But this was not a date.

  It felt like a date. His mouth was dry. His heart was beating fast, and he couldn’t wait to see her again. Yep, this felt like a date.

  Erin opened the door. Digger had prepared himself to see her, he thought. He’d talked to himself in the mirror, told himself how he would react when she opened the door, how he would act, what he would say and do. The lecture was fruitless, preparation useless. The speech might as well have been delivered about some other person, not the one standing before him with her hair pulled behind her ears and flowing down her back, not the woman with long brown arms extending from a sleeveless orange blouse and the tight-fitting jeans that drew his attention to legs as long as a carpenter’s ruler.

  “Come in.” She gave him a wide smile. Digger said nothing. He crossed the threshold and followed her, watching her dancer’s movements. Jerking his gaze away, he examined the way the place was constructed. Sturdy walls with plenty of light and space. The living room was comfortable with two overstuffed sofas, upholstered in a yellow floral print, that faced each other over a large wooden coffee table. “Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you have a seat?” She gestured toward the sofas.

  “I brought some wine.” He held the bottle up for her inspection, switching the plans he carried to his other hand.

  She smiled. He didn’t know if she liked wine. She was a nursery-school teacher and as much as her movements could stir a statue, she might be conservative.

  “You can open it and pour a couple of glasses,” she said.

  He followed her into the kitchen. It was large and bright, with pale blue walls. Floral curtains hung at the windows. The pattern matched the cushions on the chairs at the table. The smell of baking bread and cooking meat combined with a slight sweetness and made his mouth water.

  She handed him a corkscrew and went through a door that led to a formal, but darkened, dining room. She didn’t turn on a light, coming back a moment later carrying two cut-crystal wineglasses.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.” Digger took the glasses and set them on the counter.

  “I said don’t expect home cooking.”

  “What is this?” He screwed the opener into the cork.

  “This is experimentation. I don’t do it often.” She smiled.

  Digger relaxed. The cork came out of the bottle with a soft pop and he poured the wine into the two glasses. He handed Erin one. She put down the scoop she was using to turn a flat stick of butter into flower rosettes and accepted the glass. Her hand touched his and Digger felt the warmth of her fingers. She looked up then and his eyes caught hers. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. He wanted to go on looking at her bright eyes, at her thick mane of hair and the way her blouse moved up and down as she breathed.

  Digger inclined his glass and touched hers. The crystal clinked. The sound broke the tenuous bond that held them in place, although he didn’t know how he was going to drink. The look in her eyes had him holding his breath.

  Erin took a sip and quickly put the glass on the counter. She turned to the stove and pulled out a tray of bread.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  “Grab the salad and put it on the table. It’s in the refrigerator.” She kept her head down, giving her full attention to the task at hand. Digger had the feeling she’d felt the same connection he had.

  She snatched up and quickly dropped the burning hot biscuits into a basket lined with a blue towel. In a few moments she and Digger were seated in the kitchen alcove, the food spread out before them. It was a feast. Except for his sister’s on Sundays he never got a meal this abundant.

  “Did you always want to be a nursery-school teacher?” he asked, cutting into the half-inch steak that was broiled exactly the way he liked it. She’d said the meal wouldn’t be home cooking, but the steak was perfect, the salad fresh and crisp, the bread hot and buttery and the side dish was twice-baked yams instead of the standard white potato.

  “I like kids, but I was studying to be a psychologist.”

  “Why did you switch to teaching?”

  “I worked at the school as a teenager.” He remembered her telling him that. “When I got out of college I worked part-time there helping out until I could get a real job.”

  “I take it a real job never came along?”

  “Kathryn Hamilton, the former owner, suggested I take some teaching courses at night. I did, and three years ago she had an accident and was forced to close the school. I thought of all those parents who’d have to find immediate placement for their children.”

  “So you offered to buy it?”

  She nodded. “I had no money and I doubted that any bank would give me a loan, but they did and Kathryn accepted the small offer. She has a good heart and knew that the school provided a service that needed to continue.”

  Erin added more wine to her glass and refilled his. Digger took a bite of the sweet potatoes. He loved them. He normally ate them candied or served as a pie. His foster mother used to make a pudding of them for holiday meals. Erin had baked them, scooped them out of their jackets, added some spices he couldn’t identify and put them back into the shells, then baked them a second time. They were delicious.

  Digger usually ate on the run, restaurants and take-home meals, grabbing whatever was convenient. He didn’t cook for himself, nothing more than bacon and eggs and the occasional spaghetti with store-bought sauce. Once or twice he’d tried his hand at chili, but more often than not he’d change his mind about cooking long before he turned on his range.

  “What about you?” Erin’s voice brought him back to the table. “How did you get into construction?”

  “I never wanted to do anything else.” He’d wanted to be an architect. He liked designing and building, seeing his creations come to life in glass and steel. But then— His thoughts were headed toward a closed door that he didn’t want opened.

  “Nothing else?” Erin asked.

  “What?”

