He shrugged. “Your mother has some people starting on a project. She’s calling it phase two. I’ll get your bag. You go on in.”
With the limited information her dad had given her, Kat expected to see some kind of worker in the house. Her mom had a plumber, electrician or handyman working so often that she kept a tarp in the front closet to protect the floors along with a box of disposable shoe covers she made people wear over their dirty boots. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do about sweaty shirts and the occasional butt crack.
But the scene in the dining room was not normal. Kat stopped short. Her mother sat at the long mahogany table nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with a handsome man in a black dress shirt and tie.
They both looked up as Kat entered the room. She could see that they’d been looking at papers scattered across the table.
“Hi.” She shook her hair free of the hat she’d been wearing. The man stood, and with a jolt to her system, Kat stared. He had a solid build, chocolate-brown hair, a trim dark beard, and emerald-green eyes. His shirtsleeves were pushed up, revealing muscular arms. Kat was momentarily flustered as those gorgeous eyes locked onto hers.
“Katherine, this is Nick Summers,” her mother said. “He’s a carpenter. We’re talking about some new bookcases and mantel for the living room.” She turned to Nick and added, “This is my daughter Katherine.”
“Hello,” Kat said softly, extending her hand. “I’m Kat.”
Nick Summers smiled and shook her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Kat.”
Her insides tingled as she registered the warmth in both his hand and his smile. Flushing under his scrutiny, she gave a nervous laugh. “Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t know Mom was starting a new project.” Not that she would ever know what her mother was doing. They rarely spoke. Kat looked expectantly at her mother.
“Well, I told the committee that puts on the Symphony homes tour that I was thinking about a project, and the next thing I know, they wanted to put us on the tour.” Her mother clapped her hands together and gave a little laugh. “We finished the kitchen and now the other rooms are looking shabby. Having a deadline is about the only way to make sure everything gets done.”
Kat offered a polite smile, but she knew better. It wasn’t a deadline that motivated her mom. It was the promise of an audience.
Her mother began gathering papers, prompting Nick Summers to do the same. “Why don’t I take these with me and draw up some ideas for you to look at?”
Kat stared at him. She’d never heard such a distinctive voice—velvety rich and commanding. The kind of voice you’d recognize immediately.Interesting.
“Excellent.” Her mother’s tone was brisk as she handed the pages to Nick. “I’ll look forward to seeing your drawings.”
Leaning against the table, Kat’s glance landed on a stack of glossy photos. “Are these photos of your work?”
She started to reach for them but pulled back when he snatched them up.
* * *
Nick glanced at his client’s daughter and pretended not to notice the surprise on her face. He shot a quick look back at Rebecca Andrews, regretting he hadn’t put the photos away earlier. She obviously had more traditional tastes than what he was used to. But he wanted this job, wanted the exposure the homes tour would give him, and he didn’t want the pics to blow his chances.
When the phone rang, distracting Rebecca, he let his shoulders relax.
“Excuse me.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Just let me know when those sketches are ready.”
Sounded as if he’d been dismissed. But her daughter stayed put, looking at him with soft curiosity in her eyes. His pulse quickened as his eyes met her large smoky blue ones that dominated her smooth, pretty face.
“These are some of my pieces,” he told her. “But I don’t think they’re quite what your mother is looking for, so I’m not going to bother her with them.”
She moved closer. “Mind if I take a look? I promise I won’t show Mom,” she whispered.
Reluctantly, he held the prints out to her. He studied Kat as she leafed through them. She seemed to be examining each one with genuine interest. When she got to his favorite mantelpiece, she stopped and looked up, true appreciation in her eyes.
“This is fabulous.”
He smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you like them, but you can see–”
“You arenota carpenter.” She cut him off. “You’re an artist. I can’t believe she called you a carpenter.”
He appreciated the compliment, but in his mind all woodworkers were artists of sort. “I usually go with craftsman.”
She handed the photos back to him. “You’re right. Don’t show them to her. And don’t tell her I like them. That would be the kiss of death for sure.”
Nick gave a short laugh. But he wasn’t sure whether that was a joke. She caught him off guard when she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, a frown marring her delicate features.
