glanced around at the old gatehouse. It wasn't huge, although there was a second story. "Why would you want to move?"
“ It's always been the plan." She rubbed a piece of sandpaper against the door frame, then shook her head and leaned against the wood. "When Marty and I bought the property, we'd intended to fix this place up and move here. That way there would be more rooms to rent out. When he died, my first priority was to get rooms ready for paying guests and this project got put on the back burner. I'm hoping to get it done by midsummer."
“ Isn't there more room for you and the kids at the main house?"
“ Technically, yes, but when we have a lot of guests, the boys have to be quiet. We're on the third floor with guests underneath. They really try to co operate, but they're young. Plus I hate reminding them all the time. I don't want their only memories of their childhood to be 'stop making noise.' We're all willing to sacrifice space for privacy."
“Makes sense. Mind if I look around?"
“Help yourself." He walked through the living room. There was a fireplace at one end, with built-in bookcases on ei ther side. Large windows opened up to the street. The door on the right led to a short hallway and the stairs. There were two bedrooms in back, a bath room, a kitchen that led to a small dining room, which opened onto the living room. Stephanie stood in that doorway. At the very rear of the house was a utility room with washer and dryer hookups.
Nash climbed the stairs and found a good-size master bedroom with a private bath. The ceilings were high on both floors, and the rooms had big windows, molding and lots of painted wood trim.
He returned to the living room. "Very nice," he said. "Only three bedrooms, though. Will the twins share?"
“ They already do and they love it, so that's not a problem." Nash watched her work for about thirty seconds. When she stretched up past her reach again, the flash of belly skin hit him like a sucker punch.
“ Go sand something closer to the floor," he growled and grabbed a piece of sandpaper. She spun toward him. "What?"
“You're not tall enough. I'll do that." Her gaze narrowed. "I'm perfectly capable of do ing this myself."
“ Not without a ladder." He set his hands on her upper arms and gently moved her out of the way. For a brief second he had the impression of curves, heat and feminine scent, then he deliberately turned his back on temptation and went to work on the top of the door frame.
“I can't let you do this," she said.
“ Never turn down the offer of free labor. It may not happen again."
“But you're a guest."
“I'm restless and bored. I need something to do." She laughed. "Right. How silly. Of course I'm the one doing you a favor by letting you help me. Why didn't I see that before?"
“Beats me." He glanced at her over his shoulder. Her chin jut ted out and she had her hands on her hips, as if prepared to do battle.
“Just say thank-you and let it go," he told her.
“ But I..." She sighed. "Thank you, Nash. I ap preciate the help. As long as that's what we call it. Your attempt to guilt me into this by pretending I was doing you a favor was pretty pathetic."
“I've always been told I think fast on my feet."
“I'm a mother of three boys. That makes me a professional in the guilt arena. You're not even close to my league." He chuckled and returned his attention to the sanding. Under the layers of paint was beautiful old wood, still in great shape.
“ Whoever built these houses knew what they were doing," he said. "Good-quality material and great construction."
“Whenever I panic about the mortgage, I remind myself that the B&B will outlast the payments by at least a century. Not that I plan to be around that long."
“The boys will appreciate the inheritance."
“I hope so. If one of them wants to take over the business, that's great. If not, I won't push them. They can sell the house and split the money."
“You're doing some