Dreams Don't Wait (Contemporary romance) (2 page)

"Linc, you're being rude—as usual," Caressa said. "But, yes, this is Evan North. The woman I told you about."

He nodded in Evan's general direction and turned back to his sister. "And you checked her out?
Carefully
."

Caressa gave a long-suffering sigh and poked his arm.

His well-muscled arm, Evan judged, still a bit dazed by his extraordinary appearance. A muscle tightened along his jaw, and her eye was caught by the indentation it made near his mouth. It was either a dimple or smile crease, or maybe—

Get a grip, woman!

Giving herself a mental shake, she willed herself to focus on Caressa, feeling as though she were fighting her way back from anesthesia.

"For heaven's sake, what's to check?" Caressa said. "I've known Evan for years. I told you she's exactly who you need. Perfect."

"Perfect, huh?" Lincoln eyed his sister suspiciously.

Brother and sister stared at each other as if they were rivals in a chess game. Evan let Caressa's wild exaggeration about how long they'd known each other pass and coughed lightly, half to clear her throat and half to get their attention. Past time they included her in this conversation.

"If you have any questions, Mr. Stewart, I'll be happy to answer them," she said, in a voice just a shade off normal.

His blue gaze fixed on her, and he paused before saying, "Linc."

"Pardon?"

"Call me Linc."

Evan nodded. God, his eyes were blue. Her mouth went dry.

"Why do you want this job, anyway?" he went on. "You're aware there's no salary involved?"

"I'm good with children, Mr. Stew—Linc, and I already have a full-time job. I assumed Caressa told you that."

"Maybe. I can't remember. My sister told me damned little. Other than she has this—what was it, Caress?—'dynamite friend" who needs free rent. Hardly a sterling reference for someone who'll assume at least partial responsibility for my daughter."

Evan's eyes shot to Caressa, angry and questioning.

"I told him everything he needed to know. Believe me. Adding to his many deficits, he obviously has a bad case of selective hearing." Caressa gave her brother an irritated look. "And I told
her
that you were a rude, misanthropic, dominating troll. Thank you so much for not proving me wrong, dear brother." With a careless flourish, she picked up her bag, tossed the lunch tab in Lincoln's general direction, and stood. "I'm leaving. You two work it out. Or not." She gave her brother another quick kiss before adding. "She's perfect, Linc. Don't be an ass."

"I don't intend to be. Not this time, sister mine. So if you're trying to pawn off another one of your—"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Caressa's sigh was long and dramatic. "Good luck, Evan. You're going to need it. I only hope the cabin's worth putting up with the ugly brute. Catch you later."

When the "ugly brute" turned his attention back to her, Evan was struggling to control her temper.
Pawn off!
The words blistered her brain.

"So. Do you think I'm a troll?" His voice was low, rich with challenge. He shoved aside the water glass standing between them and leaned back in his chair, giving her a long, thoughtful look. If he liked what he saw, he didn't show it.

"I think—" Evan clamped her mouth shut. There was no way she could tell this guy that he was one toss short of the nastiest human being she'd ever met.

"Go on," he urged.

She took a breath. "I think we have a limited time to decide if this arrangement will be beneficial for both of us, and we shouldn't waste it," she said. "I have to be back at work in fifteen minutes. If you don't approve of me, simply say so. Please don't feel any obligation because Caressa spoke on my behalf."

"I don't." He paused for a moment, and his gaze turned boldly appraising. "You don't look like one of her usual friends. No designer wardrobe, no plastic fingernails and"—his eyes swept over her long dark hair, tied loosely at the back of her neck—"no mousse or whatever that goo is women use to make hair sculptures."

"I don't see that how I look is—"

"And no overload in the makeup department either. At least you'd be easy on a man's pillowcases."

Pillowcases!
Okay, that had her steaming...not to mention oddly tingly. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Stewart. But you definitely have the wrong—"

"I said call me Linc." He stopped, gave her a speculative look. "Caress says you have a boy. I assume he's part of the bargain."

Evan gritted her teeth and nodded. Cal was most definitely part of the bargain.

"Is he well behaved? I detest brats."

She took in a breath. "He's very grown up for his age. I did not raise a 'brat.' "

"Good. Do you like dogs?"

"Adore them."

"Can you make cookies? Big, gooey ones with chocolate chips?"

She stared at him in amazement before nodding. He'd come dangerously close to smiling.
It was a crease!
And it curved close to his mouth like a one-sided bracket.

"That last was Jenny's question." He studied her for a moment, then added, "I'll send a truck for your things on Saturday. The place isn't much, but then neither is the job. If you're lucky, you'll only have to look after Jenny one night a week, tops. Can you handle that?"

Evan's heart pounded. The cabin was hers. It was truly hers. She smiled for the first time since this awkward meeting began. "I can handle it."

"Good. It's settled then." He stood, picked up the check, then tossed it back on the table along with some bills before looking down at her. "Your name—Evan—it's unusual for a woman."

"It comes from Evangeline."

"Interesting."

She had no idea what to say to that, and apparently he expected no response.

"Saturday morning, then. Ten. Ten-thirty. And for God's sake, be ready. It's moving day for all of us, and it's going to be hell." With that he headed for the door. He might as well have been a marching band; not a female eye in the place missed his passage. With his dark golden hair, lean hips, and lazy, confident grace, Lincoln Stewart was six full feet of spectacular male.

He probably went through a lot of pillowcases.

* * *

Evan carefully removed a large blowup of a Harley-Davidson from over her bed. Ugly thing, she thought, rolling it into a tight wand. It was in here because Cal treasured the dumb thing, and he didn't have a room of his own to hang it in. Since coming to Victoria six months ago, he'd been sleeping on the sofa. Libby, her soon to be ex-roommate, wouldn't allow the poster in any areas they shared—a living room the size of a tabletop, a bathroom with every second tile missing, and a stamp-sized kitchen.

