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Eric didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, but he hadn’t exactly walked into a situation allowing or requiring one—and he was a mathematician, after all. He was probably logical to a fault. At the moment he must be wondering about his decision to move to Davis, especially now that he seemed fated to become responsible for a stray with criminal tendencies.
Marcy smiled at the ceiling. She was a big believer in fate, which had led her down some interesting paths in life. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that fate had just dealt her the most important hand of her life when her last-two-weeks-of-August, regular-as-clockwork, house-sitting job had fallen through for the first time in four years, leaving her free to take this job.
She had nowhere to go tomorrow, and she felt a strong draw to the man in this crazy scenario. Would he ask her to stay? Would he be her hero?
She didn’t usually have such fantasies. She had goals to accomplish, after all, and promises to keep—with no time to slack off, not even when it involved a gorgeous math professor who summed up a situation and took control immediately and well. And who made her heart flutter with just a look.
Nope. No time for that at all. It was better if he didn’t need her to stay. Safer.
But then safer wasn’t always better, was it?
* * *
The next morning, Marcy lay in bed listening. It was almost 10:00 a.m., but she hadn’t heard any sounds of movement in the few minutes she’d been awake. She wondered if Dylan was still asleep or had flown the coop. Or cleaned out the refrigerator.
She’d slept well, having relinquished responsibility to Eric.
Prepared for another hundred-degree day, Marcy pulled on shorts and a tank top, then left her room. Eric’s bedroom door was closed. She slipped into the guest bath, cleaned up, and made her way downstairs.
The sofa was empty, although the sheets were jumbled, so Dylan had slept there at some point.
Disappointment washed over her. She’d hoped not only that the boy would realize Eric would probably continue to help him, but also that Dylan would prove himself worthy of Eric’s trust.
She heard the shower in the master bath come on and headed for the kitchen. She would fix a nice breakfast before she left, wanting to end the job on good terms. She was curious, too, about his reaction to Dylan being gone.
She fixed cheese omelets and wheat toast, filled a bowl with grapes and cantaloupe. She was just about to slide the plates into a warm oven when she heard the creak of the stairs as Eric made his way down. He didn’t pause but came directly into the kitchen.
“He’s gone,” she said when he stopped in the doorway, looking rested, but wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He’d find out soon enough what summer in Davis was. She hoped he owned shorts. She’d bet he had great legs. And shoulders, and—
“I heard him go out the back door not too long ago,” he said. He came into the room. “Good morning.”
“The same to you. Breakfast is ready.”
“I see that. Thank you. It’s a nice surprise.” He took a seat. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Dead to the world. How about you?”
“Half dead.” He smiled. “Kind of a lot on my mind.”
She put their plates on the table, feeling his gaze on her. She was used to men taking second looks at her, especially at her weekend job, wearing what she wore. Eric took one look … that lasted a long time. And unlike with most other men, she was not only flattered but wishing she could take a good long look at him in return.
“Coffee?” she asked, distracting herself.
A couple of seconds passed before he answered. “Yes, please. Black.” He stared at something on the counter, leaned back and grabbed the plastic container with the chocolate-chip cookies. He shook it. Empty. “He feels no qualms about eating and running, obviously.”
She shuddered. “It’s just creepy knowing that someone can come and go while you sleep and never know it.”
“Survival instincts. He’s probably gotten good at not making noise.”
“Are you going to file a police report?”
“No.”
“Good.” She sipped from her mug, studying him over the rim. Easy on the eyes, she thought again. She opened a notebook she’d brought downstairs with her. “Here’s a list of all the work that’s been done, what I think needs to be done, and the contacts I’ve gathered. The receipts are in an envelope taped to the inside back cover.”
“You’ve been very efficient. I very much appreciate all you did. Including fixing breakfast,” he added, toasting her with a forkful of omelet.
“If there’s anything else you need before I go, just ask.” She held her breath, not knowing if she wanted him to ask her to stay or let her go.
“Do you have another job to get to?” he asked, choosing a cluster of grapes.
“I did have, but it got canceled.”
He tossed a grape in his mouth and chewed, looking at her thoughtfully. “Do you live in Davis?”
“I live everywhere. Davis, Sacramento, Folsom, Rose ville. You name it.”
“What does that mean? Are you homeless?” He sat back, looking shocked.
“Technically, but it’s entirely my choice,” she insisted. “If I don’t have a house-sitting job, I bunk with a friend in Sacramento. I always, well, almost always have a place to stay.”
