“All you have to add is ‘little lady’ and I’ll believe you’re John Wayne.” She didn’t smile as she said it.
His eyes widened and his mouth firmed into a straight line. “Well then, since I’m not the Duke, I guess we’ll do it your way.”
“I will admit,” Valerie said when they’d shoved the cupboard against the wall, “that putting this thing in place again with you took a lot less time than moving it by myself.”
Rob gave her a wink before turning to the back door. This time, he didn’t need to bend over to see the damage. “Looks like he went at this one harder ’cause he didn’t figure he’d be seen in back. This is another new door and lock. And the door frame’s damaged, too. Before you can put in a decent lock, that’ll need to be replaced.”
Valerie dropped into a chair at the table. “So we really can’t stay here another night. I know a carpenter won’t come out on Saturday.” On top of a sleepless night—and Con’s phone call—the whole ordeal pressed down on her shoulders with the weight of a millstone. “I hate leaving our stuff at the mercy of whoever comes by. But—”
“Hold on a minute.” Rob sat down across from her, with Ginny between them. “We can do better than that. I’ve hung a few doors in my time, but I’ve got a couple of friends who are professionals. Let me see what I can rustle up.”
“You don’t—”
He didn’t wait for her protest, but whipped out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hey, Adam. Yeah, I actually did. Sorry ’bout that. Listen, have you and Dixon got plans this morning? I have a lady in distress here, and I think you could help.” After an explanation and a few quick words, he closed the phone. “There you go—they’ll be here in about an hour. They were just sitting down to breakfast.”
Valerie set aside her irritation at the “lady in distress” description and got to her feet. “Speaking of food, have you eaten anything, either of you?” She looked at Ginny, who pouted and shook her head. “Well, that’s a problem I can solve right away.”
Rob put up a hand. “Why don’t I just go get some doughnuts, or—”
“Not a chance.” She, too, could boss people around, including this smooth-talking, dictatorial Southern gentleman. “I’ve got a decent breakfast in the fridge and it won’t take long to put together. Do you drink coffee?” she asked, with her head inside the refrigerator. “I try to avoid the stuff on the weekends because I live on it all week, but I can make a pot.”
“I’m a tea drinker, myself.”
“I have some tea bags.” She pushed the refrigerator door closed with her hip. “I’ll make you a cup.”
“Well, actually—do you have any iced tea?”
She stopped in front of him, a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “Iced tea? At breakfast?”
“Lunch, dinner and bedtime, too.” His eyes twinkled, reminding her of Connor at his most mischievous.
“I don’t know how to make iced tea.”
“I could show you.”
“You make tea?”
“My daddy makes the best,” Ginny put in. “He learned from my grandmama. When our family gets together for a picnic, everybody wants Daddy to make the tea.”
Valerie gestured toward the pantry with the milk. “Well, clearly I’m in the presence of a master. Be my guest.”
By the time she’d scrambled eggs and broiled bacon, Rob had produced a pitcher of tea and Grace stood at the door to the kitchen with Connor behind her, blinking at their early guests. “Mom? What’s going on?”
“Good morning, sleepyheads. Come to the table. Mr. Warren and Ginny are here for breakfast, and then Mr. Warren is going to fix the locks on the doors.”
Not budging a step farther, Grace glanced at the back door. “Did that man come back?”
“No. No, he won’t come back. The police took him away, remember?”
“C’mon, dummy, move!” Connor pushed from behind and stomped past his stumbling sister into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.” In the middle of the room, though, he stopped short and pointed at Ginny. “She’s in my chair.”
Valerie nodded at the space next to Rob. “We brought in a new chair for you. Grace, come sit beside me.”
“I’m not sitting next to her.” Connor walked around to his usual place. “Give me my chair.”
Ginny stared at him with a challenge in her eyes. “No.”
“Ginny—” Rob started.
“Mommy,” Connor whined, “I want my chair.”
She took his hand and led him to the other side of the table. “You will sit here. Or you won’t eat.” Her son slouched into the disputed seat. With his arms crossed over his chest, his cheeks puffed and lower lip stuck out, he resembled a grouchy frog.
Ignoring him, Valerie looked at her daughter. “Come sit down, Grace, before the food gets cold.” After another moment of hesitation, Grace sidled in behind the table to sit next to her brother, who promptly blew a raspberry at her.
“Hey.” Rob’s hand closed over Connor’s shoulder. “That’s no fair.”
Connor turned his freckled face toward Rob. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t blow raspberries without a reason.”
“Who says?”
“It’s the rule.”
“Whose rule?”
“Everybody knows raspberries don’t count unless the other guy—or girl—did something to you first.” With a shrug, Rob sat back in his seat. “That’s the law of the land.”
With eyebrows lowered and lips pursed, Connor stared at him for a long time. At last, he turned to Valerie. “Can I have some eggs now?”
“Please,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “Can I please have some eggs now?”
“Good man,” Rob told him with a grin.
Valerie watched as Connor started to smile back, then quickly reverted to his standard belligerent attitude. After a year of his moods, she’d begun to wonder if the cheerful little boy she’d once known would ever reappear. Thanks to Rob Warren, she now saw that he still lurked beneath the mask—daunted but not gone forever.
Once the kids cleared the table after breakfast, Ginny returned to her chair and Grace and Connor went to get dressed. Valerie attempted to load the dishwasher without Rob’s help.
“I can do that,” he insisted. “You cooked. I want to clean up.”
“I will finish the kitchen,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sit down and drink your tea or go for a walk around the block. But don’t stand here in my way.”
A knock at the front door forestalled his answer. She started to leave the kitchen, then turned back. “Don’t touch the dishwasher,” she warned. “Or heads will roll.”
He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Ginny and I will come along so you can keep an eye on me.”
“Good idea.” When she reached the door, she found two good-looking guys in shorts, T-shirts and sneakers standing on the porch.
The taller one spoke first. “Ms. Manion? I’m Dixon Bell, and this is Adam DeVries. Rob Warren gave us a call about your doors?”
Rob stepped up behind