With a Little Help (11 page)

“No, I…I suppose not.”

The uncertainty in her tone gutted him. “Last year there was a woman in my life. Almost married her until my work came between us. Finding out before you do something stupid saves everyone a lot of grief.”

 

E
MMA FELT THE GROUND SHIFT
under her feet. He thought getting involved with her was stupid. The turnaround played havoc with her emotions. One minute he was ready to make love to her, now he was letting her know he felt let off the hook.

Hadn't she thought the same thing seconds before?

So it was all right for her to feel relieved, but hurtful when he did?

Yes, damn it. She didn't want him to be logical and sensible. He should be sweeping her off her feet and between those seductive black satin sheets.

Saving her from having to make the decision. When had she become such a wimp?

Fake it until you make it.
She dragged her shoul
ders back. “You're right, of course. This would have been a mistake.”

If he recognized the bravado, he played along. “If you need to, you can use my bathroom. I'll organize a cab for you.”

When she nodded, he turned on his heel, leaving her alone. The turned-down bed mocked her as she opened a door into his en suite bathroom. Acres of marble greeted her and enormous mirrors reflected a woman who looked thoroughly confused. Faint whisker burns marred her pink cheeks and her eyes looked overly bright. She also looked aroused.

Emma splashed cold water on her face and hands, drying them with a fluffy black towel. For a moment she held it against her face, breathing in a hint of leathery aftershave, recognizing Nate's scent before hastily hanging the towel up.

Nate wasn't the first man to kiss her. Why did she feel so tied in knots? Nothing had happened. Once the insurance company had sorted out her van, she wouldn't have to see him again if she didn't want to.

Strange how the idea made her somehow bereft.

By the time she emerged, she'd regained her composure. Nate was on the phone. In the kitchen she found Joanna putting away groceries. The woman greeted Emma warmly when she went in to pick up her bag. “Your party menu was amazing,” she said. “You know I'm not much of a cook, but I'm tempted
to try making some of your dishes, if you'll part with the recipes?”

“Of course. Just tell me the ones you want. I'll give you a few tips for making them, as well.”

“Thanks, I'd really like to try your meat loaf. I'd never have believed such a simple dish could taste so mouthwatering.” She glanced toward the den where Nate was giving Emma's details to the cab company. “Is his lordship still in a foul temper?”

“He's touchy—not surprising, given the pain of his injury.”

“He's such a bear when he can't work, and I'm a housekeeper, not a nursemaid.”

“Can you get some nursing help to spread the load?” Emma asked.

Joanna shot a dark look toward the den. “If he'd let me. I'm sorry for talking out of turn, Emma. He's not your problem. I've known him long enough. I'll work something out.”

Joanna was in her middle forties, still attractive, and devoted to the husband and grown-up son she'd proudly told Emma about when she first showed her the kitchen setup.

Nate came into the kitchen. “Your cab's waiting.”

“Thanks. I'll be in touch about my things.”

“No hurry. There's plenty of room to store them here. Your van as well until the insurance company collects it for repair.”

Unaware of the strain between Emma and her employer, Joanna gave her a cheery smile. “Don't forget those recipes.”

“I won't. I'll email them to you.”

Nate led the way to the circular drive where a cab stood waiting. He opened the door and she got into the backseat. Nothing she wanted to say to him seemed appropriate, so she settled for, “I'll let you know what's happening with the van.”

“Sure.” He closed the door. She wound down the window, but he said nothing more.

As the cab pulled away, she had to wonder. Nate was whistling “Greensleeves.”

 

T
HURSDAY MORNING,
E
MMA RETURNED
home from delivering a corporate breakfast order to find the car belonging to Doug, the contractor, parked outside. Sophie had some errands to run but had said she'd stay until Doug arrived if Emma was running late. Her car was also gone.

When Emma went inside, she found him deep in conversation with Mitch Kelso. The designer smiled as she came in. “Hi, Emma, what were you thinking, hiring this crook to work on your kitchen?”

Doug's grin made it obvious the two knew each other. “Funny, he said the same about you,” she countered. “Although he said your ideas might be workable.”

“Barely,” Doug added. “It's all very well for the
prima donnas to create works of art, but us peasants have to make them work in real life.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “How's the inspection going?” Emma asked.

The corners of Doug's mouth turned down. “I'm still checking, but you could have a serious problem here.”

Her heart jumped. “What kind?”

“Asbestos.” He gestured with a pointed finger. “That wall certainly has it. I'm still checking out the rest.”

“Which means what?”

Mitch stepped in. “Under the law, asbestos has to be removed by a professional under strictly regulated conditions.”

“I'm licensed to do the work,” Doug said. “The tricky part is, once I start the removal process, legally I'm not allowed to stop until I've removed all of the contaminated material I find.”

