Her Dream Come True

The blue jeans and work boots he wore kept his state of undress from being described as anything near indecent, still Hannah felt like some kind of sexual voyeur watching a very intimate act. A vivid image flashed through her mind, and she imagined her dream self taking the garden hose from his hand, directing the water to sluice over his chest as she smoothed her fingers over the massive shoulders.

The daydream came and went in a fraction of a second; however, she found it so utterly shocking that she squeezed shut her eyes and murmured, “You are going out of your mind.”

“Pardon?”

He’d turned off the water and tossed the end of the hose aside. Hannah watched him dry off his face and chest with his handkerchief, and then he reached down and picked up a T-shirt that lay in a heap on the lawn.

Say something, Hannah, she silently ordered. Talk about the weather, anything, just say something that won’t make this man think you’re totally insane.

“I said the day is just fine.”

Sunlight sparkled like jewels off the fat water droplets that clung to his hair. One particular liquid pearl ran along the outside edge of his ear, hovered for a moment on the bottommost curve of his sexy lobe, and then the sheer force of gravity caused it to splash onto his sun-bronzed shoulder. The instant the droplet hit, Hannah actually started, her blinking gaze lifting to his face.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and Hannah was left to wonder just how long she’d studied that glistening pellet. Her embarrassment grew, prickling every inch of her skin with a heated self-consciousness. And she could tell from his expression that he was enjoying her discomfort—very much.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She was normally a serious, no-nonsense kind of person. A woman who would never gawk at a man. Not under any circumstances.

However, it wasn’t entirely her fault, she decided. If he’d get himself dressed, cover up that broad expanse of bare skin he was exposing, then she could keep her mind on more important issues like...his identity and what the heck he was doing here working on her father’s house, and who had given him permission to—

The thoughts bombarded her, pushing her to speak. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

Adam wasn’t able to completely suppress the chuckle that rumbled in his chest and tugged at his mouth. Evidently, the woman was taking on a defensive stance to cover up the blatant flirty looks she’d been giving him. In an effort to hide his humorous reaction to this new behavior of hers, he stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his cotton shirt and then took his time pulling it over his head.

He’d gotten quite a kick out of how the beautiful strawberry-blonde had been seemingly unable to take her gorgeous green eyes off his body. The current he felt sparking from her had been something akin to summer heat lightning, and it had been a long while since he had experienced its like.

After tugging the hem of the shirt, he combed his fingers through his wet hair.

“I’m Adam,” he told her. “Adam Roth. And I was up there fixing the roof.”

She planted her small fist on her narrow waist. “Well, I figured out you were fixing the roof. But why?”

This time his grin simply refused to be subdued as he obligingly supplied the obvious. “Because it leaked.”

Her wide, very kissable mouth puckered in total frustration, and Adam felt the urge to laugh, but he didn’t think it wise.

She was doing a commendable job, he decided, of keeping her gaze directed on his face; however, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that what she really wanted was to let her eyes roll up and down the length of him. It wasn’t entirely conceit that made him think this, it was the simple fact that, as they stood talking, her gaze would dip to his nose, then raise to his eyes, then it would dart to his mouth and raise again to his eyes. Her gaze had so far gotten as low as his chin.

The truth of the matter was, he found her obvious attraction to him pretty ego boosting, to say the least.

His silly answer to her even sillier question had made anger spark in her clear green eyes, and Adam decided the heated emotion only made her all the more beautiful.

“Pardon me,” she said, keeping her voice under tight control. “It seems as if I didn’t make myself clear. What I meant was, under whose direction were you up there fixing the roof?”

What was this? he wondered. An inquisition?

The suspicion in her tone took the edge off his humor. Hell, it did more than that. It pretty much grated on his nerves.

“Before I answer that,” he said, shifting his weight onto one foot and crossing his arms over his chest, “I think I’d like to know who’s asking.”

Chapter Two

The man was infuriating! Who did this carpenter, this handyman, think he was, to be questioning her right to inquire about his identity and what he was doing to her father’s house? The man was simply infuriating!

