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CHAPTER THREE

DEAN GLANCED at the dusty wall clock and noted the time. Five past eight. She was officially late on her first day of work. That didn’t bode well for her future with Halvorsen Construction. He sighed. So much for helping a person out. He grabbed the plans for the building site he was scheduled to survey today and had only just rolled them out the length of his conference table when the front door flew open. Annabelle came through carrying more things than she had hands.

Then he noticed the small bundle in her right arm was wearing tiny shoes and his mouth dropped open.

“I’m so sorry,” she started, setting down a stuffed diaper bag and a long rectangle of a contraption that Dean had a sinking feeling was a playpen. “Dana was supposed to watch Honey, but she was called out on the ambulance and I didn’t have time to find another babysitter. But I swear she’ll be no trouble at all. I brought toys and snacks and her favorite blanket and…and…please don’t fire me. I really need this job.”

“Honey?” Dean stared at the little girl who was staring at him with the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “Did you say her name was Honey?”

“That’s right,” she answered, smiling without a hint of bashfulness. “From the moment I first laid eyes on her I thought she was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen and immediately knew Honey was the right choice. Honey Faith Nichols. She’s my girl.”

“How old is she?” he asked.

“Sixteen months. Her birthday is in February. She’s an Aquarius. I’m a Cancer. Do you know what your sign is?”

“Uh, no. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Oh, I do. I think it gives a lot of insight to your personality. When’s your birthday? I know a bit about astrology. I could find out—”

“No, that’s okay. So, Honey…Aren’t you worried about what other kids might say about a name like that?”

She frowned. “No. Should I be?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s just a little odd.”

At that she chuckled. “It’s only odd to those who like everything to fit in preordained little spaces. I want to encourage Honey to do whatever inspires her. I don’t want anyone ever to tell her that she can’t or shouldn’t do something simply because she might not fit a stereotype.”

He didn’t know what to say. Annabelle didn’t seem to notice. She smiled as she looked at her daughter. Love was evident in her expression and voice as she said, “Besides, it’s who she’s meant to be. Can you imagine her as a Christie or a Sarah?”

No. Actually, he couldn’t. Naming a kid something like Honey was a little too hippy-dippy for his sensibilities, but the longer he stared at the child he realized the name fitted her well. The kid was downright cherubic. He couldn’t remember if all kids that age were that cute or just this one. He glanced at the clock and his odd musing fled.

“Uh, well, as long as she stays in that playpen,” he said, not quite sure of what else to do. “This place isn’t baby-proof and it’s not safe. I’m not even sure if we’re insured for this sort of thing. God, I’m betting we’re not. Just keep her contained, will you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, bobbing her head. “You won’t even notice she’s here. I promise. She’s the best baby. Thank you.”

Dean eyed the baby and all the gear that came with her and was thrown off-kilter. His son, Brandon, was seventeen and self-sufficient. Dean hardly remembered what it was like to have a baby around. And that’s just the way he wanted to keep it, he almost growled.

Grabbing his coat, he was stalking out, ready to get to the job site and back to something he understood and felt comfortable with, when he realized he hadn’t told Annabelle her duties. Stopping at the door, he gestured toward the mess, saying, “Don’t touch anything. I have a system and I don’t want anyone messing with it.”

She gave his cluttered desk a dubious look but nodded to indicate she wouldn’t touch it. “So, what should I do?” she asked.

“You can make coffee, answer phones, take messages, scrub the bathroom, general office stuff.”

“I don’t consider scrubbing the bathroom general office stuff,” she retorted, frowning. “I could file things for you. Type up whatever you need. I’m pretty handy with the computer, too. What computer programs are you running?”

“Uh.” He glanced down at his watch and swore. “I don’t know. Sammy does all that stuff. You’ll have to ask him. Don’t file anything. Like I said, you’ll mess up my system. Just…just…I don’t know, stay out of things. I’ll be back in a while. I’m late!”

Dean got to the job site and although part of his brain was on work and he managed a coherent conversation with the foreman, another part of his brain was stuck on the woman sitting in his office with a toddler.

She should’ve mentioned she had a kid.

Why?

Because…well, there was no defensible answer because it was none of his business. Still, it became his business when that kid ended up in his office.

This wasn’t something that could become a habit. He hadn’t wanted to hire her in the first place and now he had a woman with daycare issues.

He glanced skyward at the clouds rolling in for an end-of-season storm and knew it would be raining before he returned to the office. It wouldn’t be a cold rain, but rather a mild soak promising some muggy humidity afterward.

