Challenge Accepted - A Contemporary Romance (2 page)

She had a mission, a purpose. She couldn't let herself get distracted by gorgeous men. This man in particular.

The elevator paused at a lower door and a pair of elderly women stepped in, both sending fluttery smiles in Colt's direction. He smiled back, stepping closer to Hayley as the elevator door closed.

Hayley refrained from jerking away from him, despite the uncomfortable warmth of his nearness.

"It's so nice to have young people visiting a retirement village," quavered one lady, her faded blue eyes melting as she gazed up at Colt. Her gaze slid to Hayley. "You're so lucky to have a young man who appreciates his elders."

Hayley choked.

Colt patted her back solicitously before sliding an arm around her as he beamed at the elderly pair. "We just love visiting Hayley's grandma, don't we, honey?" He pulled her tight against him.

The warmth of his hand clasped lightly on her bare arm as he held her pinned to his side. A flush of sensation gripped her. She felt the sizzle along her skin, the buoyant whiz of electrons jumping in the air she breathed. She wondered what the little old ladies would think if she stomped her heel down on Colton Granger's foot.

They waited for her response; their wrinkled faces benign with the memory of their own long-ago romances.

Managing a tight smile through her rage, Hayley gratefully saw the elevator door slide open on the ground floor.

Without another thought for their elevator acquaintances, she tore out of his embrace and walked swiftly across the lobby.

"Hayley," he said, his voice serious as he caught up with her. "Why don't we go get some coffee and compare notes? If we're go
ing to do the Palmer House justice, we have to come up with a game plan."

She didn't even
hesitate. "I am not interested in working with you."

He reached out and snagged her arm. The shock of contact, his strong hand warm against her bare arm, brought Hayley to a stop. "Listen, I've been over all the houses and done the usual stuff-ice pick the beams, checking the plumbing, lift linoleum. I'm sure you've made your assessments, too. But we need to decide who's doing what."

"I am
not
working with you," she repeated.

Colt shrugged. "Think of it as a contest
the best man wins."

"Not if I can help it," she uttered through clenched teeth.

He shot her a startled look and then broke into laughter. "Bad choice of gender term." His voice took on a patient tone as if he were used to reasoning with irrational women. "This isn't what you had in mind, but maybe it'll work out for the best. If we're doing the house together, we can help each other out."

Having grown up surrounded by the real es
tate mavens of Southern California, she'd been patronized by the best. Still, Colt's arrogance astounded her. Hayley struggled to keep her voice level. "I don't need or want your help."

He sighed, ir
ritation evident in the narrowing of his eyes. "The deal's set, Hayley. Mrs. Latham loves the idea of us working together. You don't have much choice at this point."

"That's what you think," Hayley retorted, beginning to walk toward the front door.

"If you're too chicken to compete," Colt taunted softly, "you can withdraw your bid and leave the whole project to me."

Hayley stopped again, swinging around to face him. "I haven't let myself be dared into anything since I was seventeen years old. I'm
not
going to work with you."

*

Hayley pushed open the door marked "Granger Construction" and walked in.

The key to this confrontation, she reminded herself as the door swung shut behind her, was to make it look as if working with Colt Granger was her own idea. She'd learned a long time ago that capitulation felt a lot less like failure if you made a clear cut choice to take action.

She needed the money and the job too much to let this project escape her.

The office she'd stepped into held two bat
tered couches, a scarred lamp table and front reception desk. Behind the desk, a young woman with dark, curly hair squinted at a computer monitor and swore softly to herself.

"Excuse me," Hayley said, realizing the other woman hadn't heard her come in.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The secretary looked up with a pleasant smile. "Sometimes I get so caught up in wrestling with this thing that I'm oblivious. Can I help you?"

''I'm looking for Colt Granger," Hayley re
plied, surreptitiously rubbing her damp hands against her pink jeans.

"Colt?" The secretary's eyes took on a speculative gleam. ''I'm afraid he's-
-"

A side door slammed open, interrupting her. Both women turned as Colt walked in.

Spotting Hayley, he stopped in midstride, a sensual smile curling his lips. "Well, good morning."

Hayley pinned what she hoped was an easy, casual smile on her face. Excitement skittered along her nerve endings at the sight of him, despite the fact that she was here to give in to him. "Good morning, Colt. I'd like to talk with you about the Victorian Oaks project, if you have a few minutes"

"Certainly." He slammed the door behind him. "But let me introduce you to my sister first." Colt gestured to the woman at the computer. “Jill, this is Hayley Haslett. She'll be working with us on the first Victorian Oaks house."

