Darby. Now it’s Dorothy Mae Darby. After Nellie’s late grandmother.”
“I like it. It fits this town.”
Dawn snorted. “It should. Nellie’s grandmother ran Oak Stand. Her great granddaughter doesn’t fall far from the tree. Mae’s ruling the roost already.”
Dawn began opening the doors on either side of the hallway and calling out the names of each. One was clogged with old books, one a nursery, one obviously Nellie’s old bedroom, if the posters of George Strait were any indication.
“So which ones are you thinking about keeping intact?” he called out, stepping inside the last room off the hallway. It was quaintly furnished with a colorful patchwork quilt covering an old-fashioned iron bed. Dawn followed him inside but he didn’t realize she was behind him until he turned around and bumped into her.
She stepped back, but he caught her slight intake of breath. His body tightened at the feel of her breasts brushing his arm.
“Sorry,” he said, grasping her arms and setting her aright. Her golden skin felt soft under his work-roughened hands. “Didn’t realize you were right behind me.”
Silence met his apology and the air crackled with tension. They’d both felt the jolt of attraction, but neither would acknowledge it.
“I thought this room and the one next door would work for when our clients need some privacy.”
He stepped past her and ducked his head in the adjacent room. “I don’t think so. It would be better to use the nursery and this room, since they are closer to the stairs. Let me look around at the structure a bit, and I’ll meet you downstairs to show you what I’ve drawn up.”
A furrow creased between her eyebrows. “But that doesn’t make sense. These are bedrooms. With beds in them.”
Tyson shook his head. “I’ll show you what I’ve drawn up and then we can argue the finer points. Okay?”
She shrugged. “Fine, I’ll head downstairs and get that cup of coffee I still owe you.”
The blip of sexual tension between them still pulsated in the quietness of the room, but Tyson let her slip out the door without doing anything about it. And his body so wanted him to do something about it. But his mind said no. He had to remind himself yet again why he was in Oak Stand and why acting on such an impulse was not a good idea.
Hell, he hadn’t even signed the divorce papers yet.
And that was a good enough reason to ignore the stirrings Dawn caused inside him.
He listened as the slapping of her flip-flops faded away, then he got busy inspecting the soundness of the structure and cementing his ideas for the remodel. He was certain what he’d drawn up would be perfect.
DAWN RINSED AND FILLED the carafe with filtered water. Afternoon coffee was always a good idea even if she didn’t need the caffeine. She hadn’t been sleeping well, which probably had to do with Andrew’s latest attempt to get her and Larry back together.
It all stemmed from an incident several months ago before she’d left Houston. Her ex-husband suffered a burst pipe in the small patio home he leased. Andrew had talked her into letting his father sleep in their extra bedroom. Big mistake. Larry had been on his best behavior, making his famous banana-macadamia waffles and picking up his wet towels. She’d even laughed at his jokes as he flipped the chicken on the grill. But the coziness had given Andrew license to envision his parents together once again.
He’d also complained over the past few months about split holidays and trying to spend time with both of his parents separately. Like every other nineteen-year-old on the planet, he wanted what was easiest for him. Too bad if his convenience didn’t work for anyone else. And reconciling with Larry definitely did not work for Dawn. She had to figure out a way to make that point to Andrew wihout alienating him.
So, yeah, she’d take that jolt of caffeine even if it meant tossing and turning all night.
Jolts. There’d been plenty of them going around upstairs, and she could not, would not, pay attention to them. Look where following her libido had gotten her with the last guy. She’d been instantly attracted to the guy who owned the café across from her design shop in Houston. Murray had been good-looking, suave and totally attentive. He’d also been very married—a little fact he’d failed to mention during their impromptu lunches and romantic weekends. For the first time in a long time, she’d been happy. She’d been in love. And it had been with another woman’s husband. The thought still made her want to vomit.
So she wasn’t listening to any crazy sexual static. Call her chicken. Or smart. Either way, Tyson Hart would be getting no play.
She glanced at the schedule mounted on the wall. Blue, green, orange and yellow highlighted sections all awaited her perusal. That’s how she liked it. No danger. No surprises.
The object of her musings stepped into the kitchen and ran a hand through his hair. The action caused the band on his polo shirt to rise above the sculpted biceps of his arm. The salmon color made his eyes glow. Dawn felt her mouth go dry with desire.
Hell.
“Coffee?” she said, before clearing her throat. She’d sounded like a bullfrog.
“Absolutely,” he said, placing a rolled-up paper on the granite countertop. “I ran out to my truck and grabbed the plans I’d worked on. By the way, Hunter Todd had a customer. It looked like a rat, though he assured me it was a dog.”
“Herman,” Dawn quipped, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. “He’s the Chihuahua that belongs to the Sandersons. We’ve bathed him once already.”
She poured him a cup and handed it to him.
“Just the way I like it,” he said, before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. “Very good.”
“So show me what you’ve got.” She smiled. Another sexually charged statement. Jeez. She was losing it. But Tyson chose to ignore this one, and instead unrolled the plans with the enthusiasm of a boy with his prized collection of baseball cards on display.
“Okay.” He set his coffee mug far away from the plans. “Here’s the second floor. The rooms aren’t labeled but you can see the library, nursery and so on.”
She nodded as if she didn’t already know what the second floor looked like. As if she’d never walked the halls, slept in Nellie’s old room the couple of times she didn’t feel like driving out to her brother’s ranch.
“These are the plans I’ve drawn up. First, here are the two rooms you’ll keep. We’ll divide those into four dormitory-like rooms for resting. Then we’ll section off this area and create a bank of bookshelf-style units for storage. We’ll install a sink, built-in fridge and a dumbwaiter that will lower to the kitchen on the first floor.”
She studied the plans as he ran a finger over the sections, explaining what each would be. Periodically, he would stop to discuss materials or ask for a suggestion. Occasionally, Dawn’s interest waned and she watched the enthusiasm he had for the project. Architecture wasn’t really her thing, but she could tell he had enjoyed designing the space and that he loved creating something exceptional out of something ordinary.
It was not too different than what she had done in her own redesign shop in Houston. She’d taken old pieces of furniture—things that no one wanted anymore—and created a new piece of furniture. She’d pick up an old chair on the side of the road, repair it, strip it, give it a faux finish and recover it with vintage fabric and, voila, it became a work of art. She liked getting her hands dirty in design work, so she totally understood the pleasure Tyson took in revisioning the space.
“It’s fabulous,” she said when he’d finished. “I can’t believe you can actually do all of that within these four walls.”
“Well, part of it is using good design principles. We’ll draw the eye upward to give a better sense of space. Using quality materials