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Zane felt that way himself. He wanted nothing altered in this one room, and that she immediately sensed his feelings boded well for her working on this project.
“Mr. Zane, I was thinking about dinner and—” His housekeeper, Mrs. Applegate, sauntered toward him and stopped abruptly when she realized he wasn’t alone. “Oh, I do apologize. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“It’s no trouble,” he answered, quick to reassure the older woman.
His cook was a round, gentle soul who made it her mission in life to spoil him, despite his protests. Nothing he said seemed to discourage her from mothering him. After a while, he gave up trying.
Mrs. Applegate’s eyes twinkled with delight when Zane introduced her to Lesley. “It’s time Mr. Zane brought a woman into this house.”
“Ms. Walker is the architect I mentioned earlier,” he said, rankled by the way the elderly woman linked him romantically with Lesley.
“Oh, what a shame.” She looked disappointed. “Once you finish looking over the house, you let me know,” the housekeeper insisted. “I’ll set the tea to brewing and bring it to the library. I’m sure you’re going to have lots to talk over, and there’s no better place to do it than right here with a spot of tea.”
Zane might have declined if Lesley hadn’t said, “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Mrs. Applegate’s eyes were filled with devilment as she skirted past Zane. Knowing his housekeeper, there would be far more than tea on that tray. He swore the woman baked enough sweets to keep a dentist in practice. Not a day passed when she didn’t set some new confection before him. She seemed to make it her mission in life to put a “little meat on his bones.”
“What a sweetheart,” Lesley commented, her gaze following the housekeeper.
Zane’s reply was unintelligible on purpose. He was grateful to Martha Applegate, but he didn’t like the subtle way the woman attempted to work her way into his life. He had a mother, one he preferred to forget, as it happened.
He’d hired Martha Applegate sight unseen a week after he’d decided to take up residence. He needed someone to open up the house and get things in order before he moved to Sleepy Valley.
After viewing the library, Zane led Lesley up the stairs to the six bedrooms situated on the second floor. It was difficult for him to make the trek with his bum leg. Pain shot through his thigh as he climbed. He gritted his teeth, unwilling to show his discomfort.
Once again, as they toured the bedrooms, Lesley made a series of notations and asked him a number of questions. Standing in the narrow hallway outside the master bedroom, she turned full circle, made a note on the tablet and then glanced his way and smiled.
“How about the kitchen next?”
“Sure.” It might have been his imagination, but it seemed that her walk slowed as they descended the staircase. Despite the pain, he increased his step, unwilling to accept allowances for his injuries.
When they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Applegate was nowhere to be seen, which was just as well. Lesley seemed to be filled with enthusiastic ideas. She quickly started to write, her hand moving in a blur over the page. Again she didn’t share her thoughts.
She happened to look out the kitchen window and then turned to him.
“Those are the stables,” he explained.
“And the man?”
“Carl Saks. He lives in the guest house.” Carl was a friend and a former soldier who’d decided to retire in the same area. He’d been looking for property himself. Unable to sit idle, Carl had become a handyman of sorts around the place. Because of his physical limitations, Zane was grateful for the help.
When Lesley finished writing, she pressed the notepad against her breast. “I think that about does it, unless there’s something else you’d care to show me.” Her eyes landed on the pot of tea Mrs. Applegate had set out, along with a plate heaped high with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies.
Over the years, Zane had developed a sixth sense about danger. It had served him well and saved his sorry butt more times than he could count. A half hour with Lesley Walker and he realized this woman was double jeopardy. The best thing he could do for them both was to get her out of his life. And fast.
He made a show of looking at his watch. “I believe you’ve seen everything necessary. If you’re finished, I’ll see you to the door.”
A look of surprise and disappointment showed in her expressive face. The friendliness drained from her eyes and she stiffened into a businesslike stance. “Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ackerman.”
He escorted her out of the kitchen, stopped in the library long enough to retrieve the blueprints he’d mentioned earlier and then led the way to the front entry.
They exchanged swift handshakes.
“When can I expect to see your ideas?” he asked, and the eagerness with which he posed the question surprised even him.
“I can have a rough draft to you next week. Would that be soon enough?”
“Perfect,” he answered, the lone word abrupt.
