Read Beatrice and Douglas Online
Authors: Kelly Lucille
Beatrice and Douglas
Beatrice and Douglas
By
Kelly Lucille
Table of Contents
For all the fiery redheads in my family who taught me a
woman could do anything, from cooking to sewing, to raising children . . . to
fixing cars and hanging drywall. You taught me well – I can totally hang
drywall.
I could not love you
more.
The bedroom door stood ajar and slightly lopsided on rusty
hinges. No light could penetrate the windows through the whitewash dust
coating them, so even with the plethora of windows the room boasted, it was
just as perpetually gloomy as the rest. Windows shuddered at each slight
breeze or opened door, and the floors creaked ominously whether someone was
walking over them or not. With the regular rains and overcast skies of
the Pacific Northwest, the place had a sinister air that could almost make one
believe in haunted houses.
Pushing through the partial opening, Beatrice choked and
fanned the dust trying to escape down her throat. The place was a money
pit, there was no doubt about it, but few homes had the bare bones that this
place promised. In this case, a couple of hundred forgotten years
was
better than a few hundred of shag carpet and stripped molding — of course,
neglect still left its mark.
“Aagh,” she choked, looking at what once must have been a
beautiful wood floor. Now it was pitted and scarred from water and who
knew what else stained the grain. At some point, someone had probably
squatted in the house because there were also burn marks from cigarettes and
strange unfortunate smells coming from the corners. “They should be
killed.”
“You’re far too forgiving,” a deep voice said from behind
her. “For this room alone I’d like to beat the shit out of them and drag
them behind my truck.”
Beatrice gritted her teeth, feeling her shoulders tighten
and her fists clench.
“Please tell me I’m hallucinating and you’re not really
here.” She didn’t bother turning around, she already knew the nightmare
she would see.
Instead of answering right away, he laughed in that same
full baritone that always managed to send her instincts into flight or fight
readiness.
“Douglas Bruce,”
she thought, cringing inside, even
while her shoulders tensed for battle. “
Well, this day just took a nosedive.”
“Sorry Bumble Bee. No such luck.”
Beatrice turned in a rush and pointed a finger in the
general direction of her nemesis. In the dark hallway, it was difficult
to see his features, but she knew him well enough to know he was smirking.
“I’m only going to tell you this one more time,” her voice
gritted out through bared teeth, blue eyes flashing, “I don’t care how good a
carpenter Jack thinks you are, if you call me that again I’ll have your ass
fired.”
He stepped out of the shadows and leaned negligently against
the doorjamb she was standing in. Beatrice was used to looking up at men
being only five foot four and three-quarters, but with him, it rankled to have
to crick her neck to meet his six-foot-two stare, not to mention he always
stood just exactly too close.
“You tried that before, remember, Bumble Bee?”
She had tried it before but to her consternation, Jack had
insisted it was worth a little aggravation on her part to keep the best
carpenter in the business on their team. Not to mention that since Jack
had taken him in as a teenage delinquent, most everyone considered him family.
Beatrice just considered him the ass that once set her Barbie dream house
on fire. Still, threatening to quit had only made her feel like a
two-year-old on a temper tantrum. Uncle Jack had given her that look he
was so good at and promised he’d try to keep them on separate jobs.
“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the
Oregon job?”
“Jack put Wallace on it. He wants the big dogs on this
one.”
Beatrice crossed her arms in a militant fashion and ignored
the grass green eyes wandering over her paint-stained jeans and T-shirt.
“Big dog, huh?” She looked him over in turn. He
was big all over, with shoulders just a shade too broad, and a chest that was too
chiseled for mortal man. His dark brown hair was a shade too dark to be
true brown, and slightly too long at the neck. His face was too craggy to
be considered handsome. His legs were too long and his feet too big.
‘The Bruce’ as she called him because of his colossal ego, was just
too
everything in her opinion. She ignored the little tingle she got
looking at his long hard body wrapped in his customary denim and flannel.
“Well, you are that. However, I’m on this one so you can just trot
back to Seattle and tell Jack to send someone else. Anyone else will do.”
