LITMIR.BIZ

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plan sounded better and better the more she thought about it.

      Nick Durrance, tortured soul. In need of help.

      Maggie Meadowcroft, makeover specialist. To the rescue.

      Chapter Three

      The next morning Maggie was up at dawn, trying to organize her ideas into a coherent state. Nick had said he’d be here “first thing” to work out an estimate for the renovations. They hadn’t had the best introduction yesterday. He’d made it clear that he thought she was a flake, and he certainly wasn’t the first. She knew her ideas seemed a little strange to some people, but she was more sensible than most gave her credit for being. Really, she was.

      She usually didn’t care what people thought but she wanted to convince Nick that she knew what she was doing. She needed him to trust her because, whether he knew it or not, they had a lot in common. He didn’t conform to others’ expectations any better than she did.

      He was a Capricorn. She was a Gemini.

      Of course, he was a little more down-to-earth and practical. She could be impulsive, even a little rash at times.

      While he was absolutely gorgeous, she wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who turned heads. Men like Nick were never interested in women like her. The boys in high school had preferred girls like Allison, and it was something they didn’t overcome with age. Of course, Nick didn’t need to be attracted to her for this makeover to work, but it would help if he liked her.

      Or at least trusted her.

      A little.

      Since yesterday afternoon she’d spent way too much time thinking about him. Studying his yearbook pictures had taken her back to her own high-school days, pining over Jeremy What’s-his-name and settling for being Albert “Einstein” Fedoruk’s prom date. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with poor Albert? He was now a NASA scientist, which was way more amazing than anything anyone else from her graduating class had done. She had no idea what had become of Jeremy but she hoped he was happier than Nick.

      Last night she’d fallen asleep with Nick Durrance on her mind and he’d still been there when she woke up this morning. In between, she’d had one of those dreams that was made up of a collage of bizarre events. Jeremy inviting her to the prom, Albert working on the renovations and a shadowy, ever-present Nick Durrance watching from the sidelines.

      She wasn’t even going to try to analyze that. Instead she poured herself a second cup of peppermint tea and thought ahead to the renovations.

      Once it was fixed up, this stately old home that had been in her family for three generations would give tons of credibility to her and her business. At least she hoped it would. She’d been in town almost a week and had the impression that the prim and proper people of Collingwood Station thought she was a little odd, even for a city girl. Of course, they didn’t know the half of it, so she still needed all the credibility she could get.

      Someone knocked at the front door.

      Nick!

      She’d kept the door locked on purpose so he’d have to wait until she opened it for him. There’d be no surprises this morning. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

      Okay, maybe just one surprise.

      Nick stood on the front porch with a giant schoolboy grin on his face and a huge basket of fruit in his arms.

      “Good morning,” she said. “I see you packed a lunch.”

      His laugh sounded a little nervous. “I guess it’s a housewarming gift. I stopped at Donaldson’s Deli for coffee and this was sitting on the counter. I figured you can always eat what you don’t use for makeup, or whatever.”

      A huge pineapple sat in the middle of the basket, surrounded by peaches, kiwis, strawberries, oranges, a mango, even a passion fruit, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a giant purple bow.

      The tears that puddled on her lower eyelids made everything go blurry.

      “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

      She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday, after she’d become emotional about her aunt, he’d almost certainly left thinking she was a bit of a nutcase. This morning she’d been determined to show him that she could be a conventional businesswoman with a well-thought-out business plan, and here she was getting emotional over a basket of fruit.

      He finally broke the awkward silence. “It’s all organic.”

      “How did you know I use organic ingredients?”

      “Just a hunch.”

      She finally remembered her manners. “Please come in. And thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

      He stepped inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday—white T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Today he also had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a tape measure hooked on his belt.

      She took the basket from him. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen.” Then she walked down the hallway, thinking how good Nick was going to look in a tool belt, all rugged and work-manlike.

      You’re crazy, she told herself. All construction workers wear tool belts and Nick will look just like any other man on a construction site.

      Not.

      That’s beside the point, she told herself. You have to be professional.

      She took a deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind by picturing herself in a field of wildflowers.

      It didn’t work.

      Nick stood in the midst of all those flowers, still wearing the blue jeans and tool belt, but the T-shirt was gone. The contours of his bare chest and work-hardened biceps glistened with perspiration.

      Her eyes popped open. No way, Maggie Meadowcroft. This has to stop. She absolutely could not let herself imagine Nick in that field, or anywhere else, wearing any less clothing.

      No matter how much she wanted to.

      She closed her eyes again. Okay, maybe one little peek.

      “Am I interrupting something?”

      Her eyes flew open.

      Nick stood in the doorway, holding her sketches and looking a little puzzled about finding her standing in a trance in the middle of the kitchen.

      A wave of heat flashed across her face. So much for being professional. “You weren’t interrupting anything,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

      “I see.”

      He didn’t say that he wondered what she’d been thinking about. He didn’t have to.

      “You have sketches. They’re very good,” he said. “Did you draw them?”

      “The sketches? Oh, yes. I wanted to, you know, to get an idea of what should go where and how everything will look when it’s finished and…” For heaven’s sake, Maggie. Stop babbling.

      If he thought she was out of her mind, he was too nice to let on. “These are very good drawings.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes. Maybe you should have been an architect.”

      Maggie Meadowcroft, Architect? “I don’t think so. Too many rules and regulations and building codes.”

      “You don’t like rules?”

      “Rules are fine but I’m not always very good at following them.”

      His mouth spread into a wry smile. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

      “So you think you’ve already got me figured out?” she asked.

      “Oh, I wouldn’t

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