“But that could involve the whole kitchen.”

He nodded. “I'm afraid so, love. There's nothing we can do except cross our fingers that I don't turn up much more for you to worry about.”

“Consider them crossed.” Leaving Doug to his inspection, she led Mitch into her office and suggested he sit down. “Nate will have my hide if I let you overdo things. You're not supposed to be doing any site work.”

“I'm not. I was driving past and recognized Doug's
vehicle, and stopped to see what he was up to. Gave me a chance to refresh my memory of your layout. I wish you'd reconsider the walk-in pantry. I've figured out a way to make the extra room.”

She'd vetoed the idea last time he raised it, and a chill invaded her again at the idea. “I don't like closed-in spaces.”

“Not claustrophobic, are you?”

“Maybe. I only know I don't like being in small, dark places.”

“I can make sure the storage areas have lots of light.”

She chewed her lip. “You still haven't told me how much your consultation is costing me. With the asbestos problem, frankly I don't know if I can afford to have you do more than you've already done.”

Mitch crossed one long leg over the other. “I haven't done all that much. A few design sketches, some floor plans—no reason to charge for any of it. I'm enjoying the mental exercise.”

She should feel relieved, but instead, suspicion niggled. “Since when do you work for nothing, Mitch?”

He looked away. “It's my choice.”

“Did Nate put you up to this?” Mitch's silence was a dead giveaway. “Is he paying you to help me?”

“He might have thrown a few dollars into the kitty. I wasn't supposed to tell you.”

Anger flowed through her. “Don't you two think I can handle my own business?”

“Nate said you'd react this way if you knew.”

“Good, I haven't disappointed you.” She folded her arms. “You didn't answer my question. Nate did me a favor by introducing me to you. Why does he think he has to do more?”

Mitch looked uncomfortable. Belatedly, remembering his heart condition, she wondered if she should have waited and asked Nate instead.

“Nate heard from your mother that things were difficult for you,” Mitch said.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “He heard that from my mother?” Each word came out separately, punctuated by disbelief. Only this morning, Nate had taken pains to convince her he believed in her, respected her. She'd been on the verge of letting him make love to her.

Her breath whistled out. Thank goodness they'd stopped when they had. Emma had trusted him. Thought he was different from her family. But he was as guilty of patronizing her as any of them.

Everything was starting to add up. His offer to introduce her to Mitch, the larger than expected check for her services and now this. Nate could hardly have made his low regard for her competence any clearer.

She pasted a smile on her face. “It's okay, Mitch,
I appreciate your help, but I'll expect an invoice emailed to me tomorrow. An accurate invoice.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. What shall I tell Nate?”

Her smile became sickly sweet. “You don't have to tell him anything. I'll do that. In fact, it will be a pleasure.”

S
HE WAS UPLOADING SOME NEW
recipes to her web page when Doug stuck his head around her door. “Got a minute?”

“Only if it's good news. Would you like some tea?”

“Make it black coffee and you've got a deal. Never did care for tea.”

Emma went to the kitchen and made the drinks, knowing she was dragging out the task to avoid facing whatever the contractor had discovered. Asbestos was bad enough, but please God the problem was limited to this room. The kitchen already resembled a building site where Doug had moved things to check behind them.

Returning to the office, she put the cup in front of him. “I remember you take your coffee unsweetened.”

He gave her a wide grin. “I'm sweet enough as it is.”

Her herbal tea was steaming so she set it aside and linked her hands on the desk. “Okay, what did you find out?”

“First, it's not as bad as we feared. Only two walls are involved, the one behind the sinks and the adjacent one.”

He obviously had more to say. “Second?”

“One wall of your flat is affected. I'll have to pull out a chunk of the drywall in there, as well.”

Her mind whirling, she sipped the hot tea to calm herself. She had jobs lined up and she'd need all of them to pay for the work. “Does that mean I'll have to move out?”

“I'm afraid so, love. Hopefully it's only for a few days, but my team will have to seal the building off between the kitchen and your flat. Put up hazard warning signs, go in wearing protective gear, the whole bit.”

She'd seen elsewhere how the process was done. Although she was thankful the café part of the building would be unaffected, how would the warning signs impact on the business? It was hardly going to inspire confidence in her food.

Worrying about what couldn't be changed was futile. The work had to be done. Once asbestos was found in a building, the law said the surfaces couldn't be touched in any way, not even painted. Removal was the only option.

Accepting the inevitable didn't mean she had to like it. “When can you begin the removal process?”

“There's paperwork to be done, legal formali
ties. But I can get started fairly soon. A job I had scheduled fell through.”

Lucky me,
she thought then chided herself. The builder was trying to help. No sense blaming the messenger. “I'll need a few days to work something out with my customers, but you can start on the paperwork in the meantime.”