“Sorry Bumble Bee, you’re stuck with me. This job is
too big to put less than the best on it and Jack knows it. Since that’s
you and me, it looks like we’ll be working together again.”
“Over your dead body.”
“That’s what you said the last time.” He reached out
and casually pulled a lock of dusty auburn hair at her forehead. “A guy
could almost get the idea you don’t like him.”
“Any other guy would,” she said grimly, swatting his hand
away when he reached for her hair again. “You, on the other hand,
continue to ignore every word I say as if the very idea of someone not liking
you is completely inconceivable to your gigantic ego
. Stop that!” she yelled, swatting
his hand away again and stepping back out of reach.
“There you go, using those big college words of yours
again. Trying to put me in my place?”
Beatrice slapped a hand to his chest when he made to follow
her into the room. “That would involve a meat cleaver and a pit . . . and
quit crowding me!” She pushed him back, dismayed when she made absolutely
no impact on his granite chest. She tried poking him instead. “Why
are you always so pushy?”
He rubbed the chest where she had dug in her little finger
and smiled. “I can’t help it. You’re so cute when you get that lady
of the manor look in your eyes. It makes me want to rile you up and see
what happens next.”
Beatrice couldn’t find the words through her frustration so
she settled on a low growl, “Just stay away from me!” She ducked around
him, her only satisfaction was the elbow he received in the process.
Douglas smiled a slow appreciative smile as he watched her
walk away in taut denim.
“Not likely.”
***
“You can’t be serious. Uncle Jack, the man is a
menace.” Beatrice sat cross-legged on the hood of her Jeep.
Cradling her cell phone, she watched the man she called ‘The Bruce’ approach
her in ground-eating strides. “What? No, I don’t run the
business. I’m not trying to . . . but . . . ” There was a pause as
Beatrice listened to her Uncle Jack’s response. “All right. If it
means that much to you. Yes, Uncle Jack, I’ll be nice. Okay, I love you,
too. Bye.”
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t ignore him. They had
worked together before, and the job had never suffered. Of course, the
last time they had ended up with that red paint all over them. Before
that had been the plaster battle. It had taken her days to get all of it
out of her hair.
Douglas came to a stop next to the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee
and leaned against the fender. Close enough that his hip was brushing her
knee that peaked over the side. He smiled as she shifted out of range and
put down the phone.
“Well, what did good old Uncle Jack say?”
She glared, “That I’m stuck with you. And I have to
play nice.”
“That sounds promising.” He placed an arm right behind
where she was sitting so that once again he was leaning over her. If she
didn’t know him so well and his tastes for the leggy bimbettes, she would think
he was actually making a play, instead of just trying to spark her temper by
getting in her space.
Beatrice ground her teeth and counted to ten.
“Suppose you and I call a truce,” she said when she could
get it out. “You stop trying to irritate me every chance you get and I
will ignore you as much as possible.”
“Now Bumble Bee, did it ever occur to you that you are the
one that overreacts? I am considered a very likable guy by some.”
“Yes, well, so was Hitler.”
“See there you go. A truce isn‘t so hard is it?”
“You’re right. I apologize. If we are going to
work this job, it’s important that we make the effort to get along.”
While she continued with her speech, she was aware that once again Douglas had
shifted closer. Far too close. She shifted away. “I am a
professional and so are you.” She almost choked on the sentence, but she
got it out. “We can certainly get along for the length of one restoration
job.”
“I’m all for that. We can start with dinner.”
“Dinner?” Beatrice looked up at him incredulous.
“Yes, you know that meal they have in the evening, we could
celebrate our truce with a little steak, some salad, maybe a nice red
wine. You get the idea.” He shifted closer again; his hand had at
some point moved and was now touching her thigh. “That’ll give us a few
hours to get a feel for what’s needed here, then we can discuss what needs to
be done tonight, and present it when the others get here tomorrow.”
It all sounded extremely reasonable, a business
dinner. For a second, Beatrice’s brain had heard his invitation and her
heart had reacted with an extra thump.
