

  Gloria beamed at him. “Isn’t that what I just said? Henry will be more than happy to give me a recommendation. And Sophy and I work well together, and I get along just fine with Mr. Forester, don’t I?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you do … but it’s Foster.”

  “What’s Foster?”

  “My name.”

  “I thought it was Ben,” she said, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I’m not too good at names until I’ve known someone a decade or two, but I don’t know how even I could confuse Foster with Ben.”

  Lynda stepped into the conversation again. “Mrs.—Gloria, if you could give me a list of references—”

  “Already on your desk. At least, I think that’s where Millicent said she was putting it.”

  “I’ll check those out, then we’ll talk in the morning. Now I’d better get my papers and go back to work.”

  “To do what?” Gloria asked. “Have a salad and a piece of fruit delivered to your desk so you won�
��t have to take a real break or carry on a conversation with people actually in the same room and not on the other side of the world?”

  “I don’t—”

  Don’t what? Ben wanted to prompt. Eat at her desk? Work through her lunch hour? Avoid even the most casual conversation with some of her coworkers?

  “Come on, Ms. Brown,” Gloria coaxed. “Forget work for thirty minutes. Relax and have some comfort food with some nice people. We are nice, if we say so ourselves.”

  “And we do say so,” Sophy chimed in.

  “Well … I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Good! Just let me clear this table, and—” Gloria reached for the mail on the breakfast table, but Lynda picked it up first.

  “I’ll put this in my office.”

  Intending to wash up in the downstairs bathroom, Ben followed her from the room. When a piece of lavender paper drifted to the floor from the mail she carried, he swept it up, then scanned the handwritten note as he straightened. Anton, page 43. Do you think those green eyes are real? If they aren’t, who cares? The muscles are, and they’re quite impressive. Mercy, I’d love a job oiling these bodies for the pictures. My heart might give out, but I’m willing to take that risk.

  “I, uh, think this is yours,” he said, suppressing a grin as he held out the paper.

  Instead of rose, this time she turned crimson. She snatched the note from him, crumpling it in her fist. “It’s not— My mother—” She drew a deep breath. “My mother sends me this magazine, with notes about the guys pictured inside.”

  “Muscular, oily guys.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “For the most part, yes. It’s not pornography. They’re not naked. They’re just … trying to sell a product.”

  If it was just good-looking model types in ads, Ben thought, there was no reason for her to be embarrassed. Whatever their product, her mother thought she should be buying, or at least looking. But instead of trying to eke out more information from her, he changed the subject a bit. “The late Lewis Grizzard, a fellow Georgian and a damn funny man, once explained the difference between being naked and nekkid. Naked means you don’t have any clothes on. Nekkid”—he laid his drawl on thick—“means you don’t have any clothes on and you up to somethin’.”

  She laughed again. “Well, these men aren’t even naked.” With that she turned into her office and he continued toward the bathroom. He would have sworn he heard one more comment from her, though, in a murmur surely not intended for his ears.

  “Maybe I would enjoy it more if they were.”

  Chapter Eight

  Wednesday was the sort of day Lynda remembered from her summers growing up—bright and sunny, warm but not so much that a person couldn’t be comfortable sitting in the shade, not doing much of anything. Back then, life had seemed so far away. Her entire world had revolved, for three short months, around the local swimming pool, the sun, her friends and family, backyard barbecues, vacations to the beach. She’d never thought any further ahead than the inevitable end of summer, never had any concerns more pressing than who her new teachers would be, or whether she was going to grow any taller.

  “That’s an interesting reaction to the news,” Tom Flynn remarked, jerking her twenty-five years forward into the M.I. conference room. It was the midweek staff meeting for all department heads and their assistants, and she’d just been caught staring out the window daydreaming about lazy days and utter contentment.

  Of course, the possibility that she’d been woolgathering wouldn’t cross Tom’s mind. He didn’t believe she was capable of it, no more than she’d believed six months ago he was capable of falling in love.

  What news was he talking about, and what reaction was she supposed to have? Considering that she’d rather tap dance the length of the conference table than admit she hadn’t been paying attention, she decided to give bluffing a try. “What reaction did you expect from me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Considering how much time you put into this deal, a display of temper. A few choice words for those idiots in Malaysia. Better yet, an order for the pilots to get the Gulfstream ready for a trans-Pacific flight.”

  The Osaka-Malaysia deal! She couldn’t believe it had fallen through—and after Ross had relied on her to decide whether to go ahead or drop it. Now she would have to admit that her mind had been wandering, because she wanted details. She needed to know who was to blame and whether anything could be salvaged.