“Look,” she said, “I don’t know who you are, but—”

“I already told you who I am,” he quietly informed her. “I’m trying to find out who you are.”

For some odd reason Hannah felt a sudden reluctance to give this man any information about herself. However, she doubted he would be satisfied until she told him something about her presence here in Little Haven.

“I’ve come from New York.” Her tone was stiff. “To arrange the sale of the house and its contents. Now, if you don’t mind, would you please tell me who authorized your work and how much you expect to be paid.”

His eyes narrowed ominously as she spoke, and Hannah was only barely able to squelch the urge to back up a step.

“What did you say?”

She searched his face, wondering exactly which piece of the information she’d just disclosed had so thoroughly changed his demeanor. She was sure it must have been the fact that she’d cast a heavy shadow on the issue of his payment for the roof job.

“I think it’s only fair for me to know just how much this is going to cost me,” she said, “before I agree to pay, don’t you?”

Obvious irritation tensed his jaw muscle. His voice lowered to a grumble as he said, “I was never expecting to be paid.”

Hannah’s mouth pursed almost of its own volition, but before she could express her skepticism, he continued.

“You can’t sell the house,” he said

Ah, she thought, so that was what had upset him.

“What about Tammy? What’s going to—”

His mention of her sister sparked the flame of Hannah’s excitement—an excitement she couldn’t quell. “You know my sister? You know where she is?”

“Your sister?”

“You know where I can find Tammy?”

“You’re Hannah? Hannah Cavanaugh?”

“Can you tell me where she’s living?”

“You’re Bobby Ray’s oldest girl?”

Neither one of them was really listening to the other, so focused were they on working out the confused facts of the situation.

“Wait!” Hannah finally cried, lifting her hand, palm out, toward him. “Stop.”

It quickly became clear to her that she wasn’t going to get any useful information out of this man if she wasn’t willing to make him understand who she was and why she was here.

She heaved a sigh, her overwhelming curiosity about Tammy would have to wait. At least for a few moments.

“Yes,” she told him. “I’m Hannah Cavanaugh. Bobby Ray was my father. I’ve come from New York to pack up his personal belongings. I’m going to sell the furniture and the house and put the money away to ensure Tammy’s living arrangements.”

“You can’t do that—” The thought was cut off as another, evidently more significant, began rolling off his tongue. “What do you mean you’re going to ‘ensure Tammy’s living arrangements’? Why does she have to move at all?”

“Oh, I hadn’t planned to move her,” Hannah assured him. “She can stay right were she is. I don’t want to do anything that will upset her.”

“Well, you’re going to upset her—” his voice tightened with anger as he added “—and you’re sure as hell going to have to move her if you sell the house.”

Hannah felt blindsided by the surprising revelation. “She’s living here?”

The handy man gave a curt nod.

“B-but,” she stammered, “I was under the assumption that she...I was told to look for her...” She gazed off at the tree line, trying to regain her composure. After a moment she looked back at Adam Roth. “Tammy lived with my father?”

“For all the years I’ve known them.”

She shouldn’t feel jealous. She shouldn’t. She’d had a perfectly fine childhood. She’d been raised by a responsible parent. One who had wanted her. She was physically and mentally healthy, and for that alone Hannah knew she was far more blessed than her sister.

However, discovering that her father hadn’t put Tammy in an institution, as Hannah had been told, finding out that he’d allowed his youngest daughter to live at home when he hadn’t allowed his oldest to do the same was more than just disturbing for Hannah. It was earth-shattering.

Why? How could a father choose one daughter over another?

Unshed tears scalded the backs of her eyelids. She would not cry. Not in front of this stranger. Inhaling a deep, soul-steeling breath, Hannah shoved aside the cyclone of chaotic emotions that swirled around her.

“Who’s been staying with Tammy since Bobby Ray died?” Her voice sounded tiny and unsure, even to her own ears, and she hated the weakness she heard in it.

“No one.”

His answer shocked the life back into her. “How can that be? My sister is...special. She’s—” Hannah paused and then forced herself to be more explicit. “She’s retarded.”

