of hard hands-on labor, his tanned skin not from a booth with ultraviolet lights, but from
hours spent working outside. His hair was unkempt and mussed, not perfectly combed
and styled. The kind of hair that would be soft, that a woman would want to run her
hands through and know that her fingers wouldn’t get stuck in some kind of styling goo.
But he was utterly and completely wrong for her. They had nothing in common.
He
was more annoying than a summer fly in the house and she’d probably want to swat him
by the end of their date tonight.
Unfortunately, she’d never been more attracted to a man in her entire thirty years of
life.
Which was the precipitator of her father’s conversation with her this morning that had set her off in the first place.
Her advancing age, as he’d informed her. The fact she wasn’t getting any younger and hadn’t once dated a man who was worthy of merging with the Fairchild family and
producing an heir.
Merging. Like anyone she’d marry would be a business deal, not a love match.
She’d
like to show him a merger. Wouldn’t he just have a fit when Jake Dalton showed up at
the door tonight?
That alone would make the date worthwhile.
Though it wasn’t really a date.
“I hear you got a date for tonight.”
Jake cringed when he walked through the door of the construction trailer to find Bob
Dixon grinning like he’d just won the lottery. The old man never failed to find ways to
annoy him.
But without Bob, God only knows what would have happened to Jake. From day one
Bob had been both his mentor and fiercest persecutor, ever since Jake had left home at
sixteen and lied his way onto the construction crew Bob supervised.
Back then Jake had wondered if he’d even get hired on anywhere, and if not, how he’d manage the eating and roof over his head part.
All those years alone had made Jake resourceful. Bob had taken pity on the skinny kid with no skills and trained him. Bob Dixon had been more father to Jake than his own
had ever been. So he put up with the old man’s bizarre sense of humor.
“And they say women are gossips?” Jake threw his clipboard on the desk and faced
the other man.
Bob laughed, a big belly laugh that fit his lumberjack-sized frame. “Men are bigger gossips than women, sometimes. So, tell me about her.”
“Not much to tell.”
Bob raised a bushy brow. “You liked her enough to ask her out.”
“What? Am I wired for sound here?”
“Nah, the guys just listened in, and then, ya know how they talk.”
“Unfortunately, yeah. I know how they talk.” Their talking was what had gotten him
involved with Miss High on the Hill in the first place. Just what he didn’t need in his life
right now.
His mind should have been on business—on this job which was so critical to his fledgling company. The high rise was his first huge project, and if they did well there’d
be more business coming their way. Enough that Jake would have to expand and hire
more people.
Which meant growth, and that’s what he aimed for. Building his business was all he
ever thought about. Usually, anyway. Except at the moment his mind was occupied by a
petite wildcat in lamb’s clothing.
“Heard she gave them a hard time,” Bob said, spitting tobacco juice into a nearby cup.
Jake smiled and leaned back in the chair. “Yeah, she sure did. Took them on with no
fear. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
And they’d well deserved it. Idiots. Bunch of grown men leering at a beautiful woman, and then shouting at her like teenagers out for a joyride to pick up chicks.
Not that he’d behaved any better. He shook his head, amazed at his own big mouth.
Like he didn’t have enough to worry about, he’d gone and asked the little tigress out on a
“Just the kind of woman you need. Somebody with a little fire, maybe light one under your too-long-a-bachelor rear end.” Bob winked at him, the wrinkles around his
eyes smiling.
“I don’t need a woman at all.” Women were complications that he didn’t have time
for. And he especially didn’t need a woman like Lucy Fairchild. He’d spent his entire
childhood listening to someone rail at him about not being good enough, about not
measuring up.
His father’s constant barrage of degrading comments still lived inside him, just waiting for failure to rear its ugly head and prove his father’s words true. How he’d never
amount to anything. How he was useless and stupid, and as worthless as his mother.
Even years later, despite building a successful business, those words stayed with him, haunted him. They hid inside him, not growing, but never going away. He’d spent
all these years trying to prove his father wrong. He might be a blue collar worker, but
he’d make a success of his life.
“Come on, Bob. You know how busy I am. The last thing I have time for is a woman.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, boy.” Bob lifted his heavy girth out of the chair, which
creaked in relief at its offloaded burden. On the way past Jake’s desk, he squeezed his
shoulder. Jake looked up at him. “You’ve spent a lifetime runnin’ from that ghost of your
daddy. You need to put that to rest. It’s time to find a good woman who’ll appreciate
what you got to offer.”
