Yesterday's Scandal

Mac shrugged. “Quality costs. Of course, I’ll be keeping a close eye on expenses, making sure I’m paying fair prices and spending no more than necessary.”

Trent didn’t seem concerned about the prospect of close supervision. “I’ll work up a detailed cost analysis for you,” he offered. “If anything unexpected comes up, we’ll discuss then how to handle it.”

“That’s the way I prefer to do business. I’m not crazy about surprises.”

Trent smiled a little at that. “I could have guessed that from the few meetings we’ve had.”

Mac wondered how Trent felt about surprises. He could give him a whopper of one right now, if he wanted. But he would wait until the time was right—until he had his answers—before he decided how, or whether, to break his news to the McBrides.

A woman’s voice came from somewhere in the front of the house. “Mr. Cordero?”

Mac swiveled toward the sound, then wondered why his pulse had suddenly quickened in response to Sharon Henderson’s voice. A decorator, he reminded himself. That was all she was to him. All he intended for her to be. And this was his chance to find out just how friendly she was with the McBride family.

CHAPTER THREE

MAC FOUND SHARON waiting just inside the front door, which he had left open. In marked contrast to the dull, colorless surroundings of the run-down entryway, she looked fresh and pretty, dressed in clean, bright colors. She was studying the broken, curved staircase, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve never been in here before,” she said when he joined her. “I didn’t know what to expect.”

He found it annoyingly necessary to remind himself that he was only interested in her because of her interior-decorating skills and her friendship with the McBrides—not because she was the first woman he’d been attracted to in months. Dragging his gaze away from her, he glanced around the entryway. “Most of the damage is cosmetic. This place was built to last, and it has, despite the neglect.”

“It’s really worth saving?”

He rested a hand on an intricately turned newel post. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was.”

Wearing the same contemplative look he’d just seen on Trent, she glanced slowly around the big entryway and then through an arched doorway into a room that had probably served as a front parlor. “It must have been beautiful once.”

“And it will be again. Let me show you around downstairs. I’d rather save the upstairs until the staircase and upper floors have been reinforced.”

She glanced up the stairs, as if she was reluctant to miss anything in the tour he’d promised. But then she turned away from the staircase to follow him along the lower floor.

He led her through the parlor, the single downstairs bedroom, what might have once been a sitting room or music room, and a long, narrow dining room. Without lights, the rooms looked even more shabby and ramshackle than they actually were. The sunlight that managed to penetrate the dirty windows turned gray and dusty inside. But Mac saw the still-intact crown moldings, the repairable plaster-work, the solid-wood paneling and hardwood flooring, and he knew the house could be spectacular again. He wondered if Sharon shared his vision.

She murmured something he didn’t quite catch. “I beg your pardon?”

Looking at him with an air of distraction, she motioned to the long, fanlight-topped window at the end of the dining room. “Beveled leaded glass,” she said. “And look at the detail of that crown molding. You don’t see work like that anymore.”

Her comments pleased him, as did the expression on her face. Oh, yeah, she was seeing what could be, rather than what was. Just as he did when he looked at this place.

She stepped closer to the window to examine the framing. “The woodwork is in good shape all through the house? No dry rot? Termite damage?”

“Some, but minimal. There are a few places where we’ll have to do some reproduction work, but not many.”

She moved close to a wall to peer at the darkened wallpaper that had once been a bright sunflower design, more indicative of the 1970s than the early 1900s. “I bet there are at least a half-dozen layers of wallpaper on these walls. Homeowners often used to paper right on top of existing patterns. If that’s the case, I should be able to re-create original decor by studying the earliest layers.”

“I counted six layers in the master bedroom. Five in the kitchen.” He’d dug through all that in his initial examination of the house’s condition.

“Were the early patterns distinguishable?”

“In places, yes. You’ll probably want to see it, though I’m not interested in an exact reproduction of the original decor. Just a look that’s appropriate for the period.”

