Cathy Gillen - Honeymoon For Hire

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hayley laughed softly. “Sure it is,” she persisted, her artist’s eye already seeing the potential beneath the disastrously decorated interior, even if he couldn’t begin to. Whether Dillon could see it or not, this was the kind of house in just the kind of place that Hayley had always dreamed of living in. If only this were hers, she would’ve really arrived. It irked her that Dillon took for granted what she wanted most. And it baffled her that he was so disinterested in this kind of life that he hadn’t even bothered to see the house he was buying.

She knew if she’d seen the pictures of the exterior of the majestic two-story Colonial on the serene, tree-lined drive she would’ve broken land speed records getting here! And to know it was hers…all hers. That would be heaven.

Well, Dillon might not care much for this kind of well-to-do suburban life-style, but she did. And she was going to enjoy every second she was here. Just as she would use the profits they made on the sale of the house for the down payment on a home for herself and Christine.

It wouldn’t be nearly as grand as Dillon’s home, of course. But it would be theirs. And it would be loved and cared for, by both herself and Christine.

“You’ll feel differently about this house once it’s cleaned up and redecorated,” Hayley promised as Dillon continued to scowl at their surroundings. She could envision it now—with plush carpeting and freshly painted walls, plenty of sunlight pouring in…

“Don’t try and humor me, Hayley,” Dillon retorted, unappeased. “This place ranks with some of the tackiest places in the eastern hemisphere. And I oughta know—for the last twenty years I lived in them.”

“Hello!” a chirpy voice called. A tall slim woman with cropped dark brown hair stepped through the door.

“Hayley, meet my sister, Marge. The genius who selected this place.”

Marge strode forward to give him a quick hug. “I knew you’d be overwhelmed,” she said, smoothing down the fabric of her green plaid skirt and coordinating turtleneck sweater. “Which is precisely why I didn’t send you any pictures except of the outside.”

Which Hayley admitted to herself didn’t look too bad. The exterior had already been painted a gleaming white, with dark pine green shutters and a glossy black front door.

“What in blazes happened here?” Dillon demanded.

“Look, Dillon, this place does have its advantages,” Hayley interjected.

“Such as?”

“An excellent floor plan, spacious rooms, a large yard with plenty of trees and beds for flowers in a wonderful neighborhood.” It was a great place to raise Christine.

Marge smiled at Hayley, pleased someone had seen what she had in the place. “Hey, thanks.” She paused as the sound of a baby’s soft nonsensical chatter echoed through the first floor.

“Oh, that’s my baby, Christine. She’s in the stroller in the next room. She fell asleep while Dillon was showing me around, and we left her in there so as not to disturb her with our chatter.

Marge smiled. “How old is she?”

“Eleven months, last week.”

“Would you mind if I went in to see her?”

“Actually, you could do me a favor and wheel her in here.”

Dillon and Hayley picked up where they left off. “If the mess bothers you, why didn’t you demand they at least clean it up first?” Hayley asked Dillon.

“Marge said I should take it as is and get another five percent off the already low purchase price, rather than pay the bank to oversee the cleaning of it. At the time the decision made sense.” Dillon grimaced. “Now I don’t know.”

“Marge was right,” Hayley agreed. She looked at the sofa and saw how sturdily it was built. The crushed red velvet could be removed. So could the black tassel fringe. “This way you can sort through everything yourself, figure out what’s usable.”

“For what? Starting a bonfire?”

Hayley grinned. “You’d be surprised what recovering a sofa can do. Besides, you’re going to need plenty of furniture. This place is huge.”

“Forty-five hundred square feet,” Dillon remarked proudly.

“And don’t worry about the decor,” she assured him as they continued to walk around shoulder-to-shoulder. “That too, can be fixed.” Hayley stopped and turned to face him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face. Both his height and their closeness were disconcerting to her. As was her potent reaction to his attractiveness. Every time she was near him, her heart beat a little faster, her senses got a little sharper, the loneliness she’d felt since Hank’s death became more acute. “Not much of a visionary, are you?” she teased, wishing all the while he weren’t quite so handsome and intelligent and kind.

“Not when it comes to domestic stuff,” Dillon admitted.

Deciding she’d looked into his dark blue eyes quite long enough, Hayley turned away from Dillon once again. “Well, at least it’s got the most important feature built-in,” she remarked as she checked out the heavy, moth-eaten drapes.

“Indoor heating?” Dillon hazarded a droll guess.

“Two master bedroom suites with their own bathrooms. That’ll give us both maximum privacy. We won’t have to see each other running around in our pajamas.”

Briefly Dillon felt disappointed. “Well, as long as you’re sure I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my life investing my life savings in this dump,” he said dryly, “I guess all’s well.”

“It’s not as bad as you think it is,” Hayley said.

“Come on, Hayley, don’t patronize me.” Dillon stopped in front of the fieldstone hearth in the living room. “Even I know a little paint and elbow grease can’t fix this place.”

Hayley grinned, not disagreeing. “So we’ll start from scratch.”

“No, you’ll start from scratch,” Dillon reminded. “I want nothing to do with it. I don’t so much as want to be shown a paint chip. ’Course, I’m handy at some things around the house.” Dillon leered at her comically, leaving no doubt in her mind as to which room his thoughts were in.

“Save the bedroom antics,” Hayley advised, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “I’m immune.”

Dillon snapped his fingers and humorously feigned distress. “Darn.” His eyes met hers, held. “No fringe benefits, hmm?”

“Not a one,” Hayley said, spelling out the rules bluntly. She might be attracted to him, but she wasn’t a fool. It would be hard enough living here with him in such a wonderful place, knowing it would never really be hers, without starting a love affair.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Marge came in, carrying Christine in one arm, pushing the stroller with the other. Marge looked as smitten as her daughter. “I guess we don’t have to ask if the two of you got on all right,” Hayley said.

Marge smiled warmly at Hayley before turning once more to her brother. “You could still introduce me more properly to our friends, Dillon.”

“Sorry, Marge. This is Hayley Alexander and her baby girl, Christine. Hayley, meet my sister, Marge.”

“Alexander. Where have I heard that name before?” Marge queried, perplexed. Christine reached out for Hayley, and Marge handed her over.

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Dillon insinuated himself between the two women. “I don’t know. There are plenty of Alexanders around. Alexander Haig. Alexander the Great. There’s even a St. Alexander—”

Marge aimed a punch at Dillon’s sternum. “Cut it out. You know what I mean.” She pivoted back to Hayley. “I’m serious. Have we met?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just met Dillon yesterday when we first talked about the job,” Hayley said. “Unless he mentioned to you that he had hired me as his new housekeeper.”