“Is that where you’ll go today?”
“No. We thought I’d be house-sitting, so she invited her parents to come for a week.”
The doorbell rang before she could add something that didn’t make her sound pathetic.
“That’s probably the guy to fix the window lock,” she said as Eric left the table, taking a piece of toast with him. She grabbed a cluster of grapes and followed, notebook in hand to remind herself of the man’s name. It wasn’t the handyman, however.
“I locked myself out.” Dylan stood on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, staring at his feet.
“Make eye contact, Dylan,” Eric said. “Talk to me man-to-man.”
The teenager fought it for a few seconds, then put his shoulders back and lifted his head. “I didn’t want to wake you up, so I went for a bike ride to kill time. I wasn’t running away.”
“Are you hungry?” Eric asked.
The boy looked startled, then he nodded.
“Even after eating a dozen chocolate-chip cookies?” Eric stepped back so that Dylan could come inside.
“Three dozen,” Marcy said, torn between hugging the kid and shaking him.
“They were good,” Dylan said, offering the barest smile. “Best I’ve ever had.”
She sighed. “Do you like omelets?”
“I’m not picky.”
“Go wash up.” She headed into the kitchen, ate the last few bites on her plate then went to the stove. She could hear them talking in the living room but, unlike the night before, she only caught words now and then. Soon Eric returned and sat at the table to finish eating.
“You didn’t look surprised to see him,” Marcy said quietly to him.
“Having taught for a long time has given me insight. But also, starting when I was twenty-two, I raised my four younger siblings. I got pretty good at reading teenagers.”
She stared at him, surprised, although after thinking about it, she realized she could see him in that role. Some people were born to be parents, were born protective and paternal.
“Is that what you meant when you said you’d raised one family?”
“Yes.”
“You had to know I would think you were at least fifty, if not sixty, years old.”
“I was having fun with you.”
And she’d started hunting for a woman for him, someone age appropriate, as he’d said. This changed everything—
Well, maybe not. There was still Annie, next door.
“Have you ever been married?” she asked.
“No. Have you?”
“Guess.” She smiled.
Dylan came in and took a seat.
“Grab yourself something to drink,” Eric said, refilling his coffee mug before Marcy could wait on either of them. Then Eric’s phone rang. He looked at the screen, grabbed Marcy’s notebook and pen and left the room.
“You can butter the toast when it comes up,” Marcy said when Dylan had poured himself a glass of orange juice.
He moved close to the toaster, leaned against the counter and gulped down the entire glass of juice then refilled it.
“Where’s your stuff?” she asked.
“Stuff?”
“Change of clothes. Toothbrush. Stuff.”
“In my backpack. Out in the yard, with my bike.”
“If you’d like to use the washer and dryer, now’s the time.” She slid the omelet onto his plate as he buttered the toast.
He dug into the food as he had the night before, barely tasting it, just shoveling it in.
She filled her mug and sat across from him.
“I’ve never seen hair like yours,” he said, catching her off guard, his mouth full. “Not red but not brown either.”
She ran a hand down it. She’d let it grow to the middle of her back, only occasionally pulling it into a ponytail when it was going to get in her way. “Is that a compliment?”
He shrugged. “It’s nice.”
“So you weren’t raised by wolves.”
He laughed, bits of toast flying.
“How did you know when to break in?” By watching me? she thought, realizing he had to have done so.
“There’s no curtains. You were always working. Cleaning. I only watched the house to see when you turned out the lights, then I waited a while before I came inside.”
“Where’d you sleep? There wasn’t any furniture until yesterday.”
“On the floor in the dining room.”
“When would you take off?”
“First light.”
“Why’d you take care of the cardboard and the other stuff? Why’d you do dishes?”
“I was paying for my keep where I could. You shouldn’t ever hire that drywall guy again, by the way. He should’ve cleaned up his own mess.”
“I’ll remember that, thanks. I’m Marcy, by the way.”
Eric returned. He set his cell phone and the notebook on the kitchen counter. “Change of plans. I’m starting work on Monday instead of four weeks from now. One of the professors had emergency heart surgery. They need me to fill in for the remainder of the summer session.”
“Teaching what?” Marcy asked.
“Vector analysis.”
She exchanged a look with Dylan. “Which is what?”
“Simplified, it’s multivariable calculus.”
