Loving Jilly Page 2

  Round about quitting time, he found himself glimpsing the sidewalk and the gloved hands of Mickey on his watch. The woman in pink hadn't passed by on her way home from work, unless she'd sped on through like a roadrunner. He suspected nervous energy was the cause for her eye tic.

  "Watching for the woman?” Bob knew him too well. He emerged from one of the back rooms. Sawdust filtered down from the floor above as men shuffled to pack up their tools and head out.

  "Who? Miss No-Name?” Zack stretched, loosening his taut muscles.

  Miss No-Name with the swaying hips, speedy feet, and twitching, bewitching, blue eyes that made him want to hold her still long enough to explore their depths. That Miss No-Name?

  "Notepaper swapping hands and you didn't get her name?” Bob squinted to show his disbelief. “You're slipping."

  "Hi and no goodbye. She's one fast woman, and I mean that in the literal sense.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved the scrap of purple paper.

  Bob peered over his shoulder. “At least you got a phone number.” He elbowed him. “Ready for a cold one?"

  "I thought I'd wash up and check this job out first."

  Why, Zack wasn't sure. Repairing cabinets or antiques wasn't his specialty. He built furniture. He liked the feel of the wood in his hands, the smell of the lumber as he planed it, the beauty of a finished product he'd created.

  But he guessed there was something tempting, kind of reverent, about restoring some other artisan's piece of woodworking to its former beauty.

  "All work and no play,” Bob chided with a chuckle. “Bourbon Street's calling."

  "Still not interested."

  "Because of the flowery skirt, eh. She'll have to be a quickie though. Doesn't seem to stay put long."

  "No more quickies for me."

  Bob snorted.

  "Kerrie was a mistake,” Zack defended. “I wanted a solid, gut level connection."

  Bob's squint got squintier. Zack was losing him.

  "Just make sure you get the engagement ring back next time.” Bob looked away, concentrated on knocking the dirt from his boot heels.

  Zack rolled up the blueprints he'd been studying in between glances at his watch and the street. “Right now, I'm only interested in bringing this job in at cost."

  "An overrun wouldn't set well with Big Al."

  "Nothing much sets well with my father.” Zack let out a long breath.

  He had no intention of giving in like his older brother, Stan, who followed their father around the job sites like a whipped pound hound.

  Bob quit stomping, hitched his jeans, and adjusted his fly. “This one ought to cinch it for you, eh?"

  "When I bring this job in at cost and on time, the old man will have to give me that ‘atta boy.’ Then I'm quitting."

  "He's not going to like that."

  Zack shrugged.

  "Shame Stan refused the Texas job. He'll need the experience when he has to replace you as site manager."

  "My brother's so afraid of failing, he won't even try. Maybe you should give the Texas hotel a shot."

  "Me.” Bob backed up a few steps. “I have other plans that don't include worrying about the bottom line."

  "The bottom line is Big Al's mantra.” Zack shook his head. “Sometimes success is made of plain wood, sanded and stained, with no mortar, steel, or high rises mixed in."

  "You'll never convince him—or Stan—of that."

  "Doesn't matter. At least I'll be able to walk away with my head high. With the bonus from this job, I'll have enough put aside to start my cabinetry business.” Zack was tired of thinking about it and planning it. He changed the subject. “Where are spending your bonus?"

  "I'm going to Alaska."

  "To stay?” Zack raised his eyebrows. Bob was always going somewhere, but it never got past the talking stage. This Louisiana job was the first time he'd left Wisconsin.

  "I might stay.” Bob looked away. “But for now, Bourbon Street's enough adventure for me. Sure you don't want come along?” He slicked his unruly hair back with his fingers.

  "I'm sure."

  Without a parting word, Bob headed down to the courtyard and his pickup. Zack locked the blueprints and shipping memos into a file drawer. For the next couple of months he was stuck in New Orleans, a thousand miles from home and his workshop. The only way to keep his hands on the creative side of the wood was to advertise locally.

  He'd take the li'l lady's job. Nothing else had come along.

  Besides, he wouldn't mind finding out more about her.