Her smile broke through. Sharing, accommodating, compromising—all that was behind her now. Tonight Cal would be in his own room and so would the motorcycle poster. She tucked it carefully down the side of a box.

She hoped the troll would tolerate Cal's taste in decorating. If they were lucky, Cal and her, Linc wouldn't even see it. Caressa said he was a very busy guy, and the cabin was a good distance from the main house. Once he'd satisfied himself she was taking care of the place, he would probably keep his distance. Linc Stewart struck her as a man who valued his privacy.

A look at her watch told her it was almost ten-thirty. The truck would be here any minute. Excitement flowered in her chest and she started to hum. A house. A real house for her and Cal. She corrected herself. Not a house, a home. A real home at last.

"Mom, I forgot my Harley—" Cal made a hurried entrance. He stopped when he saw the poster in the box and grinned at her.

"Did you finish packing the books?" she asked.

"They're at the front door. Libby says she hasn't finished the one you lent her, so I left it with her. Oh, and she wants to keep the toaster until she can buy a new one. Is that okay?"

Evan sighed, knowing full well she'd probably never see either the book or the toaster again. Roommates. She'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. It was a wonder Libby hadn't asked Evan to leave Cal. The way she'd been eyeing him lately had been starting to make her nervous. The thought made her frown.

"So, what? It's not okay?" Cal asked.

"No, it's fine. I was thinking about something else. Here, take this." She handed him a battered suitcase.

At the sound of the door buzzer, they looked at each other then did a high-five. Evan took a last look around the tiny room before pushing Cal toward the door. "Answer it, my man. Our new horizons beckon."

The truck driver's name was Gary, and with Cal's help, he made short work of stowing Evan's meager belongings in the back of the truck.

* * *

As the truck pulled up to the Stewart estate, Evan felt a rush of nerves. Cal strained forward as they passed through the open gate, but still they couldn't see the house. The long driveway curved sharply before opening up to expose the old English Tudor mansion. It was
large.
No,
huge
. At least three stories, Evan guessed, staring out the window of the truck. Dense green ivy twisted up one side, trailing off at the base of the stone chimney. On the left was a rose garden, somewhat in need of pruning but colorfully beautiful all the same. Although the house had an air of neglect, its nineteenth-century charm was proudly intact. The warm, inviting house was not at all where she'd expect Lincoln Stewart to live. When the driver reached the front entrance, he stopped the truck.

"We're not going in here, Gary," she hurriedly told him.

"I know, but Mr. Stewart told me to stop here and get the key. Your place is around back. Closer to the waterfront, I think. I'll be right back."

"Are we going to be near the ocean?" Cal asked.

"I guess so, hon." Evan's answer was distracted. She was still a little overwhelmed by the size of the estate.

Cal was excited. Evan was confused. Caressa hadn't mentioned Linc's place was on the water. She'd only said it wasn't far from the university, and there was an old cabin on the acreage not being used. Apparently, Lincoln didn't want anyone else in the main house, so he'd decided to use it for the extra help. That being her as it turned out. Evan hadn't asked too many questions; the cabin was free, had two bedrooms and no roommate. There was nothing else she needed to know.

"Got it." The driver jumped back into the cab waving a key and started the truck.

* * *

"All right!" Cal leaped out of the truck and headed for the beach. Evan took three deep breaths and followed him. She couldn't believe her eyes; the setting was beautiful. The tiny cabin was mere yards from the shoreline. It was made of logs, with a generous front porch facing southeast. A great place for coffee and sunrises. A rocky outcropping forged out from the shore some sixty feet to form a natural breakwater. Twisted pines and red arbutus bunched randomly across its surface in competition for its sparse, moss-covered soil. Before Evan turned back to the house, Cal was halfway down the beach.

Gary was inside piling up their small store of possessions. She stepped in, looked around, then up, her eyes following a beam of sunlight to its source in the ceiling, a hole the size of a tennis ball.

The place was a wreck.

There was dust an inch thick across the scarred plank floor, and the two broken windows, a scatter of broken furniture, and the pervasive odor brought tears to Evan's eyes.

"Needs a little TLC, I'd guess," Gary said, looking at her as though to gauge her reaction.

"I'd say you guessed right. What do you think that gruesome smell is?" She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and set out to follow it. Gary followed her.

"I think we found it," she gasped, clamping her fingers on her nose. "Yuck!" A recently deceased squirrel.

Gary picked it up with a piece of yellowed newspaper and disposed of it. Most, but not all, of the smell went with it. Evan opened the double doors leading to the porch and stepped outside to take in some refreshing, clean air.

Gary finished unloading the truck and was waving good-bye when Cal returned from the beach. He did a sixty-second tour of the cabin and joined her on the porch.

"Pretty gross. What do you think?"

She smiled for the first time since seeing the house. " 'Gross' about covers it, I'd say." She ruffled his dark, curly hair. "Feel like making a miracle?"

"How?" Cal said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"That broom over there might help. You can start with your room."

He cringed and made a sour face, but picked up the broom and headed down the hall.

Evan smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead and looked around the dingy space.

Next payday, some paint; and the one after that, curtains, she decided. She'd spend enough to make the place bearable and not a penny more. Cal's college money came first.

"This place is a dump."

Evan spun to face the door. She was in time to see Linc Stewart step in. He looked around in disgust. "There's no way you're going to live here." He tested his weight on the plank floor. His expression was thunderous when the old boards groaned and creaked under the pressure. "The damn place is dangerous."