Sammy drove up, raucous music blaring from his truck loud enough to split an eardrum, and Dean was ready to take out his frustration on his youngest brother.

“What’s up, big brother?” Sammy asked with typical good humor. Sammy had been born with an innate ability to find the lighter side in every situation. “I hear you hired Dana’s friend? Good. Sounds like a win-win situation on both sides.”

News traveled fast. Especially between women. “You know she has a kid?”

“Yeah? So? You like kids. You got one of your own, remember?”

Dean glowered. “I didn’t expect her to show up for her first day of work with a baby on her hip. That’s not professional by my standards.”

“You need to loosen up. You’re wound so tight if you were a clock you’d bust a spring. Listen, Dana told me a little about her story and she deserves a break.”

“What do you mean?”

Sammy shrugged. “For being only twenty-six, she’s had a hard life.”

“How so?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Dean backed off. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“Too late. She’s your employee now. I’d say you’re involved…at least a little.” At Dean’s sour look, Sammy chuckled. “So she’s packing a kid around. Big deal. What counts is she’s a good person looking for a fresh start, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean said, softening just a little. He admired people willing to work hard and earn what they wanted in life, but he also knew that sometimes luck played a part. By the sounds of it, she hadn’t had much in that department. “All right. She can stay—for a while. We’ll see how good an office manager she turns out to be. No promises, got it?”

“No problem. I’ve done my part by talking her up. The rest is on her. Dana understands that. I think,” he added with a slight frown.

Dean eyed Sammy speculatively. “Everything okay? With you and Dana?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sammy said, waving away Dean’s concern but then added, “You know, this marriage stuff isn’t as easy as you and Beth made it look. I guess I figured as long as you loved someone all the other stuff would fall into line. Besides, the other stuff is petty, right?”

“Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. What’s going on with you two?”

Sammy shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t get Dana. I ask her ‘what’s wrong?’ and she says ‘nothing,’ but then glares at me for the rest of the day as if I haven’t asked. She’s got me so turned upside-down I don’t know which end is up anymore.”

“You love her, right?”

“More than I thought possible. It’s kinda scary, actually. I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone.”

Dean remembered those early days when he and Beth were two dumb kids playing house rather than two adults trying to foster a good marriage. “Then stick with it. It gets better with time. You get to know each other and then you fall into a rhythm. There were times when Beth and I could almost finish each other’s sentences we were so in tune with each other,” he said. “And then there were other times when it seemed we were talking different languages. It’s a dance, brother. When you have a good partner sometimes you lead, other times you follow, but it’s always a beautiful song.”

A moment of silence passed between the brothers as a wave of loss rippled between them. Inhaling slowly, Sammy clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Beth was one of a kind. No doubt about it.”

“That she was,” Dean agreed, his throat closing. He looked at Sammy. “Hey, enough of this serious stuff. We’re sitting here sniffling like two old ladies when we’ve got work to do.”

“Ever the hard-ass.” Sammy smiled. After a short pause, he sobered, saying, “Thanks for giving Annabelle a chance. She needs it. And I think she’ll be good for the office.”

Dean nodded grudgingly, not quite sure where he sat on that score. He hoped it went smoothly. He’d never been one to fire someone, which was why he preferred to work with family. He knew they wouldn’t let him down. All three Halvorsen men were dependable, even Sammy, despite his wild streak. In fact, he was really missing his brother Josh, but he couldn’t fault the man for wanting to spend time with his new wife, Tasha. He sighed, his thoughts returning to his new office manager, hoping he wouldn’t regret his decision.

Time would tell.

ANNABELLE sat behind the incredibly messy desk and wondered what she was supposed to do if she couldn’t actually do anything. Honey was playing quietly in her playpen, content for the moment with the plethora of toys and books Annabelle had brought, so Annabelle took the opportunity to walk around the small office space.

It was nothing fancy and it was plainly evident men were the primary occupants. The bathroom was, for lack of a better word, gross. The seat on the toilet was up and if she hadn’t noticed before trying to use it she’d have been swimming in the toilet bowl.

She was returning to the desk when the front door opened and a tall, good-looking teen walked in, then did a double take.

“Who are you?” he asked without preamble, a scowl deepening on his face. “Where’s my dad?”

Annabelle jumped from the chair and extended a hand toward the boy, but he chose to ignore the gesture and ask again, “Who are you and why are you sitting in my mom’s chair?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t realize someone…Uh, well, Mr. Halvorsen didn’t actually specify where I should sit, I just assumed I should sit here. My name’s Annabelle Nichols. It’s my first day. And you are?”

