Cara O'Shea's Return (5 page)

“She loves you. Your being home again means more to her than you know.”

How would you know, she wanted to demand. She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth shut. How dare he act as though he cared what Ma thought or felt? He’d thrown away that right to be with his precious Hannah.

Cara would have moved away when the song came to an end, but he held her hand.

“I’m glad you’re home, too, Cara mine.”

She tugged her hand free. His arms fell to his sides. “I...I was hoping we could talk sometime. Maybe have lunch?”

She didn’t know how to respond. The man she’d idolized her entire childhood stood in front of her, his eyes pleading for understanding, yet all she could see was the memory of his hand, reaching out to his mistress in front of Harper’s Motel.

But despite the bitter resentment the memory stirred, she couldn’t stand to see the near desperation in his eyes. Her gaze skittered away and landed on Maive Cataldo at a nearby table. Her blue eyes sparkled with unspoken challenge. Cara could practically hear the dragon lady demanding, “Well, are you going to answer the man, Cara O’Shea?”

“I’ll let you know” was the best she could offer him. She stalked off, ignoring Maive’s satisfied smile.

It would be several days before the property was officially hers, but the bookstore already provided a sense of home. Cara could hardly contain her excitement when the moving truck pulled down the back alley, and two burly, young men unloaded her things. Several days of hard work had the tiny upstairs apartment organized and livable. Downstairs was another story.

Determined, she stood at the edge of what would eventually hold her studio and glared at the stacked crates containing her art supplies. Pulling a crowbar from the toolbox she had dragged downstairs, she went to work. Two hours later, cleaning solutions and thinners filled the shelving along one wall beside boxes of pigment and sorted brushes. She stored canvases of various sizes behind the counter where the book store’s register used to sit.

With an easel tucked under one arm, she swiped her brow with a bare forearm. The glare of the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the wall of windows along the front of the building was so bright it hurt the eyes, and heated the room while the air-conditioner battled valiantly to retain a bearable temperature. Despite the sleeveless tank top and shorts she wore, she was sweating like a pig.

No wonder the bookstore failed
. The electric bill alone would have put even the most thriving business into financial trouble.

But, she’d already addressed that particular problem. At Mary’s suggestion, she ordered custom shutters for the ceiling high panes. The salesman who came to measure the order promised they would be installed by the end of the week. Studying the high ceiling, she mentally added a couple of ceiling fans to her ever-growing list.

She was still deciding just how many it would take to keep her from drowning in her own sweat, when the front door opened. Spinning around, the easel under her arm swept a box of pigment from the top of an open crate, sending it crashing to the floor.

Silhouetted by the late afternoon light as he stood in the doorway, his face in shadow, she recognized Finn’s muscular frame. Her already unpleasant mood soured to aggravation.

“Ever heard of knocking?” She opened the easel, setting it to its feet, and bent to lift the box of pigment, shoving it onto one of the shelves.

He closed the door behind him. “When was the last time you knocked on the door of a business before going inside?”

“This isn’t a business. It’s my studio
and
home.”

“I stand corrected.”

She gritted her teeth at his reasonable tone and the damned crooked smile spreading over his face. Typically gorgeous in a pair of faded jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, he appeared cool and completely at ease. In comparison, she resembled a wet rag, and she certainly wasn’t cool. The temperature in the room shot up ten degrees with his arrival. She would remember to lock the door from now on.

When he didn’t say anything else, she blew out an impatient sigh. “Was there something you needed?”

He shook his head. “Nope.” He crossed his arms. The patient smile remained on his face. “Maive said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Maive? Why would Maive...?” Cara spied the tape measure clipped to his low slung waist band, and her stomach performed a crazy roll. Oh, no. No, no, no! He couldn’t be the carpenter Maive promised to send her way. The fickle fates couldn’t be that vicious.

He chuckled as though sensing her dawning horror. “Carpentry is a hobby of mine.”

Her gaze flew to the built-in shelving before snapping back to him. “
You
did the original renovation?”

“Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

Well, damn. With her stomach plummeting, her gaze ran lovingly over the exquisite woodwork throughout the room. He had reason to brag, and she would just have to find some other handyman with a tool belt to complete the changes she had planned. No way did she want Michael Finnegan under foot for however long the renovations took. She’d hire someone from Manhattan first.

“I don’t think...”

He brushed passed her to make his way further into the room, leaving her talking to his back.

Running a big hand over the wood of one of the freestanding shelves lining the center of the room, he glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll want to open up the place, and you won’t need these. I know someone who’ll be happy to take them off your hands.”

“Now, wait a minute.” She scrambled after him when he continued toward the back of the building.

“There’s a summer camp north of here,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “They take in troubled kids. I know the administrator would jump at the chance to expand the small library they have on site.”

“I...of course they can have them.”

“You’ll want to do something with the flooring. There’s hardwood beneath the carpeting. The bookstore owner put in carpeting to keep down the noise, but the floor was in good shape. It shouldn’t take much to revert the wood to its original form.” He continued through the aisles toward the rear of the building.

Realizing she was following him like a lost puppy, she stopped short. “Hey!”

He stopped and turned, raising one dark brow.

“I’m not hiring you.” With a bland stare, she crossed her arms.

“Why not?”

Why not? She wasn’t going to get into why not with him. And what kind of question was that anyway? She didn’t want to hire him and that was all he needed to know.

“Because, I don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s a stupid reason.” Humor danced in his blue eyes.

She sputtered incoherently.

“Look.” He spoke before she could find some actual words with which to blast him. “You’ve bought the building, so I have to believe you’ll want any changes done properly. It’s a great old place and a piece of history in this town. I did the original renovation. You’re going to want continuity with the work already completed. That means hiring me.”