Maybe Bob was right. Jake had spent all these years learning the trade, saving his money, working toward the day he could start his own business.
And when he had, he’d worked like the devil was chasing him trying to build it up.
Now he was thirty-five years old, and if he was going to get married and have kids, he
probably should get out there and find a woman.
But Lucy Fairchild certainly wasn’t going to be that woman.
“She’s not my type.”
Bob laughed and spit. “That’s what we all say. Right up until they lead us down the
aisle.”
“She’s a rich career girl. You know I don’t date girls like that.” He’d never let anyone make him feel the way his father had. No, he stuck to his own kind. Girls who
weren’t born into money, who wouldn’t look down on someone whose blood wasn’t blue
like theirs.
“Hey, you’re the one who asked her for a date. I guess you’re stuck.” True enough. Talk about a disaster. She’d probably expect some fancy, expensive restaurant that wasn’t in his budget. Too bad. She’d have to make do with the kind of
place he liked to eat.
“Lemme ask you a question,” Bob said.
“Shoot.”
“If this woman’s such a snob, if she stands for everything you hate, why did you ask
her to go out with you?”
“Hell if I know.”
But he did know. After Bob left the trailer, Jake sat at his desk and propped his feet
up.
He knew exactly why. Because she was gorgeous. The first thing he’d noticed were
her long legs and curvy body. Then her wild, curly hair that flew everywhere around her
face, the tawny strands glittering in the sunlight.
Plus, she was interested in him. He’d been with enough women to recognize when
one was attracted to him. Her sea green eyes had studied him, held him, measuring,
assessing.
Wanting.
He knew all about want. There were a
lot of things he wanted in life. Some he’d managed to get. Some he hadn’t gotten yet, and some he never would.
Not a betting man, he’d still lay a wager that he could get Lucy Fairchild. Maybe not
permanently, but at least for a while. Which was all he had time or inclination for, anyway. Going out and having some fun with a woman was great. A woman who wanted
anything more from him could look elsewhere. He didn’t know what Lucy wanted.
Probably nothing. She didn’t even really want to go out with him in the first place, any
more than he’d wanted to go out with her.
The fact she wore a painful vulnerability on her face like some women wore hot red
lipstick wasn’t his problem. If he spotted something in her akin to the aching loneliness
he occasionally acknowledged within himself, then tough. He wasn’t her savior.
As it
was, he could barely save himself.
She represented nothing but a challenge. And he liked challenges.
So, he’d show up at her doorstep tonight and see what happened. Take the rich girl
out and show her a slice of life she’d probably never seen before. If nothing else, the
night should be interesting.
Chapter Two
Lucy glanced at the grandfather clock in the front hallway and wrung her hands, mentally reviewing the speech she’d planned to give Jake when he showed up.
She wasn’t going out with him. Making that date with him today had been a huge mistake, and one she chalked up to a mind too preoccupied by her father’s notion of
marrying her off. She hadn’t had her wits about her and stupidly agreed to a date she now
had no intention of keeping.
It would be a waste of both their time. They had nothing in common, and she had too
many other things on her mind to dally with a construction worker. No matter how sexy
said construction worker was.
She tamped down butterflies that felt like the San Francisco 49ers defensive line ramming the wall of her stomach. How silly. As a courtroom lawyer, she had argued
plenty of cases in front of a judge, jury and audience. The guys at the law firm referred to
her as Fearless Fairchild.
So why was she nervous about giving the brush-off to one man? Why was she relentlessly pacing the front hall, scuffing her tennis shoes against the polished marble
entryway? And why had she dressed this way, in a pair of dark jeans, a white pullover
sweater and tennis shoes? This wasn’t her usual clothing choice for a first date.
A date she had no intention of going on.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, then turned into the library and flopped into one of the
burgundy leather chairs next to the fireplace. The scents of wood oil, old books and her
father’s cherry pipe always calmed her.
She lifted her feet and propped them on the matching ottoman, tapping her fingers
against the well-cushioned arm of the chair. The library was one of her favorite rooms.
