As they started up the stairs, Luke turned around and paused, his hand on the banister. “I apologize for the sorry state of the house,” he said. “My sister hasn’t been by in a few weeks and with haying time and the new calves.”
“Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“I don’t want to scare you off,” he said, starting up the stairs once more. Gruff or not, Emily got the feeling that he was relieved she was there. Or at least relieved someone was there to do the job he required.
She followed him up, unable to avoid the sight of his bottom in the faded jeans. Two identical wear spots lightened the pockets. As he took her through the house she realized he hadn’t been exaggerating. The spare rooms had a fine film of dust on the furniture. The rugs were in desperate need of a vacuuming and he’d left his shaving gear and towel on the bathroom vanity this morning, along with whiskers dotting the white porcelain of the sink. The linen closet was a jumbled mess of pillows, blankets and sheets arranged in no particular order, and the laundry basket was filled to overflowing.
The tour continued and Emily tried to be positive through it all. “The floors are gorgeous,” she tried, hoping to put them on more of an even footing. “They look like the original hardwood.”
“They are. And they have the scratches to prove it.”
She bit back a sigh and tried again. “Scratches just add character. And the doors are solid wood rather than those hollow imitations in stores these days. Such a great color of stain.”
“They need refinishing.”
Emily gave up for the time being; her attempts at anything positive were completely ineffectual. She simply followed him down the hall. The smallest bedroom was painted a pale green and had one wall on a slant with a charming oval window looking over the fields. She fell in love with it immediately. A second room was painted pink and one wall had rosebud wallpaper. A third door remained closed—she presumed it was his room. But when he opened the door to the final room she caught her breath. It must have been his parents’ room, all gleaming dark wood and an ivory chenille spread. It was like stepping back in time—hooked rugs on the floor and dainty Priscilla curtains at the windows.
“What a beautiful room.” She looked up at Luke and saw a muscle tick in his jaw. It was almost as if seeing it caused him pain, but why?
“It belonged to my parents,” he answered, and shut the door before she could say any more.
Back in the kitchen the clean dishes were piled in the drying rack, the teetering pile a masterpiece of domestic engineering. In the partner sink, dirty dishes formed a smaller, stickier pile. The kitchen cupboards were sturdy solid oak, and Emily knew a washing with oil soap would make them gleam again. The fridge needed a good wiping down. She paused a moment to glance at the magnetic notepad stuck to the fridge door. It was simply a list of phone numbers. She frowned as she read the names Cait and Liz, wondering why he didn’t simply have his sister’s numbers memorized. After his brusqueness, there was no way on earth she’d ask.
Overall, the house was a throwback to what felt like a happier, simpler time. “All it needs is some love and polish, Mr. Evans. You have a beautiful home.”
The tour finished, Luke cleared his throat, his feet shifting from side to side. “I really need to get back to fixing the baler. This weather isn’t going to hold and I have help coming tomorrow. The job is yours, Ms. Northcott.”
She grinned at him, ready to tackle the dust and cobwebs and bring the house back to its former glory “You’ve got a deal.”
“Shouldn’t we talk salary?”
A shadow dimmed her excitement, but only for a moment. “I thought that was all taken care of through the agency. Unless you’ve made a change regarding …” She paused, glancing down at Sam.
“One boy won’t eat much. The wage stands, if it’s acceptable to you.”
“Agreed.”
“You’ll be okay to get settled then?”
“Oh, we’ll be fine. Does it matter which rooms we take?”
“One of the two smaller ones at the end of the hall would probably be best for your son,” he replied. “My sister Liz’s pink room probably wouldn’t suit him. The other is still a bit girly, but at least it’s not pink. You can take the one on the other side.” The master bedroom, the one that had been his parents.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the pink room? The other is …” she paused. She remembered the look on his face when he’d opened the door, but had no idea how to ask why it hurt him so much. “The other is so big,” she said.
Luke tried not to think of Emily in his parents’ room, covered with the ivory chenille spread that had been on the bed as long as he could remember. He had never been able to bring himself to change rooms, instead staying in the one he’d had since childhood. Nor did he want Sam there. But Emily … somehow she fit. She’d be caring and respectful.
“The room has been empty a long time. You may as well use it. The other is so small. It’s just a room, Emily. No reason why you shouldn’t sleep in it.”
But it wasn’t “just a room”, and as he looked down into her dark gaze, he got the idea she understood even without the details.
“Mr. Evans, I don’t know how to thank you. This means a lot to me … to us.”
Her eyes were so earnest, and he wondered what was behind them. Clearly she was a single mom and things had to be bad if she accepted a short-term position like his and was so obviously happy about it. She hadn’t even attempted to negotiate salary.
“What brought you here? I mean … you’re obviously a single mother.” No husband to be found and insistent on the Ms. instead of Mrs. No wedding ring either, but he saw the slight indentation on her finger where one had lived. “Recently divorced?”
The pleasant smile he’d enjoyed suddenly disappeared from her mouth. “Does it matter if I’m divorced?”
He stepped back. “Not at all. I was just curious.”
“You don’t strike me as the curious type.”
He hoped he didn’t blush. She had him dead to rights and she knew it. He had always been the stay-out-of-others'-business-and-they’ll-stay-out-of-yours type.
“Pardon me,” he replied coolly.
But her lack of answers only served to make him wonder more what had truly brought her here. What circumstances had led Emily Northcott and her son to his doorstep?
“Yes,” she relented, “I’m divorced. Sam’s father is living in British Columbia. I’m just trying to make a living and raise my son, Mr. Evans.”
She was a mom. She had baggage, if the white line around her finger and the set of her lips were any indication. It all screamed off limits to him. He should just nod and be on his way. Instead he found himself holding out his hand, scrubbed clean of the earlier grease, with only a telltale smidge remaining in his cuticles.
“Luke. Call me Luke.”
The air in the room seemed to hold for a fraction of a second as she slid her hand out of her pocket and towards his. Then he folded the slim fingers within his, the connection hitting him square in the gut. Two dots of color appeared on Emily’s cheeks, and it looked as though she bit the inside of her lip.
Not just him then. As if things weren’t complicated enough.
“Luke,” she echoed softly, and a warning curled through him at the sound of her voice. He