He drained his cup and stood up. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

When he'd gone, Emma stared at the wall, her mind in turmoil. Yesterday at Nate's house, she'd thought she knew what she wanted. How wrong she would have been. Given this latest disaster, she wondered if her taste in real estate was as flawed as her taste in men. Should she have bought a different property?

Second-guessing herself wasn't going to help. Most of the buildings in Sydney's inner western suburbs were a hundred or more years old, and nearly all of them would have asbestos somewhere in their construction. The danger of the material wasn't known until decades after these houses were built.

Nor could she have known that Nate was playing with her. Assuring her his views weren't the same as her parents' was easy to believe because she'd wanted him to be different.

And just as the asbestos problem couldn't be wished away, neither could Nate's interference. She
would deal with both problems the same way, by meeting them head-on.

A fine pickle, Gramma Jessie would call the situation. Emma reached for the phone, tempted to call her grandmother and pour out her heart. Then she pulled her hand back. Burdening her grandmother with her worries when there was nothing the older woman could do was unfair. Better to phone her when she had more positive news to share.

Another legacy from her parents, Emma thought ruefully. Bringing home tales of woe from school, or tears over some childish dilemma had never been the way to gain attention. If there was a solution, they'd offer it, even if all she'd wanted was to vent her unhappiness. But bring home a good grade or an award in sports and they were all ears.

Old patterns could be broken, she told herself. Maybe she would speak with her grandmother later. After confronting Nate with what she'd learned from Mitch.

By the time Emma had a chance to call him, the day was almost over. She'd exchanged instant messages with Carla, completed several outstanding estimates and updated her records on the computer. Finally she called the insurance company to arrange to collect the rental car her policy provided until the van was fixed.

The equipment and serving dishes she'd brought back in the cab from Nate's house yesterday were
enough to handle the jobs lined up for the next few days. She was lucky she hadn't loaded most of the gear into the van before it was set on fire. She could still work safely on the premises until Doug started removing the wall board, since the asbestos wasn't harmful until disturbed. Apart from the vehicle, the biggest loss was the banquet trolley. For now, they'd have to manage with only one.

Like a scene from a particularly vivid movie, Emma's mind flashed back to the moment when Nate tried to stop the trolley from crushing her. Remembering the heavy steel cart coming at her, she shuddered. Bad enough that Nate's wrist was sprained, preventing him from working. Taking the full impact might have ended his career, or worse.

Knowing how much she owed him played havoc with her peace of mind. She was upset that he'd hired Mitch without telling her. But how could she be mad when he'd been hurt saving her? She just had to ensure Nate didn't meddle in her affairs in future.

She reached for the phone and punched in his number.

Joanna told her Grace Lockwood was there, and they were having a meeting. “I swear the man thinks the hospital will grind to a halt without him,” the housekeeper grumbled.

Why wasn't Emma surprised?

Joanna hesitated. “Shall I interrupt them?”

“No need. What I want to tell Nate can wait. I have to pick up a rental car in a few minutes.”

“Why don't you stop by afterward?” Joanna suggested. “They should be finished before long. Dr. Lockwood likes to get home on time as much as possible.”

Unlike her parents and Nate, Emma couldn't help thinking. “Is he well enough for a visit?”

“He's well enough to drive me nuts telling me how to do my job. You'd be a welcome distraction.”

Emma laughed. “I'll be there in about thirty minutes.”

 

G
RACE CLOSED HER NOTEBOOK
computer. “That's all your case notes up to date. Your patients were impressed to hear you were injured heroically defending your lady friend.”

Nate would have preferred to keep his personal life to himself. “She's a lady and a friend, not necessarily both together.”

Grace made a show of being affronted, although she knew him too well for the reaction to be genuine. “Well excuse me. At the party, I got a distinctly different impression. You can't tell me you're not attracted to Emma.”

“I won't tell you because it's none of your business. Or my patients'. Was it a particularly slow day, or was there another reason you felt they needed to know the details of my injury?”

She lifted her hands in mock surrender. “I'm not the one telling tales. Cherie Kenner-Jarrett's your main suspect. I think she likes the idea of you and her daughter teaming up.”

“Tell me about it.” He'd had the same impression when the woman worked so hard to convince him to hire Emma. Nor had Cherie tried to hide her disappointment over Emma remaining behind the scenes the night of the party. Obviously she hadn't known—or wanted to know—how hard her daughter had been working.

Grace stood up. “Before I go, I'll take a look at your wrist.”

“It's fine.” But he slid his arm out of the sling.

She unstrapped the Velcro splint. “Are you keeping up the ice therapy?”

