Yesterday's Love by Sherryl Woods Page B

be ready to knock on the door and surprise her, it would be too late to send him packing.
    He was about to lean the ladder against the side of the house when Lancelot suddenly wove between his legs, meowing a friendly greeting. Tate tripped over the cat and tumbled forward, the ladder crashing through a window. Lancelot’s howl of protest was almost as loud as Tate’s.
    Victoria heard the noisy crash just as she rolled over and prepared to snuggle back under the covers to finish a perfectly delightful dream about a man who knew exactly how to win her heart, a man who was nothing in the world like Tate McAndrews. She had taken the day off and promised herself a few extra hours of sleep to make up for all of the restless nights she’d had since she and Tate had parted. She’d been furious at him, but that hadn’t kept her from missing him terribly, and she hated herself for even noticing his absence.
    â€œWhat in heaven’s name was that?” she mumbled, suddenly wide awake. She waited for another crash, but heard only screeches that clearly came from Lancelot and mutterings that reminded her of Tate’s colorful carrying on when he fell through her stairs. Tate? She sat straight up in bed and listened more closely. No doubt about it. It was definitely Tate. She’d never heard such a wide vocabulary of expletives from anyone else. What on earth was he doing here at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning? In fact, what was he doing here at all?
    Wrapping a robe tightly around her, she ran to the window and peered out. The sight that greeted her was so unexpected, so ridiculously out of character, that it was all she could do to keep from laughing. Tate was lying on the ground his long legs tangled in a ladder, surrounded by scattered boards that resembled a giant’s game of pick up sticks. His scowl as he tried to disengage himself was impressive and more than enough to convince her to save her laughter for later.
    She ran down the stairs and threw open the door, her eyes widening in dismay as she noted the ladder protruding through the living room window. She knelt down and surveyed Tate quickly, looking for signs of blood, her hand brushing lightly over a bump on his forehead.
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œFine,” Tate said tightly.
    She sat back on her heels then and regarded him quizzically, noting idly that he apparently did own one pair of jeans and that they fit like a well-worn glove. Instinctively her gaze surveyed the faded fabric, starting with its revelation of the hard muscles of his thighs, then moving upward to its taut stretch over his abdomen. She realized suddenly exactly where she was staring and blushed furiously. Fortunately, Tate didn’t even seem to notice.
    â€œNot that I’m not glad to see you, but exactly what do you think you’re doing?” she said at last.
    â€œI’ve come to help.”
    â€œWith what? Demolishing my house?”
    â€œNo. Fixing it up,” he explained, fighting to regain his sense of humor. He probably did look pretty ridiculous.
    â€œYou’re off to a wonderful start,” she said, glancing significantly at the shattered window. She sighed. “Tate, you really don’t need to help. I thought we settled this the other night. I can do things for myself.”
    â€œI know you can,” he agreed soothingly. Too soothingly. Victoria’s suspicions flared to life. “I just thought maybe I could help. It’ll go much faster if two of us work on it.”
    â€œWhy does it matter so much to you how fast it goes?”
    This was the tricky part. Tate knew he couldn’t very well admit that he wanted to get her off his mind once and for all, so he settled for a half-truth. “I’m worried about your living like this. I’ll feel better when you’re settled.”
    It probably wouldn’t do to analyze why he was worried about the way she lived in the first place. He just