“Brandon Halvorsen. My dad owns this place,” he answered, plainly still ticked but doing his teenage best to keep it under control. Too bad for her he wasn’t doing a great job. She felt like a first-rate interloper. “When’s he coming back?” he demanded, and she managed a shrug.

“He didn’t say.” Great. The kid hated her for some reason. For the sake of keeping her job, she tried making amends for whatever he thought she’d done. “I’m sorry I caught you off guard. Your dad offered me the job yesterday and it’s my first day.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she offered—Dana had told her Dean’s wife had died in a car accident—but the boy was plainly not in the mood to receive condolences.

He grunted. “Yeah, well, that’s life, right?”

“Sometimes. My mom died a few years ago. I know what it feels like to lose someone special. If you ever need someone to talk to…I can relate.”

He looked at her as if she was crazy, and she wished she could rescind the offer. This kid was determined to be pissed at her no matter what she said. Fine. She wasn’t one to push against a brick wall. She sighed. “Well, nice to meet you. I’d better get back to work. Do you want to leave a message for your dad that you came by?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call his cell,” the boy said and abruptly left, slamming the door behind him.

She glared at the door and wondered if taking this job was more trouble than it was worth. Surely, there had to be something else in this town that she could do. Obviously, Dean had forgotten to mention a few key points about this job. Such as a bad-tempered teenager who didn’t approve of anyone taking over where his mom left off. She glanced around the office, noting the disarray, and wondered how long the office had been running without a rudder. She knew how lost she’d felt when her mom died. She couldn’t imagine losing a spouse and a business partner at once.

She turned to Honey, who was watching with an owl-like stare that was her signature. Annabelle often wondered if her daughter was an old soul. Sometimes, it seemed the girl knew more than she should at such a tender age. Her mouth twitched with a confused smile as she asked, “What are we going to do, kiddo? Stick it out with these people or just call it a day?”

Honey blinked and then returned to her toys, seemingly content with what she had been doing.

“All right,” Annabelle said, pursing her lips slightly as she decided to stick it out and see where things went. “We stay. But don’t get too comfortable. I have a feeling this just isn’t the place for us.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“IT’S JUST temporary,” Dean said to Brandon’s sullen, accusatory glare from across the dinner table. “Your uncle Sammy seems to think we need a little help around the office. And Annabelle is a friend of Dana’s so it seemed like a good deal for both of us.”

“We don’t need anyone messing around with the office,” Brandon said. “She’ll screw up Mom’s system. Besides, what happened to the temp service you were using?”

“The temps weren’t working out as we’d hoped. There was too much turnover. Besides, there wasn’t one I felt was a good enough fit. As much as I hate to admit it, we’re in bad shape. And we can’t afford to lose any more business. But don’t worry, she’s not going to change anything. And, if things don’t work out, we don’t have an obligation to keep her. I made that clear.”

Dean pushed away from his plate, his appetite disappearing at the direction of the conversation. He drew a deep breath. “Like I said, it’s temporary and there’s nothing wrong with helping a person who’s down on their luck. Your mom would’ve wanted us to lend a hand. You know she would.”

Brandon softened imperceptibly at the mention of Beth, but Dean could still see the storm raging behind his son’s eyes. “I don’t want her there,” he said. “It feels wrong seeing her sit in Mom’s chair. Doing Mom’s job. It’s just not right.”

“You didn’t have a problem with the temps.”

“She’s different. The temps were usually old ladies looking for a supplement to their retirement. This woman is no old lady.”

Dean leveled his gaze at Brandon and hoped his son never found cause to doubt his word as he said, “No one is going to replace your mother. Ever. She’s always here in our hearts and no one can ever take that away. But, as much as I’ve tried to ignore it, the office is falling apart. We lost two bids last week to Eagle Construction, and as far as I can tell Aaron’s hot on the trail of any unsecured contract. We can’t keep taking hits like this for much longer if we want to stay in business.”

A long pause sat between them until Brandon relented with a slow nod of his head. His boy was headstrong but not stupid. “So, you’re saying she’s only staying until we get things organized, right?” Brandon asked.

“Well, that’s the plan,” Dean answered with complete conviction, but Brandon still seemed troubled. “What?” he asked, wanting to do whatever he could to allay his son’s fears.

Brandon shifted in his chair, plainly uncomfortable with whatever else was rattling around his head. “She’s pretty,” he finally blurted, but the way he said it didn’t make that sound like a good thing and Dean knew what his son was afraid of.

“She’s attractive,” Dean acknowledged, shutting out the image of Annabelle as she’d been dressed the other day. All legs and breasts. “But I’m not looking, if you know what I mean.”

