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She preferred his sarcasm to anger, but she still hastened to defend her suggestion. “A high school education doesn’t guarantee anyone a decent living anymore, and most of these kids probably don’t even have a GED.” Warming to her subject, she began to pace the small office. “I don’t mean to needle you—”
“Needle? Lady, you’re wielding a sharpened spear.”
“It was only a plant,” she pointed out, “but one idea just naturally leads to another.”
“In your head, maybe.” His voice deepened with sincere admiration. “You must have been one hell of a teacher.”
Growing self-conscious, she tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear. “It was a long time ago, and I was probably barely adequate.”
“I’ll never believe that.”
He was smiling now, lounging against his desk in a relaxed pose, but she was growing increasingly uncomfortable and wished she’d been smart enough to prepare an exit line before she’d breezed into his lair. Anxious to leave, she seized upon a plausible excuse.
“Perhaps I should check with Mabel to make certain she has enough help in the kitchen.” She turned toward the door she’d left standing ajar, but just then Dave Curtis rapped lightly and looked in.
“Good morning, Cathy. You look awfully pretty today. Luke, I’ve got all the sprinklers working as well as the old pipes will allow, but it wouldn’t hurt to toss around some grass seed and encourage new growth with more than water.”
“Take whatever you need from petty cash,” Luke responded. “By the way, do you think we could teach some of the kids to paint and hire them out to contractors?”
Dave was wearing a comfortably worn Phish T-shirt and khaki pants. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across the rock group’s rounded fish logo. “I wouldn’t trust any of them in an occupied dwelling because the temptation to steal whatever they could sell would be too great. With an unoccupied place, after leaving for the day, they’d probably sneak back in to crash, so that wouldn’t work, either. Outdoor murals to cover graffiti are a possibility, though. The kids can’t do a hell of a lot of damage to a wall.”
Luke sent Catherine a questioning glance, or at least she hoped that was curiosity lighting his lopsided gaze. “You’re right, I hadn’t stopped to consider the problems associated with putting a homeless teen to work in someone’s home, but still—”
Dave straightened up. “Don’t you worry, Cathy. I took several art classes in college and while I hadn’t thought about it before now, it would be fun to paint a mural. We might even be able to get city funds to buy the paint. Want me to look into it, boss?”
“Sure, thanks, Dave.”
“I like the new plant. It gives the place some much-needed class. See you both later.”
Catherine responded with a grateful smile, but she felt extremely foolish for being so presumptuous. She hurried to follow Dave out the door, but Luke reached out to catch her arm in a light grasp.
“I’ll buy the paint if you’ll come in on Saturday and help me redecorate.”
He was daring her to put her money where her mouth was, and after she’d been so critical, there was no way to refuse. “You don’t think I’ll show up, do you?” she shot back at him.
Luke dropped his hand and took a step back. “I know you’ll be here if you say you will, so why don’t we start at ten. Although I’m sure no matter what color I choose, you’ll hate it.”
“It’s your office,” she replied sweetly. “Paint it purple to match your eye if you like, and I won’t complain.” She left before he could get in the last word, but she doubted they could remain in the same small room long enough to paint it.
Mabel had plenty of volunteers that day, so Catherine decided to walk through the hall and straighten up the books. When she recognized Violet seated on the floor in front of the new shelves reading, she veered toward the wall filled with flyers.
She thumbed through a few that had been added since her last visit and was pleased the volunteer who’d placed them had followed her pattern. She was about to leave when Violet got up and came toward her.
“You brought the books,” Violet exclaimed. Her unabashed joy crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes. “I really didn’t think you would.”
“I hadn’t realized I had so many,” Catherine replied, “and I’m happy they’ll be read here. Did you find something you like?”
Violet ran her fingertips over the embossed title of a thick historical. “This one looks real good. Is there a limit to how many we can borrow?”
“I don’t see a sign with a limit. How many books can you read in a week?”
“A couple maybe, unless this one is as good as it looks and I read it twice.” She looked up hesitantly. “Do you ever do that?”
“Reread books? Yes, if I’ve loved them. It doesn’t matter that I know the ending. They’re like good friends I’m always glad to see.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. Ford doesn’t understand why I love to read. He says books are full of make-believe junk.”
Catherine wasn’t surprised, but she still chose her words with care. “People naturally have different tastes, but a man who claims to care about you shouldn’t put down what you love. That’s a very good book, by the way, with an exciting love story. While the hero and heroine’s opinions often clash, I hope you’ll notice how well he always treats her. It’s the way you deserve to be treated.”