Disapproval turned his eyes slate-gray. “I think the politically correct term in these enlightened times is mentally challenged.”

Hannah’s face flamed hot. “Well, whatever the term, Tammy shouldn’t be staying here on her own. She can’t possibly be capable of taking care of herself.”

“Tammy’s got plenty of friends,” he said. “People around here watch out for her.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think you should give yourself some time to get to know your sister before you start making decisions that will impact the rest of her life.”

Hannah’s spine straightened. When she wanted advice from Mr. Adam Roth, she’d ask for it.

“Time,” she said, stiffly, “isn’t something I have a whole lot of. I have to get back to New York as soon as possible. I’m up for promotion. I’m a nurse, and I could very well become the youngest ward nurse in the hospital.” An odd awkwardness crept over her for having revealed so much about herself—about her hopes and dreams—to this stranger. But he needed to know. Tipping up her chin, she boldly continued. “This might not sound like a big deal to you. But it is to me. A very big deal. I’m only telling you this to make you understand why time is of the essence. I have a lot to do and very little ti—”

“Well, you sure had plenty of time just a moment ago to eye me up like I was a prime hunk of rump roast and you were chef of the day.”

She gasped, her eyes widening. “I did no such

“Ms. Cavanaugh, if you don’t mind my asking,” he cut in again, “where’s Tammy’s mother? Shouldn’t she be the one making the decisions about the estate? She’s the person to whom we wrote the letters.”

A deep frown bit into her brow. She’d been momentarily mortified by his flippant “rump roast” remark. but what he was insinuating melted away all the embarrassment and confused her to no end. “Letters? As in, more than one?”

“Three to be exact,” he told her. “One every eight to ten days since Bobby Ray died. Hank Tillis and I thought—”

“Tillis.” Hannah whispered the name, mulling over the familiar sound of it in her mind. “You mean the lawyer, Henry Tillis?”

“That’s the one. He goes by Hank to his friends.”

“My mother showed me a letter from him dated this past Monday.”

“That must have been letter number three.” Again, disapproval turned his gaze stormy.

Her mother had received three letters before she’d acted? Hannah couldn’t believe it. But then again, maybe she could.

“You see,” she began, “my mother is a very busy woman. She’s a publicity agent. In New York City. Her clients need her. They depend on her. And they keep her busy. Her work makes it very hard for her to leave town....”

In that instant, Hannah was whisked back into her childhood where she relived a hundred awkward moments when she was forced to explain her mother’s absence to teachers, choir directors, Brownie troop leaders, even to the parents of her friends who never seemed to miss a performance night or a fashion show or the innumerable other events a child is involved in.

You are thirty years old, Hannah, she firmly told herself. Stop feeling obliged to make excuses. Heaven knows you don’t owe Adam Roth any.

“Look,” she said, keeping her tone measured yet firm, “I’m here to see to things. Tammy has me now. And I have a well-thought-out plan. Thank you for your concern, but my sister won’t be needing it any longer.” Her amiable smile bordered on superficial and she knew it. “That is, of course, if you’ve finished the repairs on the roof.”

He tossed her a withering look. “The leak is fixed.”

“Good.” She brightened even further, dismissing him by saying, “Now, you feel free to send me a bill for your work. But you’ll need to get it right to me, I don’t expect to be in Little Haven for long.”

His face was hawkishly handsome, she decided, even under the strain of discontent.

“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easy,” he told her. “The people in this town aren’t going to let you come to Little Haven and tip Tammy’s world off its axis. If you aren’t careful, you’ll send that child into a tailspin.”

He turned on the heel of his leather work boot and stomped off across the grass.

Hannah could have called after him. She could have informed him that she didn’t need his warnings. That he had no rights here whatsoever. And neither did anyone else in Little Haven for that matter. But she didn’t say any of these things. She was just glad to see the last of Adam Roth.

In fact, she was so relieved to see the man go that she wasn’t the least bit aware of how her gaze had latched on to his arrogant, sexy swagger until she’d lost sight of him when he’d turned the corner of the house. Had she been aware of the hungry manner in which she’d stared, she’d have had to admit to wearing one of those imaginary tall, white hats designating her culinary chef of the day.

