Edge of Forever

At the moment, though, with Nick Verone waiting patiently in front of her, it hardly seemed to matter what Tony’s motivation had been. She had to send the man on his way. His presence was making her palms sweat.

“Thanks, anyway,” she said, giving him a smile she hoped seemed suitably appreciative. “But I’ve already made arrangements for a contractor to come by next week.”

Instead of daunting him, her announcement drew a scowl. “I hope you didn’t call Billy Watson.”

Dana swallowed guiltily and said with a touch of defiance, “What if I did?”

“He’ll charge you an arm and a leg and he won’t get the job done.”

“Haven’t you heard that it’s bad business to knock the competition?”

“Billy’s not my competition. For that matter, calling him a contractor is a stretch of the imagination. He’s a scoundrel out to make a quick buck so he can finance his next binge. Everybody around here knows that and I can’t imagine anyone recommending him. Why did you call him in the first place?”

She’d called Billy Watson because he was the only other contractor—or handyman, for that matter—she’d been able to find when water had started dripping through her roof in five different places during the first of April’s pounding spring showers. All of Betsy’s unsolicited praise for Nick Verone had set off warning bells inside her head. She’d known intuitively that asking him to take a look at her roof would be asking for trouble. His presence now and its impact on her heartbeat were proof enough that she’d been right. To any woman determinedly seeking solitude, this aggressive, incredibly sexy man was a threat.

She stared into Nick’s eyes, noted the expectant gleam and decided that wasn’t an explanation she should offer. He was the kind of man who’d make entirely too much out of such a candid response.

“You’re a very busy man, Mr. Verone,” she said instead. “I assumed Billy Watson could get here sooner.”

Nick’s grin widened, dipping slightly on the left side to make it beguilingly crooked. A less determined woman might fall for that smile, but Dana tried very hard to ignore it.

“I’m here now,” he pointed out, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his fingers still jammed into the pockets of his jeans in a way that called attention to their fit across his flat stomach and lean hips.

“Mr. Watson promised to be here Monday morning first thing. That’s plenty soon enough.”

“And if it rains between now and then?”

“I’ll put out the pots and pans again.”

Nick only barely resisted the urge to chuckle. He’d heard the dismissal in Dana’s New York-accented voice and read the wariness in her eyes. It was the look a lot of people had when first confronted with small-town friendliness after a lifetime in big cities. They assumed every neighborly act would come with a price tag. It took time to convince them otherwise. Oddly enough, he found that in Dana’s case he wanted to see to her enlightenment personally. There was something about this slender, overly-cautious woman that touched a responsive chord deep inside him.

Besides, he loved River Glen. He’d grown up here and he’d witnessed—in fact, he’d been a part of—its slow evolution from a slightly shabby summer resort past its prime into a year-round community with a future. The more people like Dana Brantley who settled here, the faster changes would come.

He’d read her résumé and knew that one year ago, at age twenty-eight, she’d gone back to school to finish her master’s degree in library science. He was still a little puzzled why a native New Yorker would want to come to a quiet place like River Glen, but he was glad of it. She’d bring new ideas, maybe some big-city ways. He didn’t want his town to lose its charm, but he wanted it to be progressive, rather than becoming mired down in the sea of complacency that had destroyed other communities and made their young people move on in search of more excitement.

He figured it was up to people in his position to see that Dana felt welcome. Small towns had a way of being friendly and clannish at the same time. Sometimes it took a while for superficial warmth to become genuine acceptance.

He gazed directly into Dana’s eyes and shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, it just wouldn’t be right. I can’t let you do that.” He saw to it that his southern drawl increased perceptibly.

“Do what?” A puzzled frown tugged at her lips.

“Stay up all night, running from room to room with those pots and pans. What if you slipped and fell? I’d feel responsible.”