  Ross, who’d been gazing out the same window, swiveled his chair around to face them. His dark gaze was amused as it brushed across her face. “If we can find a new buyer who will agree to the same deal as the Malaysians, or get the Osaka people to bend a bit more, we’ll be all right. Tom, why don’t you give her the letters and contracts, and Lynda, you can see what can be done.” He nodded once to signal that the meeting was over.

  Lynda accepted the file Tom slid across the table, then started to rise, but Ross gestured for her to stay. He waited until everyone else had gone before he spoke. “You got a little distracted again, didn’t you?” His tone was mild, not the least bit intimidating or threatening. The Ross who had never tolerated weakness or distraction in an employee had disappeared after Maggie’s accident and wasn’t likely to ever return. Still, Lynda felt as embarrassed as if she’d been soundly chastised.

  “I’m sorry, Ross. I was paying attention, honestly. It’s just that …”

  “At some point, something more interesting sneaked into your mind. Like what a beautiful day it is, and doesn’t a tall glass of lemonade and a hammock tied between two hundred-year-old shade trees sound a lot more appealing than yet another staff meeting.”

  She knew from her last visit to the McKinney house that he had just such a hammock in the backyard. With Maggie’s flower beds in profuse bloom, and her and Rachel close at hand, he probably found it a most relaxing place.

  “I heard you hired the distraction from Harry’s to work on your house,” Ross went on. “How is that going?”

  She pretended she wasn’t blushing. “He’s very qualified for the job.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “Seriously. I had Melina check his references, and she got nothing but glowing reports.”

  “Lynda, I wasn’t teasing. I have no doubt he’s qualified. I can’t imagine you hiring someone who wasn’t.”

  She thought of Sophy, whose enthusiasm for the job far exceeded her experience, but remained silent. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d hired the girl.

  “I—I wasn’t thinking about him,” she solemnly assured Ross.

  He nodded. “Does he have a name—this eminently qualified person?”

  “Ben. Ben Foster.… He’s from Atlanta.… He’s worked in construction for years.… Mr. Fitzgerald at the hardware store recommended him.” Realizing that she was blurting out information in spurts, she caught her breath and clamped her jaw shut.

  “What was on your mind, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  She didn’t mind. She was simply surprised. In all the years she’d worked for him, he’d never asked personal questions and she’d never volunteered such details. Rather than admit to daydreaming about the summers of her youth, she gave a vaguely honest answer. “I was just thinking that Bethlehem doesn’t have a community swimming pool.” She would have arrived at that acknowledgment eventually if she hadn’t been interrupted. At least, she probably would have.

  “No, they don’t,” Ross agreed. “You know, City Park has plenty of empty space. A couple of acres would be enough for a really great setup. Why don’t you look into it? Talk to the mayor and the council, get some figures.”

  “But the Malaysia deal—”

  “Just got a major setback. It’s on the back burner for the moment, until you find some new buyers or decide to forget it. Take an easy job for once, Lynda. See about getting Bethlehem a pool.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, she admitted. The company was always involved in some sort of community project, usually one that benefi
tted children, and when she was a child, she couldn’t have imagined anything better than the pool on a hot summer day. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll have a report on your desk—” She was about to say tomorrow when she remembered Monday’s conversation with Ben. He was a rebel—the very word implying intriguing, wild, reckless, dangerous. And she was a conformist, a fancy way of saying boring. “How about Monday?”

  “Sounds fine. Maybe Ben Foster can help. Feel free to put him on the payroll if you can use him.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I bet you will. Now that you’ve found someone to work on your house, you just don’t want to share him, do you?” Ross chuckled. “Does he have family here in town?”

  “No. As far as I know, he doesn’t have ties anywhere.”

  “Hmm. I saw him at the soccer match Saturday with a blonde woman, and I just wondered if he’s related to one of the girls on the team.”

  He didn’t strike her as the soccer type, but the blonde-woman type … Oh, yeah, she could imagine that. No, wait, she didn’t have to imagine it. She’d seen him with the sultry blonde Kelli at the bar Friday night. Had she gone home with him? Spent the night? Taken him to the game the next morning?

  It was none of her business. He could have a half-dozen Kellis and she wouldn’t care, remember?

  Gathering her papers, she stood. “I’ll have the preliminary work on the pool for you by Monday, and I’ll see what I can do about the Malaysia deal.” She was halfway to the door when, against her will, she turned back. “This woman …”

  Ross didn’t try very hard to restrain his grin. “Cute, curly hair, probably twenty or so but looks fifteen.”

  Sophy, Lynda thought with a rush of relief. Of course, it was possible he could have something going with his assistant, but she didn’t think so. His behavior with Sophy was more big brother to little sister than man to woman. He was patient, teasing, affectionate—exactly the way Lucas treated her.