Sherryl Woods - Flirting With Disaster

“Thumb your nose at them,” he advised. “After all, what do they know? You have your reasons for not asking your daddy for help, and those reasons are none of their concern. If they knew, they might just admire your gumption. I do.”

“I suppose,” she said, though she still sounded doubtful.

“Sweetheart, there are always going to be people who find fault with everything. Are their opinions more important than your kids?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“Well, then?”

“I can’t stop thinking about the fallout for Caleb. He’s been such a good friend. I don’t want to repay him by causing him trouble.”

“He strikes me as a man who stands on his principles. He wants to do this for you and your family. I think you should respect his wishes.”

She sat silently, her expression thoughtful. Josh waited, knowing that he’d pushed as hard as he dared. The decision was hers to make. He suspected when it came right down to it, she would make the only choice a good and decent mother could make.

Finally she met his gaze. “Are you married, Josh?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

He shuddered at the certainty in her voice. “I don’t think so.” Curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s a shame to let all that compassion and sensitivity go to waste,” she said.

She grinned and Josh saw a glimpse of the beautiful woman she must have been before tragedy had weighed her down.

She studied him thoughtfully. “I think I’d better let you build this house for us.”

He regarded her with suspicion, not feeling nearly as triumphant as he might have before she’d made that comment about him needing to be married. “Oh?”

“It’ll give me more time to find just the right woman for you.” She winked at him, then added, “I’ll go tell Caleb and the kids what I’ve decided.”

Josh sat there feeling doomed. He’d seen firsthand just how stubborn and determined and principled Amanda O’Leary could be. Fortunately he’d had quite a few years to perfect his own stubbornness and determination. Amanda O’Leary wouldn’t get to first base with her matchmaking scheme.

Besides, from what he could see in a glance around the parish hall, the few females there were already paired off and unavailable. He didn’t have a reason in the world to worry.

So why the hell were his palms sweating as if he’d just made a pact with the devil?

Maggie slipped into a seat beside Dinah an hour after the organizational meeting had begun. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“The nail-biting when Amanda announced she didn’t want the house, after all,” Dinah said.

Maggie was shocked. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Don’t blame her. She was trying to protect Caleb.”

“And Caleb is?”

“The minister.”

Maggie was confused. “Was he in some sort of danger?”

“A few people think he ought to be fired over this project. It’s a long story. Bottom line, the deal is back on.”

“And I thought this was going to be boring,” Maggie said to herself, settling back in her chair as Cord began to speak. Of course, Dinah didn’t hear her wry comment. All of Dinah’s attention was focused on her husband. It was disgusting, actually. All that rapt attention from a woman who’d once been in the thick of some of the world’s most important—and dangerous—stories. Now the most important thing in her life was a man. Of course, Dinah was barely back from her honeymoon, so Maggie supposed she ought to cut her some slack.

Cord didn’t waste time getting to the point, which seemed to be introducing the man who would be in charge of building the house. “As long as you follow his directions, he’s going to make you all look like master carpenters,” Cord promised. “Josh Parker.”

The man who walked to the podium looked embarrassed by the introduction. It must have been the combination of that hint of humility with the most gorgeous biceps and chest Maggie had ever seen that made her snap to attention. This was a man made for blue jeans and tight T-shirts.

“My, my,” she whispered to Dinah. “Where has Cord been hiding him?”

Dinah chuckled. “In Atlanta mostly. I met him when I went looking for Bobby when you and Cord refused to tell me where he was.”

“Ah, yes, your failed quest for your backup guy. Yet even after seeing Josh you still came back here and married Cord,” Maggie said with exaggerated amazement.

“Fortunately for you I was interested in more than a great body. I love Cord for his mind,” Dinah said piously.

“Yeah, right,” Maggie retorted. “As I recall, Bobby Beaufort had a great mind. It wasn’t enough.”

“If you’re interested in Josh, I could introduce you.” Dinah offered, her tone casual.

“I’m a big girl. I can introduce myself,” Maggie said. “If I decide I want to.”

“If? You’re practically salivating now,” Dinah said.

“All the more reason to wait,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to appear too anxious. Besides, I’ve sworn off men, remember?”

“Maybe so, but can I assume that in the last five minutes you’ve experienced a miraculous recovery from your heartbreak over Warren?” Dinah inquired wryly. “It would be fitting if it took place here in a church.”

Maggie frowned at her. “Warren didn’t break my heart. He just put a dent in my ego and threw a monkey wrench into my self-confidence. None of that means I can’t appreciate a fine male specimen when I see one.”

“So you’re simply admiring the view?”

“Exactly.”

And to prove her point, Maggie waited to be the very last person in line to get her assignment for the start of construction next weekend. After all, nobody on earth recognized trouble as readily as she did. Why would she rush right into it?

And if waiting in line gave her a few more minutes to study Josh’s fine body, so much the better.

Josh had done his share of hiring and firing on the various jobs he’d held through the years. He’d been on the receiving end of more interview questions than most people here today combined. He approached the task of assembling this roomful of volunteers into a construction crew with guarded optimism.

So far he had twenty-seven people who’d never done a home repair more taxing that plunging a stopped-up drain, five who’d painted the interior of their homes, three who owned decent tools and one who’d actually worked construction—thirty years ago as a summer job. It was discouraging.

“Next,” he called out, already sliding a form across the table.

The well-manicured hand that reached for it immediately caught his attention. Long, slender fingers, silky-looking skin and nails painted fire-engine red. He sighed at the sight and snatched the form back almost before she’d put her fancy Mont Blanc pen to paper.

“You don’t need to fill this out,” he said, his dismay complete when he realized the owner of those hands was his last chance to complete a decent crew.

Dark eyes clashed with his. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because …” He glanced at the form she’d begun to fill in. “Ms. Forsythe, I’m assigning you to the lunch team.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice shook with indignation. “Did I hear you correctly? You want me to fix lunches?”

“And coffee,” he said, meeting her gaze for the first time. The fire in those eyes could have seared the paint off old lumber. It certainly sent a jolt through his system.

“What sort of macho head trip are you on?” she demanded. “I’m female, therefore I cook?”

“Works for me,” he said, gathering up the forms that had been filled out and trying not to meet that disconcerting gaze.