  Starting with her name.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  "I did it,” Jilly said to Ann while waving off a redheaded, pigtailed toddler clutching a crayoned picture of a bunny in one small fist and her mother's hand in the other.

  Molly always drew bunnies. “That's a mommy bunny. My mommy says I'm cute as a bunny,” she said, and Jilly nodded, not about to argue with the little girl's logic.

  "Did what?” Ann's chubby chin jiggled as she yanked on the tricky doorknob of the Tiny Tykes utility closet. “Ran the five K in errands before coming to work?"

  "Only a two K this morning."

  Ann was more than a co-worker. She was a confidant who knew Jilly's aunts and her situation well. With a grunt, she tugged the vacuum sweeper from the utility closet while Jilly locked the front door and pulled down the colorful, striped shade.

  All day she'd waited to talk to Ann away from forty tiny ears and one larger pair belonging to Meghan, the part-timer. Anxious as she was to begin the girl talk, she couldn't curb her habit to multi-task. Snapping up the spray bottle of Toy Wash, she bee-lined for a shelf of sticky alphabet blocks.

  Ann trailed after her with the unplugged Hoover. “What did you do, really?” A few wisps of Ann's white hair had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck. The number of strays pretty much told how their day had gone.

  Today was a good day. Unlike the day Josh flushed a Barbie doll's head down the potty. Or the day Taylor bit Tyler for sampling her brother's Ham n’ Cheese Lunchable snack.

  "Well?” Ann's blue eyes flashed with curiosity while she tapped her foot and dangled the cord of the sweeper.

  "I met an interesting man."

  Zachary had been that, and more. Sexy came to mind. Convenient, followed.

  "It's about time.” Ann knocked Jilly's elbow. The Thomas the Engine train she'd been sanitizing tumbled to the floor, landing on its smokestack.

  Jilly stooped to snatch up Thomas. “Aunt Gloria asked me to hire a carpenter. A few things around the house require attention."

  "I hope you're one of those things.” She leaned her elbow on the still silent Hoover Upright.

  "Today I was.” Jilly sponged more toys. “The man I interviewed at the construction site stared me down with the hottest, grayest eyes."

  Ann's eyes widened. “Tell me more."

  "They call him Big.” Jilly gestured with her hands to show his height and how broad his shoulders were. “His real name's Zachary."

  "So far he has muscles and marvelous eyes.” Ann's pudgy cheek dimpled. “Is he single?"

  "He wasn't wearing a ring."

  "So he passes the eligibility test."

  Which somehow instantly promoted him from the ruination of womanhood to a fun date.

  Amidst the smell of crayons and play dough, Jilly plunked down onto one of the kid's red plastic, stackable chairs and flashed her friend a tolerant smile.

  "If he's going to do work at the house, I figured I might check him out. Even though I've had more experience ignoring his kind than urging them on."

  "I'll bet his kind won't let your dear aunts push him around."

  "They're three little old ladies, a bit quirky and old-fashioned, I'll admit. But any man who'd let them bully him isn't worth having around."

  "That's my point. Those calculator-clicking accountant types you meet at the local college buckle too easy."

  "In all fairness, there ar
en't too many men my age taking courses, and most of the male teachers are married.” Jilly leaned forward on the tiny chair to scratch at a wad of gum some kid had managed to sneak in and lose on the blue commercial carpet. “I'll admit, lately, I've been lonely for male company.” Her heated skin burned to be stroked by large, masculine hands. It had been so long since she'd been held, caressed, satisfied. She peeked up at Ann. “It's frustrating to find a man to date during my short semester break only to lose him afterward to my hectic schedule. It's so time consuming replacing him. I'm hoping Zachary will save me the hassle by asking me out."

  She shrugged as if it didn't matter. But it did. He interested her, igniting longings she'd designated to the darkest recesses of her bedroom and her mind.

  Ann smacked at Jilly's hand to stop her from picking the carpet. “He's a construction worker. They always ask.” She patted the top of Jilly's head. “You're a darling girl, devoted to family and friends and respectful of your elders, of which I'm one. So believe me."

  Jilly ventured none of those things were what a construction worker looked for in a woman.

