Home Field Advantage (28 page)

Only seconds had passed, although Abigail had the
disquieting sensation that she and the man had been staring at each other for
minutes instead. Neither of the Petersons had said anything, although when
Abigail pulled her gaze away from that dark-gray one, she saw that middle-aged
Mrs. Peterson was eyeing him with appreciation as well.

He broke the silence with that unnervingly sexy voice.
"Enjoying the view out back?" The question sounded innocent enough,
but he was suppressing a smile that showed in his eyes.

That was all it took for Abigail to identify one of the
reasons for her strong reaction to him. The moment he'd appeared in the doorway
there had been an undercurrent, even before his eyes met hers.

On the surface, his expression had been all it should be,
but beneath that facade, she was quite sure he had been hiding amusement.

Even more exasperating, he appeared impervious to the
extremely unpleasant odor that had to be filling his nostrils. Abigail gritted
her teeth and smiled through them. "Hello, I'm Abigail McLeod. I believe I
spoke to you this morning?"

"Yes, I'm Nate Taggart." His expression cleared in
an instant, leaving her to wonder if she could possibly have imagined the
laughter in his eyes, or the spark. The small frown remained, although he
continued blandly, "Sorry about the mess. And the..." he cleared his
throat, "er, aroma. It's just a little problem, really nothing to worry
about, even though it doesn't smell like it."

"You mean it's not a real plumbing problem?"
Abigail’s hopes lifted feeble heads. Please, please, bail me out, she begged
silently.

But, not looking at her, he gestured vaguely with the
wrench. "Well, I didn't say that."

"But the plumbing is all new!" she wailed,
suddenly not caring what she sounded like.

Nate's dark brows rose. "Is it?"

Abigail sensed the cold look Mr. Peterson gave her, and knew
damn well what he was thinking. "What do you mean, is it?" she
demanded. "Of course it is! Ed Phillips had every pipe in the house
replaced! If you know enough to work on it, can't you tell?"

He glanced from her to Mr. Peterson in apparent confusion,
although Abigail, suspicious, thought that glint of laughter was back in his
eyes. He shrugged. "Maybe it is. I guess, if you say so, it must be. Anyway,
like I said, it's not a real serious problem. You know what these old houses
are like. They just take a little patching up every once in a while. I'm only
sorry you got caught in the draft." Apparently enjoying his own pun, he
gave a little chuckle. "So go right ahead and look upstairs. I don't think
it's as bad up there."

Abigail tried very hard to sound pleasant. "I'm sorry
you didn't give me a call. I could have showed the house another time."

"Maybe it's just as well," Mr. Peterson
interjected brusquely. "I had reservations about the idea of buying an old
house, anyway. I think Mr. Taggart here is quite right about them. If you're
not handy with a wrench and a hammer, you don't belong in one."

"Mr. Phillips assured me," Abigail began, cursing
how feeble she sounded, "that—"

The older man interrupted again without apology. "Do
you have any other houses to show us?"

Abigail supposed she should be grateful that he was willing
to give her another chance. It wouldn't have been surprising if he had come to the
conclusion that she'd been trying to pull a fast one on him. "Yes,
several," she said, forcing a smile. "The Heights have some beautiful
new homes with spectacular views of the Cascade Mountains."

Normally she might have gone on with her sales pitch, but
this time she decided to reserve it for the drive. She was much too conscious
of Nate Taggart standing there listening with bright-eyed interest. All she
wanted to do was escape. The sooner she could forget this last half hour, in
which she'd managed to combine abject failure and reawakened adolescent
hormones, the happier she'd be.

"Why don't we go on out the back door?" she said
to the Petersons. "At least we can enjoy the spring weather."

They didn't need to be asked twice. A polite nod at Nate
Taggart and the older couple was gone. Abigail took only the time for a very
faint smile. She didn't trust herself to say anything. Although she wasn't sure
why. It wasn't his fault that the plumbing or septic tank had decided to erupt
at a particularly inopportune moment.

Abigail had to step carefully in her heels on the overgrown
brick path that meandered around the house. Just before she reached the corner
that would put the kitchen wing between her and the utility-room door, Abigail
glanced back. She couldn't help herself.

He was standing on the top step, watching her with an
inscrutable gaze. When her eyes met his, he grinned, the grooves in his cheeks
deepening. "It was a real pleasure to meet you, Ms. McLeod," he said.

Abigail forced another smile, then hastily put the building
between herself and Nate Taggart. Either the guy was remarkably insensitive to
atmosphere, or he was slightly sadistic. At the moment, she leaned toward the
sadistic explanation.

*****

Nate Taggart propped one shoulder against the wall in the
front parlor and crossed his arms. He watched through the small-paned window as
the trio walked across the front lawn, the only part of the grounds he'd
succeeded in taming, and, with a production, opened the doors of the bright-red
Honda and at last climbed in. He could see their mouths moving, and several
telling gestures, but couldn't hear what was being said. It was like watching a
silent movie. Or being a peeping Tom, lurking in the shadows. His mouth
tightened with annoyance at himself as the small car made the circle and
departed down the lane. A cloud of dust lingered long after the Honda had
disappeared.

He ought to feel triumphant, or at least pleased with
himself. Instead, he felt guilty. It had nothing to do with Ed Phillips. That
bastard deserved anything he had coming. The woman, though, Abigail.... He
startled himself by saying her name aloud, savoring the old-fashioned sound. He
liked her name, and he liked her looks. She was tall, with remarkably fine
bones and subtle curves in just the right places. He had a suspicion that the
soft, wavy dark hair she'd had pinned up so primly would be perfect to tangle
his fingers in. And her eyes were glorious, a foresty green-brown that could
turn a man poetic. In fact, for just a minute she'd stunned him, and that
didn't happen often.

So now he felt guilty for her sake. She'd been upset, and he
couldn't blame her. He wished he could explain how important this was to him.
Already, though, his defenses were kicking in, and he told himself it wasn't
that big a deal. She'd been embarrassed in front of a couple of clients; so
what? Any adult would have done that to themselves a few times.

The odds were that the people she was showing the house to
weren't even serious. They were probably Lookie Lou's, out for a fun weekend of
seeing how the other half lived. Chances were it would be weeks before Abigail
McLeod found any other buyers even interested in seeing this old white
elephant. By that time, his own problem might be solved.

In the meantime, he'd better get to work airing the place
out, if he wanted to be able to eat breakfast here in the morning. Forget
dinner. Once he had all the windows open, he'd grab a hamburger out, maybe go
watch the baseball game at John's house.

And tomorrow.... He shoved his hands in his pockets and
smiled. Tomorrow he just might drop into the real-estate offices of McLeod and
James and see if Ms. McLeod was any friendlier than she'd been today. Maybe
she'd like to have lunch with him, once she found out he really was a
respectable guy. If it turned out she was married, well, with a little effort
he could forget those magnificent eyes and long, slender legs.

He took one more reminiscent look down the drive, on which
the dust had long since settled, then sighed and pushed himself away from the
wall with his shoulder. Too bad he didn't have a gas mask. Next time—if there
was one—he'd go a little easier on the stuff. Or maybe try something different.
Yeah, there ought to be an easier way. He grimaced and plunged back into the
noisome depths of the house.