Designed for Love (6 page)

This afternoon had proved that a part of her that could still be stung by an offhand remark. Jillian Sealy was white-collar, and not just by profession. Her carriage and the confidence with which she made eye contact communicated the expectation that she would be treated a certain way. Despite Wil’s occasional arrogance, she would never have that sense of entitlement. She knew she would always be susceptible to the resurgence of childhood shame, and Jillian’s quick reaction to Rose’s harmless remark had stirred that old inadequacy.

She would probably do best to remember that her relationship with Jillian was strictly professional. They’d lost their heads for one passionate evening, but she could put things back on track. Hell, she’d had a six-month relationship with Andy, one of her crew members, a while back, and they still managed to work together. She had a job to do, and Jillian had made it plain that her plans for them didn’t include anything more than that.

“Yep, keep it professional,” she muttered to herself as she drained the rest of her beer. She put on her safety glasses and set the guard on the saw. Burying herself in measurements and sawdust was one way to clear her mind.

*

“No, I don’t know when I’ll be home.” Propped against the kitchen counter, Jillian wedged her cell phone between her cheek and shoulder while she filed her nails. Monica, her friend and fellow real-estate agent in Cincinnati, had called to check on her when she hadn’t heard from her in several days.

“I thought you were just going down there to sell the house,” Monica said.

“Well, I was. But there’s a lot to be done before it’s ready to list. Besides, I don’t have a job to rush home to.”

“You could get your old job back.”

“I refuse to beg that asshole to rehire me.” Jillian applied light pink polish to her thumbnail, then debated whether she liked the shade.

“I can talk to my boss.”

“Monica, I’m not worried. I’m sure I could call any number of firms.”

“If you want to get on with a good firm, you shouldn’t stay away too long. Real estate is fickle.”

“As soon as things are sorted here.”

“I’d think you would be in a hurry. There can’t be much in Hicktown to stick around for.”

Jillian immediately recalled the hazy look of passion in Wil’s eyes.

“Jillian?”

“What?” She shivered at the memory of Wil whispering her name.

“Am I missing something?”

“No.” She shook her head as if she could clear Wil’s face from her mind as easily as an Etch-a-Sketch screen. “No. If I take a few weeks and fix the place up, I can make a nice profit.”

“A few weeks? Jillian, get your ass up here while people still remember your name.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. The market will still be there when I get back. Maybe I’ll think about starting my own firm.” She’d planned on going out on her own in about five years anyway. She would just be accelerating that schedule.

After finishing her nails, she carefully recapped the polish and waved her hands to dry. A knock at the door gave her an excuse to end the conversation. “Someone’s here. I’ll call you in a few days.”

She hung up before Monica could protest. When she swung open the door, Wil stood on the porch, staring out at the street.

“Hello, Wil.” After the way they’d left things the day before, Jillian was surprised to see her. From the little she knew about her, she’d expected it would take a few more days for Wil to come around asking for forgiveness.

Wil faced her, shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and rocked on her heels. Her eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses and her expression was stony.

“We need to go to the hardware store if we’re going to get your kitchen fixtures ordered in time.”

Expecting an apology, Jillian blinked, taken off guard by her lack of contrition.

“I didn’t call,” Wil said abruptly.

“What?”

“I didn’t call. So if this is a bad time I can come back later.”

“Um—no. Now is fine.”

She grabbed her coat and purse from the hook behind the door, locked up, and followed Wil to her truck. It was only a couple of blocks to the hardware store, and if they hadn’t been picking up supplies she would have suggested they walk rather than get in Wil’s truck again. Instead she climbed silently into the cab, staying as close to the door as she could. Beneath the scent of sawdust and paint thinner, she picked up the clean, light scent of Wil’s cologne and cursed her awareness. She didn’t need drama, and if that’s what Wil was after, Jillian should get over her attraction very quickly. But considering the tension in the truck, it would be a long five weeks if she continued to be this physically conscious of Wil.

“I assume, since my father didn’t fire me this morning, you didn’t call him.” Jillian sensed a touch of challenge beneath Wil’s icy tone.

“No.”

She’d considered it, but couldn’t think of a plausible reason to request a different crew. And she couldn’t imagine telling Bud Johnson the real reason she didn’t want to work with his daughter. Out of curiosity, she had contacted another contractor, but they wouldn’t have a crew available for another three weeks. So she was left with little choice but to stick it out with Wil.

“I’m an adult, Wil. I see no reason to mess with your livelihood just because you and I had a misunderstanding.”

Wil laughed humorlessly. “A misunderstanding? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Well, that would be the civilized way to handle things.” Jillian could have said she was sorry. But stubbornly she refused, not wanting to be the first to apologize.

“Of course.” Wil’s expression was blank. She wheeled into the lot in front of Bill’s Hardware, parked, and jumped out without another word.

Jillian felt like she’d been transported back in time as she followed Wil through the wood-framed screen door. Merchandise covered the walls, each of the six aisles, and nearly every available surface of the small store. A long counter across the front of the store held an antiquated cash register and stacks of catalogs. She wandered down the nearest aisle, passing bins with nails, bolts, and screws of every size. On the back wall she found a complete palette of paint samples arranged in a rack lit with fluorescent bulbs.

She selected several of the small cards in colors she liked and tucked them in her purse. She’d never actually painted a room, but she’d picked up a few home-improvement magazines and decided it sounded simple enough. The interior paint had gone on her list and she’d put the exterior paint on Wil’s.

“We won’t be ready for you to paint anything for at least a week,” Wil said from behind her.

“I know. But I want to take some samples home and consider them. I like this green for the kitchen. And this one for the dining room.”

