strings attached.
“For nothing,” he assured her.
“No thanks,” she refused his apparently generous offer. “I’d rather not be under any obligation to you. I prefer to buy it rather than have people talking about me as Slater MacBride’s kept woman.”
“Randy is my son,” Slater reminded her. “I offered the house so I could contribute something toward his support. I was not trying to put you in my debt.”
“Perhaps you weren’t,” she conceded. “But just the same, I’d rather purchase the house outright. We’ll probably move into it as soon as possible.”
“I can arrange to have a crew go over there and clean the place up for you,” he said.
“There’s no need. I’ll handle it myself,” Dawn insisted. “I’ll stop by your office early this afternoon to sign the necessary papers and make a down payment. You can leave them with your secretary—along with the doorkey.”
“I’ll do that.” It was all very curt and professional. “I’ll go out and see Randy before I leave.”
Dawn watched him walk out the door. On the surface, it seemed to be a sound and workable proposal, but she knew it was doomed to failure. They shared too many intimate memories to ever sustain a business relationship without personalities interfering. They were just kidding themselves.
Dawn had put most of her household and personal possessions in storage before she left Texas. After she had signed the papers for the house, she arranged to have them shipped to Key West. While she waited for them to arrive, there was a great deal of work to be done on the property, both outside and in. Viewing it as a kind of therapy to take her mind off Slater, Dawn threw herself into it with all her energies.
The overgrown yard was chosen as the first task. Randy teased her that she intended to wage war with it when he saw the tools she had raided from her father’s equipment shed. There was the usual assemblage of garden tools, such as rakes, hoes, and spades, plus more lethal items—hatchets, machetes, and a double-bladed axe. She loaded them into a wheelbarrow and, together,she and Randy wheeled it over to their new house in the cool of early morning.
Dressed in combat gear consisting of long-sleeved shirts, sturdy denims, boots, and gloves to protect their bodies from the sharp and sometimes thorny underbrush, they attacked the front yard in earnest, using the sidewalk as their route of entry. By late morning, they had made a sizable and hard-fought dent in it. But the heat and the humidity were beginning to wear them down.
Randy had stripped down to the waist, sweat streaming down his shoulders and wetting the thick hair on his forehead. A kerchief was tied around it, creating a sweatband to keep the stinging perspiration out of his eyes. Another wheelbarrow load of palm fronds and tangled vines had to be pushed to the growing pile of debris in the driveway. The muscles in his young arms bulged as he lifted the handles and began driving it forward.
Hot and frazzled, Dawn leaned on her rake. A scarf was tied around her hair. She tipped her head back and squinted at the sun high overhead, trying to judge the time. She hadn’t risked wearing her watch for fear she’d catch it on some brush and lose it. The plan had been to work until noon, then quit before the full heat of the day hit them. It had to be close to that now, she decided.
She shifted her grip on the rake and winced in pain. Gingerly she pulled off the glove on her right hand and examined the blister on her palm.It looked raw and angry. She heard the rattle of the wheelbarrow as its load was dumped and turned to call to Randy.
“Bring a bandage from the first aid kit when you come.” Her voice croaked on a weary note.
Stopping, Randy turned and jogged the short distance to the veranda where the first aid kit and water jug sat side by side in the shade. Dawn marveled at the resiliency of youth that Randy still had the energy to move out of a dragging
“For nothing,” he assured her.
“No thanks,” she refused his apparently generous offer. “I’d rather not be under any obligation to you. I prefer to buy it rather than have people talking about me as Slater MacBride’s kept woman.”
“Randy is my son,” Slater reminded her. “I offered the house so I could contribute something toward his support. I was not trying to put you in my debt.”
“Perhaps you weren’t,” she conceded. “But just the same, I’d rather purchase the house outright. We’ll probably move into it as soon as possible.”
“I can arrange to have a crew go over there and clean the place up for you,” he said.
“There’s no need. I’ll handle it myself,” Dawn insisted. “I’ll stop by your office early this afternoon to sign the necessary papers and make a down payment. You can leave them with your secretary—along with the doorkey.”
“I’ll do that.” It was all very curt and professional. “I’ll go out and see Randy before I leave.”
Dawn watched him walk out the door. On the surface, it seemed to be a sound and workable proposal, but she knew it was doomed to failure. They shared too many intimate memories to ever sustain a business relationship without personalities interfering. They were just kidding themselves.
Dawn had put most of her household and personal possessions in storage before she left Texas. After she had signed the papers for the house, she arranged to have them shipped to Key West. While she waited for them to arrive, there was a great deal of work to be done on the property, both outside and in. Viewing it as a kind of therapy to take her mind off Slater, Dawn threw herself into it with all her energies.
The overgrown yard was chosen as the first task. Randy teased her that she intended to wage war with it when he saw the tools she had raided from her father’s equipment shed. There was the usual assemblage of garden tools, such as rakes, hoes, and spades, plus more lethal items—hatchets, machetes, and a double-bladed axe. She loaded them into a wheelbarrow and, together,she and Randy wheeled it over to their new house in the cool of early morning.
Dressed in combat gear consisting of long-sleeved shirts, sturdy denims, boots, and gloves to protect their bodies from the sharp and sometimes thorny underbrush, they attacked the front yard in earnest, using the sidewalk as their route of entry. By late morning, they had made a sizable and hard-fought dent in it. But the heat and the humidity were beginning to wear them down.
Randy had stripped down to the waist, sweat streaming down his shoulders and wetting the thick hair on his forehead. A kerchief was tied around it, creating a sweatband to keep the stinging perspiration out of his eyes. Another wheelbarrow load of palm fronds and tangled vines had to be pushed to the growing pile of debris in the driveway. The muscles in his young arms bulged as he lifted the handles and began driving it forward.
Hot and frazzled, Dawn leaned on her rake. A scarf was tied around her hair. She tipped her head back and squinted at the sun high overhead, trying to judge the time. She hadn’t risked wearing her watch for fear she’d catch it on some brush and lose it. The plan had been to work until noon, then quit before the full heat of the day hit them. It had to be close to that now, she decided.
She shifted her grip on the rake and winced in pain. Gingerly she pulled off the glove on her right hand and examined the blister on her palm.It looked raw and angry. She heard the rattle of the wheelbarrow as its load was dumped and turned to call to Randy.
“Bring a bandage from the first aid kit when you come.” Her voice croaked on a weary note.
Stopping, Randy turned and jogged the short distance to the veranda where the first aid kit and water jug sat side by side in the shade. Dawn marveled at the resiliency of youth that Randy still had the energy to move out of a dragging
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