“Of course.” He endured her gentle but thorough examination. “And I've scheduled another X-ray in three days' time. The thought of an occult fracture being overlooked doesn't thrill me, either.”

“The swelling's already reduced, and you have a greater range of movement than you did a day ago.” She reached for the splint. “I don't think there is a fracture, but it's better to be safe.”

They both knew that if left untreated, a fracture could lead to chronic disability. He wasn't about to let stubbornness put his future at risk.

With the splint back in place, he returned his arm to the sling. The wretched thing was already annoying him although he knew the importance of
keeping his wrist elevated. Grace's examination had been careful, but the throbbing sensation radiating up and down his arm wasn't pleasant.

“In the meantime, keep up the ice therapy. Pain relief as you need it.” She tipped two ibuprofen into his hand.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“I'll bet that was almost as painful to get out as your wrist.”

“The door's that way.” He pointed. “And take your voodoo potions with you.” But he tossed back the pills, washing them down with coffee.

“No using that hand until Amy Lester or I say you can. The most you should do is wiggle your fingers to keep the blood circulating and help the healing.”

He restrained his impatience at being reminded of a routine he'd learned as a medical student. “Anything else?”

“Not for the moment.” She gathered her notebook and papers into her briefcase, then looked out the window. “There is one other thing.”

“What?”

“You know that lady and friend we were talking about?”

“
You
were talking about,” he growled.

“I think she just drove into your driveway.”

 

W
HEN
E
MMA REACHED
N
ATE'S
house, the first thing she noticed was Grace Lockwood's car. The meeting
must have been a long one. Or something was wrong. Despite Joanna's assurance that Nate was fine, concern for him pushed past Emma's anger. Had his injury worsened since yesterday?

Grace came down the front steps as Emma approached the house. “Is Nate all right?” she blurted out.

The doctor looked amused. “I checked him out under protest, and he's doing well. I came to finalize some medical matters with him, as much to stop him from coming in to the hospital as anything.”

“Would he do that?”

“He'd move in and live there if he thought he'd get away with it. Nobody can run Nate's department as well as he can.”

“Sounds like my parents and their practice.”

“It's fairly common in our profession,” Grace admitted.

“You seem to balance home and work fairly well.”

“Ah, but I'm female. Multitasking is what we do best.” With a friendly wave, she headed toward her car.

Deep in thought, Emma walked up the steps. If her mother's attitude had been more like Grace's, how different their family life might have been. Shaking off the futile yearning, Emma rang the bell.

Nate himself answered and she'd swear his face
brightened for a second before the shutters came down. “Come in,” he said almost grudgingly.

She followed him into the house and down the hall. Emma's awareness sharpened but this time they went nowhere near his bedroom. Not that she wanted to go there. Once was enough, especially after what she'd learned from Mitch. The thought didn't stop desire thrumming through her, though, as he walked ahead of her into the kitchen.

Seeing the clutter of half-open packages on the counter, she frowned. “Has Joanna gone home?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. Dental appointment.”

Why hadn't Joanna mentioned she wouldn't be here? Emma wasn't sure she'd have agreed to come if she'd known they would be alone. Too late now, and she was a big girl, she reminded herself. She could handle a one-armed man.

The man himself was having trouble, she saw as he returned to fighting with a package. “Damned frozen meals,” he muttered. “How are you supposed to open them with one hand?”

“I don't eat much frozen food,” she said. “I prefer using fresh ingredients. Here, let me.” She had the package open in seconds but frowned as she held it up and read the ingredients. “You're a surgeon. Are you sure you want to eat this stuff?”

“I'd rather book a table at my favorite restaurant, but I'm damned if I'll let someone cut up my food for me in public, so I don't have much choice.”

Even now, he couldn't see what was right in front of his nose. “You have a chef standing in your kitchen.”

He looked stunned. “You'd actually make dinner for me, after cooking all day?”

“Luckily for you, I've been staring at a computer screen most of the day, so preparing a meal would make a pleasant change.” It would also repay a small part of her debt to him, but she kept that to herself. “What would you like?”

“Anything I can manage with one hand.”

Pasta, she decided, and began to forage. She'd provided the ingredients for his party, but still had a fair idea where everything was kept, and soon had the makings of a light, nourishing meal assembled on the counter. “You must have something better to do than watch me,” she said, his intense scrutiny making her feel as if she was one of his patients.

Her irritation bounced off him. “Nope. You remind me of a dancer, the way you bend, stretch and spin around the room. Like there's an invisible triangle drawn on the floor, and you're performing within it.”

The comparison would have pleased her if she wasn't here to tell him off. That could wait until after he'd eaten, she'd already decided. “It isn't such a fanciful notion. A good kitchen designer creates a work triangle between refrigerator, cooking area and washing-up zone.”