Considering Kate: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

More, she was impressed with his thoroughness. The drawings were clean and professional. She doubted she’d have gotten better with an architect.

When she was done, she picked up the bid—meticulously clear—ran down the figures. And swallowed the lump of it.

“Well, Handsome Jack.” She set the paperwork down again. “You and your dad are hired.”

Jack let out a cheer, and since nobody told him not to, took another cookie.

Brody didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, not until it wanted to expel in one great whoosh. He controlled it, eased back. It was the biggest job he’d taken on since moving back to West Virginia.

The work would keep him and his crew busy all through the winter—when building work was often slow. There’d be no need to cut back on his men, or their hours.

And the income would give him a whole lot of breathing room.

Over and above the vital practicalities, he’d wanted to get his hands on that building. The trick would be to keep them there, and off Kate.

“I appreciate the business.”

“Remember that when I drive you crazy.”

“You started out doing that. Got a pen?”

She smiled, rose to get one out of the drawer. Leaning over the table, she signed her name to the contract, dated it. “Your turn,” she said, handing him the pen.

When he was done, she took the pen back, looked over at Jack. “Jack?”

“Huh?” Crumbs dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Catching his father’s narrow stare, he swallowed. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

“Can you write your name?”

“I can print it. I know all the alphabet, and how to spell Jack and Dad and some stuff.”

“Good. Well, come on over here and make it official.” She tilted her head at his blank look. “You drew some of the lines, didn’t you? You want to be hired, or not?”

Pure delight exploded on his face. “Okay!”

He scrambled down, scattering more crumbs. Taking the pen, he locked his tongue between his teeth and with painful care printed his name under his father’s signature.

“Look, Dad! That’s me.”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

Stupefied by emotion, Brody looked up, met Kate’s eyes. What the hell was he going to do now? She’d hit him at his weakest point.

“Jack, go wash your hands.”

“They’re not dirty.”

“Wash them anyway.”

“Right down the hall, Jack,” Kate said quietly. “Count one door, then two, on the side of the hand you write your name with.”

Jack made little grumbling sounds, but he skipped out of the room.

Brody got to his feet. She didn’t back off. No, she wouldn’t have, he thought. So their bodies bumped a little, and his went on full alert.

“That was nice. What you did, making him feel part of it.”

“He is part of it. That is clear.” And so was something else that needled into her heart. “It wasn’t a strategy, Brody.”