Her Man Upstairs (6 page)

Or galloped to a different scent. Nary a signpost along the way went un-watered nor a weed un-sniffed between the kennel and his favorite buffet, the trash bins outside the Hamburger Shanty that weren't emptied until later that morning.

There were a few cars in the parking lot. Staff, mostly, as the place wouldn't open for another twenty minutes or so. A semi-familiar gray Mercedes cruised by slowly, probably looking for a place that served breakfast. It was the same one she'd seen yesterday—and come to think of it, hadn't the same car been parked in the Caseys' driveway?

A house sitter, maybe. The Caseys were in Florida, but they hadn't mentioned a sitter the last time Marty had spoken to Ruth Casey before they'd left.

“All right, I'm coming!” she yelled, as Mutt lunged at the stray cat that was nosing around in what he considered his private pantry.

Some twenty minutes later she finally closed the door to his unit at the kennel.

The blue-haired kid grinned at her. “Reg'lar handful, ain't he.”

She shot him a dirty look. “You could've at least helped me get him out of his choke collar.”

“Not in my job description. Hey, they don't pay me enough to wrestle critters like him.”

“What
do
they pay you for?” First she had ruined her lower back on all those heavy bookshelves, and now her arms were in danger of being pulled from the sockets.

“Answer the phone. Take money. Make reservations.”

“Don't strain yourself,” she jeered.

When had she turned into such a shrew? Was that one of the symptoms of a shortage of vitamin S?

 

Cole was there by the time she got home, his truck pulled over to one side to make room for her minivan. He was a thoughtful man—she'd already discovered that about him. Whether or not he was a competent carpenter remained to be seen. He was good at tearing up. What else was he good at? she wondered before she could stop herself.

Don't ask. There are more important things in life than sex.

Oh, yeah? Name one.

“Hello, I'm home,” she called, wincing as she wriggled out of her coat and dropped it on the hall bench. Later she might hang it in the closet, but first she had to collapse and catch her breath. Once she found the energy she might pop a couple of ibuprofen and rustle up something for breakfast. A spoonful of peanut butter would be quick and easy.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced up to see her carpenter loping down the stairs. In those faded jeans and a black shirt, he was almost too macho to be a male model except maybe in one of those sporting goods catalogs.

“G'morning,” she greeted, offering him a tired smile.

“Looks like you just lost a marathon,” he observed.

“Came in on the ragtag end, as usual. Believe me, it's not worth the money.”

“You, uh…get paid?”

She nodded. “If I'd been introduced to that damn dog before the Hallets left town, never in this world would I have agreed to go near him.”

“That bad, huh?” Cole said a moment later when he rejoined her in the hall.

Bless his heart, he'd gone directly to the kitchen and switched on the coffeepot she'd left all ready for when she got back. It occurred to her that no man had ever made coffee for her before—not even one of her husbands.

For some reason, that made her want to cry.

Allergies. It had to be allergies. “He not only outweighs me by a ton, he out-stubborns me by a mile,” she said. “Don't laugh, it's not as easy as you might think.” She grinned, but her heart wasn't in it.

He was standing. She was still seated. Lacking the energy to turn away, she was faced with a portion of male anatomy that was somewhat dusty but nonetheless impressive.

He said, “I thought this was a personal favor you were doing for friends. Didn't you know what he was like when you offered to walk him?”

“I told you, I'd never even seen him before I agreed. The way Annie talked about him having his own furniture and all, I knew he was a house pet. I guess I expected a poodle, or maybe a cocker spaniel. How many people keep a Clydesdale in their house?” She began flexing her shoulders and heard a disturbing crackling sound near the back of her neck.

“Annie?” Cole prompted as he hung her coat in the closet.

“She's one of my best customers. Actually, I only know her from the bookstore. They live several blocks over, but I've never even met her husband. Faylene says he's a lawyer. She said he'd just won his first case after practicing for nearly six years, which is why they decided to celebrate with this cruise.”