“That’s simplified, huh?”
He almost smiled. “I could give you a few paragraphs of further definition, but I thought to spare you that.”
“Thank you,” she said dramatically, making Dylan laugh. She looked at her watch. “I should probably get going. I’ll do the dishes first.”
“Dylan will do the dishes,” Eric said. “He obviously knows how.”
“I don’t mind—” She stopped at his I’m-in-charge-here expression. “Okay.”
Eric eyed them both. “Here’s the deal. I’d expected to have a month to work on the house. I wanted to do a lot of the work myself, to have that personal satisfaction. Now I’ll be gone three-to-four hours a day, Monday through Thursday, plus prep work, plus I have my fall classes to prepare for.”
“Guess you couldn’t turn down the job, huh?” Marcy asked.
“I could have, but it seemed wiser to say yes. Goodwill adds up, especially when you’re the new guy.”
“I understand that,” she said. “Sometimes we have to do what we have to do.”
Eric studied her, trying to keep his eyes on her face. Ever since he’d walked into the kitchen earlier and had seen her standing there wearing shorts and a tank top he’d been forcing his gaze above her shoulders, with only occasional success. He’d always been drawn to slender, athletic, quiet women. Marcy laughed easily and with open pleasure. She wore her hair down, untamed, and was all tempting curves. He wouldn’t mind running his hands—
Someone kicked him under the table, yanking him out of his fantasy.
“Dude,” Dylan said, looking embarrassed.
Had Marcy caught him staring, too? “Sorry. Too much on my mind. I lost my train of thought.”
“You were about to offer me a job,” Dylan said, angling toward him as if persuading him with body language alone.
“What makes you think that?”
“Your hands are soft. Do you know anything about remodeling or yard work?”
Marcy leaned both elbows on the table and pressed her mouth against her fists, her eyes sparkling.
Eric looked at Dylan again. “Do you?”
“More’n you, I bet.”
Eric wondered what had brought the kid out of his shell. “You might be surprised. I’ve been living in New York City for the past twelve years, but before that I did plenty of home repair and yard work.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He’d made his siblings help, too. Building character, he’d always told them. “What experience do you have?”
“I’ve earned my keep here and there. You planning on remodeling in here?”
“I expect to gut the kitchen and all the bathrooms. Kitchen first. Bathrooms as I have time.”
“I’m a hard worker.” Desperation overrode Dylan’s usual attitude. “I don’t know much about plumbing or electrical stuff, but I know what tools do what. Maybe I don’t look strong, but I am. I can demo the kitchen, haul everything out. I could do that while you’re at work, no problem.”
How long had the boy been on the streets? Long enough to become a hustler? Would the cops have known that about him?
Marcy didn’t interrupt the conversation, but she was obviously interested.
“You said you don’t have another job lined up,” he said to her. “And nowhere to live.”
“Just my regular Saturday job tonight.”
“Wait. You’re homeless?” Dylan asked.
“Not in the way you are, but technically, yes.”
He frowned, as if the concept was beyond his comprehension.
Eric took charge again. “Here’s what I’m proposing. Dylan, I could use you to do exactly what you just said—demo the kitchen, but also work in the yard. It would save me from hiring a gardener for the cleanup. Do a good job and you’ll have a reference to use when you apply for work elsewhere.”
Dylan’s mouth tightened. “You ever try to apply for work when you don’t have an address?”
“No, I never have. Maybe we can figure out a way to deal with that. Marcy, if you would stay on, too, I could use you to supervise the work people and also pitch in where you can. We’ll discuss wages later. Would that be possible?” He wasn’t sure how well he was going to deal with having her around all the time when he wanted to sleep with her. But she was a hard worker and a known quantity. He just needed to keep a rein on his hormones, which had sprung to life in a big way since he’d first seen her last night.
“We’ll talk,” she said.
“If you stay, so can Dylan. Sorry,” he said to the boy, “but I don’t know you well enough to leave you here alone all day.”
Marcy’s expression said it all—she knew he was playing on her sympathies for the teenager. “We’ll talk,” she said again, more coolly.
He respected her for not letting him ramrod her, but he figured she would end up saying yes, anyway. He’d learned a lot about her sense of responsibility during their phone calls as he’d driven across the country, plus he saw she had a soft spot for the boy.
He also figured he would be helping her out, because she didn’t have another house-sitting job to go to. Win-win.
Dylan stood. “You go talk. I’ll do the dishes.”