Adam unbuckled his tool belt, tossed it onto the worn seat and then slid behind the steering wheel of his ancient, battered pickup. He was fuming inside. Fuming to the point that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke coming out his ears if he were to glance at his reflection in the hazy rearview mirror. He felt like a caged grizzly bear who had been poked and prodded with a pointy stick.

Bobby Ray’s family had finally responded to the letters that had been sent. And Hannah Cavanaugh had come to town.

Despite his anger, a vivid image flashed before his eyes. He’d been up on the roof when a noise down below in the yard had caught his attention. At first glance, he’d thought the woman had been Tammy. But he soon discovered he was wrong.

For the rest of his life the image of Hannah Cavanaugh standing on the back lawn would be burned into his brain; the golden, midday sunlight gleaming on her coppery-blond hair, the royal blue of her formfitting dress complimenting her milky skin to perfection, her high-heeled shoes showing off shapely calves. She’d been a dazzling spectacle he wouldn’t soon forget.

However, the fact that she was a stunner didn’t make her any less irritating.

He couldn’t believe she actually meant to waltz into Little Haven and upset Tammy’s whole existence. Granted, Tammy was no child. At least, not in the state’s eyes. She was twenty-four, and had the height and build of a woman to prove her age. However, in her mind she was young and innocent, extremely naive and in need of protection.

Hannah Cavanaugh had referred to her sister as “special” and that was an apt description for Tammy. Adam would be damned if he allowed Bobby Ray’s oldest daughter, or his ex-wife, to hurt the extraordinary young woman. He’d made a promise to Bobby Ray, and he meant to keep it

Adam realized he was going to have a battle on his hands. He had no legal rights. Hank had warned him of that, over and over. But Adam didn’t care. He’d given his word to Bobby Ray. And to Adam, a man was only as good as his word and his reputation.

As he made his way down the rutted lane that would take him to the main road, a vivid picture of Hannah Cavanaugh flashed before his eyes. He may never have met the woman before today, but he knew her. Or rather, he knew her like. High-handed feminists. They came rushing into every situation so intent on fixing things, they never stopped long enough to see if those things were even broke. And the mending and adjusting they did always benefited themselves more so than anyone else.

He’d met more than his share of tyrannical, self-centered women in college and again during his political career in Philadelphia. Hell, he’d even married one of them and tried to make her happy. But he’d quickly discovered that doing so was an impossible feat. A sound of disgust rushed from his lips. Some women were so caught up in success and careers, so focused on what they intended to squeeze out of the world at large, that they couldn’t see or understand what was going on around them.

Hannah Cavanaugh had said she had to get back to New York where, she’d intimated, she had an all consuming career to get back to. He doubted she had a husband. Or children. Nope. He highly suspected she was far too focused on herself for that.

Well, he had news for the beautiful Hannah. He was making a vow, here and now. One way or another he was going to toss a wrench into those nicely greased cogs she called her plan.

A plan? A plan? Had she really told Adam Roth that she had a well-thought-out plan?

Well, she might have arrived in Little Haven with a strategy: sell the house and furniture and procure long-term housing arrangements for Tammy. However, discovering that her sister wasn’t living in an institution had changed everything.

Hannah paced across the kitchen’s worn linoleum floor as she waited for Tammy. She’d found a note taped to the rickety screen door. Apparently her sister had written it to let visitors know she’d “Gon fishing.” And that she’d “Be bak soon.” And then Tammy had signed her full name.

A smile had pulled at Hannah’s mouth when she’d read her sister’s carefully printed, block-lettered words. Hannah was pleased to learn that Tammy could write. And if she could write, she could surely read. At least at an elementary level, anyway.

It was the note that had made Hannah realize how little she knew of her sister. All she had were a few perceptions that had been based on little, and sometimes no, information. The one time she’d forced her mother to talk about Tammy, Hannah had been disturbed by what she’d learned ... and what she’d learned hadn’t been much, before the incident had turned into a huge argument.

So Tammy was a stranger. And Hannah only had a week, two at the most, in which to garner her sister’s trust.

