Tony’s father, for heaven’s sakes.
With that thought in mind, she stepped into the kitchen, but she lingered near the door. Nick hadn’t waited for an invitation. He’d already opened the refrigerator and was scanning the contents with unabashed interest. He pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and poured two glasses without so much as a glance in her direction. To his credit, though, he didn’t mention the fact that the door was missing a hinge. She’d ordered it on Thursday.
Nick studied Dana over the rim of his glass and tried to make sense of her skittishness. She was no youngster, though she had the trim, lithe figure of one. The weariness around her eyes was what gave her age away, not the long, slender legs shown off by her paint-splattered shorts or the luxuriant tumble of rich brown hair hanging down her back. Allowing for gaps in her résumé, she was no more than twenty-nine, maybe thirty, about five years younger than he was. Yet in some ways she looked as though she’d seen the troubles of a woman twice that age. There was something about her eyes, something sad and lost and vulnerable. Still, he didn’t doubt for an instant that she had a core of steel. He’d felt the chill when her voice turned cold, when those intriguing brown eyes of hers glinted with anger. He’d pushed her this morning and she’d bent, but she hadn’t broken. She was still fighting mad. Right now, she was watching him with an uneasy alertness, like a doe standing at the edge of a clearing and sensing danger.
“Now about that deal,” he said when he’d taken a long swallow of the sweetened tea.
“Mr. Verone, please.”
“Nick,” he automatically corrected again. “Now what I have in mind is charging you just for the roofing materials. I’ll handle the work in my spare time, if you’ll continue to help Tony out with his homework.”
Dana sighed, plainly exasperated with him. “I’m more than willing to help Tony anytime he asks for help. That’s part of my job as librarian.”
“Is it part of your job to stay overtime? I’ve seen the lights burning in there past closing more than once. We don’t pay for the extra hours.”
“I’m not asking you to. I enjoy what I do. I’m not interested in punching a time clock. If staying late will give someone extra time to get the books they want or to finish a school project, it gives me satisfaction.”
“Okay, so helping Tony is part of your job. Then we’ll just consider this my way of welcoming you to town.”
“I can’t let you do that,” she insisted, her annoyance showing again.
“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re from that old-fashioned school that says women can’t accept gifts from men unless they’re engaged.”
“I don’t think fixing my roof is in the same league as accepting a fur coat or jewelry.”
“Then I rest my case.”
“But I will feel obligated to you and I don’t like obligations.”
“You won’t owe me a thing. It’s an even trade.”
Dana groaned. “Is there any way I can win this argument?”
“None that I can think of,” he admitted cheerfully.
“Okay, fine. Fix the roof,” she said, but she didn’t sound pleased about it. She sounded like a woman who’d been cornered. For some reason, Nick felt like a heel instead of a good neighbor, though he couldn’t find any logical explanation for her behavior or his uncomfortable reaction.
Changing tactics, he finally asked, “How come I haven’t seen much of you around town?”
“I’ve been pretty busy getting settled in. This place was a mess and I had the library to organize.”
He tilted his chair back on two legs and glanced around approvingly. “You’ve done a lot here. I remember the way it was. I used to play here as a boy when old Miss Francis was alive. It didn’t look much better then. We thought it was haunted.”
He was rewarded with another grin from Dana. “I haven’t encountered any ghosts so far. If they’re here, they certainly haven’t done much of the cleaning. The library wasn’t any improvement. It took me the better part of a week just to sweep away the cobwebs and organize the shelves properly. There are still boxes of donated books in the back I haven’t had a chance to look at yet.”
“Then it’s time you took a break. There’s bingo tonight at the fire station. Why don’t you come with Tony and me?”
He watched as the wall around her went right back up, brick by brick. “I don’t think so.”
“Can’t you spell?” he teased.
Her eyes flashed dangerous sparks. “Of course.”
“How about counting? Any good at that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem, Dana thought, was not bingo. It was Nicholas Verone. He represented more than a mere complication, more than a man who wanted to fix her roof and share a glass of tea now and then. He was the type of man she’d sworn to avoid for the rest of her life. Powerful. Domineering. Charming. And from the glint in his devilish eyes to the strength in his work-roughened hands he was thoroughly, unquestionably male. Just looking at those hands, imagining their strength, set off a violent trembling inside her.
“Thank you for asking,” she said stiffly, “but I really have too much to do. Maybe another time.”
To her astonishment, Nick’s eyes sparked with satisfaction. “Next week, then,” he said as he rinsed his glass and set it in the dish drainer. He didn’t once meet her startled gaze.
“But—” The protest might as well never have been uttered for all the good it did. He didn’t even allow her to finish it.
“We’ll pick you up at six and we’ll go out for barbecue first,” he added confidently as he walked to the door, then bestowed a dazzling smile on her. “Gracie’s has the best you’ve ever tasted this side of Texas. Guaranteed.”
The screen door shut behind him with an emphatic bang.
Dana watched him go and fought the confusing, contradictory feelings he’d roused in her. If there was one thing she knew all too well, it was that there were no guarantees in life, especially when it came to men like Nick Verone.
Chapter 2
After a perfectly infuriating Monday morning spent waiting futilely for Billy Watson, Dana opened the library at noon. She’d found Betsy Markham already pacing on the front steps. Instead of heading for the fiction shelves to look over her favorite mysteries, Betsy followed Dana straight to her cluttered desk, where she was trying to update the chaotic card file so she could eventually get it all on the computer. The last librarian, a retired cashier from the old five-and-ten-cent store, obviously hadn’t put much stock in the need for alphabetical order or modern equipment. When a new book came in, she apparently just popped the card in the back of whichever drawer seemed to have room.
“So,” Betsy said, pulling up a chair and propping her plump elbows on the corner of the desk. “Tell me everything.”
Dana glanced up from the card file and stared at her blankly. “About what?”
“You and Nick Verone, of course.” She wagged a finger. “You’re a sly little thing, Dana Brantley. Here I’ve been trying to introduce you to the man for weeks and you kept turning me down. The next thing I know the two of you are thick as thieves and being talked about all over town.”
Thick brown brows rose over startled eyes. “We’re what?”
“Yes, indeed,” Betsy said, nodding so hard that not even the thick coating of hair spray could contain the bounce of her upswept gray hair.
Betsy’s