“First case, huh?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “According to Faylene, but that doesn't make it gospel. Anyhow, when Annie called and asked me if I could pick him up at the kennel and walk him twice a day, I said sure.” Marty didn't bother to add that the money Annie had insisted on paying her was a large part of the inducement. Opening her eyes, she lifted her gaze to his tanned, weathered face. “You know what? I'll bet they asked everyone else they knew, but all their friends turned them down. Dumb me.”

He was smiling at her again. Lordy, the man was too much! He said, “Chalk it up to a learning experience. Next time the guy wins a case and wants to take another vacation, don't be so quick to volunteer.”

He moved closer. She felt him touch her shoulder, felt the firm pressure of his thumbs on the rock-hard muscles at the back of her neck. Tipping her head forward, she groaned.

“Don't worry, you couldn't pay me enough to—ahh!”

“This where it hurts, the trapezius?”

“Oh, yesss,” she purred.

 

Cole eased her around so that he could use both hands. She was as tense as a ten-pound test line with a sixty-pound channel bass on the other end. Under three layers of clothing the skin was like warm satin. He sniffed. Flowers again. He wondered if her whole body smelled like that, or…

A final gurgle from the kitchen announced that the coffee was ready. “You want to stay here in the hall or hit the sofa?”

“I'd rather hit a bed or a hot bath,” she admitted with a weak chuckle, “but I don't think I can make it up the stairs.”

If that was a hint, he wasn't taking it. No way.

Unfortunately, his body had lost contact with his brain. “You had breakfast yet?”

“Just juice.” She put a hand on the small of her back and stood.

Come to think if it, he'd seen her grab her back a time or two yesterday. “Hey, are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine. Nothing a few ibuprofen won't take care of.”

“How many?” Cole had been that route, only in his case it had been a prescription painkiller after he'd been worked over by a couple of thugs hired by his ex-father-in-law. That was all ancient history, but he'd learned a few valuable lessons in the process. Never trust a guy whose neck is thicker than the width between his ears, especially if he calls your father-in-law Boss. And don't risk ruining your brain and your belly with anything more potent than beer, ale, or the occasional glass of Jack's finest.

“How are we doing upstairs?” she asked with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

In other words, he interpreted,
Butt out of my personal business.

“I'll start closing the end section today. By tomorrow I should be ready to start on your cabinets.”

“I don't want anything fancy.”

“Just sketch out precisely what you have in mind. We've got a little leeway but not a whole lot.”

Did that mean she was allowed to join him upstairs while he worked? How about after hours?

How about concentrating on what's important, Marty reminded herself. While Cole headed for the kitchen, she wandered into the living room and eased herself down onto the sofa. Her stomach didn't exactly welcome the thought of coffee, but she needed something to start her engine.

“Lots of cream,” she called out.

“Yes, ma'am.”

A polite carpenter. With good hands. Slow, firm hands that knew exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply, stopping just short of actual pain. Sasha would have a field day if she could tune in on her musings right now, Marty thought, amused.

The coffee was welcome, even if her stomach was pumping acid by the gallon. Weeks ago she'd gone online and checked out everything she could find about stress and the physical manifestations thereof. How to avoid it, or at least how to deal with it. The trouble was, she didn't have time for tai chi. As for yoga, which she used to enjoy, she would never even make it past the Sun Salutes.

Music was another recommendation. Daisy had given her a dreamy New Age CD, but the stuff only made her race her engines, waiting for the music to get to the point instead of rambling all over the scale.

Yelling seemed to be her only option. It was free and the side effects were probably minimal—but she needed something to yell at. She was far too inhibited to step outside and do the primal scream thing.

“I made you some toast.”

She opened her eyes. Pavarotti with the frog in his throat was back. He was too good to be real.

“Do you really need that ibuprofen?” he asked.

She sighed. “I guess not.” Pills couldn't cure a broken back. She needed the pain to tell her how bad off she was.

“When do you have to do the next dog run?”

