LITMIR.BIZ

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She was probably the only person in the world who genuinely cared what happened to him. He liked to think it wasn’t solely because of her considerable paycheck.

      “You had a bad weekend?”

      “You could say that.”

      “I thought you were going skiing.”

      “I did. That’s what’s wrong.”

      He heard the little catch in her throat. “Jordan, you didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

      “Just a little.” He stared grimly at the padding of white plaster encasing his right foot. “Enough to put me out of action for a little while.”

      This time the pause was more prolonged. “How long?”

      “At least a month, give or take a week.”

      “What in heaven’s name did you do?”

      “I tried my damnedest to fly. Ended up with a broken ankle.”

      “Oh, Jordan, no. How did you get to the houseboat?”

      “Ambulance and cab.”

      “Do you want me to drive you down to the house?”

      “No, I need to be close to the office. I can’t take a whole month off and I don’t want to hobble around the office like this. I’ll need to work at home. Since I can’t drive and it would take too long to have someone drive all the way to the beach just to drop stuff off, this makes more sense. Anyway, in a small place, I won’t have to move around so much. Everything is much closer together in here.” Too close, he silently added. One cramped living area, a tiny kitchen, a bedroom that was smaller than his walk-in closet at the house, and a bathroom that made getting out of his clothes a unique and sometimes painful experience—he had to be out of his mind to think he could last a month in a house smaller than a bread box.

      He’d bought the River Rat for a pittance, which was all it was worth considering its rapid state of decay. He’d planned on renovating it and selling it for a significant profit. Meanwhile, the houseboat had been somewhere to crash when he was too tired to drive to his house at the beach. Little did he imagine he’d be spending an entire month on the damn wreck.

      “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a hotel suite?” Amber asked, her voice heavy with doubt.

      “Definitely. But hotels are noisy, inconvenient and public. I don’t want anyone seeing me hobbling around like this.” He could just imagine some of his female acquaintances jumping at the chance to take advantage of his vulnerability.

      Amber sighed into the phone. “All right. What do you want me to bring you?”

      “A new ankle.”

      “Jordan, be sensible. How are you going to manage? Will Mrs. Sherborne be able to help you?”

      “Mrs. Sherborne comes to the house a couple of times a week to dust, vacuum, do the laundry and cook the only home-cooked meals I eat all week. She doesn’t know this place exists. She’d go into cardiac arrest if she saw it. Besides, I can’t see her driving an hour and a half into town.”

      “How about a temporary housekeeper?”

      He tried to hold down his irritation. “I don’t need someone to clean house, Amber. I’m going to be stuck here for at least four weeks. I suppose I’ll be able to work from here, but I’ll need someone close at hand... a gopher. Preferably someone who knows how to use a laptop. You’ll have your hands full keeping things under control there. You’d better get me a temp.”

      “All right, I’ll take care of it right away.”

      He gave her a list of projects he wanted her to bring over, then hung up. He wished he could have stipulated that she send a male temp. He knew what she’d say to that. He could just hear her voice rising.

      Jordan, dear, it’s very difficult to find a male temp. In any case, that’s discrimination, and a federal offense. We don’t want to be in trouble with the law now, do we?

      Sometimes, Jordan thought irritably, Amber could sound very much like a mothering hen. He shifted the lump of concrete that used to be his foot to a more comfortable position. Well, he’d just have to be on his guard even more than usual. One hint that the temp wanted to get personal and she’d be off his boat so fast she wouldn’t have time to blink.

      Jordan shook his head in disbelief. Four miserable weeks stuck inside this peanut shell on floats. It didn’t bear thinking about. He hoped his potential gopher had a sense of humor and the temperament of a saint. He had a nasty feeling he wasn’t going to be very good company for a while.

      

      Sadie Milligan peered through the rain-washed windshield and wished she’d had new wipers put on the car. Actually, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t spend another penny on the old clunker. Instead, she was saving frantically to buy a reliable used model with good mileage.

      She’d never been down to this part of the river, and the road was difficult to follow. It was more like a mountain trail than a road. She could hear the crunch of the tires on the gravel and winced. That would probably take care of what little tread she had left on them.

      The branches of a willow brushed along her window, making her jump. Although it was late March, the heavy clouds made the day as dark as the middle of December. Ahead of her rain slanted across the road, obscuring whatever lay in her path. She had to be close to the water, she thought worriedly. She only hoped she wouldn’t drive smack into the river.

      A splash of blue up front alerted her. She’d been told to watch for a bright blue mailbox, and there it was, adding a dash of color to the drooping shrubs and wet grass. She parked gingerly beside the mailbox, then peered through the windows in the direction of the river.

      A dark shape loomed up out of the gloom. She couldn’t help a little spasm of excitement. She’d never been on a houseboat before. Actually, she thought, it all sounded rather romantic. She could just imagine herself lying in bed at night, gently rocking, listening to the river lap against the hull. Not that she was likely to spend a night on this one, she hastily reminded herself.

      Climbing out of the car, she winced as rain dripped down inside the collar of her windbreaker. Mrs. Simpson, the dour, no-nonsense supervisor at the Helping Hands Agency, had given her terse instructions about her assignment.

      A month’s contract, involving general office work, most of it on computer, and running errands for someone called Jordan Trent. That was all. Do not work overtime, do not volunteer to do extra work. Keep careful check of her hours, and send in her reports every Wednesday.

      Sadie was told nothing about Mr. Trent, other than he had broken his ankle and needed assistance with his office work. She was not a nurse, Mrs. Simpson had unnecessarily reminded her, neither was she a housekeeper. She was to accept only those assignments that fell into the category of general office work or essential errands.

      Sadie found the woman a little intimidating. She hoped Jordan Trent turned out to be a little more agreeable. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she turned her jacket collar up over her ears and tramped down the path toward the murky river.

      She found the houseboat somewhat of a disappointment. Not at all what she’d fondly had in mind. Badly in need of a coat of paint, it looked little more than a rundown shack on a raft. A rickety veranda ran around the corner in each direction, and a faded checkered curtain covered the one window she could see.

      The whole place creaked and groaned like an exhausted old man on his deathbed. Shivering at the macabre thought, Sadie stepped along the wide ramp that led to the doorway. Look on the bright side, she told herself. The job promised to be interesting, and a welcome change from the last assignment in a crowded, stuffy office in the heart of downtown Portland.

      Behind her, the wind rustled the pine needles and slapped little rivulets of water among the swirling grasses at the river’s edge. The mist was so thick she could barely make out the sullen hills beyond

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