Not only did it house all the classic books she’d loved to read as a child, but its dark,
heavy paneling and scattering of comfortable chairs reminded her of her college literature
department’s main hall.
She’d spent hours in there, reading and doing homework, always feeling a sense of
home in the room. Plus, she’d loved the discussions they’d held there. From Chaucer to
Shakespeare to the poetry of Keats and Thomas, she’d inhaled the classics.
But she’d only minored in English. Her major had been pre law, where she was, in her father’s often repeated words, destined to follow in her family’s footsteps and continue the great works of her ancestors, the Fairchilds.
Her father’s lecture still rung in her ears after all these years. Duty. Family. Law.
At times like this Lucy wished her mother hadn’t died when she was only six.
Sometimes she yearned to have someone she could talk girl things with. She certainly
couldn’t bring her personal problems to her father. She could only imagine the horrified
look on her father’s face should she ever ask him for dating advice.
She sighed. At least her turmoil over family and business had momentarily taken her
mind off preparing her summary rejection of Jake Dalton.
The doorbell rang and her gaze shot to the mantle clock. She was impressed that he
was actually on time. She rose, dreading the way she was going to hurt his feelings, but
knowing it was a necessity.
Lucy rounded the corner and gasped. Wonderful. Her father had gotten to the door
first and was currently engaged in conversation with Jake. Like she needed this complication. She could have sworn her father said he had a late meeting this evening.
What an unexpected and unpleasant surprise.
“I’m certain you must have the wrong house.” Raymond Fairchild stood stiffly at the
door, no doubt mere seconds away from slamming it in Jake’s face.
“Not the wrong house,” Jake said. “Lucy wrote it on her card.” She peeked around the library doorway and spied Jake handing her business card to
her father, a wicked smile on his face. Jake wore jeans—nice, dark clean ones, and a polo
shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and showed off his biceps. She sucked in a breath
and let it out again on a sigh. What an incredibly handsome man.
“I don’t care where you say you got this card, young man. My daughter has a fiancé
and she is not, I repeat, not, going out with you tonight, tomorrow, or ever.” In typical Raymond Fairchild fashion, her father made to shut the door on Jake.
Lucy
surged past her momentary frozen state.
“Wait!” She flew out of the library and slid across the slick tiles, coming to a stop next to her father.
Graceful, thy name is not Lucy Fairchild.
How embarrassing.
Raymond peered down at her over his glasses, his blue eyes sharp as ever despite the
fact he was now sixty-four years old. His formerly dark hair had turned white, which just
made him look more elegant and refined than he had when he was younger.
She’d loved and worshiped him for as long as she had memories. But right now he irritated the heck out of her.
“I do not have a fiancé, Father.” She glared at him before turning her gaze to Jake.
“I’m sorry, Jake. My father didn’t know you were coming. Please, come in.” When her father didn’t budge, she backed against him and gave him a slight nudge
with her hip before opening the door wide for Jake to step in.
“Thanks.” Jake swept a look from her father to her, then grinned.
Amused, was he? Well, she didn’t find this entire, awkward situation humorous at all.
“Lucille, please explain.”
Lucy set her shoulders back and inhaled sharply. “Nothing to explain, Father. I have
a date.”
Raymond raised a patrician brow and scanned Jake before frowning back at her.
“A
date.”
“Yes.”
“With him.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I think not.”
“I think so.”
“Lucille.”
“Father.”
Jake’s snort interrupted what easily could have been an hour long war of very short
sentences.
“You find something amusing?” her father asked Jake.
“Yeah. You two are funny as hell. You should take this show on the road.” Lucy hid the smirk that threatened to erupt. And despite the fact she’d had her reasons for canceling their date, her father’s arrogant attitude toward Jake had
her making
an about turn in her decision.
“Let’s go, Jake.”
“Lucille, you are not going out with this man. I forbid it!” She turned to her father, carefully controlling the fierce anger that threatened to boil
into a sure-to-be-regretted-later eruption. “You do not get to tell me what to do, whom to
see, or how to live my life. I’m an adult and capable of making my own choices.
Goodnight, Father.”
She grabbed Jake’s arm and literally hauled him out the front door.
Jake opened the door on what looked to be a new, cherry red Chevy truck. Even had
the back seat with the extra doors. And, my, was it tall. He held out his hand while she