Reunited With The Billionaire. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
heard Seth was a carpenter. “And a guy who makes damned fine furniture,” he added. “I’m staying at Twin Oaks. I admired a walnut table in the entry hall and Clint Cooper told me it was your work.”
Seth nodded. “Yeah. That piece came out pretty well.”
Rod smiled. “Clint told me you’d say something like that, but he says the truth is, you’re good.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, it’s not immodest to admit it if you’ve got talent.” The men’s eyes met and Rod grinned. “The danger is in letting the rest of the world know it.”
They shared a chuckle, talked some more, and then the doctor mentioned he’d been looking at an old ski chalet with a fantastic view. It was for sale but it needed a lot of work. He described the location and Seth said he knew the place.
“I’ve seen it from the road. From what I’ve heard it’s sound, structurally, but the inside—”
“Is a disaster.” The doctor sighed. “Yeah, I know. Dark, old, boxy. But there’s nothing around here that has a view to match it. The sun just about lights up the top of the mountain. And I feel…comfortable, I guess, in this town.” He paused. “I’ve been giving some serious thought to buying the place and rebuilding it. Gut the interior, get rid of all that dark stained pine and put in—”
“Beech and maple. Draws the light right in.”
Rod raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Exactly.” He sipped his coffee, then tapped his fingers on the table. “Could you drive over one morning and tell me what you think?”
Seth smiled. “My pleasure.”
They’d made an appointment for this morning. Seth had already cruised by the chalet a couple of times, getting the feel of it, and ideas had started coming. As many as could, anyway, until he saw the interior. He’d jotted them down in his notebook and was eager to discuss them with the doctor.
There was still another hour and a half until it was time to meet Pommier. Thankfully, the little guy with the sledgehammer had gone from trying to bash his way out of Seth’s skull to merely tapping at it, so why stand around?
Seth drained the last of the coffee, rinsed the mug and put it in the sink. There were things he could do before he left. He could start stripping the finish from the old cherry rocker he’d picked up at a garage sale. Work on the chest he was making for his bedroom. Drive out to that farm near New Ashford, see if the owner had made up his mind whether or not he wanted to take down his barn and sell the hand-hewn beams and weathered old siding….
Who was he kidding?
He grabbed his jacket and keys and hurried out to his truck. There was only one thing that really needed doing this morning, and he damned well was going to do it.
* * *
GINA MONROE SAT at the old maple table in her kitchen, elbows propped on its scarred surface, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of herbal tea. On impulse, she’d taken the day off from her job as a teacher at the local elementary school. Now she watched with satisfaction as her daughter tucked into a stack of blueberry pancakes she’d sworn she could never finish when Gina served them to her ten minutes earlier.
Wendy forked up a mouthful dripping with maple syrup and melted butter. Gina smiled at the look on her face.
“Good?”
Wendy chewed, swallowed and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “No,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m just making a pig of myself to keep you happy.”
Gina grinned and thought how wonderful it was to have her little girl home again. It was the same thing she’d been thinking for the last two days.
“Seriously, Mom, these are incredible.”
“Well, we had a great blueberry crop last summer,” Gina said modestly. “Your father couldn’t keep away from the pick-your-own place just north of town.”
“Is it still there?”
“Mmm-hmm. And Daddy bought boxes and boxes of berries. I made blueberry pie, blueberry tarts, blueberry vinegar, blueberry liqueur—”
“Whoa. Blueberry liqueur? That’s a new one.”
Gina smiled as she rose and went to the counter. “Your father gave me a course in herbal cooking as a birthday gift last year.” She spooned some fresh herbs into an infuser and filled her mug with water from the kettle. “More coffee for you?”
“Yes, please.”
She topped up Wendy’s cup. “I have some pancakes left. Would you like a couple more?”
Wendy groaned and held up her hands. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Just one, maybe?”
“Honestly, I’m full.” Wendy pushed back her chair. “I’d almost forgotten what an American breakfast was like. That was absolutely delicious.”
“I’m glad. Oh, don’t get up, sweetie. Let me get those dishes. You just sit there and take it easy.”
Wendy shook her head, collected her dishes and took them to the sink. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I got back.”
“It’s all I want you to do.”
“I’m not an invalid, Mother.”
“Well, of course you aren’t. I just enjoy fussing over you.” Gina made a face. “And now I’m in trouble.”
“Huh?”
“You just called me `Mother.’“ She took two cake plates from the cupboard and put them on the table. “That’s always a danger sign.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom.”
“See? Now I’m `Mom.’“ Gina smiled as she took out forks and arranged them on fresh napkins alongside the plates. “`Mom’ is good. `Mother’ is a warning,” she said, opening the oven. The scents of cinnamon and nutmeg drifted out. “You ready for some coffee cake?”
Wendy stared at her mother. “No. Yes. Is it that sour cream cake you used to make?”
“Uh-huh.”
“In that case, maybe a sliver…and what in heck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and the Mom-Mother thing.” Gina took the cake from the oven and put it on the table, then closed the door with her hip. “`Why must I wear my galoshes, Mother?’“ she said in a little-girl voice. “`Why must I do my homework now, Mother?’“ She laughed at the perplexed expression on Wendy’s face. “Ever since you were tiny, I was `Mom’ when you were happy with me and `Mother’ when you weren’t.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I didn’t know I was that transparent.” Wendy hesitated, watching as Gina sliced the cake. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap just now.”
“I know you didn’t, sweetie.” Gina looked at her daughter. “And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You just need to remember that I haven’t had the chance to fuss over you in a very long time.”
“I know. And I really love having you fuss. I just…I guess I confused it with you thinking I wasn’t up to doing things for myself, and I’m not very good at letting people help me.”
“Not good? Dear, you bristle like a porcupine, but I’m not surprised. You always were so fiercely independent. It’s what got you into trouble your very first day in kindergarten.”
Wendy smiled. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll never forget it. Your teacher cornered me when I came to pick you up.” Gina’s expression softened at the memory. “I’d just