  "After my father died, and I moved out of the old neighborhood into the apartment complex for fifty-something singles, you were the one who went out of her way to water my plants and feed my Waldo while I had my gallbladder operation."

  "That's before you knew any of your new neighbors. Besides, feeding your parrot was a kick. I learned several new four-letter words."

  "Sometimes Waldo's language can be more colorful than his feathers.” Ann laughed. “So tell me, how are your night classes coming along."

  "Night class. One a semester. Three measly courses a year. At the rate I'm going, I won't have a lucrative career in accounting in time to pay for my aunts’ old age needs."

  "Your aunts were needy when they were young. Your grandfather spoiled them until the day he died. Probably was what killed him."

  "Ann, they loved their Papa,” Jilly said out of loyalty. But no thanks to him, her aunts had never worked a day in their lives.

  "Trust me, I've known them longer. I know them better than you do. My mother was your Aunt Adele's best friend. You're aunts are a handful no one person can handle."

  "How about my mother?” Jilly's heart softened at the thought of any connection to the mother she'd never known. Ann was her mother's age and had grown up nearby, yet seldom mentioned her.

  "I didn't know your mother well. She went to Catholic school and I went to public.” Ann waggled a finger to get Jilly's attention back to what was on her mind. “I know firsthand about taking on too much. I cared for my father for over twenty years before he died. You can't expect to study, work full time, run errands, clean house, and take care of three demanding, but sweet,” Ann tossed in the appeasement, “elderly ladies and still have time left to pick up men."

  "In the long run, my accounting degree and not some man will help me take care of my aunts."

  "Sounds like commitment phobia and trust issues.” Ann raised a white brow.

  "You've been reading those women's magazines again, haven't you?” Jilly teased.

  Ann grinned. “I like to keep up on what's happening outside of preschool and quilting. I got a late start. Where else can I find out about a man's moan zone?"

  Jilly chuckled. “It's time efficient for me not to have to deal with a whiney boyfriend during classes. No love, no mistrust, no commitment.” Just loneliness. Her heart clutched a little.

  "Along with your aunts’ constant preaching, I fear Bourbon Street has turned you against men.” Ann shook her head and her neck waddled. “You've seen and heard too much. Sex shops and nightclubs with suggestive music. Drunken men jeering, dangling those tacky purple, gold, and green plastic necklaces."

  "Women bare their breasts for those shiny beads and a few laughs,” she reminded Ann. Jilly had partied in the Quarter when she was younger and her aunts were sprier, and she'd had less responsibility. The novelty had worn off, especially after her small group of high school friends had either moved away or married. “There's always celibacy,” she chided.

  "In that case you should become a nun, not an accountant.” Ann sighed. “I so wish you had friends your own age to talk to. At least a construction worker has backbone."

  "He has a big one."

  "Good. Then those three sisters of your dear departed mother won't be able to scare him off.” A strand of hair sprang loose from Ann's white bun. She tucked it behind her ear but it didn't stay put.

  Jilly frowned. That wasn't a good sign. Her aunts, who'd raised her since infancy, had taught her to pick up on omens. Even if she didn't always believe in signs, she was in the habit of taking note of them.

  Ann tapped her chubby chin with her finger. “How interested did the man seem?"

  "He stared into my eyes for the longest time."

  Long enough to stop her clock. Long enough to flash heat where it hadn't flashed other than in her dreams lately.

  "Eye contact is good for starters.” Ann plugged in the vacuum. “As long as he's single.” The hum of the sweeper drowned out any further talk.

  With a clunk, Jilly slammed the scrolled, wrought iron gate and dashed across the courtyard toward her aunts’ pink stucco house, which had been converted from a single dwelling years ago to produce added income.

  "Can you slow down long enough to collect the rent?” Mrs. Muller waved from her kitchen window. She and her son, a local policeman, lived in the smaller, downstairs apartment and paid their bills on time. “Please, give this to your Aunt Gloria.” She bustled over to the back door and handed Jilly a check before lowering her voice. “You might want to water the flowers. Your Aunt Vinny must've forgotten again."

