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Her head tipped to one side as he spoke, but her face showed no sign of understanding what he was saying.
“There’s some paperwork that would need to be filled out and filed, but that’s mostly a technicality as our recommendation was accepted.”
“Recommendation?”
He blew out a low sigh and said a fast prayer that she’d be as happy about this as he was. “We’d like the house to be for you and David.”
“I’m sorry. What?” She did that cute head tilt thing again.
He was beginning to worry she wasn’t going to like the idea of charity. “The network, the charity, and we Farradays all think the house should be yours.”
Her eyes widened and before he could brace himself, she sprang up from the stoop, threw her arms around him and screeched in his ear. It took her a few moments of squeezing him before she backed up. “Sorry. I just can’t believe it. You’re my hero!”
If it meant another hug like that one, he might see about getting her two houses.
Chapter Seven
Sandra stared at the piles of sawdust on the floor and all the scraps of wood, strewn packaging, and loose nails and other debris left behind by the workers. Never would she have pictured one crew could make such a mess. But her job was to clean up after the brothers, not critique their work habits.
Bottom line, they were building her and David a house. Every time she thought about it, she did a little jig at the idea that she would be a homeowner. She’d never lived on her own. She’d gone from her parents’ house to living with Ed, and then back to her parents’. Until a few days ago, she never dreamed she’d have a home of her own. Take that, Ed Morton. Liquored up, when she’d finally found the nerve and saved enough money to leave, he’d slurred from the sofa that she’d come crawling back.
She shrugged off the thoughts of him and swept away the mess. But it was a mess in her house. Not anyone else’s.
“Coming through,” a deep voice said behind her.
She scooted to one side.
“Other way,” the voice called out.
She scooted in the opposite direction as a man hauled a stack of boards past her. “Sorry, I was in the way.”
“No worries, ma’am.” Boards piled on his shoulder, he paused and smiled at her. Even though a lot of the crew were from out of town, everyone on the build was really friendly.
“I’m Jet. You must be the homeowner.” The guy stood in the middle of what would one day be her breakfast nook.
“I am.” Just saying that sent a chill down her spine. “Or at least I will be. Nice to meet you. I’m Sandra.”
He stared at her for a moment. Not long enough to be a problem, but long enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
“That must be heavy.” She gestured to the load on his shoulder.
“This?” He gave the boards a look as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Just part of the job.” Tossing a smile her way, he shifted around and trooped to the other end of the house.
Taking the giant metal dustpan and broom in hand, she began sweeping up the debris, still incapable of getting over that Paxton and his brothers had pulled some strings to get her this house.
Milling over all the fun things she hoped to do, how she would decorate David’s room, where she’d place the sofa—once she bought one, of course. That had her frowning, staring at the opposite wall. She wasn’t homeless, but her situation had not been ideal. She’d had to leave all her belongings and secondhand furniture behind with her ex. She debated if it was too soon to start hitting garage sales in search of the perfect furnishings. Though that might be rushing things a bit.
“Need some help?” Jet unexpectedly appeared behind her.
Turning quickly, more from surprise than anything else, his eyes darted up to her face, and she knew she’d caught him staring at her butt. No point in making a fuss about it. “Nope. I’ve got this. It’s part of my sweat equity.”
His gaze dropped momentarily before leveling with her eyes again. “Call me if you change your mind and want a man’s help.”
“Will do.” In some other lifetime. She hadn’t been a part of the dating scene for a heck of a lot of years, but she still recognized a man’s interest when she saw it. But too bad for Jet, she most definitely was not interested. Spinning around to return to her task at hand, she somehow got her foot tangled between the broom and some plastic wrap on the floor and dropping the broom, her arms flared and she wobbled in place. Strong hands manacled her arms.
“Whoa.” Jet held on, steadying her.
“Oops.” She found her balance, but Jet’s hand lingered on her arm. Glancing down at the fingers that still held on to her, she took a step in retreat. “Thanks, but I’m okay now.”
