“Fine, fine.”
He wanted to work, to slide into the rhythm of nail guns, hammers, drills. Men. But he went back outside, cursed the cold as he rounded back and jogged up the stairs.
And entered the world of women.
He smelled perfume and lotion and lemon-scented cleanser. And heard women’s voices over the din echoing up from below. He found his mother on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of the shower stall in The Penthouse.
She’d bundled her dark hair up, shoved up the sleeves of a baggy gray sweatshirt. Her jeans-clad butt swayed side-to-side to whatever played on her headphones.
Owen walked around the glass, hunkered down. She didn’t jolt; he’d always believed her claim of having eyes in the back of her head. Justine just lifted her head, smiled at him as she sat back on her heels and took off the headset.
She said, “Hot damn.”
“You ready for this, Mom?”
“I’ve been ready. We’ll get her shined up, though I’d forgotten just how grimy construction dirt is. We split up. Carolee’s back in Westley and Buttercup, and Hope’s dealing with her apartment. Clare’s going to give us some time this afternoon.”
“I was just over at Vesta. Avery’s got a bus tour coming in, and Franny’s out sick. She wanted to be in on this.” Owen studied the bucket of soapy water. “God knows why.”
“It’s satisfying work, in its way. Look at this place, Owen.” Shoving a couple of loose pins back in her hair, she glanced around. “Look at what you and your brothers did here.”
“What we and our mom did,” he corrected, and made her smile again.
“You’re so damn right about that. Since you’re here, take the shelves out of that box. One’s going right up there, the other right over there.”
She pointed.
“There’re shelves in here?”
“There will be when you put them up. Then you might get one of the crew to give you a hand, hang the mirror in the bedroom. When you’re ready I’ll show you how I want it.”
“Wait, let me write this down.”
“Just do the little shelves, and I’ll walk you through the rest.”
He got to use his tools after all. Maybe not the way he preferred—with a list, items in prioritized order waiting to be checked off—but he used his tools.
When he’d installed the decorative shelves, he drafted one of the crew to help him carry in the big wall mirror with its ornate gilded frame.
Justine stood, hands on hips, adjusting its position with “a little to the left, a little higher—no, lower.” Owen marked, measured, drilled while she went back to her scrubbing.
“It’s up,” he called out.
“Hold on a sec.”
He heard the whoosh of water as she emptied her bucket. When she stepped out again, she once more fisted her hands on her hips. “I love it!”
Walking to him, she stood so the mirror reflected both of them. With a grin, she put her arm around his waist. “It’s perfect. Thanks, Owen. Go on over and get Hope, would you? She knows what needs to go up downstairs. I’ve got another acre of tile to clean.”
“I can hire a cleaning service.”
She shook her head. “This stage is for family.”
He supposed that made Hope Beaumont family. She and his mother had hit it off, Owen thought as he crossed the hall. Right from the first beat.
The former beauty queen stood on a step stool in the apartment kitchen polishing the cabinet doors. She’d tied a bandana around her dark hair, had a rag hanging out of the back pocket of jeans flecked with white paint and nearly worn through on the right knee.
She glanced around at him, blew out a breath that fluttered her spiky bangs. “It didn’t look as dirty as it was.”
“Construction dirt gets into everything.” He wondered if he should tell her she’d be sucking and mopping it up for days. Maybe weeks.
She’d find out for herself, he decided.
“Making progress,” he said instead.
“We really are.” She sat on the stool a moment, took a bottle of water from the countertop, and twisted off the top. “Are we really going to have furniture up here tomorrow?”
“It’s looking good for it.”
She sipped, smiled.
She had a smoky voice that suited the sultry looks, all big dark eyes, full, shapely mouth.
It didn’t hurt, he supposed, to have a looker as innkeeper, but more to the point, much more important to him, her level of organization and efficiency marched along with his own.
“If you’ve got a minute, Mom said there were some things you wanted put up on the second floor.”
“And the first if we can squeeze it in. The more shipping boxes we empty, the easier it’ll be to clean, and the smoother the load-in should go.”
“That’s a good point.” The woman, he thought, spoke his language. “I’m your man. Anything you need done in here?”
“I’ve got some shelves I need to hang.”
Oh well, he thought. It was the Day of the Shelves. “I’ll hang them for you.”
“I’d appreciate it. They’re over at the other apartment. I can get them later.”
“I can send somebody over for them.”
“Sure, if you can spare someone. But we can deal with what’s on-site first. I’ve got everything Justine wants hung back in J&R.”
His language, he thought again.
“Want a coat?” he asked as she got off the stool.
“I’ll be fine. It’s a quick trip.” But she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down to her wrists. “I talked to Avery this morning,” she continued as they walked toward the back of the building. “She’s frazzled with so many of her crew out. I’d hoped to go over, give her a hand tonight, but it looks like we’re going to be in here most of the evening.”
When they went out, she slapped a hand on her bandana before the wind whipped it off. “As cold as it is I’ll bet she’s slammed with deliveries tonight. Who wants to go out in this?”
She nipped into Jane and Rochester, rubbed her hands together. “So we can hit W&B first. Or since we’re right here, we could work back to front on the second floor. Starting here, with the bathroom shelves and mirror.” She tapped the carefully labeled boxes. “Bathroom mirror.”
She ran through the items for each room, working down to the first floor.
“That ought to keep me busy. Let’s save steps, start where we are.”
“Good. Why don’t I show you where everything goes, then get out of your way. You can send someone up for me if you have any questions.” Taking a folding knife out of her pocket, she slit open a resealed shipping box.
“I like a woman who carries her own knife.”
“I’ve filled out my tools since I moved here. I nearly bought my own nail gun, then realized I’d gone too far.” She took out two curved copper shelves. “So I compensated with more office supplies. What is it about new file folders and color-coordinated Post-its?”
“Preaching to the choir.”
They chatted amiably as she directed the height, the space, as he measured, leveled, and drilled.
“It’s perfect. Look how the antique gold of the mirror frame plays off the tiles, and the copper of the tub, the shelves. Wait until Justine sees this.” Turning a circle, she aimed for the bedroom again. “I can’t wait to dress this room. All the rooms. With the fireplace and that amazing bed going in here, I think it’s going to be one of our most popular.”