Her disbelieving snort was loud in the quiet building. “Any contractor worthy of the name can give me continuity. You just don’t want anyone else getting their hands on what you’ve already built here.”

Twin dimples popped with his grin. “There is that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he proposed, as though she hadn’t already made her decision. “Tell me what you want done, and I’ll write up a bid. If you still don’t want me doing the work…” Irritation seeped into his tone. “I’ll give you the name of someone who won’t screw up what’s already done.”

That he was studying the woodwork like a proud parent worried over their only child, was the only reason she didn’t refuse his suggestion outright.

Frustration made her voice sharp. “Don’t you have some sneaker or athletic wear to peddle? I don’t just want cosmetic work done here, Finnegan. It’s going to take some time to get this place looking the way I want it.”

“My schedule is flexible.”

The humor in his eyes grated on her already stretched nerves. “I want walls taken out, windows put in. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be too tired to devote time to finding the next bimbo to share the limelight with you on the cover of one of those magazines?”

God, she sounded like a bitch. And what was she doing bringing up his penchant for being photographed with a new woman every other week? Oh, why couldn’t he just take no for an answer and leave?

“Well, now.” His accent slipped into pure Bostonian. “All my bimbos know I’m wicked busy. They tell me I’m worth the wait.”

His grin was so cocky, she couldn’t tell if he was reciprocating for her nastiness, or if he was simply speaking the truth. In case it was the truth, she wasn’t going to apologize. He had already proven he wouldn’t be ignored and when he turned to continue his inspection of the space she knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere until he was good and ready. She’d just have to wait him out.

“Fine,” she said peevishly after a moment’s hesitation. She’d take his bid, and find someone else to do the work.

Finn followed Cara throughout the large ground floor space, scribbling notes in a small notepad. Considering her sudden return after such a lengthy absence from Palmerton, and the comprehensive changes she planned for the building, she was serious about making a home here.

He’d be wasting his time trying to romance the building out from under her. The bookstore was lost to him, and he considered that a damn shame. But beyond his desire to own the one hundred year old landmark, he longed to see it restored to its full potential, and the idea of breaking through Cara’s protective shell was an itch he couldn’t help scratching. The renovations she wanted would offer him an opportunity to do both.

With her tacit approval, he plied her with questions. They discussed the front bank of windows and he agreed her purchase of shutters would go a long way toward battling the temperature issue. The installation of three ceiling fans would do the rest of the job.

He hid a satisfied smile at her coo of delight when he peeled back a corner of the carpet to get a peek at the wood floor beneath. Her idea of installing several windows along the back wall was interesting, though the stairwell leading to the second floor would be a problem. After considering the brick expanse for several minutes, he stood with his hands on his hips.

“It’s a load bearing wall. You’d need several beams, cutting down on the amount of space you can utilize. You won’t get the kind of natural light you’re talking about with only the one section of windows that would allow.”

“It’ll have to do.” She studied the section of wall in question and sighed. “The stairwell takes up most of the wall.”

Turning away from her disappointed frown, he contemplated the stairwell silently for several moments, and then began to measure again. The tape measure snaked back into its case with a snick.

“There’s another option. You could knock out the existing stairwell and put in a spiral staircase. They’re not all that practical for heavy traffic, but since you’ll only be using it for personal use, it would work. Especially if you choose a style complementing the age and charm of the building. The structural change would free up all but a corner, giving you a larger portion of the wall for windows.”

“Oh, Finn.” Excitement brightened her eyes. “Do you really think it could be done?”

He nodded. “It will be tricky, but yeah.”

“A spiral staircase.” She sighed, the sound wistful.

“I know a guy who custom designs them. I saw one of his finished products in a loft downtown. It’s a work of art.”

She snorted even as her eyes twinkled with humor. “I’m already sold on the idea, Finnegan. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

He chuckled and shy color crept over her cheeks.

Ducking her head, she turned to scrutinize the wall. “You said you’d have to work around the beams, how much window space can be gained?”

“We should be able to get three good sized windows in.”

She spun back. “Floor to ceiling?”

He smiled at her eager expression. “If that’s what you want.” He cocked his head and raised an inquisitive brow. “Floor to ceiling?”

She laughed, a sound of pure pleasure, and reached for his hand. “Come here.” She pulled him along to the back door, jerking it open to step outside.

He knew the instant she realized what she had done. Her flustered gaze jerked to his amused one, and she let go of his hand as if it scalded. Turning her back on him, she pointed at the expanse of lush, grassy bank sloping down to a fast running creek. The picturesque brook disappeared beneath an old stone bridge. Tall maples and birch crowded the opposite bank.

“That’s why I want the windows.” Her voice quivered with nerves. “I want to be able to look up when I’m working and see that.”

He was grateful she couldn’t see his dark and sultry smile. She insisted on keeping as much distance as possible between them, but as she got caught up in the renovation plans, she let down her guard. Whatever her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length, she’d forgotten all about them in her excitement over the renovation. Her body relaxed more and more as they moved through the studio together.

She even referred to him by the shortened version of his name, and he liked the soft way she said it. Always before it had been Finnegan, and for the most part, his name sounded like a derogatory term on her lips. No doubt she would try to retrench once she had time to think. Too bad for her he wasn’t going to give her that time.

She wasn’t relaxed now. Her returned tension showed in the stiff line of her body. A rush of anticipation flooded him as he considered just how he would go about relieving her of her tension. He closed the small distance between them, standing behind her with his mouth a breath from her ear.

“Beautiful.” He ignored the tree lined view. The picturesque New England scene couldn’t hold a candle to Cara O’Shea.

She shot a glance over her shoulder and he was pleased to see the blush staining her cheeks. Lowering her lashes, she started to move away. He stopped her with a palm to her cheek, and ducking his head, settled his mouth on hers.