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“The worst amateur, but I try.” Harold bumped his nose on her thigh. “Well...if there’s nothing else...”
Nathan tipped his head in acknowledgment and turned back toward his car. At the door he paused. “Be careful. There were a couple of burglaries in the trailer court tonight, and you never know who you might run into. Help isn’t always close by.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she watched as his cruiser pulled away and headed up the hill.
The last thing she could afford to do was attract the attention of the law...or anyone else.
CHAPTER THREE
On Monday evening Nathan climbed down the ladder, relieved when his feet hit the ground, and lifted a hand to shade his eyes against the evening sun. “What do you think?”
His godfather, Ian Flynn, studied Nathan’s two-story Victorian and nodded in approval. Trim, impeccably dressed in a charcoal wool suit and his trademark Italian loafers, Ian had carefully stayed on the paved walkway leading to the double front doors. “You’re getting a lot done. You’ve had it what—six months, now?”
“Seven. I thought I’d be further along by now.”
Ian pursed his lips, studying the ornate scrollwork at the gables, the lacy fretwork above the balcony. “You aren’t trying to do all of this yourself, I hope.”
“I had someone else replace the roof and the highest trim.” Nathan unbuckled his toolbelt and draped it over a nearby sawhorse.
“So at this rate, you’ll be done—”
“Probably never.”
Ian clapped him on the back. “Believe me, these projects are never done. I like the color, by the way.” The house was now as it had been before its most recent owners, pale buttercup accented with crisp white gingerbread trim and touches of deep sage and delft blue.
Nathan had drawn the line at painting the front door its original bright red, though—a bit of whimsy typical of his eccentric great-aunt, who’d toured Europe at ninety-three and had had her ears double-pierced in celebration of her hundredth birthday. “It’s a shame it passed out of the family’s hands for a time.” Ian glanced around the yard. “Have your parents been over?”
“I’ve invited them, but they haven’t stopped by.”
“Your mother was always one stubborn woman. But Patrick?”
“We’re all pleasantly polite. I make my appearances at holidays and birthdays.” Nathan tipped his head toward the patrol car parked in the drive. “They still take my career choice as a personal affront. Especially now that I’m back in the area.”
Ian snorted. “Salt on the wound?”
“They think I should be an executive, not a cop, but that isn’t going to happen.” Nathan shrugged. “My sister Meredith is much better suited to take over the Roswell family companies than I ever was, anyway.”
