He dutifully wound his way through the store, past the glittering chandeliers and stained-glass lamps, old rockers and ornately carved tables glowing in the warm light with the patina of well-loved old age.
With every step he kept an eye out for the fragile doodads parked on every flat surface and hoped he could make it past without knocking anything to the floor.
He expected more of the same—fuss and frills and probably mind-numbing pink ruffles everywhere in Keeley’s personal space. Instead the bright and airy upstairs apartment was like the woman herself—welcoming and classy with its cream walls, white wooden blinds and an eclectic mix of antique and modern furnishings that invited rather than overwhelmed.
But while the apartment felt welcoming, his first step out onto the tipsy balcony in back made him shudder.
At the far edge of the tiny platform he could see the top bar of a wrought-iron fire escape dangling toward the ground, but the wood-plank flooring of the balcony showed ample evidence of rot. Reaching that ladder to escape a fire seemed more risky than just going for a two-story leap off the edge.
The rusted wrought-iron fire-escape ladder heading up to the roof looked even worse.
“None of this is safe,” he called out to her. “I think I’m going to call 9-1-1 after all.”
She peered over the roof edge above him. “No, don’t—please. I’m going to just dangle over the edge and drop lightly. It’ll be fine.”
Maybe until her feet hit the fragile planks and went right through.
“If it’s so fine, why didn’t you set up a ten-foot ladder on the balcony to get up there in the first place?”
“The contractor said the balcony was still serviceable, but I agree with you. It’s one of the next projects on my list.”
Connor eyed the spindly railing and weakened floorboards. “If he thought this was okay, then I’d say he isn’t the guy you want to hire. You need someone with more common sense.”
“Look—I can handle this on my own, now that you’ve unlocked the door. I just need you to step back inside so I don’t land on you. I’ll be careful.”
Connor stepped into the doorway, with one foot still on the balcony.
A moment later she slowly backed over the edge of the roof, her feet dangling a few feet above the floorboards. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into the kitchen before she could drop.
Dressed as she was in a heavy gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, she felt surprisingly delicate and light in his arms, and the soft scent of some sort of flowery perfume wafted into the room.
When was the last time he’d inhaled such a wonderful scent? He couldn’t remember.
“Ooof!” she exclaimed as he quickly released her and stepped back. “Thanks.”
It had been at least six years since he’d held a woman in his arms, and he felt an unaccustomed warmth flowing through him that settled in his chest and robbed him of breath. “Uh...no problem.”
“I really do owe you,” she murmured, averting her gaze as she dusted her hands against her jeans. A rosy blush brightened her cheeks. “You have no idea how much I wanted to avoid having Todd show up—he’s a deputy in town—or the fire-department guys. You can be sure it would’ve been front-page news in the local paper, complete with photographs. Like I said, I would never live it down. And my dad...”
She closed her eyes briefly, clearly cringing at the thought.
“He’s...” Connor hesitated. “Quite a driver.”
Her mouth twitched, and then she laughed softly. “That has to be the understatement of the year. But I promise you, I’ll be taking his keys away. I won’t let him get behind the wheel again and risk someone’s life.”
The small kitchen, with its white cupboards and yellow-checkered curtains, had seemed as bright and airy as the rest of the apartment, but now he felt the walls closing in on him.
Maybe it was the claustrophobia he’d been fighting since walking out of the prison doors.
Maybe it was his increasing awareness of her sparkling green eyes and her creamy skin, or his sudden curiosity about what it might be like to hold her in his arms just one more time. But that was a bad idea.
His ex-wife had provided a painful lesson on the risks of judging women based on beauty, and there was no room in his life for any ties at any rate. The moment his truck was fixed, he needed to be back on the road.
He cleared his throat. “I guess I’d better be going.”
He turned for the door to go downstairs, but she touched his arm and he froze at the warmth of her hand.
“Please—wait. Did you find a job in town?”
He knew what she was going to ask, even before she spoke. He shook his head.
“Have you given any more thought to working here?”
He looked over his shoulder, ready to say no and be on his way, but the hope in her eyes stopped him short. “I wouldn’t be much use. As soon as my truck’s done I need to hit the road, no matter what.”
Her expression inexplicably brightened, though how she heard anything positive in his reply escaped him.
“I totally understand, and that’s fine. Even a week or two would help. Would you be willing to fill out a job application, just in case you change your mind?”
He swallowed hard, knowing it was only fair to tell her the truth before this went any further. A burning wave of humiliation rushed through him over what he now had to reveal to this pretty young woman—one who had probably never received so much as a parking ticket.
“You really wouldn’t want me here.”
“Why not?” A teasing glint sparkled in her eyes. “It isn’t like you’ve just landed on Mars, you know. The store may be slanted to female customers, but the job is easy.”
She sure was determined, he’d give her that. He sighed. “There are things you don’t know about me, ma’am.”
She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. “Just put it all on the application. You seem like a nice guy, so I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”
That was what she thought.
At the cash-register counter, she handed him another application and a pen, and motioned to the ice-cream table and chair by the front window. “Just have a seat. It won’t take long.”
Defeated by her perseverance and the ingrained Texas manners that precluded arguing with a lady, he skimmed over the application.
There were four places to list previous employers, and his job history certainly had a suspicious five-year hole in it. What should he write there—inmate? Infirmary worker while incarcerated at the Eagle Creek State Prison in Montana?
The job before that was “rodeo cowboy” and before that he’d been the hardworking son of a Texas rancher. Fixing fences, training horses and raising cattle were hardly good work experiences for the kind of employee she needed.
But the part he’d expected—listing past convictions—wasn’t on the form. Maybe times had changed and those details couldn’t be asked.
Yet he couldn’t lie and he wouldn’t hide the truth. He fixed his weary gaze on the glittering baubles hanging over the front counter. “As much as I could use