Caught in the Middle by Regina Jennings

since he was a little turnip. He’d watched his father’s business grow from axes and saws to a waterwheel, pulleys, millstones, and outbuildings. And with each building that went up, little Nick was there watching and learning. Manual labor wasn’t the fastest path to accumulated wealth, so he favored the managing side, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t jump in and lend a hand when his crew needed it.
    And for a moment he’d thought he’d seen admiration in her eyes.
    Dropping his pen on the desk, Nicholas leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. Too bad she couldn’t see him out at the railhead, directing the lumberjacks or at the sawmill, testing the machinery. There was more to him than this office. In fact, he’d much rather take her on a survey of his work at the railhead than have her inappropriate self gracing his front room.
    At least it wouldn’t be for long.
    She might be able to copy the contracts as she had claimed,but Nicholas’s productivity had grounded to a halt. He couldn’t stop thinking about her in there. Who would’ve thought her hair would be so curly? Every time she removed her hat, he was shocked by the caramel ringlets that sprang out. She kept it cut, so it didn’t hang long, but even then, if stretched out it’d probably touch her shoulders—if they weren’t covered by that hideous coat. The image of white shoulders in a sapphire evening gown teased him.
    Women. They had no business in his office.
    “Excuse me.” Anne stepped into the doorway.
    Nicholas dropped his feet off the desk and fumbled with his pen in a vain attempt to look busy.
    “That woman is coming up the alley.”
    “Mrs. Stanford?” He bounded to his feet. “What did she say?”
    Anne blinked. “She didn’t see me.”
    “Yoo-hoo, Nicholas. Are you up there?”
    He strode across the room and grasped Anne’s shoulders, unable to avoid the thought of an evening gown to replace the duster. “Don’t go near the door.”
    Her forehead wrinkled, but she nodded as he made his way to the entrance in Harold’s office.
    He pulled open the door, startled by the sheer drop below. “Hello, Mrs. Stanford. Fine day we’re having, is it not?”
    Ophelia’s head tilted until she was in danger of toppling over from the weight of her enormous hat. “Yes, of course, but what on earth happened to your stairs?”
    “The rail collapsed under Harold. Terribly dangerous. We’re fortunate it didn’t fall while you were on it.”
    “Impossible. I wouldn’t be so . . .” She frowned at the carpenter, who didn’t have the grace to hide his appreciation ofher charms. “Please, come down. I wanted to discuss our plans for your expansion.”
    But Nick recognized an advantage when he saw one. “Why don’t you come up here?”
    “You jest. Ladies don’t ascend ladders.”
    “Quite so. Well, I’m afraid I’m unable to make the trip down. With Harold’s injury, I have no time to spare if I want to keep my most important client satisfied.”
    Ophelia grasped a rung and leaned into the ladder, frightening him with the threat that she might ascend after all. But instead she only smiled. “Keeping your client satisfied is very important. I suppose our plans can wait until tomorrow.”
    “Marvelous.”
    With a smile, she sped away like a warship with full sails. When the last fluttering ribbon disappeared behind the corner of the building, Nick flagged down the carpenter.
    “Hey, Charlie, do you have another job you could work on tomorrow?”
    “Yes, sir, but Mr. Butler told me that if I finished the staircase in two days, he’d give me a bonus.”
    “Leave it off for four days, and I’ll double that bonus.”
    He could hear Anne’s soft breath behind him as he tried to get the carpenter’s understanding without being explicit. He couldn’t ban Ophelia, but he couldn’t have her waltzing into his office at will. Not with Anne there. She’d already been quite clear on her opinion of Mrs.