For the Love of Pete (3 page)

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tried explaining that to Jo's grandmother, but even though Cornelia Lindsay hadn't said a single harsh or accusing word, the disappointment in her eyes had only compounded his sense of shame. He couldn't bear the prospect of seeing that same disappointment in Jo's eyes, so he'd stayed silent and let others break her heart with the news.

Over the last year, he'd seen people coming and going at Rose Cottage. He knew mat, one by one, Jo's sisters had come there, fallen in love and married.-All were now living in the area, but he hadn't caught the first glimpse of Jo.

Feeling awkward and ill at ease the whole time, he'd even done some work for Ashley and her new husband, Josh Madison, but the subject of Jo had never even come up, eventually convincing him that Ashley didn't know about the betrayal. As clannish as they were, he'd supposed they all hated him on Jo's behalf. It had been a relief, in a way, to know that she'd kept silent, though it worried him some that she apparently hadn't even turned to those closest to her back then. Still, his guilt ran deep.

Even after that reassuring encounter with Ashley several weeks back, he dismissed the message he'd received this morning. He told himself it was because he was swamped with work. Now, though, he had no more excuses. On his way home, he ignored the churning in his gut and drove to Rose Cottage to take a look at what needed to be done.

Snow still clung to the trees and lay several inches deep on the front steps. Even though the snow was undisturbed by footprints, there was smoke curling from

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the chimney. A light was burning in the living room, and another shone brightly in the kitchen.

Pete sat in his car and debated whether he ought to drive right on. He wasn't sure he was ready to face any of the D'Angelo women, not at Rose Cottage. He'd only been able to work for Ashley because the job had been at Josh's home. He knew that stepping through this door would strip away the scab on an old wound.

"Don't be an idiot," he finally muttered. It was a job. No big deal. They'd probably rented the place to some stranger. There was nothing here to be afraid of. Chiding himself for his cowardice, he strode to the front door and knocked.

When the door swung open, he wasn't sure who was more stunned, him or the pale woman who stared at him with sad, haunted eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he and Jo said in a chorus.

He tried for a smile. "Sorry. I had a call to come by about some needed repairs. I had no idea you were here. Frankly, I can't believe you called me."

She regarded him with bewilderment. "I didn't. What repairs? Ashley said something about making a few calls, but I had no idea she'd done it. We never even went over her list of what needs to be done."

"Whoever called said something about some loose and rotting boards on the porch."

"It was dark when I got here. I didn't notice."

"You just arrived, then?"

She shook her head. "Last night, actually."

"And you haven't been out all day," he said.

She regarded him with suspicion. "How do you know that?" she asked, a surprisingly defensive note in her voice.

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"Settle down, darlin'. Nobody's been tattling on you, at least not to me." He gestured toward the steps. "The only footprints out here are mine."

Her temper deflated at once. "Sorry," she said stiffly.

He hesitated, then forced himself to ask, "Would you prefer I send someone else over to check out the porch? I could have someone come by in the morning. Your sister obviously didn't know that calling me would be a problem."

Indecision was written all over her face. She looked so lost, so thoroughly miserable, that Pete wanted to haul her into his arms and comfort her, but he no longer had that right. Once she would have slapped him silly if he'd tried, but something told him that whatever had sent her fleeing to Rose Cottage had wiped away that feistiness and strength.

"No," she said at last. "You're here. I don't want to try to explain to Ashley why I sent you away. I'll flip on the light so you can take a closer look."

Pete nodded. "Thanks."

A moment later, the light came on, and then the door firmly shut. He tried not to feel hurt at being so plainly dismissed and locked out, but he couldn't help it. Once he'd been warmly welcomed in this home. Once he'd been joyously welcomed by this woman. Having that door close quietly in his face was as effective as any slap. The message was just as clear: Jo would tolerate his presence as long as there was a job to do, but she wanted no further contact with him. Her reaction was only what he deserved, yet it rankled.

He spent a few minutes surveying the porch, determined that it needed to be totally replaced since half

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measures would only delay the inevitable. He made a few rough calculations on the notepad he always kept in his pocket, then knocked on the door again.

It took a long time for Jo to answer, and when she did, it was obvious she'd been crying. Her pale skin was streaked with tears. Pete's heart turned over at the sight.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

Forgetting all about the porch for the moment, he asked, "Jo, are you okay?"

"Nothing a little time won't cure," she said. "Or so they say. Personally, I think that's a crock."

He heard the unmistakable bitterness in her voice and concluded she was referring to something recent, though it could just as easily have had something to do with his betrayal all those years ago and a wound he'd caused that had yet to heal.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and risked another rejection. "Want to talk about it?"

"No, and certainly not with you," she said flatly. "What I want is to be left alone."

He knew he should take her at her word, but how could he? She looked as if she were on the verge of collapse. What were her sisters thinking, leaving her alone like this? Ignoring her words, he brushed right past her and walked inside the cottage, determined not to go until there was more color in her cheeks, even if anger at his presumption was what put it there.

It was like coming home. The paint was fresh and there were a few unfamiliar touches, but essentially it had hardly changed from the way he remembered it. It was warm and cozy with the fire blazing, the chairs covered with a cheery chintz fabric, the walls

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decorated with delicate watercolors of the Chesapeake Bay and one or two of the garden right here at Rose Cottage. Jo's grandmother had painted them. What they lacked in expertise, they made up for in sentiment.

"Have you eaten?" he asked briskly, heading for the kitchen as if he had a perfect right to do so. "I haven't and I'm starved."

Jo hurried to catch up with him, then faced him with a stubborn jut to her chin. "What is wrong with you?" she demanded. "You can't barge in here and take over, Pete."

