“I can’t help it if I’m good. And the girl at SeaSong is Brenna.”
“Ah. She was making a phone call when I saw her, or at least almost making one. And I could swear she was about ready to cry.”
Cass grabbed at a clip holding her hair back on the side and reinserted it to catch a piece of soft blond hair that had fallen on her neck.
“Ready to cry, huh?” She looked thoughtful. “I haven’t figured Brenna out yet. You know how you find these kids who are much too smart to be doing whatever job they’re doing?”
Dan nodded. He’d used a couple of bike messengers in New York who were like that—brilliant kids who for some reason didn’t want the responsibility of a regular job.
“That’s Brenna. She’s worked for me since the middle of August when the summer kids began disappearing to return to college. She showed up at my door one morning, said she was new in town, and did I need a chambermaid. She’s reliable and willing to do anything I ask, and she never complains. But something’s wrong. Or at the very least, something’s not right.”
They stepped onto the track, and Cass began to run in earnest. Her long legs ate up the ground, and Dan dropped back to watch her.
“I bet you love to beat the boys, don’t you?” he yelled to her.
She slowed and glanced over her shoulder. “Any time I can.” And she was off again.
She was one of those women who obviously loved physical activity, not because it was fashionable or healthful, but because it was fun. He bet she was accomplished in several sports. Yet she didn’t move like a jock. She had a grace that made her movements smooth and flowing, a pleasure to watch.
Maybe being unemployed and shiftless wouldn’t be so bad if he could follow her around all day.
Shiftless. Ah, dear Lord, I can’t stand the thought!
As they walked briskly back to SeaSong, they were both puffing pleasantly. Dan was used to slowing his gait for women, but Cass had no trouble keeping up with his long strides. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion, and wisps of hair had fallen free to cling to her damp neck. He had trouble keeping his eyes off her.
They stepped up onto the curb at SeaSong, and Cass stopped. Dan pulled up too.
“Hey, Mr. Carmichael,” Cass called as she waved to an old man standing in front of the battered house next door.
Mr. Carmichael looked up from his study of the scraggly yews fronting his decaying porch. “Cassandra,” he said with no enthusiasm.
“Ready to sell yet?” Cass asked.
“Never.” He pointed his finger at her. “And never to you, missy.”
Cass grinned. “I love you too, Mr. Carmichael.” But as she turned away and walked toward the back of SeaSong, she sighed.
Dan looked at her, intrigued. “Do you really want to buy his house?” It was small and ramshackle, far beneath the glorious standards of SeaSong.
“I’d like to renovate it.”
Dan stepped back and studied the house next door again. It was the equivalent of a dirty, wizened street person with its peeling paint, missing porch spindles, and ragged lawn. He hurried to catch up with her. “But it’s a disaster.”
“Now. Still, it’s better than SeaSong was when I got it.”
Dan looked at the beautifully painted and landscaped SeaSong. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely falling down.”
“You certainly hired some very capable people to make the transformation. SeaSong’s beautiful, both inside and out.”
She stopped and faced him, hands on her hips. “Why do you say that?”
“That SeaSong’s beautiful?” he asked, lost. “Because it is.”
“Not that.”
He knew from her tone that he’d stepped in a mess, but he couldn’t figure out what he’d said that upset her. “You mean my comment about hiring capable people?”
She nodded, her eyes narrowed at him.
Surprise jolted through him. “You actually did all the work yourself?”
“With occasional help from the brothers.”
Dan was afraid his face showed
“Ah. She was making a phone call when I saw her, or at least almost making one. And I could swear she was about ready to cry.”
Cass grabbed at a clip holding her hair back on the side and reinserted it to catch a piece of soft blond hair that had fallen on her neck.
“Ready to cry, huh?” She looked thoughtful. “I haven’t figured Brenna out yet. You know how you find these kids who are much too smart to be doing whatever job they’re doing?”
Dan nodded. He’d used a couple of bike messengers in New York who were like that—brilliant kids who for some reason didn’t want the responsibility of a regular job.
“That’s Brenna. She’s worked for me since the middle of August when the summer kids began disappearing to return to college. She showed up at my door one morning, said she was new in town, and did I need a chambermaid. She’s reliable and willing to do anything I ask, and she never complains. But something’s wrong. Or at the very least, something’s not right.”
They stepped onto the track, and Cass began to run in earnest. Her long legs ate up the ground, and Dan dropped back to watch her.
“I bet you love to beat the boys, don’t you?” he yelled to her.
She slowed and glanced over her shoulder. “Any time I can.” And she was off again.
She was one of those women who obviously loved physical activity, not because it was fashionable or healthful, but because it was fun. He bet she was accomplished in several sports. Yet she didn’t move like a jock. She had a grace that made her movements smooth and flowing, a pleasure to watch.
Maybe being unemployed and shiftless wouldn’t be so bad if he could follow her around all day.
Shiftless. Ah, dear Lord, I can’t stand the thought!
As they walked briskly back to SeaSong, they were both puffing pleasantly. Dan was used to slowing his gait for women, but Cass had no trouble keeping up with his long strides. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion, and wisps of hair had fallen free to cling to her damp neck. He had trouble keeping his eyes off her.
They stepped up onto the curb at SeaSong, and Cass stopped. Dan pulled up too.
“Hey, Mr. Carmichael,” Cass called as she waved to an old man standing in front of the battered house next door.
Mr. Carmichael looked up from his study of the scraggly yews fronting his decaying porch. “Cassandra,” he said with no enthusiasm.
“Ready to sell yet?” Cass asked.
“Never.” He pointed his finger at her. “And never to you, missy.”
Cass grinned. “I love you too, Mr. Carmichael.” But as she turned away and walked toward the back of SeaSong, she sighed.
Dan looked at her, intrigued. “Do you really want to buy his house?” It was small and ramshackle, far beneath the glorious standards of SeaSong.
“I’d like to renovate it.”
Dan stepped back and studied the house next door again. It was the equivalent of a dirty, wizened street person with its peeling paint, missing porch spindles, and ragged lawn. He hurried to catch up with her. “But it’s a disaster.”
“Now. Still, it’s better than SeaSong was when I got it.”
Dan looked at the beautifully painted and landscaped SeaSong. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely falling down.”
“You certainly hired some very capable people to make the transformation. SeaSong’s beautiful, both inside and out.”
She stopped and faced him, hands on her hips. “Why do you say that?”
“That SeaSong’s beautiful?” he asked, lost. “Because it is.”
“Not that.”
He knew from her tone that he’d stepped in a mess, but he couldn’t figure out what he’d said that upset her. “You mean my comment about hiring capable people?”
She nodded, her eyes narrowed at him.
Surprise jolted through him. “You actually did all the work yourself?”
“With occasional help from the brothers.”
Dan was afraid his face showed
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