The Good Daughter by Jean Brashear Page B

a bundle in that place.”
    Vince did a double take at the superstore that carried everything from lumber to faucets to nails. “You go there?”
    She turned toward him. “You, too?”
    It was hard to tell who was more surprised. “Oh, yeah. I bought this fixer-upper in Travis Heights that should have come with a warning tag—Lifetime Project.”
    Chloe laughed. “Mine could have the same. What’s your least favorite thing?”
    He was still trying to imagine her doing any type of home repair at all. “That’s easy. Plumbing.”
    “I leave that to the experts.” Her smile grew. “But there’s something rewarding about refinishing wood floors.”
    Vince glanced down at those slim, perfect hands. “You refinished your own floors?”
    “Careful, Detective. Your snobbery is showing.”
    “I’m no snob. It’s just that—”
    She began to laugh. “The look on your face is priceless. My mother gets that same expression of horror that her perfect little girl likes to get dirt on her hands.”
    Vince studied her, marveling at the thought. “You’re not kidding, right? You really did your own wood floors?”
    “Every last one. Also stripped and stained all the trim in my house.”
    “I’ll be damned.”
    Chloe chuckled. “You don’t exactly look like the Bob Vila type yourself, Vince.”
    He shot her an appreciative grin. “Surprised the hell out of me, too, but there’s something about—” He glanced over. “Don’t suppose you like to wallpaper?”
    That wide, lush mouth curved at the corners. “I had to redo the first room three times to get it right, but I could practically teach a wallpapering class now.”
    “Good,” he said, forgetting all the reasons why it could never work. “A demo, then, this Saturday. My kitchen.”
    “You think I’m going to volunteer to wallpaper when I don’t have to?”
    “It would be a service to mankind.”
    She giggled. Dr. Cool and Elegant…giggling. “To one man, you mean. Chicken. Learn the hard way, as I did.”
    “I’ll feed you like a queen. Fix breakfast, lunch and take you to dinner when we’re through,” he wheedled.
    “You hate wallpapering that badly?”
    “I stink at wallpapering. Have mercy, Chloe. My house deserves the best.”
    She stared at him. “You love it, don’t you?”
    He nodded. “I never had a place of my own before.”
    When sympathy swamped her eyes, he shook it off. “Don’t start feeling sorry for me. Where’s your house, Tarrytown?”
    “Rosedale.”
    He knew his surprise showed. “Is that allowed for society ladies?”
    “You really are a prisoner of your prejudices, aren’t you? My mother and you would get along well.”
    “Somehow I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
    “It’s not. My mother can’t stand that I’m straying from the preordained path. She and my father—” Her voice caught, and she fell silent.
    “You okay?” When she didn’t answer, he found a place to pull over. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s nothing.” But the stiff set of her shoulders made a lie of her words.
    Vince knew the smart thing was to let it go. He hadplenty on his plate—more than enough. But he remembered her valiant insistence on refusing comfort under the trees. Thought about how hard she tried not to recoil at the sordidness she encountered through this job when, best he could tell, she’d led a sheltered life.
    And he realized something else about Chloe St. Claire. She was a giver, when most of the people he’d ever met were takers, including him. He wondered again what motivated someone like her who could have any luxury, who could avoid contact forever with the seaminess of the real world, to tackle the job she had.
    She might have been raised a princess, but she didn’t expect to be treated as one.
    He was the least likely prospect, but a part of him wished he could be the shining knight she deserved. Lacking that, he could at least be a friend. “You’re a lot better at giving out help than you are at