Brandon sighed with obvious relief and he grinned for the first time since the evening began. “Thanks, Dad. I needed to hear that. I got a little freaked out when I saw her. A lot of guys would think she’s hot or something, but I should’ve known you’re too old for her anyway.”

Dean forced a chuckle, trying not to let his son’s innocent statement sting. Hadn’t he told himself the very same thing? “Glad we got that out of the way,” he said a bit wryly, signaling the end of the conversation.

Brandon smiled. “Me, too. I guess she can stay until you can find something else for her. You’re right. Mom would’ve wanted us to help if we could. She was always looking out for everyone but herself.”

Dean nodded and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat that never failed to choke him when he thought of Beth. God, he missed her. It didn’t seem fair that she’d been taken from them so young, but since it never brought her back, he’d long ago stopped railing against the injustice of God’s plan.

Some things just weren’t fair and that was that.

His thoughts wandered to Annabelle and what little he knew of her. Sammy had implied that life hadn’t been particularly fair to her, either, but she didn’t seem the type to cry about it. He had to admit he admired that in a person. Anyone could sit and bawl. It took guts and a strong character to pull themselves up and move when all they wanted to do was quit.

Where was Honey’s father? Was he in the picture at all? Sighing, he realized it wasn’t his place to wonder such things. No good was going to come from him poking his nose into Annabelle’s business, especially after promising his son that she wouldn’t be around long.

ANNABELLE ARRIVED on time the following morning, earning a curt nod of approval from Dean as she entered the office. He also didn’t hide his relief that Honey was not with her. She withheld a sigh for his obvious dislike of her baby and tried not to take it personally. It was his loss. Honey was an amazing kid.

Dean gestured toward a ridiculously small desk and she looked at him quizzically. “That’s where I’m supposed to sit? Which sixth-grade classroom is missing a desk?”

“I know it’s on the small side, but I wanted you to have a space to work from while we get things figured out. It’s all I could find on such short notice.”

“What’s wrong with that desk?” she pointed at the large and still cluttered desk he was behind.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not.”

She inhaled a short yet frustrated breath. “Listen, this is a little crazy. You can’t possibly expect me to sit at that baby desk when there’s a perfectly good, adult-size desk right here.”

“My wife used to sit there,” he said bluntly.

She tried to tread carefully, but his odd territorial stance on the furniture was wearing on her patience. If she’d had anything else to go to, she’d ditch this job in a second. But she didn’t and therefore was stuck with the need to make a go of it. With as much delicacy as her annoyance would allow, she said, “I’m sorry for your loss. Dana told me your wife died. But I can’t really do the job you’ve hired me to do without a proper place to sit. I promise I won’t change anything. I won’t move pictures around or kill her plants—although, you seem to be doing a pretty good job of that yourself—and I’ll even do my damnedest to learn your kooky system, but you have to loosen up, too.”

He stared and she held her breath, knowing the next words out of his stern mouth were going to be something along the lines of Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, and resigned herself to another serious job hunt.

But he didn’t.

“You’ve got a point,” he slowly agreed, though it looked like the admission was painful. “All right, I’ll haul that kiddie desk out of here.”

“Thank you,” she said, thinking privately it seemed an odd thing to be grateful for, but she accepted the victory just the same. “Now, show me how to run this office.”

An hour later, Annabelle had a headache.

“But why don’t you just file the jobs alphabetically?” she asked, not quite understanding the inefficient way they were doing things. “This number system is bound to screw things up. No wonder you’re losing stuff. Look here, this job and this job—” she gestured to two different slips of paper “—have the same number but they’re different contracts. If you used an alphabetical system by company or client name you’d have less slipping through the cracks.”

“Beth devised this number system and it worked before so it’ll work again. Now, instead of fighting me on it, just listen and learn.”

Annabelle bristled. It wasn’t in her nature to allow someone to talk to her as though she was an idiot. And it didn’t matter that Dean was the kind of man who could make her look twice on a crowded street—he was seriously pissing her off with his dogged refusal to see what was plain in front of his face.

“I’m sure this system worked peachy for the woman who conjured it out of her head but for us mere mortals, it’s a bit confusing. Even you can’t seem to figure it out.”

Dean’s face flushed a dull red and she knew she’d crossed the line. Damn it all to hell. But even as Annabelle prepared for the roar of indignation she was sure was heading her way, he seemed to choke down whatever had been dancing on his tongue and uttered a grunt of some sort that may have been an agreement.