  “You’ve wanted to be a carpenter since you were a small child?”

  “I built a lot of things with Lego.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “They were my first real building blocks. I built houses, restaurants and skyscrapers. Once I built the entire downtown area of Dallas. It was six feet high, twenty feet wide and made entirely of Lego.”

  She raised her fork with a piece of juicy steak on it, but stopped short of her mouth.

  “What was it for?”

  “There was a new mall opening, and I did it for the exhibition. It drew more crowds than the stores.”

  “I bet it did. I would take my kids to see something like that. They can relate to Lego. How old were you when you did this?”

  “Twelve.”

  “How long did it take?”

  “Three weeks of doing nothing other than going to school and building the city. Bryan Towers, the Hyatt Regency Hotel, the Plaza of the Americas, etc., etc.”

  Her eyebrows raised in appreciation. “I’d like to have seen that.”

  “It was in the newspapers, and I have pictures. I’ll show them to you sometime.”

  She ate her meat. Digger realized what he’d said and reminded himself for the tenth time that this was not a date. Even though it had the look and feel of a date, it wasn’t. Yet he’d just made it seem as if they would see each other again in some social setting. That wasn’t going to happen. He knew better than to let her—or anyone—get under his skin. He was strictly a one-night stand type of guy. He didn’t want entanglements. And she represented them all: a big sprawling house, home-cooked meals, children running around. He could see himself in this picture and he couldn’t be part of it. He’d tried marriage. It hadn’t worked. It had almost killed him with grief when it all fell apart. He couldn’t do it again.

  “How about some coffee and dessert? Or would you like to finish the wine?” Erin lifted the bottle.

  “Coffee.” He needed a stimulant not a depressant.

  She got up and sliced a cake. He watched her. Her ballet-style movements were rooting themselves in his consciousness.

  “Did you ever study dance?”

  She stopped and looked at him, holding a slice of cake over a plate. “Why do you ask?”

  “You move like a ballet dancer.”

  “Do you like ballet?” She placed the slice on the cake plate, her eyebrows raised.

  Her voice was low and sexy when she asked the question. Digger hated ballet, but he wanted to tell her he liked the way she moved. “I’ve only seen a couple.”

  “And you didn’t like them?”

  “I found the stories hard to follow. But the dancers had nice legs.”

  She was wearing pants, but she looked down at her own legs. She understood what he meant. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I never studied ballet. The only dancing I do is teaching the children a few line-dance steps. It’s fun for them and helps their coordination.”

  She returned to the table and set the plates down, then poured coffee for two. Digger dug into his cake, giving it his full attention. It was moist and as delicious as the rest of the dinner.

  “Your experiment worked,” he told her when she sat down again.

  She laughed. He liked the sound of it. “I really can’t cook,” she told him.

  “I can tell.” He took another bite of the cake with a smile.

  Erin’s face sobered. “People said very good things about your work.” Her eyes turned serious.

  “I pay them to say that.”

  She didn’t laugh, but sipped her coffee. “I don’t think so. They know I run a school and that I was very concerned about the addition.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “You say that lightly, but I know you mean it with all the sincerity of someone who is proud of his craft.”

  “You got me,” he said. He wasn’t good at taking compliments. He didn’t often work with women. Men didn’t compliment, at least not in the same way. They pointed out what they liked, discussing sections of the structure or the uses for the added space. Women talked about the man. Erin’s compliments were going places he didn’t want them to go. She was approving of him and his past performance, his reputation. Small businesses thrived on a good reputation. Yet from her he felt it was personal. And he’d drawn the line at personal.

  “I won’t embarrass you any further. Why don’t we take the coffee in the other room and go over the plans.”

  He agreed. The sooner they got to the plans, the better it would be for him. He should get out of this situation, out of a house that was more than furniture and walls. The place had Erin Taylor written on it as surely as if she’d painted her name on the walls. Her serenity was in every room, displayed in the color schemes. Her softness could be felt in the cushiony carpet and the sofas with pillows and stuffing that he could sink into. The pictures on the walls had been chosen with specific care and one table in her living room held the photos of people who had touched her life. Some were children, others adults.

  Digger wished they’d met at his office or even in the school, but it was too late. They were here, in her house, where he’d been fed and where he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Digger met her at the kitchen door and took a tray with a small urn and cups of coffee from her. He could smell her perfume as the tray changed hands. Unconsciously he took in the heat of her body as it transferred to his.

  Erin led the way. She went through the living room and opened French doors that led into a small office. There was a large desk and bookcases and a couple of chairs.

  “Sit it there.” She pointed to the corner of the desk and Digger set the tray down. “I had some ideas for the addition. I sketched them on those papers.

  Digger went behind the desk and sat in her chair. He pulled it in, then pushed it back when his feet encountered something on the floor. Reaching down he pulled out a stuffed bear.

  “It’s Sam’s,” Erin said reaching for it. “She stays here sometimes.”