Hayley felt her smile fade. He wasn't going to make her capitulation easy.

The other woman rose for the introduction.

"Jill's our office manager, keeps us all in line and docks our pay if we come in too late," Colt said.

"Right," Jill shot back, punching him playfully. "That's never a problem with you, but I'd like to shake up a few of the others."

"This is quite a set-up you've got here," Hayley commented, taking in the framed pic
tures on the walls. Each picture represented a completed Granger project, and the types of structures and styles represented quite a range. "It looks like you've done more new construction than restoration."

She might have to knuckle under and work with the man on one house, but that didn't mean she couldn't take a shot at him.

Colt only smiled and led her into his office.

She allowed herself to be guided inside, but watched him warily as he shut the door.

"I'll just be a minute," he said again as he sank into a chair behind the desk and lifted the telephone receiver. "Returning a client's call. I have more work than I can handle at the moment."

Colt's office had more character than the front room. His desk was merely functional, but the chair Hayley sat in was comfortably upholstered in an attractive cinnamon-colored fabric. There were more pictures on the walls, but these were detailed draftsman drawings of elegant homes.

As Colt spoke on the phone, his voice became a buzz in the background. Hanging immediately above his desk was a drawing of the Palmer House. Every curlicue and turned spindle had been drawn in perfect proportion. On paper, Colt had already renovated the Palmer House, the woodwork was repaired and the patched roof like new.

She knew without question that the drawing was Colt's. Done in strong, bold strokes, the pen-and-ink sketch delineated the draftsman's passion for the house as well.

Colt continued his business conversation and Hayley took the opportunity to study him. His tanned face was rather square and he had a small bump in his nose, as if he had broken it in a fight. But none of that mattered when he smiled.

Just the lazy curling of the corners of his mouth and H
ayley's heart broke into a drumbeat. It really wasn't fair, particularly when she considered the funny little sizzle that jolted her every time she came near him. It felt almost like a physical change in the air surrounding them, like the moment before a flash of lightning.

She had the feeling that if she didn't watch herself, she could easily be swept a
long by Colt Granger's charisma and that didn't fit into her plans at all.

She reminded herself that she was here for a reason: to decide on a start date for the restoration and to agree on a work schedule.

And that was
all.

CHAPTER TWO

They drove out to the Palmer House in separate cars. Colt caught her looking at him in her rear-view mirror, and smiled. She had beautiful eyes. But this wasn't the first time he'd admired them. He should have recognized her from the portrait. Never mind that he'd only been in Henry Haslett's office once for a general meeting of subcontractors.

All during that meeting two years ago, Colt's eyes had strayed to the portrait, the young woman's delicate beauty encircled by the heavy gold frame. Of course, that was part of the reason he hadn't recognized Hayley. The picture on Henry Haslett's wall had portrayed the daughter of a rich man, a demure, proper girl whose dreamy eyes had seemed sorrowful.

A far cry from the outraged young woman he'd met at Mrs. Latham's. The Hayley he knew wasn't demure or proper, and her blue eyes flared with a passion that had nothing to do with propriety.

Colt eased onto the brake, keeping a safe distance between himself and the battered Volvo ahead of him. If he used the brains God had given him, he'd probably stay an equally safe distance from the Volvo's driver. Poor lit
tle rich girls were notorious troublemakers, and the last thing any builder in San Bernardino County needed was trouble from Henry Haslett.

The car in front of him screeched to a stop at an intersection, hesitated a second, and then lurched into movement.

He would have preferred driving over to the house together, but following Hayley in her car had answered at least one of his questions. Her father probably figured she'd kill herself if she drove anything less well-constructed than a Volvo, even if it did look like a rolling wreck. Its dented bumper and crumpled fenders gave mute testimony to her hell-bent driving style. The only real question was why Haslett let her drive at all.

Did she throw herself into everything with the same heedless abandon?

The Volvo turned on to Oak Street and stopped in front of Palmer House. Colt parked behind her car and sat staring at her, transfixed, when Hayley got out of the car and tugged down the legs of her snug pink jeans.

She stood there
in the bright sunshine, totally oblivious to his burgeoning lust. Her sleeveless white cotton top tied at her small waist and softly molded her rounded breasts.

He had to get a grip on himself. So what if the girl had a tender-ripe mouth and curves in all the right places? That didn't excuse his sudden caveman urges. He might not like the social rules of the nineties, but he had to live with them.

