Truly Madly Yours (18 page)

“I’m busy later. It’s now or next week, wild thing.”

She yanked the door open again and glared at the disgustingly handsome man standing there with his hair pulled back and hands in the pockets of his biker’s jacket. “I told you not to call me that!”

“That’s right, you did,” he said, walking past her into the apartment as if he owned the place, bringing the smell of autumn and leather.

Cold air swirled about Delaney’s shins and up her nightshirt, reminding her that she wasn’t dressed for company, but she wasn’t exactly showing anything, either. She shivered and shut the door. “Hey, I didn’t invite you in.”

“But you wanted to,” he said as he unzipped the big silver teeth of his jacket.

Her brows drew together and she shook her head. “No, I didn’t.” Suddenly her apartment seemed so small. He filled it with his size, the scent of his skin, and his massive machismo.

“And now you want to make coffee, too.” He wore a gray and blue plaid flannel. Flannel shirts were obviously a big staple in his wardrobe. And Levi’s. Soft Levi’s, worn at interesting places.

“Are you always this cranky in the morning?” he asked, his gaze scanning the apartment, taking in everything. Her boots lying on the worn beige carpet. The old appliances in the kitchen. The two boxes of tampons on the counter.

“No,” she snapped. “I’m usually very pleasant.”

His gaze returned to her, and he cocked his head to one side. “Bad hair day?”

Delaney put a hand to the side of her head and stifled a groan. “I’ll get the key,” she said as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. She pulled out her “Names to Take, Butts to Kick” key ring. When she turned around, Nick was so close she jumped back and her behind hit the cabinets. She stared at his hand, thrust toward her. His long blunt fingers, the lines and calluses in his palm. A silver zipper closed his black leather sleeve from elbow to wrist. The aluminum tab lay across the heel his hand.

“Where are the closest outlets to your doors?”

“What?”

“The electrical outlets in your salon.”

She dropped the keys into his palm then squeezed past him. “By the cash register in front, and behind the microwave in the storeroom.” And because he looked liked a breathing fantasy, and she was sure she looked horrible, she snapped, “Don’t touch anything.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” he called out to her as she practically ran down the hall. “Give myself a perm?”

“I never know
what
you’re going to do,” she said and shut the bedroom door behind her. She looked in the mirror above her dresser and raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she cried. She had bed head all right. The back was flat; the front fuzzy. She had a pillowcase crease on her right cheek, and a black smudge beneath her eye. She’d answered the door looking like one of those blurry eyed people who’d survived a natural disaster. Worse, she’d answered the door looking like crap with
Nick
standing on the other side.

As soon as Delaney heard her front door close, she ran into the bathroom and took a quick shower. The hot water helped clear her head, and by the time she got out, she was fully awake. She could hear the whine of Nick’s drill coming from the front of her salon, and she went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Whatever his reason, he was actually doing her a favor. He was being nice. She didn’t know why, or how long it would last, but she was grateful and meant to take full advantage.

She dressed in a black ribbed sweater that zipped up the front and had a zebra print collar and cuffs and a matching skirt. She wore calf boots and black tights, fingered mousse in her hair, and dried it with a diffuser. She quickly put on her makeup, then wrapped herself up in her big wool coat, scarf, and gloves. Forty-five minutes after she’d been awakened by Nick’s pounding, she walked down the stairs from her apartment with a thermos under one arm and two steaming mugs of coffee.

The back door to the salon was wide open, and Nick stood with his back to her, his feet wide apart, a tool belt slung low across his hips. He’d pulled on a pair of leather work gloves, and the drill lay silent just inside the salon. A circular hole had been cut in the door, and he was in the process of removing the old handle. He looked up as she approached, his gray eyes touching her everywhere.

“I brought you coffee,” she said and held a mug toward him.

He bit the middle finger of the glove and pulled his hand out. He shoved the glove in the pocket of his jacket and reached for the coffee. “Thanks.” He blew into the mug and looked at her over the steam. “It’s only October, what are you going to do in December when the snow’s up around your little butt?” he asked, then took a drink.

“Freeze to death.” She set the thermos by the door. “But I suppose that’s good news for you.”

“How’s that?”

“Then you inherit my share of Henry’s estate.” She straightened and wrapped her hands around her mug. “Unless of course I’m buried here in Truly without ever leaving town. Then things might get a little dicey. But if you want, you can throw my body outside the city limits.” She thought for a moment, then added a stipulation, “Just don’t let any animals chew on my face. I’d really hate that.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t want your share.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. How could any sane person not want part of an estate worth serious cash? “You were pretty ticked off the day Henry’s will was read.”

“So were you.”

“Only because he was manipulating me.”

“You haven’t a clue.”

She sipped her coffee. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” He set his mug next to the thermos and shoved his hand back inside his glove. “Let’s just say I got exactly what I wanted out of Henry. I got property any builder would cough up a gonad to own, and I got it free and clear.” He fished around in the pouch of his tool belt for a screwdriver.

Not quite free and clear, she thought. Not yet anyway. He had to wait a year just like she did. “So you weren’t angry that you only got two pieces of property, and I got his businesses and money?”