The thought was daunting.

If you aren’t careful, you’ll send that child into a tailspin. Adam Roth’s words floated through her mind like an immutable echo.

What did he know? Nothing, that’s what. Hannah was here to help Tammy. And she wouldn’t let Adam Roth, or anybody else for that matter, keep her from her goal.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the grimy window. Dust floated in the hot, dry air. The curtains were faded and dingy and full of what looked to be weeks’ worth of dust.

This place needed a good cleaning, and since she could just as well ponder another plan while she was washing a few dishes and wiping down the countertops as she could standing idle, Hannah set to work.

After washing what she guessed were Tammy’s breakfast dishes, she scrubbed the tabletop and the counters, too. Then she spent a full thirty minutes wiping down the massive stove. The thing was an ancient monstrosity. Hannah guessed it was one of the very first models of gas ranges ever to be manufactured.

While she rubbed at the accumulated grease, she mulled over how she would deal with this new situation. She didn’t want to upset Tammy by selling the house. But Hannah didn’t see any way around it. She couldn’t very well leave her sister here in Little Haven all alone.

Learning that Tammy had been on her own here in this house since Bobby Ray’s death made Hannah feel horribly guilty. Had her mother really received three letters alerting her to her ex-husband’s death before she’d responded? Hannah shook her head. Well, she did know her mother had thought Tammy was safe and sound in a state home.

Hannah shook the curtains out on the back porch, scrubbed the grime from the window and then hung the curtains back on their rods. And as she attacked the floor with a broom and then a mop, she continued to reflect on what she should do about her father’s estate and Tammy’s living arrangements. Maybe her mother could give her some advice.

No, came a firm, silent reply. You can handle this. Besides, every single time you ask for her guidance you always end up regretting it.

Before Hannah realized it, the sunlight was casting long shadows across the floor. The linoleum was too worn to shine, but at least she knew it was clean.

Where could Tammy be? she wondered, glancing out the now-crystal-clear window.

Hannah’s skin felt hot and tacky with dust and dirt. She went to the front of the house and up the long staircase to find the bathroom. Somehow, she just knew the house didn’t have one on the first floor.

When she stepped up onto the second-floor landing, it was like a fist struck her square in the solar plexus. She looked at the three open bedroom doors, hazy childhood memories flooding her brain.

A little girl’s laughter echoed in the silent, stuffy air. Squeals of utter delight danced a jig around her. Wraithlike giggles raced from the master bedroom to the one Hannah remembered as being her own, chased by a deeper, more masculine laugh.

The experience wasn’t frightening in the least. Because Hannah knew without a doubt that what she was hearing was in her mind. Sounds conjured solely by her imagination. Memories of happy times with her father when she was a toddler.

The delighted sounds she heard were the remnants of joyful moments she’d spent with the one person she’d loved more dearly than all others.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Hannah had pushed open the door of the master bedroom. She took a step inside and then another.

The same wrought-iron bed sat at one side of the cramped room, the heavy walnut dresser at the other. Hannah grinned, remembering how her father had chuckled at her while she’d jumped on that bed, making the coils squeak and groan. But he would always shoo her off the mattress when the sound of her mother’s footsteps were heard on the stairs. He’d chase her then, from his room to hers, where he’d tuck her into bed and sing her a lullaby.

“Oh, Daddy.” The words were wrenched from her throat, like rusty nails being torn from a piece of dry rotted wood. Hot tears of sorrow seared her eye sockets and blurred her vision.

Why had he sent her away? Why had he made her go with her mother, when all she’d wanted to do was stay here with him?

Reaching up to smooth back a strand of her hair, movement caught her eye and she swung her gaze to the left and saw her reflection in the mirror.

What is the matter with you? she chided.

She wasn’t a little girl anymore. And she’d never find answers to her questions. The possibility of that had died and was buried with her father.

Using the fingers of both hands, she rubbed away her tears. She needed to set the grief away from her. Far away from her. Surely Tammy would be home soon. How would the poor girl react to finding a sobbing, disheveled woman in her house?