“All done,” she said. “I hope you accept my estimate, Grace. It’d be an honor to work on this place. It might even get a mention in the Digest of American Architecture.”
Jack groaned.
“What’s wrong with that?” Grace demanded. “It’s a very prestigious publication.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Marcie said. “I forgot about the fallout the last time you were featured in it.”
Intrigued, Grace glanced from one to the other. “What? What?” she demanded.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Marcie said, packing her notebook and tape measure into her briefcase. She waggled her fingers at them as she dashed through the front door.
Grace spun around to Jack. “Well? What was that about?”
“I got a bunch of, uh, fan mail when I was in that magazine a few years back.”
“Which must have led to a lot of work for you. That’s good!” she said, immensely pleased that her contractor was so talented he’d been featured in the magazine. Just wait until Edward and his horrible family saw her home in an upcoming issue! He’d tried to have their house highlighted several years ago, but the publication had rejected his bid. Probably because their mansion was more like a mausoleum than a home.
“All it led to was a lot of work dodging enthusiastic women. And some men,” he said.
Grace started to giggle.
“Don’t laugh! It was really distracting when so many people showed up at the work site asking for me. Luckily, Al fended most of them off.”
“Most of them?” Grace nearly choked she was laughing so hard.
“Why is this so funny?” he demanded.
“Because you seem so unaware of your looks,” she responded. “I guess I missed that issue. Tell me how they posed you for the photograph.”
Jack widened his stance and crossed his arms.
Grace flushed. Jack’s biceps, broad shoulders, black hair and vivid blue eyes made a pretty devastating combination. “I can see why you got so much fan mail,” she said.
Jack scowled. “I wasn’t posing like this,” he said. “I’m crossing my arms because I’m refusing to discuss it.”
“Wow! That must’ve been some photo,” she said. “I’m going to look it up online.” Grace slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the front door.
“Wait!”
She turned to see Jack blushing to the roots of his hair.
“It was that good, huh?” she teased.
“No, it was stupid. The photographer asked me to change. The photo they published was of me taking off my old shirt. It looked like a cheesy striptease.”
Trying to lighten the situation she said, too flippantly, “No wonder you got so much attention. From both sexes.”
“It wasn’t funny at the time. And it still isn’t. I take my work seriously.”
Grace schooled her expression. Jack really felt hurt and she needed to respect that.
Changing the subject, she asked, “So, how are the rashes this morning?”
“Much better. I’ve quit the orange juice, and the cream is giving me a lot of relief.” He rolled up his sleeve to show her. “Looks fifty percent better already.”
Grace brushed his inner elbow with her fingertip. She noticed him flinching. Surely Jack wasn’t that unused to a woman’s touch?
A sudden wolf whistle surprised her and she jumped back from him, searching for the culprit.
“Tyrone!” Jack shouted.
A lanky black youth sauntered over, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, boss?” he said.
“Don’t ever do that to a client again. In fact, to any woman. It’s disrespectful. Now apologize to Dr. Saunders.”
The kid raised one finger to his head in a salute. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Jack turned to Grace. “This is Tyrone. He’s one of my apprentices, and since he’s only been here a couple of weeks, he hasn’t been fully house-trained yet.” He cuffed the kid gently on the shoulder and said, “Get back to work.”
“Sure, boss, and sorry again, ma’am.” Tyrone went back to planing some timber.
“Actually, I wasn’t all that offended. Especially since he’s just a harmless kid,” Grace said.
“Ten weeks ago that kid was serving time in juvie for pulling a knife on a shopkeeper.”
Grace paled. “Oh.”
Then she glanced around at the rest of the young men working on her house. They all seemed a little rough around the edges.
“I can see your mind working,” Jack said. “Let me assure you that underneath the tough exteriors, they’re just kids who need a chance.”
“And you know this because...”
“So far I’ve trained about forty kids who were either homeless or headed for jail. All of them now have jobs in the building trade all over the States. Some have even started their own businesses.”
“I had no idea you did this.”
Jack shrugged. “Why would you?”
“I, uh...” Grace’s life suddenly looked awfully shallow from where she was standing. What had she ever done to give back to the community? “Am I taking you away from helping them? By hiring you to work on my home?”
“Nope. This is the perfect project for them. Come and meet the rest of the guys. They don’t bite.”
Grace stayed where she was. “I feel a little foolish dressed like this when I’m supposed to be part of the crew. Should I change into work clothes first?”
“No, it’s better they meet you in all your prissiness, and then when you get changed they’ll realize you’re human, too.”
Grace rolled her eyes at his mild chastisement. “Okay, then. Lead the way,” she said.
They went inside and up the stairs where one of the boys was working on her banister railings.
“Dr. Saunders, meet Zac. He’s been with me for over a year and is shaping up to be a fine carpenter.”
“Please, call me Grace,” she said, offering her hand to Zac, a short, bespectacled kid whom Grace couldn’t imagine ever being in trouble with the law. He seemed too...normal. Or was she just seeing the glasses and equating them with being studious?
He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Jack said you’re going to pitch in around the job site.”
He looked a little too long at Grace’s totally inappropriate attire and she felt it necessary to joke, “I guess heels are a no-no?”
Zac shrugged. “Whatever the boss says.”
Something crashed downstairs. She and Jack raced to the first floor to find dust billowing out of the kitchen. As it cleared, Grace saw that half the cabinets had been torn from the wall.
A huge man stood in the midst of the debris.
“This is Ace. He specializes in demolition,” Jack said with a wry smile.
“Grace,” she said, shaking hands with the tall, well-built young man sporting tattoos on his arms and shoulders.
“This your house, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, taking in the wreckage. The old seventies cabinets were hideous, but at least they’d hidden