LITMIR.BIZ

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she was alone now, except for Zach.

      And she always would be.

      Because a broken heart was a whole lot harder to heal than two broken toes.

      Chapter Two

      Nathan braked to a stop on the side of the bike path as he approached Surfside and pulled out the directions he’d jotted down when Catherine Walker had called last night. Her street should be the next one on the left, he concluded, pocketing the slip of paper.

      The three-mile bike ride from Nantucket town hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he’d expected, so he slowed his speed as he turned off the main road and headed down the dirt lane. The houses here were spread much farther apart than the ones in town, and all were constructed of weathered clapboard. Although they were too far from the beach to offer a glimpse of the sea, they had a wide-open vista of the blue sky and felt a world removed from the tourist crowds and noise. He liked that.

      He had no trouble spotting the house his potential boss had described. It was a bit unusual in that it consisted of two clapboard structures joined by a breezeway. The one on the left was a story and a half, Cape Cod in style, while the smaller section on the right appeared to be one level.

      Unlike the houses closer to town or in ’Sconset, it didn’t boast lush, well-tended gardens and tall privet hedges. Instead, it seemed to blend into the open, windswept terrain, as if it was a natural part of the landscape. He liked that, too.

      Leaning his bike against the rail fence that separated the property from the dirt road, he walked up the gravel path to a front porch rimmed with budding hydrangea bushes. After ascending three steps, he rubbed his palms on his jeans and knocked on the door.

      “Hey, Mom, he’s here!”

      The sound of a child’s voice drifted through one of the front windows, which was open two or three inches. That was followed by the sound of eager, running footsteps. And a woman’s voice.

      “Wait for me, Zach. I’ll open the door.”

      Zach.

      Nathan had only the space of a few heartbeats, while he listened as a lock was slid back and a dead bolt turned, to process that name and come to a startling conclusion.

      But it was more warning than the woman who opened the door was granted.

      Stunned, Nathan stared at the wary violinist. The mother of the friendless, blond-haired little boy.

      She stared back.

      Several beats of silence passed.

      Her son recovered first. A wide, welcoming smile split his face as he beamed up at the visitor. “Hey, Nathan! It’s me, Zach, remember? From the wedding. You gave me your cake!”

      Grateful for the distraction, Nathan tore his gaze away from the woman’s startled green eyes and smiled down at the youngster. “Hi, champ. I’m surprised to see you again.”

      “Yeah. Me, too. Isn’t this cool, Mom?”

      One look told Nathan that cool didn’t come anywhere close to describing Catherine Walker’s reaction. Cautious, guarded, uncertain—those adjectives were more accurate. Placing a protective hand on her son’s shoulder, she edged closer to him.

      “Mr. Clay, I assume?”

      “Yes.”

      She hesitated for another moment, as if still processing this peculiar coincidence and debating how to proceed. But at last she took a deep breath and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. “All the work’s in that building.” She gestured toward the smaller structure on the other side of the breezeway. “I’ll show you around and you can put together an estimate.”

      He followed her in silence, noting her limp—and the sturdy, somewhat clunky hiking boots that were out of place with her slim capri pants. When they reached the porch steps, she descended slowly, one at a time, bottom lip caught between her teeth, features contorted with pain.

      In his thirty-four years, he’d had more than his share of cuts, scrapes and broken bones. And he knew how much they could hurt. For an instant he was tempted to take her arm in a steadying grip. But he quashed the impulse at once, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead as he followed at a nonthreatening distance. If he so much as breathed on her, he suspected she’d send him packing.

      “My brother-in-law told me about your accident,” he offered. “I’m sorry.”

      “I’ll live. But it’s not very convenient.”

      “She dropped a can of paint on her foot in there.” Zach pointed to the breezeway, throwing the words over his shoulder as he trotted along beside his mother, his hand firmly held in hers. “I heard it all the way in the living room. Then her toes got purple. And they puffed up. They look really gross. And she can’t walk very…”

      “Zach.” Catherine’s quiet but firm tone cut him off. “I’m sure Mr. Clay doesn’t want to hear about my toes.”

      “He might. Did you ever break anything?” Zach directed the question over his shoulder.

      “A couple of fingers once.”

      “Yeah?” Zach gave him an interested glance. “How?”

      He should have seen that question coming, Nathan realized in dismay. No way did he intend to share that bit of background with this duo. Telling this wary woman they’d been smashed by a police officer’s baton wasn’t likely to win him any brownie points.

      Pulling open the door of the breezeway, Catherine saved him by changing the subject.

      “Let me explain the project.” She stepped inside and he followed. “I plan to use the smaller part of the house as a B and B. It’s already set up as guest quarters, with two large bedrooms, each with a private bath and a separate entrance. However, it’s in desperate need of some TLC. I have guests booked beginning August 1, which would have given me plenty of time to get the work done myself. But now I’m going to need some help.”

      She took a key out of her pocket, fitted it into one of the two doors in the breezeway that led into the structure and pushed it open.

      Nathan followed her in. The empty room was large and boasted a vaulted ceiling, but evidence of disrepair was obvious. Some of the drywall was damaged, paint was flaking off in several areas and the stained carpet smelled musty.

      “The other room’s worse,” she told him as she limped over to the bathroom and pushed the door open. “It has peeling psychedelic wallpaper that will have to be stripped—meaning lots of drywall repair, I suspect. I also want to install Pergo wood-grained flooring in both rooms. Any experience with that?

      “No. But I’m a fast learner.”

      She gave a slight nod. “I installed some a few years ago in our old house. It’s not that hard. I can guide you through it. Maybe even help by that point.” She flipped on the light in the bathroom. “These aren’t as bad. They need more redecorating than repair.

      He moved close enough to get a glimpse of a basic bathroom over her shoulder. The fixtures and tile floor appeared to be in decent shape, but the space was bland.

      Stepping back into the room again, he planted his fists on his hips and gave it a dubious scan.

      “Believe it or not, Mr. Clay, this room has great potential.”

      At Catherine’s wry comment, Nathan felt heat rise on his neck. He hadn’t meant for his skepticism to be so obvious.

      “I’ll have to take your word for that. The repairs I can do. The decorating…” He shook his head. “Making this room appealing would be beyond my talents.”

      “I can take care of that part. I used to be an interior designer.” She moved toward the door. “Let me show you the other room.”

      When he

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