The remark earned him a reluctant chuckle and he watched in awe at the transformation. Dana smiled provocatively, banishing the tiny, surprisingly stern lines in her lovely, heart-shaped face. She pulled off her work gloves and brushed back a curling strand of mink-brown hair that had escaped from her shoulder-length ponytail. Every movie cliché about staid librarians suddenly whipping off their glasses and letting down their hair rushed through Nick’s mind and warmed his blood. Under all that starch and caution, under the streak of dirt that emphasized the curve of her cheek, Dana Brantley was a fragile, beautiful woman. The realization took his breath away. All Tony’s talk hadn’t done the new librarian justice.

“I swear to you that I won’t sue you if I trip over a pot in the middle of a storm,” she said. Her smile grew and, for the first time since his arrival, seemed sincere. Finally, she completely put aside the hedge clippers she’d been absentmindedly brandishing at him.

“I’ll even put it in writing,” she offered.

“Nope,” he said determinedly. “That’s not good enough. There’s Tony to consider, too.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the one behind his history grade. I can’t have him failing again just because the librarian is laid up with a twisted ankle or worse.”

“Tony is a bright boy. All he needs is a little guidance.” She regarded him pointedly. “And someone to remind him that when it comes to history, facts are facts. Like it or not, the Yankees did win the Civil War.”

Nick hid a smile. “Yes, well, with Robert E. Lee having been born just down the road, some of us do like to cling to our illusions about that particular war. But for a battle here and there, things might have been different.”

“But they weren’t. However, if you’re determined to ignore historical reality, perhaps you should stick to helping Tony with his math or maybe his English and encourage him to read his history textbooks. In the long run, he’ll have a better time of it in school.”

Nick accepted the criticism gracefully, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, careful not to chuckle. “Now about your roof…”

“Mr. Verone—”

“Nick.”

“That roof has been up there for years. It may have a few leaks, but it’s in no danger of caving in. Surely it can wait until Monday. I appreciate your offering to help, but I did make a deal with Mr. Watson.”

Nick was already moving toward his truck. “He won’t show up,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“I said he won’t show up, not unless he’s out of liquor.” He pulled an extension ladder from the back of the pickup and returned purposefully up the walk, past an increasingly indignant Dana.

“Mr. Verone,” Dana snapped in frustration as Nick marched around to the side of the house. She had to run to keep up with him, leaving her out of breath but just as furious. The familiar, unpleasant feeling of losing control of a situation swept over her. “Mr. Verone, I do not want you on my roof.”

It seemed rather a wasted comment since he was already more than halfway up the ladder. Damn, she thought. The man is impossible. “Don’t you ever listen?” she grumbled.

He climbed the rest of the way, then leaned down and winked at her. “Nope. Give me my toolbox, would you?”

She was tempted to throw it at him, but she handed it up very politely, then sat down on the back step muttering curses. She picked a blade of grass and chewed on it absentmindedly. With Nick Verone on her roof and a knot forming in her stomach, she was beginning to regret that she’d ever helped Tony Verone with his history project. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if coming to River Glen was going to be the peaceful escape she’d hoped it would be. Sensations best forgotten were sweeping over her this morning.

While she tried to put her feelings in perspective, Nick shouted at her from some spot on the roof she couldn’t see.

“Do you have a garden hose?”

“Of course.”

“How about getting it and squirting some water up here?”

Dana wanted to refuse but realized that being difficult probably wouldn’t get Nick out of her life any faster. He’d just climb down and find the hose himself. He seemed like a very resourceful man. She stomped off after the hose and turned it on.

“Aim it a little higher,” he instructed a few minutes later. “Over here.”

Dana scowled up at him and fought the temptation to move the spray about three feet to the right and douse the outrageous, arrogant man. Maybe then he would go away, even if only to get into some dry clothes, but at least he’d leave her in peace for a while. She still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d talked her into letting him stay on the roof, much less gotten her to help him with his inspection. For a total stranger he took an awful lot for granted. He certainly didn’t know how to take no for an answer. And she was tired of fighting, tired of confrontations and still, despite the past year of relative calm, terrified of anger. A raised voice made her hands tremble and her head pound with seemingly irrational anxiety.

So, if it made him happy, Nick Verone could inspect her roof, fix her leaks, and then, with any luck, he’d disappear and she’d be alone again. Blissfully alone with her books and her herb tea and her flowers, like some maiden aunt in an English novel.