“I swear to you that I won’t sue you if I trip over a pot in the middle of a storm,” she said. Her smile grew and, for the first time since his arrival, seemed sincere. Finally, she completely put aside the hedge clippers she’d been absentmindedly brandishing at him.
“I’ll even put it in writing,” she offered.
“Nope,” he said determinedly. “That’s not good enough. There’s Tony to consider, too.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the one behind his history grade. I can’t have him failing again just because the librarian is laid up with a twisted ankle or worse.”
“Tony is a bright boy. All he needs is a little guidance.” She regarded him pointedly. “And someone to remind him that when it comes to history, facts are facts. Like it or not, the Yankees did win the Civil War.”
Nick hid a smile. “Yes, well, with Robert E. Lee having been born just down the road, some of us do like to cling to our illusions about that particular war. But for a battle here and there, things might have been different.”
“But they weren’t. However, if you’re determined to ignore historical reality, perhaps you should stick to helping Tony with his math or maybe his English and encourage him to read his history textbooks. In the long run, he’ll have a better time of it in school.”
Nick accepted the criticism gracefully, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, careful not to chuckle. “Now about your roof…”
“Mr. Verone—”
“Nick.”
“That roof has been up there for years. It may have a few leaks, but it’s in no danger of caving in. Surely it can wait until Monday. I appreciate your offering to help, but I did make a deal with Mr. Watson.”
Nick was already moving toward his truck. “He won’t show up,” he muttered over his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“I said he won’t show up, not unless he’s out of liquor.” He pulled an extension ladder from the back of the pickup and returned purposefully up the walk, past an increasingly indignant Dana.
“Mr. Verone,” Dana snapped in frustration as Nick marched around to the side of the house. She had to run to keep up with him, leaving her out of breath but just as furious. The familiar, unpleasant feeling of losing control of a situation swept over her. “Mr. Verone, I do not want you on my roof.”
It seemed rather a wasted comment since he was already more than halfway up the ladder. Damn, she thought. The man is impossible. “Don’t you ever listen?” she grumbled.
He climbed the rest of the way, then leaned down and winked at her. “Nope. Give me my toolbox, would you?”
She was tempted to throw it at him, but she handed it up very politely, then sat down on the back step muttering curses. She picked a blade of grass and chewed on it absentmindedly. With Nick Verone on her roof and a knot forming in her stomach, she was beginning to regret that she’d ever helped Tony Verone with his history project. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if coming to River Glen was going to be the peaceful escape she’d hoped it would be. Sensations best forgotten were sweeping over her this morning.
While she tried to put her feelings in perspective, Nick shouted at her from some spot on the roof she couldn’t see.
“Do you have a garden hose?”
“Of course.”
“How about getting it and squirting some water up here?”
Dana wanted to refuse but realized that being difficult probably wouldn’t get Nick out of her life any faster. He’d just climb down and find the hose himself. He seemed like a very resourceful man. She stomped off after the hose and turned it on.
“Aim it a little higher,” he instructed a few minutes later. “Over here.”
Dana scowled up at him and fought the temptation to move the spray about three feet to the right and douse the outrageous, arrogant man. Maybe then he would go away, even if only to get into some dry clothes, but at least he’d leave her in peace for a while. She still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d talked her into letting him stay on the roof, much less gotten her to help him with his inspection. For a total stranger he took an awful lot for granted. He certainly didn’t know how to take no for an answer. And she was tired of fighting, tired of confrontations and still, despite the past year of relative calm, terrified of anger. A raised voice made her hands tremble and her head pound with seemingly irrational anxiety.
So, if it made him happy, Nick Verone could inspect her roof, fix her leaks, and then, with any luck, he’d disappear and she’d be alone again. Blissfully alone with her books and her herb tea and her flowers, like some maiden aunt in an English novel.
Suddenly a tanned face appeared at the edge of the roof. “I hate to tell you this, but you ought to replace the whole thing. It’s probably been up here thirty years without a single repair. I can patch it for you, but with one good storm, you’ll just have more leaks.”
Dana sighed. “Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”
“Didn’t you have the roof inspected before you bought the place?”
“Not exactly.”
He grinned at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means we all agreed it was probably in terrible condition and knocked another couple of thousand dollars off the price of the house.” She shot him a challenging glance. “I thought it was a good deal.”
“I see.” His eyes twinkled in that superior I-should-have-known male way and her hackles rose. If he said one word about being penny-wise and pound-foolish, she’d snatch the ladder away and leave him stranded.
Perhaps he sensed her intention, because he scrambled for the ladder and made his way down. When he reached the ground, he faced her, hands on hips, one foot propped on the ladder’s lower rung in a pose that emphasized his masculinity.
“How about a deal?” he suggested.
Dana was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth. “I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t even heard the offer yet.”
“I appreciate your interest and your time, Mr. Verone…”
“Nick.”
She scowled at him. “But as I told you, I do have another contractor coming.”
“Billy Watson will tell you the same thing, assuming he doesn’t poke his clumsy feet through some of the weak spots and sue you first.”
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating slightly?”
“Not by much,” he insisted ominously. Then he smiled again, one of those crooked, impish smiles that were so like Tony’s when he knew he’d written something really terrific and was awaiting praise. Like father, like son—unfortunately, in this case.
“Why don’t we go inside and have something cold to drink and discuss this?” Nick suggested, taking over again in a way that set Dana’s teeth on edge. Her patience and self-control were deteriorating rapidly.
He was already heading around the