“This afternoon. Anytime between two and six when the kennel closes.”

“I'll go with you. I need to go by the hardware store anyway for cabinet materials. What breed did you say this dog was?”

“St. Bernard and Clydesdale mix. Maybe some polar bear. Annie said they got him from the pound when he was nothing but a little ol' fuzz ball. Ha!”

“So now he's a big ol' fuzz ball.”

Cole switched on a lamp to offset the gray morning. Instead of heading back upstairs, he settled into her one man-size chair. Marty struggled to a semi-reclining position. She'd rather stay flat, but siphoning coffee through a rubber hose wasn't an option, so semi seemed advisable.

“What about—you know?” She nodded toward the ceiling.

“Like I said, I'm ahead of schedule. I allow for a couple of short breaks during the day. Now, tell me what kind of wood you want. It makes a difference in how you want them finished. Raw, painted, pickled or varnished.”

“What would you suggest?”

They discussed styles, wood finishes and hardware. “I'll take you to pick that out after I get the things built.”

“Oh, so I finally get to voice an opinion. Does that mean I can go upstairs while you're there, or do I have to wait until you leave and write down a work order.”

“My, my—snide, aren't we?”

“Yes, we are,” she snapped, and took another sip of coffee. Which he had made and served, she reminded herself. After he'd laid hands on her and taken away more of her pain than he probably knew. Taken her mind off it, anyway.

She yawned. Bad back, dream-filled sleep…

The last thing she remembered was feeling the cup eased from her fingers. Then something light and warm drifted down over her body. He didn't turn off the lamp, but tilted the shade so it wouldn't shine in her eyes.

“Don't leave without me this afternoon,” he said quietly.

“Mmm,” she murmured.

 

The classic gray Mercedes was gone from the Caseys' driveway by the time they left home just before four that afternoon, Marty noticed. She tried to remember exactly when the Caseys had left. According to Faylene, who knew practically everyone in town and most of their business, they'd gone to Tampa to see their first grandchild. A boy. Named Todd.

“Weather's moderating,” Cole observed.

They were in his rattletrap of a truck so he could pick up the lumber needed to do her cabinets and the bookshelves on the way home from walking Mutt.

Or rather, from chasing after the creature, trying to hang on to his lead. For once, Marty thought, relieved, she could trot along behind and let someone else do the hard work. Cole had even offered to go in and fetch the dog from his wire-walled cubicle.

“Be my guest,” Marty said, leaning back against the headrest. Through sleepy eyes, she watched his hand on the gearshift. Nice hands…strong, but sensitive. She knew how they felt.

She yawned for the third time since they'd left home.

“Need another nap? What's the matter, does all the mess upstairs keep you from sleeping?” he asked.

Well…maybe his hands weren't what impressed her most, but they impressed her a whole lot.

“I sleep perfectly well,” she lied. “It's this weather. Maybe I'm part bear. Cold, rainy days I tend to want to hibernate.”

Did bears hibernate two to a cave? Maybe they were onto something, she mused.

A few minutes later when Cole and Mutt emerged from the door at the top of five wooden steps, Marty climbed out and joined them. Mutt was in high fettle. They reached the corner of Water and Third streets and Cole tugged lightly on the lead and flipped his right hand.

Mutt obediently veered right.

Marty stopped dead in her tracks. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?”

He was hatless. With the wind ruffling his hair and plastering his leather bomber jacket to his chest, he looked wildly attractive and more than a little dangerous.

“How'd you get him to turn there? I always have to pull my arms out of the sockets getting him to go where I want him to go.”

“Don't you use hand signals?”

“Both my hands are occupied. In case you hadn't noticed, he pulls like a six-mule team.”

“Marty, you do know he's deaf, don't you? Didn't they even tell you that much?” Cole snapped his fingers. The dog didn't even look around.

She shook her head slowly. She was beginning to believe there was a lot the Hallets hadn't told her—probably knowing that if they had, she might have refused the job.