“The townspeople have always referred to this place as a Victorian mansion, but it isn’t strictly Victorian, is it? More a combination of Queen Anne, Italianate, and even a little Early American craftsman influence. Sort of a hodgepodge, but it works. It must have been spectacular.”

Despite her disclaimers that she wasn’t a professional decorator, he was satisfied with the observations she’d made thus far. He had seen examples of her work, having learned that she’d decorated several of the businesses he’d visited in town, and he knew she had a flair for color and proportion. Now he was even more confident that he hadn’t made a mistake approaching her about this project.

Her friendship with the McBrides might be useful to him later, but it was her decorating expertise that interested him at the moment. At least, that was what he told himself, though he was all too keenly aware of how nice she looked in her pale blue spring-weight sweater and fluidly tailored gray slacks that emphasized the slender waist his hands had spanned so easily.

He reminded himself again that he didn’t have time for that sort of distraction now. He might notice her blue-green eyes and sweetly curved mouth, the shallow dimple in her left cheek, the graceful line of her throat or the feminine curve of her breasts beneath the soft knit sweater she wore, but that was as far as he intended to take it. He had a job to do—and the Garrett place was only a part of it.

Though his voice was casual, he was watching Sharon closely when he led her into the next room. “This,” he said, “is the kitchen.”

The smile that lit her face when she saw who was waiting there was full, warm and beautiful. Mac couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to be on the receiving end of a smile like that from her. “Trent,” she said, and even her voice was warmer now. “What a nice surprise.”

Though Mac had summed Trent up as a somber, even brooding, type, the smile he gave Sharon held a natural charm with a hint of mischief. Having heard through the local rumor mills that Trent had been involved in a near-fatal plane crash that had left him with both physical and emotional scars, Mac suspected he was seeing an echo of the cocky young ladies’ man Trent was reported to have been before the crash.

“Hi, Sharon. It’s good to see you again.” Trent kissed her cheek with the ease of long acquaintance.

Mac found himself frowning as he watched Trent’s casual touch against Sharon’s smooth cheek. He cleared his expression immediately, forcing himself to study the pair objectively.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Sharon said. “You look great.”

“So do you. I was glad to hear you weren’t seriously injured Friday night.”

“Only a few bruises. I was lucky. So how are the wedding plans coming along?”

A glow of satisfaction warmed Trent’s usually cool blue eyes. “Everything’s on schedule. Annie and I will be married the last Saturday in August.”

“I know your mother is looking forward to having another wedding in the family.”

Trent grimaced. “Oh, yeah. She loves a big fuss—any excuse to get the family all together.”

Mac stuck his hands in his pockets.

Sharon and Trent exchanged a few more pleasantries and then the conversation turned to the project at hand. “What do you think of the house?” Trent asked.

“I have to confess, I’ve always wanted to come inside and look around this place.” Sharon made a slow circle to study the kitchen, her attention lingering on the huge fireplace. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“It definitely has potential. You’re doing the decorating?”

“Mr. Cordero and I are discussing that possibility.”

It was beginning to irk Mac that she continued to call him Mr. Cordero in that prim, rather prissy way. It couldn’t be more opposite to the warm and informal manner in which she spoke to Trent. “Mac,” he reminded her, deciding it was time for him to do a little fishing. “I take it you two know each other?”

Trent chuckled. “You might say that. Sharon and I went to the prom together.”

Sharon’s smile turned a few watts brighter. “Trent was a senior, I was a junior. He had already been accepted into the Air Force Academy. I was so impressed, I spent the whole evening looking at him and giggling like an idiot.”

“I don’t remember it quite that way,” Trent said gallantly.

Mac told himself he should be pleased to hear this. After all, her connection to the McBrides was one of the reasons he was interested in her. Right? And yet he still found himself changing the subject rather more abruptly than he had intended. “Yes, well, perhaps we should talk about the renovation project now.”