Free Curveball by Kate Angell Page A

whiskey on the man’s breath and a slump to his shoulders. His hair was white blond, the color of Keely’s faded T-shirt. His khaki shirt and slacks were as wrinkled as his face. Psycho heard the flush of money down the toilet.
    “Keely’s told me all about you,” Franklin said. “Though we can’t fix your attitude, I’m inspired to restore your Colonial to its original beauty.”
    Inspired, was he? Psycho hated the fact that Keely had hired an architect without consulting him. He cut her a look. “Kitchen.”
    She handed the tape measure to Franklin, then followed Psycho through the portal to the dining room and on into the kitchen. They faced off across the island counter. “I’d have liked to meet Langston before you hired him.”
    “You were at the ballpark when Franklin became available. Should I have called in the middle of the game?”
    He could have taken a phone call. He was warming the bench, not playing ball. “What if I had someone else in mind?”
    She rested her elbows on the countertop. “Did you? Or are you just being difficult?”
    He raked one hand through his damp hair. “Is Langston qualified? Is he licensed?”
    “Franklin’s the best there is.”
    There had to be someone better. “The man drinks.”
    “He had a shot of whiskey with lunch. Doesn’t make him an alcoholic. Franklin’s son is a contractor. Quinn specializes in restorations.”
    Psycho grunted. “A family package.”
    “You won’t be sorry.”
    Her words held a soothing promise that satisfied him. For all of ten seconds. “I want to meet the son.”
    “You’ll meet Quinn when you sign the contracts and cut a check.”
    “Check?”
    “Half to start the project, half at completion.”
    “You should have taken bids. Not settled on the first architect and contractor you interviewed.”
    “You hired me and I hired them. I’m satisfied.”
    He wasn’t. His gaze narrowed. “Stop taking over my house,” he said forcefully.
    She took two steps back. He didn’t like scaring her, but she was moving too fast. He’d lost control over his life. Guy Powers’s suspension and Keely Douglas’s restoration were taking everything out of his hands. He wasn’t happy. He needed to regain control.
    Circling the counter, he cornered Keely by the walk-in pantry. Her eyes went wide as he caged her with his body. “Don’t get so far ahead of me that I lose sight of what’s going on. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Coming home to a houseful of new people—”
    “Franklin’s one man.”
    “—makes me question hiring you.”
    He felt her body go stiff. Watched the blood drain from her face. Saw the deep blue of her eyes go even darker. “Am I fired?”
    He’d had no such plans, but he felt guilty that she’d drawn such a conclusion. “I like my privacy. A houseful of workers gives me a headache.”
    She exhaled slowly. “You thought the restoration would be accomplished with the wave of a magic wand?”
    He’d sure as hell hoped so.
    “Once the architectural plans are drawn up, there will be workmen here constantly,” she said. “Hammering and drilling—”
    “Not while I’m in town,” he said. “Plan the noise around my road trips. On Friday the team travels to Atlanta for a three-game series, then to Miami. I’ll expect silence when I return.”
    “Fine, we’ll work around your schedule.”
    “My schedule includes your moving into the house while I’m away. I need a pet sitter.”
    “Live here?” She didn’t look all that taken by his suggestion.
    “You can oversee the restoration and keep an eye on the pups.” Still, she hesitated. “I’ll pay you to keep Boris and Bosephus out of the cemetery and off the neighbor’s lawn.”
    “It’s not a matter of money. I’d watch the boys for free,” she told him, “but the house is a lot of work—”
    “Hire an assistant.”
    She looked so startled he grabbed her shoulder to steady her. “I’ll contact my bank manager. He’ll extend a line of credit