“I can’t.” She was feeling strangely disappointed.
“I already have plans.”
He lost his smile quickly, and his eyes froze over.
“Charles?”
“How do you know about Charles?”
“Jack mentioned him a time or two.” Actually, Jack had
had a few choice remarks about the lawyer from California that was seeing his
only niece, but Douglas didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing them.
“What‘s he doing in this neck of the woods?”
“He’s just coming for a visit.”
“He staying the night?”
“That’s hardly any of your business, but if you must know,
he’s staying the weekend. He has to be back in L.A. on Monday.”
Douglas didn’t say anything for a minute, just studied the
tip of his boots with a frown firm on his face. When he finally looked up,
the smile that seemed to be perpetually on his face was missing.
“Just keep him off the site,” he said harshly, which was so
unlike his usual obnoxious smile that it gave her pause. “Last thing I
need is a lawyer breaking his fucking neck on my job.”
“Your job?!“
But he was walking away and Beatrice was left to swallow her
temper and wonder what she’d said to ignite his infrequent moodiness. Say
what you want about the annoying man, but his frustrating and perpetual good
humor was usually impossible to rile. On the rare occasion he did lose
his temper, he reverted to feral junkyard dog on a short chain, but it happened
rarely — as in rare enough to be a thing of legend in the family lore. It
couldn’t be the mention of Charles; they had never even met. She shrugged
it off and jumped down from the Jeep, determined to get the first walk through
accomplished with as little strife as possible.
***
It was a long afternoon. The house itself was built in
1889, in the Queen Anne style, complete with turrets, spindles, and sweeping
stairs, most of which were in sad need of repair, sported peeling paint, and
not a small amount of rot.
The wraparound porch that flowed from the outside steps
around to one side of the house all the way to the back door was a safety
hazard, but a promising one. There were cast iron touches all along the
upper floor on the falling down balustrade. The bay windows on the first
floor were broken, many sporting what must have once been beautiful stained
glass. Some of the fixtures could be restored; most were going to need
replacing. The slanting roof was crumbling and leaking, and all the
plumbing in the place would have to be redone, along with the electrical.
It was, in a word, a travesty. Nevertheless, once they
were done, the place would be incredible. Especially when you considered
the area and its proximity to the Washington coast, and wildlife
preserves.
If Jack had not assigned her this house, she would have
screamed bloody murder to get on it. But, she had some serious work to
do, a lot of details to cover and all of that with the added stress of working
with the most irritating man alive.
Beatrice did her best to stay out of his way while she took
notes and measurements, snapped pictures, and ripped down moth-eaten
curtains. She had geared herself to withstand his sarcasm and innuendoes,
and instead had to deal with monosyllables and silence. When she made
suggestions, he would grunt and move on. It was maddening. Not once
did he argue with a suggestion she made. Not once did he call her Bumble
Bee. He didn’t react in his usual manner at all. She should be
glad, she knew she should be, but she wasn’t. It was a most trying
day. So when she got back to her hotel around six all she wanted to do
was take a hot shower and eat a nice meal, not necessarily in that order.
“Has Mr. Durgeon checked in yet?” she asked the white-haired
lady she’d met that morning checking in.
“Oh, hello, Miss Blue. No, I’m afraid he hasn’t.
Mr. Durgeon has cancelled his reservation, but he did leave you a message.”
She handed over the message and smiled warmly, obviously
curious about the note, despite the fact that she’d probably been the one to
take it down.
“Not bad news, I hope?”
Beatrice, reading the message, smiled at the open
curiosity. “No, he just had a case and couldn’t get away for the weekend
as he thought. No big deal.”
“No big deal? Imagine a man planning a romantic
weekend and then calling at the last minute to leave a message canceling
it. You must be devastated.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I was devastated. Maybe a little
disappointed, but it wasn’t going to be that big a deal anyway, just a
visit.”
Beatrice said good-bye to the woman, who she finally
remembered was named Ruth Peal. How could she forget that name? She
started up to her room with a groan for more stairs.