  Jilly thanked her before pounding up the steps toward their quarters, where the balcony flower boxes teamed with bright red blossoms that smelled sweet but drooped.

  Juggling her bags, she plucked at the placket to her damp blouse while attempting to hold her wrist eye level without dumping the contents of her packages. Twenty to seven. Good. Her aunts liked to dine by seven. Any later and Aunt Vinny would burp all night from indigestion.

  Chatting with Ann had put Jilly behind schedule. Then, she'd missed the streetcar and had barely gotten to the candy store before Mr. Framer closed for the day.

  As soon as she opened the front door a male voice boomed. “...great mahogany woodwork."

  The carpenter.

  How had she missed seeing his vehicle? He must've parked on the street instead of in their narrow driveway.

  "The wood mouldings are all hand carved.” Pride tinged Aunt Gloria's voice.

  Jilly finger-combed her hair, narrowly missing her nose with her tote bag. Although Ann had assured her, “Construction workers aren't particular,” she'd rather not look like a snipped daisy left out in the harsh sun too long. She was attracted to the virile man, and the mere sound of his voice had her blood pumping and her heartbeat racing.

  Or maybe it had nothing to do with him. Maybe she was just plain horny.

  After adjusting her twisted waistband and re-tucking her washable, pink silk blouse, she jostled her parcels and plastered a smile to her lips in case opportunity reared its handsome head.

  When she stepped into the parlor, she was surprised not to see Aunt Vinny. She usually sat rocking in her chair and tatting the lopsided lace scarves that dotted every available tabletop and overstuffed chair and sofa in the apartment. The art of sizing and shaping escaped her aunt, who swore she didn't need to wear spectacles.

  Actually, the Pajeaud women never swore, though they did mutter ladylike oaths from time to time.

  Aunt Gloria's voice rose to the same octave she used for singing in church choir on Sundays. “What's this going to cost, young man? We're not made of money."

  With his broad, muscled back to Jilly, the carpenter stood in front of the ornate carved bookcase. He seemed real and within her reach. The fingers clutching her packages ached to feel just how attainable.

  "My rates
are reasonable and negotiable,” he told Aunt Gloria, his voice sounding deep and authoritative.

  The words reasonable and negotiable had her frugal aunt giggling like a schoolgirl. As the golden hummingbirds dangling from ivory sticks in Aunt Gloria's French-twisted, white hair took flight, Jilly's attention spun away with the shiny ornaments.

  Until Aunt Gloria's tone turned from girlish to matronly. “There you are, Jilly."

  Jilly's focus skipped from the birds to her aunt's arthritic fingers as Aunt Gloria smoothed down her navy-blue, weekday skirt. On weekends, holidays, and for funerals she wore black.

  "I stopped for a few things,” she explained, handing her aunt the rent check and flashing a smile at the carpenter.

  The intense grayness of his eyes hit her full face, and a hot flush crept over her body, centering at the vee between her thighs. A warm liquid pooled there while a blush inched up her breasts and neck to settle on her cheeks in a hot glow.

  Still he held her eye contact. She wanted to duck for cover. But the only cover to come to mind was her pink, percale duvet with the sexy carpenter, hard and naked, tucked beneath.

  She gulped. That would never do. Neither would having such thoughts in front of her sainted aunt, the confirmed bachelorette, who mistrusted all men. Her aunt still preached how her sister, Jilly's mother, had doomed herself at the hands of the Yank from the Merchant Marines.

  To this day, Jilly wasn't sure if “lost at sea” meant her father had gone down with his ship or jumped it. But if he had done neither, and her mother had lived through childbirth, Jilly might not have to mentally strip strangers naked in the lace-doilyed parlor for kicks. She'd have plenty of spare time for dates.

  At last his eyes wavered, and her heat index dropped. He extended his hand. She stood looking at his large, callused palm, unsure whether she should touch him when she felt so flammable.

  With a smile, she found her voice. Not taking his hand, she gripped the bags she held tighter. “Good to meet you agai—"

  Her aunt cut her off. “I was about to regale Zachary with the story of Great Cousin Marvin's bookcase."