Colt got out of his car and slammed the door. Refocusing his thoughts, he studied the huge, deserted house as he walked to where Hayley waited in the graveled driveway.

Just as he reached her, the front door of the house opened and a tall, hairy guy who looked like a biker stepped onto the porch.

"We'll need to see what we can do about keeping the vagrants away," Colt commented when he reached Hayley's side. "With so many of these houses empty, I guess it's to be expected."

A giggle escaped Hayley. "That's Wolf. I asked him to come by and look over the trim repairs." She started forward, bounding through the knee-high weeds. "Wolf! What do you think? Isn't she a jewel?"

Quickly following her up the steps, Colt's eyes narrowed as Hayley threw herself into the other man's arms.

Up close the guy still looked like a vagrant. The man she called Wolf towered over Hayley, his beard and long hair framing a stern face that softened slightly when he looked at her.

Broad-shouldered, clad in disreputable jeans and a black T-shirt, Wolf could have figured in the nightmares of mothers the world over. He wore scuffed leather boots on his feet and chains dangled from his black leather vest.

The bandanna tied around his brow was the crowning touch.

Colt stretched out his hand. ''I'm Colt Granger."

Wolf shook hands briefly, making no com
ment, his black eyes fathomless.

"Granger Construction is the other contrac
tor being considered for Victorian Oaks," Hayley stated, her arm looped loosely through Wolf's. "Wolf is a genius with wood, Colt. We're lucky to have him."

"How nice," Colt managed, keeping a grip on the sudden rush of jealousy. Suddenly, his first priority was figuring out exactly how Wolf fit in to Hayley's life-
-and doing something about it.

A gleam of understanding shot through Wolf’s eyes as he and Colt stood facing off on the wide front veranda.

Hayley tilted her head back to smile up at the other man. "I met Wolf when he helped me restore a really elaborate Corinthian column for one of my first clients."

"Yeah," Wolf growled, his voice deep. "I personally scraped the paint off every damn hand-carved acanthus leaf on its capital."

Colt looked at him dubiously. Wolf certainly didn't talk like a biker. Was it possible that Hayley was involved with him? It was stupid not to think she might already have a lover.

While not movie-star gorgeous, Hayley had a soft, sensuous beauty that wouldn't have been ignored by the male population of Southern California.

Hayley bounded away from Wolf's side. "Don't you love this spindle work?" Her hands drifted over the lacy pattern that edged each post of the veranda.

"Most of it's intact," Wolf declared, follow
ing her to examine the woodwork more closely. "But we'll have odds and ends to replace on the balustrade."

Colt strolled to the door. "I thought I locked this place up when I left yesterday."

Wolf turned, his still face communicating a glimmer of amusement. "Old houses don't usually lock up tight."

"No," Colt agreed. "I guess we'll have to see to that."

"Have you looked everything else over?" Hayley asked Wolf, her voice becoming businesslike.

"Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea what you're up against." His voice was a low rumble in his chest as he glanced at Colt. "I just need to look over the trim on the back porch." Wolf headed toward the steps.

Hayley smiled, f1uttering her eyelashes mischievously as she moved past Colt. "I get dibs on the trim work." The man clearly thought she was a flake and while it hurt on a personal level, she'd learned to use whatever she could in negotiation.

There was no question that the next half hour would involve some heavy bargaining.

Colt closed the front door gently, as Hayley stepped past him into the pool of color cast by the stained glass transom. "Aren't your clients leery of a carpenter who looks like a Hell's Angel?" He leaned back against the door.

Hayley swung around to meet his gaze.

"Wolf's a master craftsman and a good friend," she responded simply. "That's more important than what he looks like."

As he stepped closer, Colt's blue-green eyes were intent on her. "How do you decide what's important about a man, Hayley?"

The air in her lungs went dry and she swallowed hard as he moved toward her. "Intuition," she offered, her voice husky, despite her attempt to be nonchalant.

Colt took a step closer. "What does your in
tuition say about us?" he asked his words low as he leaned closer.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it and couldn't move away from him for the life of her. Her heart thundered in her ears. The shadows in the hallway seemed to swirl and deepen. Hayley sucked in a breath and caught the scent of him. Clean, warm, alive and com
pletely enticing.

But she wasn't going to give in to a merely physical impulse.

Hayley jumped back.

"Shall we get started?" Colt suggested, hop
ing Wolf wouldn't suddenly reappear and offer further distraction.

"I suppose so." She crossed the entry slowly, her face reflecting a mix of feelings. That was part of her charm, he realized, the readable flow of emotion in her expressions and ges
tures. But he was going to have to resist her charm if they were going to get this job done.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty room as they walked from the tiled entry into the sun-filtered parlor.

