Page 29 of Silver-Tongued Devil
He wanted that iris.
The old white pickup rattled around another curve on the tree-lined road. Dakota only realized she’d missed the house when she overshot it, despite the fact that she’d been watching for it. She saw 1225 on a low, discreetly carved wooden sign beside a driveway, hit the brakes, pulled in, turned the truck around, and went back to find Blake’s place.
She could see why she’d missed the turn for 1221. It was just this side of the sharp curve, and there was no sign here, no indication that the narrow blacktopped drive disappearing into the cedars went anywhere special even once you were on it. You knew the real estate was expensive when you couldn’t see the houses.
She rounded the final bend of the driveway, and there it was. A pile, but a good-looking one. All wood, glass, and stone, the house rising two stories on the uphill side, and certainly three stories on the other, where it overlooked the water, built to make the most of the view. She’d bet you couldn’t see another house from here, either. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could buy privacy.
She got out of the truck and headed for the front door. There was no reason to be intimidated. She was here to do a job, not to be Blake Orbison’s buddy. She’d painted more than one big lake house. This was no different.
The door opened as she approached, and there he was, leaning against the doorjamb with a thumb in his belt loop, studying her like he was too cool for school. Black T-shirt and worn Wranglers, like that day on the shore.
His feet were bare, though. He had good feet. Strong, with high arches and long toes. Big.
“Morning,” he said, and she realized why she could now inventory the charms of his feet. Because that was where she’d been looking.
“Morning,” she said, pretending she’d been momentarily checking out the… flooring. To better protect them from paint splatters, perhaps. Not to mention pretending that she hadn’t been up since six this morning figuring out what to wear.
Normally, it would have been jeans and a T-shirt, exactly like him. Customers didn’t respond well to “feminine” when it came to their home-maintenance tasks. That, she’d long since discovered, made them discount M & O’s expertise and askherto discount her price. But she hadn’t been able to stand the idea of showing up looking like that today, and never mind why. There was still that water-weed tail to get over.Thatwas why. She needed to make a polished impression, especially if she were going to charge him extra. And shewasgoing to charge him extra.
She’d tried on four dresses before she’d realized howthatlooked. “For Pete’s sake,” she’d muttered as she’d yanked a red dress over her head and tossed it on the bed, “it’s not a friggin’ date. He’s not taking you to the senior prom. You’re thepainter.”
She’d ended up with a pair of dark jeans, a green scoop-necked cotton top with an embroidered yoke, and cowboy boots, and had put her hair up in a knot. A little bit polished, but not like she was trying too hard. She’d worn some makeup, but she’d also worn her glasses. All so she could give an annoying ex-quarterback a painting estimate and talk about possible colors. She must be losing her mind.
“Still digging the glasses,” that quarterback said now. He was looking at her face.Hedidn’t have to check out her feet, and he hadn’t checked out the rest of her, either, at least not too obviously. Of course he hadn’t, because that wasn’t what this was about, and anyway, she wasn’t all that, and she knew it. And he wasn’t a total jerk.
“Still not asking you,” she answered.
He laughed. “Well, darlin’, you got me there. Come on in and talk color to me.” He held the door for her.
“Did we have a talk about not calling me ‘darlin’?’ she asked, stepping inside.
“Nope. We had a talk about not calling you ‘sweetheart.’ But I’ll do my best to remember both of ’em. Could be tough.”
She would have answered that, but she’d lost the plot a little. “Nice view.”
He smiled, slow and sweet. “It’s good, huh. Want to come see?”
She followed him out to the wall of windows, and beyond, to the deck that hung out over the floor below. It was an enormous semicircle stretching the width of living room, dining room, and more, furnished with two chaises and a full dining set, plus a fairly enormous hot tub in one corner behind a screen of bamboo, but that wasn’t what she was looking at.
“Why I bought the house,” he said, leaning back against the rail and gazing not out at the lake, but at the walls of glass and wood. “This deck, and the look of the thing.”
“Angles and straight lines balanced by this curving line,” she agreed, following his example and taking in the view of the house. “It’s pleasing, and the proportions work, and they work with their surroundings, too. Symmetry, simplicity, the Golden Ratio, all of that. Big houses can be a challenge that way, to keep them looking harmonious and not clunky, but whoever designed this one did it well. ”
“Now, see,” he said, “that’s why I need you. I just saw the look of it. You told me why.”
She tried not to let herself be affected by that. “Walk me through it, if you don’t mind, so I can see what needs doing and make some calculations.”
“You trying to keep me on track?” There was his hint of a smile again.
“Could be.”
“Come on, then.” He still sounded amused, but he was listening. And he wasn’t calling her ‘darlin’.’ Which was good.
When she stepped back into the living room and really took it in, she drew in a breath and said, “Well, I wouldn’t say this color.”
“I know,” he said. “I keep thinking I’m in the hospital, and I’ve spent enough time in those. Who paints their living room green? Who buys this furniture?
“Whoever you bought this from, clearly. Congratulations for being able to look past the hideousness, I guess. They obviously thought they were matching the stone.”
