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The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

Page 17

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A new washer and dryer had been delivered and installed and a trip to the local department store had yielded small appliances like a new toaster and coffeemaker. It made no sense for her to remain in the motel indefinitely, so she’d made her fi

rst priority getting the house in a semilivable state. The work was long and exhausting, but with each clean wall and polished piece of furniture the place was starting to feel less like a derelict.

If only she could shake the uneasy feeling that washed over her now and again. It was cold and unpleasant and settled heavily on her shoulders. She told herself it was just foolishness and an overactive imagination. That it was because she was alone in the huge place. A couple of times she’d actually thought she’d glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye, only to turn to the movement and see nothing.

She had to get this place cleaned and on the market, because if she stayed here too long she was afraid she’d go all the way crazy.

The afternoon was spent vacuuming every possible corner of the library and polishing the wood with oil soap. As each gleaming surface came into view, Abby realized she couldn’t put off making the call much longer. The house looked better as she cleaned, but it also highlighted flaws she’d missed during her first inspection. There was work to be done, work that she couldn’t do herself. And for that she needed Tom.

She stripped off her gloves, took Tom’s card out of her pocket, and grabbed her cell phone, dialing his number with her thumb. Might as well get it over with.

“Arseneault Contracting.”

The deep voice was clearly his. It shivered along her nerve endings like silk. She swallowed. “Tom,” she said. “It’s Abby Foster.”

“Well, well.”

He sounded so smug she wanted to hang up and say to hell with him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She sniffed and rolled her shoulders, trying to relax. “I was wondering if you were still interested in putting together a quote.”

“Of course I am. Just a sec.”

Abby heard what sounded like his hand going over the phone, and then a muffled shout and a crash. “Sorry,” he said, coming back. “We’re just finishing a job and I came inside to hear you better over the noise.”

She put her fingers over the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t considered how convenient it was that his schedule was open when everyone else’s for miles around was booked solid. “How is it you have all this time to fit me in?” she asked. “Every other contractor I talked to is booked right through the summer. Why not you, Tom? Is there something I should know?”

“Every other contractor? So you shopped around and chose me. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. Didn’t you hear me? Everyone else was booked. Let’s call it a choice of necessity.”

He laughed, the sound warm in her ear. “I heard you just fine. Actually, I’m glad you asked. We had our latest project go bust due to financing, and before that we were set to do a big kitchen renovation down toward Camden, but the marriage hit the skids and now they’re fighting over the house. Everything was put on hold.”

“Oh.”

“Well, my loss is your gain. Or my gain too, if you’re serious. Did you check my references? I do good work, Abby. You can trust me.”

Ha. Trust. This was the second time he’d asked her to blindly believe him, and Abby didn’t trust anyone these days. She’d learned the hard way that people rarely kept their word. Trusting was just a sure way to get hurt. Even Gram, who’d been the most stable person in her life, had obviously been keeping secrets.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “I’d rather have some facts and figures to go by,” she replied dryly.

“I can drop by tomorrow morning. We’ll be wrapped up here by this afternoon and I can give you all the time you need.”

There was no reason why his words should cause a stupid fluttering in her chest. No reason why the air in the library should suddenly feel close and cloying. But the idea of having a man like Tom Arseneault at her beck and call was enticing and made her feel a little giddy.

“I’ll be here. Cleaning.”

His low laugh rippled along the line. “It’s quite a job, huh.”

“You have no idea. It’s a blessing I’m not an asthmatic.”

He laughed. “It’ll be worth it, Abby. We’ll bring the old girl back to life, you’ll see.”

She didn’t know what was more attractive—the idea of the restored mansion or the image of Tom Arseneault in his work boots and a plaid shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed.

As she hung up, she pressed a hand to her forehead. She needed help. Rugged carpenters weren’t her type. For goodness’ sake, she hadn’t dated in so long she didn’t even have a type. And the idea of restoring the house should make her relieved, not excited.

Still. Maybe tonight she’d paint her toenails. She had a new shade in turquoise she’d been dying to try …



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