“Shall we?” Eric asked Marcy. “Upstairs?”
She sighed but she went with him, leading the way up the staircase, her hips in his direct line of sight. He wished they were going up more than one flight.
They went into his bedroom, the only upstairs room containing furniture. He shut the door, then offered her the bed to sit on. She perched on the edge. He went to stand by the window, looking out at the tree-lined street. He hadn’t lived in a neighborhood like this since his sister, Becca, had left for college and he’d sold the family house and moved to New York to teach at NYU.
“It’s a pretty neighborhood,” Marcy said. “I hope you like kids, because the block is full of them. It can get noisy. Although that’ll change when school starts again.”
“I do like kids. I intend to have a few of my own. How about you?”
Her brows arched, as if questioning his right to ask that—or perhaps at the fact he wanted a few, not a couple, of kids.
“Not anytime soon,” she said.
“Why not?” He put up a hand. “Sorry. None of my business.”
“It’s fine. I’m only twenty-eight, and right now I have goals to meet. Finish college, decide on a career. That’s critical to me. And, no, I haven’t been married.”
He couldn’t have said why, but he hadn’t pegged her for a career woman. She seemed to be a nurturer, a stay-at-home-mom type. Maybe he’d read too much into their conversations.
“Your neighbors are looking forward to meeting you,” she said.
He’d lived in the same co-op for years and had known only one neighbor to speak to. The personable Marcy had already paved the way for him here not just to meet neighbors but make friends.
“What did you tell them about me?” he asked, moving away from the window.
“I had nothing to offer. For all I knew, you were a doddering old man looking for a nubile young wife to give you a second passel of kids to prove to the world you were still virile.”
He laughed. “I hope I’ve got a long way to go before I hit that stage.”
She cocked her head. “You should laugh more often. It takes years off you.”
So she did think he seemed old? Was an eleven-year age difference that big?
“I shared nothing with your new neighbors, not even your name,” she said, getting back to business. “I figured you would tell them what you want to.”
“Thank you. So. What do you think about staying on here?”
“I think you shouldn’t have asked me in front of Dylan, because if I say no now, he’s going to hate me.”
Eric continued to admire her refreshing directness. People tended to tiptoe around him, although he had no idea why. He didn’t think he was intimidating. “I apologize.”
“That didn’t sound very sincere.”
He liked that she didn’t mince words. For some reason, he found it incredibly sexy. “I admit I should have waited, but I was caught off guard by the phone call from the university. I was in solution mode.”
“Now that I can buy.” She gestured for him to sit on the bed. “I don’t like having to look up at you.”
He did as she asked.
“What do you see as my role?” she asked.
“Obviously Dylan can’t work alone here. He’s not a professional. What if something happens? Plus we know little about him.”
“You need me to supervise?”
“Yes, but not just Dylan. I’ll be hiring out some work I would’ve done myself. I need an adult here to oversee.”
She seemed to consider it. “I could do that, I guess. I start my new semester of college on Tuesday, but they’re online classes, and I could do that work at night, at whichever friend’s house I land in. As long as I have my laptop, I’m good to go.”
“Um. I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I’d like you to stay here.”
“Stay here? You mean sleep here? Why?”
It hadn’t occurred to him she wouldn’t spend the night. “If you’re willing, I’d like you to take on the role of cook. I want to work on the house as much as possible and not worry about the day-to-day home details.”
“You’re not going to have a kitchen, remember? Isn’t that your first project? To demo the kitchen?”
Actually, he’d forgotten. “The truth is I want to give the kid a break, all right? This is the best way I can think of to help.”
“And you’re willing to pay me to stay so that you can do that?”
“You’d be earning your keep.” He must be losing his touch. He could usually talk a person into doing something without a whole lot of effort.
“So, what you’re looking for is a wife. Someone to watch over the house and the kid.”
He’d already told her that was exactly what he was looking for—and not just temporarily. Maybe she hadn’t believed him. Maybe she thought he’d been kidding around about that.
“My understanding is that Julia’s agency has been nicknamed ‘Wives for Hire,’” he said as an answer. “There must be a good reason for that.”
After a moment, she eased off the bed and went to stand where he had earlier, looking outside. He waited her out. The more he watched her, the more she appealed to him, especially physically.
“Here’s the deal, Eric,” she said finally. “You have to promise not to back me into a corner again. If you want something, ask me privately.”
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