Hayley ran her hand along the elaborately carved trim that framed the floor-to-ceiling parlor windows. Her face grew dreamy. She seemed so unaffected, her enthusiasm rich and infectious, her sensuality smoldering just below the surface. Somehow, he'd have to allay her uncertainty about him.

"Tell me about the house," he invited, drawing her startled gaze to him.

"What?"

Colt smiled. ''I'm sure you've researched it thoroughly. What have you found out?"

Her fingers trailed over faded wallpaper strewn with vines and artfully stylized lilies. "It was built in 1889 by a man named D. B. Palmer. He was a former bookkeeper who came west from New York during the Gold Rush. A little Napoleon of a man who wanted his own empire."

"Just think how much less smog we'd have now if the folks back east had never heard about the gold rush," Colt commented.

"It didn't do D.B. much good," Hayley declared. "When he got here, the gold mines were all played out. But he did manage to start depleting another natural resource. Lumber. He started a logging company and made a fortune clear-cutting redwoods."

"Progress," offered Colt with a shrug. "Back then they didn't realize that they were deforesting the state and setting the stage for mudslides."

"I'm not sure D.B. Palmer would have cared," Hayley said wryly. "He'd come out here looking for wealth and position and he made sure he got them."

She pushed through the door that opened at the back of the parlor.

"This was the card room," Hayley told him. "D. B. was fond of all forms of gaming. He had the builder adjust the house plans to incorporate the billiard room just behind this." 

"So where did you learn about Palmer?"

"D.B.'s niece bequeathed her journals to the Cal State Fullerton library. Her uncle and his wealth fascinated her."

"Wealth often has that effect on women," Colt commented with a grin clearly designed to start an argument.

Hayley decided to ignore his statement as she led the way back to the main hall and began ascending the stairs. "There are five bedrooms upstairs. The Palmers had four children, but all of them were grown when they moved into this house."

The upper staircase opened onto a large hallway. Colt strolled into a front bedroom, its windows blazing with light. "I always find it hard to judge empty rooms," he commented, his survey of the space almost cursory.

"I love bare rooms," Hayley murmured, drifting into the chamber that easily could have held two modern-sized bedrooms. The ceiling stretched above, papered in a bleached celestial motif spangled with yellowed stars. "The emptiness makes the whispers louder."

"You hear voices?" he asked with a lifted brow.

"No." She shook her head, with a laugh. "But I can sense the history of the house. It comes alive when there are no distractions. Put in furniture and the room becomes a room. Now it's space, and my imagination fills it with pictures of the people who lived here."

He stood with his back to the windows, his face unreadable.

Suddenly restless, Hayley opened a connecting doorway and entered a second room. "This must have been where Corinne slept. Contrary to your theory about all women being impressed by wealth, D. B.'s daughter felt tyrannized by it."

"According to her cousin's journal?"

Hayley nodded. "Corinne was the youngest Palmer and her father had big plans for her. He arranged for a great match with a neighboring lumberman, a gentleman who was much older and widowed. But Corinne loved someone else and she refused to marry for money or social position."

Colt snorted in disgust. "Corinne's cousin must have been a closet novelist."

"Nope. She just made comments in her journal. When you read them all, the story comes out. The man Corinne loved was a humble carpenter who helped to build this house. He returned her feelings to such a degree that he lavished her room, in particular, with ornate trim." Hayley pointed at the ceiling. "See the elaborate crown moldings, the door trims, and window molding? No other room upstairs has anything this lovely."

"That's an unusual way to demonstrate pas
sion," remarked Colt. "Nowadays, the guy would probably write an incredibly bad love song for her."

"You're not a romantic, I take it," Hayley said dryly.

"Of course I am," he countered. "Want me to build you a bedroom?"

"No. "

"What happened to Corinne and her star
-crossed carpenter, anyway?" He leaned back against a wall.

Hayley shook her head, sadly. "She never married. I don't know where her carpenter ended up, but according to the journals, Corinne mourned herself in to an early grave."

Colt made a scoffing noise in his throat. "If she was the only girl, she probably could have gotten him to come around if she'd wanted. Could it be she loved the comfort of living here too much to leave it for her lover?"

It was too much to expect a man to under
stand this particular dilemma, Hayley decided. Especially a man like Colt.

"You may be right," Hayley said, shrugging off a taint sense of disappointment in him. Although why she had expected any better, she couldn't say.