  “Oh?” His brows went up. He shouldn’t be surprised. Sam had been at the school with Erin. If he hadn’t come by that night, they’d have waited for Sam’s parents here. Digger realized he’d conditioned himself not to think of children after seeing them. There was a time when the sight of a three-year-old had caused him physical pain. He’d overcompensated by removing children from his mind.

  He remembered Sam. A ball of energy as unpredictable as lightning, she was impossible to forget. He pulled the papers closer to him and began inspecting them. Erin poured coffee in fresh cups and set one near him. She pulled a chair next to him and looked at the pages. The space behind the desk was small and Digger could feel her closeness, smell her scent and wondered how he would concentrate on lines and angles when curves were all he could see.

  He thought he was past this, that after Marita left him he was dead to any other woman, but Erin was proving him wrong. Just thinking about her aroused him. Having her this close was slow torture.

  “I know these aren’t as professional as yours, but I did them to show what I had in mind.”

  “They’re good,” he complimented her. “Very good. Normally people don’t know what they want. They have no sense of dimension or size. All they know is they want more space.” He looked at the three pages she’d drawn. “You’ve taken the existing building and added a structure that makes sense and stays within the style of the present architecture.”

  Erin smiled and blushed a little. The office was well lighted, but not as brightly as the kitchen had been. Here she looked warmer, seductive. It could be the wine, he told himself. That could be the reason her face looked flushed and her cheeks were slightly darker than the rest of her skin.

  Digger felt more relaxed than he thought he would. He knew she wasn’t reacting to him, she was the one who made him nervous. Looking at her he saw so much that was forbidden. He could never have what she represented. He’d had his chance at love and family and he’d failed—to the detriment of three people. He wouldn’t try to relive it, replace the lost life. It was not replaceable. He’d learned that the hard way.

  Erin slid in closer. “The kids like sunlight,” she was saying. “They do better on sunny days. I thought adding a room with huge windows would bring the outside in, even when it was cold or rainy.”

  Digger nodded. She’d reached across him to point out the sides of the drawing where the windows were located. Her arm brushed across his and he clamped his teeth together to keep from sighing at the wave of pleasure that passed through him.

  He had to get a grip on himself. This was ridiculous. He didn’t know Erin. He hadn’t had more than a few conversations with her. He’d known Marita for years before the two of them started dating, before he felt more for her than friendship. With Erin the feeling had been almost instantaneous. He knew he had to fight it for her protection as well as his. There was only heartache at the end of that road.

  “I had a problem trying to keep the Victorian look of the outside of the building.” She pulled a piece of paper from the bottom. This showed the structure from the outside. It included the proposed addition.

  Digger turned toward her. She was close. Closer than he thought. He could see her brown eyes and point out the flecks of dark green that were indistinguishable at a distance. He could smell coffee on her breath and for an instant he wanted to taste it, but not from his cup or hers. He wanted to drink from her. He cleared his throat, hoping it would also clear his mind and said, “You’re keeping the puzzle aspect.”

  “Puzzle?”

  “Haven’t you noticed it looks like a puzzle?”

  He got up and retrieved his rolled up plans from the coffee table. He walked slowly back and forth, giving himself time to get his emotions back in check. Erin lifted the coffee cups out of the way as he spread one of the pages on the top of the desk. “Look at it,” he said. “This looks like a huge puzzle piece.” He ran his finger over several lines that, when taken together, resembled a jigsaw cut. Then he repeated it several times.

  Erin laughed. “I never noticed that.”

  “You’ve drawn it perfectly.” He pulled her drawing next to the one he’d produced. They were very similar. “Would you like this area here to be larger or more round?” He pointed to the left side of the building, the side on which he’d discovered her standing the night before.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll show you what I mean.” He took a pencil from his pocket and redrew her straight lines into curves.

  “Can I afford that?”

  “I’m not sure. I have to develop a workable plan and then determine if it’s within budget.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Give me a week.”

  She nodded.

  “May I take these with me?” He indicated her pages.

  “Sure.” She shrugged.

  “I’ll combine yours with mine and see if I can come up with something you’ll agree to.” He began gathering the pages and rerolling them. As he extended his arms she moved back. Digger saw her move out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know if he’d been about to touch her, but the thought made him want to.

  He glanced at her. His glance took his attention away from the desk and he knocked over a picture frame. “I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing it. He would have put it back, but he glanced at it and noticed Erin. “Is this you?” He pointed at one of the four young women in the picture. They were candidly arranged on the swings in a playground.

  She moved behind him. “Those are my sisters and me. That was the day I got the loan and bought the school.”

  She smiled as if remembering something pleasant.

  “Did they come to wish you well?”

  She nodded. He felt her head move near his shoulder. He wanted to turn and put his hands in her hair. “Your hair was longer then.”

  Two of her sisters sat on the swings while she and the fourth one stood on the side of the seats, holding the chains and extending a leg into the air. Like balancing bookends their hair fell in straight panels toward the ground. Wide smiles were on the four similar faces. They looked as if they were having the time of their lives.