But he didn’t look happy about it. “Well, she made it look easy. And all the files are numbered in this way. To start over would take an inordinate amount of time that I don’t have.”

At this Annabelle brightened. Finally something she could work with. “No problem. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll get this system turned around so that anyone coming in after me could easily figure it out, and you can concentrate on getting the jobs.”

He shifted uneasily, but there was a glimmer of interest in his brown eyes that Annabelle had to admit made her insides flip-flop oddly. “You think you could do that?”

She smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t have made the offer if I couldn’t deliver. I’ve worked in an office before and I have an eye for efficiency. I guess you could call it my gift.”

He grunted, but she couldn’t tell if it was a noise that qualified as approval or disapproval and so she said, “You know, if we’re going to work together we need a better communication style.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the grunting has to stop. I know guys have their own language, but for the purposes of ensuring that I don’t misunderstand you, let’s try for a mutually agreed-upon language. Like English.”

Dean scowled, but Annabelle wasn’t deterred or intimidated. She’d been around men more coarse and meaner than Dean Halvorsen could ever manage to be, and she wasn’t going to back down. Besides, her mom had always said, men needed to be reminded every now and again of the rules, otherwise they ran amuck. Much like dogs.

Although, now that she thought about it, her mom might not have been the best for advice about men—she never seemed to be able to hold on to one or find one worth keeping.

She sighed privately, pushing that particular thought as far away as she could manage, and returned her attention to Dean.

“So, what’s it going to be?”

He sighed with annoyance but answered quite clearly, “Fine. Can we get back to work?”

“Absolutely.” She graced him with a wide smile that wasn’t the least bit coy or suggestive but suddenly he seemed caught, and when he tore his gaze away from hers, she wondered whether she was imagining things or Dean might actually find her attractive.

Did she want that? Good God, no. But…a lonely voice protested softly, Dean was one of the good guys. She could feel it in her bones. Her intuition was usually spot-on—having had to dodge creeps and toads on a regular basis growing up—but she’d let her guard down and Thad had somehow gotten past her defenses. She thought of Honey and she couldn’t regret her choice in that regard, but she’d be a liar if she didn’t say that she wished she’d found a decent man to father her child.

But messing around with the boss was a giant no-no.

“I see you found a babysitter.”

Dean’s voice broke into her thoughts, a welcome distraction. She nodded. “Dana is watching her for me on the days that she isn’t working.”

“You and Dana grew up together, right?”

“Yeah,” she answered, moving away from Dean and grabbing a handful of files. She wasn’t in the mood to share her dismal upbringing. Besides, he probably already knew all the highlights. No sense in sharing the lowlights as well. “Well, I’d better get started redoing this system or else it’ll take all day.”

DEAN MOVED to one side of the office and tried to ignore the way Annabelle’s skirt swished around her legs as she went about her business, filing and lightly humming as she went. There was something earthy and comforting about her confidence, in spite of her wardrobe choices. It wasn’t her skirt that was the problem, he thought, averting his eyes, searching for anything that might be more appropriate than what kept drawing his gaze.

Autumn was in the air but it was still warm enough to cause beads of sweat to coat his brow if he stood in the direct sunlight, which was probably why she had chosen the strappy number clinging to her breasts like a second skin, molding to the firm, plump flesh as if it were painted on, but it was damn distracting and not exactly professional, he groused. Jamming his baseball cap on his head—intent on getting out of there to meet a client at the job site—it took a moment for him to realize that his groin was reacting in a most inappropriate manner, reminding him painfully that he was a man with needs he’d been ignoring for far too long. He’d been sure after Beth’s death that that part of him was pretty much down for the count, too. Apparently, that was not the case.

Shame at his bodily reaction caused him to inhale sharply, and guilt for thinking of another woman in a sexual manner made him feel that he was no better than Aaron Eagle.

Echoes of Brandon’s concerns floated into his panicked brain and he spun on his heel toward the door, only to slam his shin into the leg of a chair.

She turned at the sound to ask, “You okay?” Her eyebrows arched in concern, causing the tiniest wrinkles to mar her otherwise perfect face.

“Fine,” he answered, biting back the swear words he wanted to yell because his shin was throbbing in time with the blood rushing to his cheeks…and other places. He managed to say, “I’ll be back later,” and then slammed out the door.

ANNABELLE STARED after Dean as he walked—no, limped—stiffly from the office, and she shook her head. Men. Would she ever understand them?

Probably not. Annabelle shrugged her shoulders, and said, “I don’t think that man likes me.” Then she turned to the file cabinet and focused on finishing her filing.