She spoke without bothering to identify herself. “Thank you. The chair is beautiful.”
“You didn’t have to call. I said you can have it if you want it.”
“Of course I want it. I love it. But—”
“Good. It was in my way here. I don’t need two.”
“I’d like to pay you for it,” she offered boldly. “You must have spent hours making it. Not to mention the materials.”
“Forget it. It wasn’t for sale, anyway. I told you, it’s flawed.”
“But—”
“Look, do you want the chair or not?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“Fine. Enjoy it. See you Friday.”
A dial tone sounded in her ear before she could say anything else.
Blinking, she hung up the receiver, then laughed incredulously, shaking her head. Trent McBride was one of the most exasperating men she had ever met. Rude, moody, withdrawn—and yet there was a streak of kindness and generosity in him that he hadn’t quite been able to hide from her.
She had learned a little more about him during the past three weeks. She hadn’t asked questions—she would consider that both unprofessional and unethical—but the people here seemed anxious to volunteer information about each other. They’d told her that Trent had been hospital
ized for weeks after his accident, and that his injuries, whatever they were, had put an end to his air force career. And now everyone wondered what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
Annie wondered about that herself—not that it was any of her business, of course. Several of her clients had tried to pump her for information about Trent, but she refused to cooperate, skillfully changing the subject whenever his name came up.
She crossed the room, stroked a hand over one satiny-smooth arm of the rocker, then sank into it again. Putting her head back, she closed her eyes and began to rock. The pleasurable sigh that escaped her seemed to echo in the quiet room.
GIVING ANNIE THE CHAIR had probably been a mistake, Trent thought glumly as he stared into his refrigerator on Friday of the following week. He’d thought she might like it, but he hadn’t been prepared for her to show her gratitude quite so…fervently. A stack of casserole dishes—enough for several days of meals—were neatly stacked in the fridge. Two loaves of fresh-baked bread sat on his counter. There was a plant on his kitchen windowsill, for Pete’s sake.
He’d only given her an extra chair that had been sitting in his workshop—a chair with a patched arm, for that matter. Had no one ever been nice to the woman before? He should have tried harder to talk himself out of the impulse when it had first occurred to him.
He closed the refrigerator and reached for the cup of coffee he’d poured a few minutes earlier. He’d thought he was hungry, but seeing all that food in there had killed his appetite. No more generous gestures, he promised himself. He didn’t want to encourage any more awkward expressions of gratitude.
She knocked on his front door just as he finished his coffee. As he went to let her in, he hoped she wasn’t bringing food or flowers this time.
Fortunately she was only carrying her cleaning supplies. She gave him one of her dimpled smiles when he reached out to relieve her of the heavy tote. He hated the way his abdomen tightened when she did that.
He was trying his best not to be attracted to her. But he was. He didn’t even particularly want to like her. But he did. Damn it.
“Good morning,” she said.
He nodded, dragging his gaze away from her sweetly curved mouth. “I thought I would fix that kitchen-cabinet door by your sink today. I noticed it keeps swinging open.”
Her smile tilted ruefully. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hit my head on it. I was beginning to think I was going to have a permanent goose egg on my forehead.”
He glanced automatically at her smooth forehead, seeing no damage there. No flaws at all, for that matter.
“Anything special you want me to do here?” she asked, her voice suddenly uncertain—as if the tension he was feeling this morning had rubbed off on her.
He shook his head. “I’m on my way out.”
He left quickly, before he could make a total fool of himself.
As he let himself into her house a short while later and inhaled the lemon-and-flower scents that he associated now with Annie, he reminded himself that the month he’d originally granted for this arrangement was over. He’d gotten quite a lot done on her house; he could quit in good conscience now. Of course, it had been kind of nice having his house cleaned regularly, his laundry done, his fridge filled with ready-to-nuke meals. And her house did need quite a few more repairs.