“It’s yellow.” Wil’s distaste was evident in her tone.

“You don’t like yellow?”

“Ah, it’s not my favorite.”

“But it’s not an obnoxious shade. And it will look perfect with the white trim and really reflect the light in that room.”

“Hey, it’s your house.” Wil raised her hands in surrender.

“Well, it’s really not.” Jillian replaced the rich ochre and selected beige instead. “And it’s better to stick with less dramatic colors when trying to sell.” She recited the advice she’d given numerous clients.

“Have you given any thought to an exterior color?”

“I guess I shouldn’t suggest yellow.”

Wil rolled her eyes and took Jillian’s elbow, seeming not to notice when Jillian started at the contact. “Come over here and look at these kitchen cabinets.”

Jillian shivered, unable, even after Wil released her, to banish the sensory memory of her touch. And it irritated her that Wil seemed unaffected as she led her to a display of varying types and shades of wood samples.

Wil flipped open a catalog on the counter in front of her, and once against Jillian found herself watching Wil’s hands. She remembered the feel of them grasping her hips, guiding her as she thrust against her.

“I think you should choose something of average price, very neutral.”

She forced herself to pay attention to the cabinets Wil pointed out, hoping that concentrating on business would calm her storming senses. Shutting out Wil’s light scent and the warmth of her body so close, Jillian focused on the pages in front of her. She’d intended the kitchen to be attractive yet economical, but as they leafed through the catalog, she noticed the products she’d want in her own home.

“I want these. In white.” She pointed out a set with frosted glass inserts in the upper cabinets. “Dark countertops. Granite, maybe, or engineered stone.”

Wil shook her head. “Too expensive.”

“These are the ones I want,” Jillian insisted, annoyed by Wil’s quick dismissal.

“Then compromise on the countertop. We can do tile cheaper.”

“I like granite.”

“I thought you wanted to make a profit. If you don’t prioritize you’ll never get back what you put into it.”

Wil’s confidence grated against Jillian’s already tender nerves, and when she responded her tone was harsher than she intended. “Suddenly, you’re an expert on real estate.”

Wil stared at her for a moment and she wished she could identify the emotion that flashed quickly in those brilliant blue eyes. “No. But I know something about remodeling.”

“Well, it’s my project. Order these,” she punctuated her words with a jab at the page, “and the granite.”

While Wil wordlessly copied the product information, Jillian opened another catalog. She immediately noticed a beautiful brushed-nickel kitchen faucet whose clean, modern lines would go perfectly with the cabinets she’d just chosen. One glance at the price told her that she’d be pushing Wil if she insisted on ordering it. Instead she found a cheaper model and reminded herself that she planned to sell the house when she was done anyway. She chose a similar set for the bathroom sinks.

“We’re putting the new shower in the master. It’ll need fixtures as well,” Wil said as she added the ones Jillian indicated to her list. “Do you have any ideas about the tile in there?”

“Do I need to decide that now?”

“We won’t start the bathroom until we’re done in the kitchen. But if Bill has to order it, he does need some lead time.”

Jillian thought varying shades of gray tile would complement the slate blue she wanted for the walls. Coupled with the glass shower, and the nickel fixtures, the overall effect would be clean and elegant. She tried to concentrate on the image of the finished bathroom instead of the feel of Wil’s breath against her neck as she leaned over her shoulder to look at the catalog. When Wil brushed against her back, she fought the memory of what had happened in the kitchen when their positions had been reversed.

“We’ll start demolition Monday morning. I’ve arranged for a Dumpster to be delivered. My girls will be there at eight.”

“Your girls?”

“My crew. Three of the hardest-working women you’ll ever find.” Wil started toward the front of the store. As they reached the counter, she called, “Bill, we’re ready.”

A young man pushed through the half door from what Jillian assumed was an office. He looked around Wil’s age, a few years younger than Jillian, she guessed. His sandy hair was shaggy, and he wore a faded black Scorpions T-shirt and worn jeans. When he took Wil’s list and turned to enter it in a compact laptop Jillian hadn’t noticed before, she saw the distinctive shape of a Skoal can in his back pocket. This wasn’t how she’d pictured the “Bill” in Bill’s Hardware. For some reason she imagined an older man in flannel and suspenders.

“All set, Wil.” He handed back her list and a receipt. “I haven’t seen you down at the Ranch lately.”

Wil shrugged. “You know how it is, we’re busy.”

“Me too. Ever since Granddaddy passed, I’ve been running this place by myself. But you gotta let off some steam sometimes.”

“The ranch?” Jillian wondered how working on a ranch could be relaxing.

“Rambles Ranch is a bar on the west side of town. You probably drove by it on your way in,” Wil explained.

Jillian recalled passing the wood-shingled building that resembled a bunkhouse. She hadn’t paid attention to the name stenciled on a sign outside, but the glowing neon beer signs in the windows had made its purpose clear.

“You oughta hire one of the high-school boys to help out nights and weekends.” Wil folded her receipt and shoved it in her jacket pocket.

Bill shrugged. “I’ve got one part-time guy already. And my brother will be home from college next week. He’ll help out for the summer.”

“Well, try not to work too hard,” Wil said as she led Jillian out of the store.

“I guess there are a lot of family-owned businesses in this town,” Jillian commented as they walked to the truck.

“There’s not much in the way of jobs around town. So if you grow up here and want to stick around, you either commute to the city or go into the family business. Most places have been in the same family for generations.”

“Like Bill’s.”

Wil slid behind the wheel and started the truck. “Yep. His grandfather, the one he’s named after, opened the hardware store about the same time mine started Johnson and Son. Bill’s father took off when he and his brother were young, but Bill has been working there since we were in high school.”