“No.” He removed a screw and tossed it in the box to his right. “You and your mother are welcome to the headache.”

She didn’t know if she believed him. “What does your mother think of Henry’s will?”

His gaze cut to hers then returned to the door handle. “My mother? Why do you care what my mother thinks?” he asked as he removed both knobs and threw them in the box.

“I don’t really, but she looks at me like I mutilated her cat. Sort of furious and disdainful at the same time.”

“She doesn’t have a cat.”

“You know what I mean.”

He used the screwdriver to pry out the latch bolt. “I guess I know what you mean.” He reached for the new part and removed it from its packaging. “What do you expect her to think? I’m her son, and you’re the
neska izugarri
.”

“What does
neska iz
—
izu
, whatever mean?”

He laughed silently. “Don’t take it personal, but it means you’re a horrible girl.”

“Oh.” She took a drink of coffee and looked at her feet. She guessed being called a “horrible girl” wasn’t too bad. “I’ve been called worse, of course usually in English.” She glanced back at Nick and watched him screw the shiny new knobs in place. “I always wanted to be bilingual so I could swear and my mother wouldn’t know it. You’re lucky.”

“I’m not bilingual.”

A chilly breeze picked up the ends of Delaney’s hair and she burrowed deeper inside her coat. “You speak Basque.”

“No I don’t. I understand a few words. That’s about it.”

“Well, Louie does.”

“He knows as much as I do.” Nick bent down and picked up a dead bolt. “We understand a little because my mother speaks Basque with her relatives. She tried to teach us Euskara and Spanish, but we really weren’t interested. Mostly Louie and I know swear words and body parts because we looked them up in her dictionary.” He glanced at Delaney, then shoved the dead bolt through the hole he’d drilled in the door. “The really important stuff,” he added.

“Louie calls Lisa his sweetheart in Basque.”

Nick shrugged. “Then maybe he knows more than I thought he did.”

“He calls her something like
alu gozo
.”

Nick chuckled deep in his chest and shook his head. “Then he’s not calling her ‘
sweetheart
.’ ”

Delaney leaned forward and asked, “So, what is he
really
calling her then?”

“No way am I telling you.” He dug in the pouch of his tool belt for screws then clamped two between his lips.

She fought an urge to punch him. “Come on. You can’t leave me hanging.”

“You’d tell Lisa,” he muttered around the screws, “and get me in trouble with Louie.”

“I won’t tell—pleeaase,” she wheedled.

A chirping from the vicinity of Nick’s chest stopped her pleas. He spit out the screws and bit the middle finger of his glove again. Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a slim cell phone. “Yeah, it’s Nick,” he answered and shoved his glove into his pocket. He listened for a minute, then rolled his eyes skyward. “So when can he get out there?” He wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and continued securing the dead bolt. “That’s too damn late. If he doesn’t want to sub with us, he needs to say so, otherwise he better get his ass, and his PVC, on the job no later than Thursday. We’ve been lucky so far with the weather, and I don’t want to push it.” He talked of square feet and board feet and Delaney didn’t understand any of it. He fastened the strike plate to the door frame then shoved the screwdriver into his tool belt one last time. “Call Ann Marie, and she’ll give you the numbers on that. It was either eighty or eighty-five thousand, I’m not sure.” He pressed the off button on the cell phone, then slipped it back beneath his jacket. He dug around in the front pocket of his jeans, then handed her a set of keys. “Try it,” he ordered as he stepped into the salon and slid the latch bolts into place.

When she did as he requested, both locks opened easily. She retrieved Nick’s coffee mug and the thermos from the ground and entered the back of the shop. With her hands full, she kicked the door shut and walked into the storage room. Nick’s tool belt and jacket sat on the counter next to the microwave. His drill lay on the floor still plugged into the socket, but he was nowhere to be seen.

From behind the closed bathroom door, she heard the toilet flush as she shucked out of her coat and gloves. She hung them on the coat rack by the door, then grabbed a fresh cup of coffee for herself and hurried to the front of the salon. For some weird reason, standing across the hall while Nick used her bathroom made her feel like a voyeur, like the time she’d hidden behind a display of sunglasses at the Value Rite and watched him buy a box of a dozen—large, ribbed for her pleasure— condoms. He’d been about seventeen.

Delaney opened her appointment book and stared at the blank page. She’d had her share of boyfriends, and they’d certainly used her bathroom. But for a reason she couldn’t explain to herself, it was different with Nick. More personal.. . almost intimate. As if he were her lover instead of the guy who’d provoked her most of her life, then used her to get back at Henry.

She heard the door to the bathroom open, and she took a long sip of coffee.

“Did you try the front door?” he asked, the heels of his boots thudding on her linoleum as he walked toward her.

“Not yet.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and watched his approach. “Thanks for the new locks. How much do I owe you?”

“It works. I already checked it for you,” he said instead of answering her question. He stopped beside her, then leaned his hip into the counter next to her right elbow. “That was on the floor when I changed the front lock,” he said and pointed to an envelope lying on the top of the cash register. “Someone must have slipped it beneath your door.”

Her name was the only thing typed on the white paper, and she figured it was probably some kind of notice for a downtown business association meeting or something equally exciting.