"I just did, sweetheart. How about some soup?" he asked cheerfully, opening a cupboard to find it fully stocked with everything from chicken noodle to tomato soup. "Seems like the right kind of night for it. It's cold and raw outside."

The suggestion was greeted with silence. He took that as a good sign.

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches," he decided, after checking out the contents of the fridge. "Your grandmother used to fix that for us all the time. Is it still your favorite?"

"I'm not hungry, and you need to go," Jo insisted, trying to reach around him to shut the cabinet door without actually touching him.

"I have time," he said, deliberately misinterpreting her objection and making it impossible for her to succeed in thwarting his actions. "Sit down. I'll have it ready in no time."

He began assembling the ingredients for their makeshift dinner with quick, efficient movements, finding pans where they'd always been, bowls and plates in the

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same cupboard. He was pretty sure the flower-trimmed plates had the same chips he remembered.

"Ah, you've already boiled water," he said, noting that the teakettle on the stove was still hot to the touch. "Teabags in the same place?"

He didn't wait for a response, just kept on making the meal, flipping the sandwiches as the bread turned a golden brown, stirring the soup. This was Davey's favorite meal, too, so Pete had become something of an expert.

He took heart from the fact that Jo hadn't blown up and insisted that he go. At the same time, it was telling that she apparently didn't have the strength to fight his obviously unwanted presence. Eventually, she simply sighed and sat down.

"So, what brings you to Rose Cottage?" he asked as he set the soup and sandwich in front of her.

She stared at the food, then scowled at him. "I don't want this and 1 don't want to make small talk, especially not with you," she said with a bit more spirit.

"I get that," he said. "But the food's hot and I'm here, so why not make the best of it?"

She frowned. "Were you always this annoying?"

"Probably," he admitted. "You tended to see the good in people. You probably overlooked it."

"Must have," she muttered, but she picked up her spoon and tasted the soup.

Pete felt a small sense of triumph when she swallowed the first spoonful, then went back for more. When she picked up her sandwich, he did a little mental tap dance. The food?or her annoyance with him?was putting a little color back into her cheeks. She didn't

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look nearly as sad and defeated as she had when he'd first arrived. He would have put up with a lot worse man what she'd dished out to see that change in her.

When she finally glanced his way, she asked suspiciously, "Who really called you to come by here? Are you sure you didn't make the whole thing up?"

He shrugged. "I can't say for certain who called. The answering service took the message. You said Ashley had told you she was going to call someone, so I assume it was her."

"But you?" she asked skeptically.

He grinned. "My number's in the book, so why not me? Besides, I did some work for her and Josh a while back. They were happy with it. Unless you filled her head with a list of all my shortcomings since then, it makes perfect sense."

"I've never even mentioned your name to her."

"Then what's the big deal?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"It's a coincidence, Jo, not some big, diabolical conspiracy I worked out with your sister. Trust me, I have more than enough work to keep me busy?I don't need to drop in on unsuspecting people and beg for little nuisance jobs like this. I got a call. I came by to check things out. That's it. Till I saw the lights and the smoke coming from the chimney, I had no clue anyone was staying here."

"Okay, so you're just following up on a call," she finally conceded. "You've done your duty. Leave your estimate. I'll get another one. You'll lose."

"I don't think so," he said. What he'd said was true?this was a nothing little job for him, but he intended to

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do it. In fact, he was going to stick to Jo like glue till he found out why she'd looked like death warmed over when he'd turned up. "Whoever called was right. The porch is a disaster. Better to rip it off and start from scratch before someone gets hurt."

"Fine, but I'm sure someone else can do it cheaper," she said flatly. "Heck, I could probably do the work myself if I put my mind to it."

He grinned at that. "Really? You think so?"

"How hard could it be to nail a few boards together?" she said brashly. "And I wouldn't be charging Ashley some exorbitant price for labor."

"You haven't seen my estimate yet," he reminded her, not even trying to hide his amusement at her obvious ploy to get rid of him. "You just don't want me hanging around."

She met his gaze, then looked away, the color in her cheeks deepening. "No," she said softly, then immediately apologized. "Sorry."

"No offense taken," he said easily. "I could have someone else come by, but whoever called asked specifically for me. When loyal customers do that, I do the work. It's a point of honor."

She frowned at him. "As if," she said bitterly.

Her comment was like a slap. It stung. "I suppose I deserved that," he admitted.

"And more," she retorted. "Look, Pete, you can forget that whole trumped-up honor thing. I'll deal with my sisters. Besides, I thought you were building all these huge homes around here. Why would you want to waste time fixing up a porch?"

"Keeps me humble," he said lightly, though what he

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wanted to say was that it would give him a chance to be around her again, to maybe make amends for what he'd done to her seven years ago. Now that he'd actually seen Jo again, he knew mat all those feelings he'd tamped down so that he could stay married to Kelsey were as strong as ever.

"It's a bad idea," she said, half to herself.

"Why?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well precisely why she would see it that way. Seeing her had shot his defenses to hell, too.

She skewered him with a disbelieving look.

"Okay, scratch that. You're still furious with me. Can't say I blame you. What I did to you was inexcusable."

"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "I don't feel anything at all where you're concerned. Seven years is a long time, Pete. What we had is so over."

It was a blatant lie. Pete could see that in her stormy eyes, which was why he decided there was no way in hell he was backing off on doing this job, no matter how hard she fought him.

'Then having me underfoot won't bother you at all," he said pleasantly.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked plaintively.

He ignored the question. He figured she already knew the answer. She just wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet.

"I'll be by around eight," he said decisively. "Hope you weren't planning to sleep late. I'm going to be noisy, and I could use a cup of coffee when I get here. Mine's lousy, but I seem to recall you brewed the strong stuff."

He decided he'd done what he could for tonight, de-

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