Page 4 of Badd Daddy
She nodded. “Twenty-five years.” She patted my shoulder when I hesitated—I refused to be the other man, no matter what, even if it was nothing but innocent talk. “He passed away three years ago.”
I wiggled the rubber end of my cane against her linoleum floor sample, scratching at a nick in the wood grain with my thumbnail. “I…sorry to hear that.”
We walked in silence up to the register. Bill Hickham, behind the register, greeted Olivia by name, and she related her needs—several gallons of paint in a color to match a sample she handed him, thirty-six cabinet pulls to match the one she set on the counter, six boxes of flooring under the item number she read to him…the list went on for nearly two minutes.
I stared at her. “Interior designer, or general contractor?”
She laughed. “I choose and order the supplies to make sure it’s exactly right. In my experience, if you tell a contractor exactly which product you want him to use, he’ll getalmostthe right thing, and will usually either get the wrong thing by accident, or figure he knows better. So I order the quantity and specific items myself, see that it gets delivered on time and, that way, the project stays on target in terms of time and budget, and my client gets the exact look I designed.”
I laughed. “Sounds like you don’t have a lot of faith in contractors.”
“I have faith in the ones I hire, because they trust me to choose and supply the best products for the job, and I trust them to build things properly, to code, and not cut corners.” Her eyes went to my cane, which I’d hung off the counter while she was working with Bill to get everything ordered. “Bad knee?”
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
Bill, at least twenty years older than me and yet somehow sprier, grinned at me. “Finally pick a paint for your place, Lucas?”
I growled. “No.”
Bill guffawed, slapping the counter. “You never will, you indecisive old grouch.” He glanced at Olivia, grinning. “He comes in every week on his day off, stares at the paint samples for twenty minutes or so, and then leaves without making a decision. Been going on for nearly two months now.”
“It has not,” I snapped. “And whaddayou know, anyway? You’re so old, you remember when Alaska was still a territory.”
He just laughed. “Territory? I was old when Alaska was owned by the Russians.”
Olivia scoffed. “You two should be nice to each other.”
Bill’s laugh was caustic. “He ain’t been nice a day in his life.”
“Like you’d know,” I murmured.
Bill arched a white eyebrow. “I knew your Pa. I helped him dig the trench to get you guys your electricity in that old place up off of Ward Creek.”
I gave Bill a glare—hoping he would get the message. He oughta know better than to bring up the past.
Bill just cackled, knowing he’d pissed me off. He just waved a hand at us. “Go on, kids. Get outta here. Liv, most of your order oughta be here by the end of next week.” Then he turned to me. “If you ever decide on a paint, let me know. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably pick black, just to match your soul.”
Before I could reply Olivia was ready with a response. “Don’t worry, Bill, he’s got me as his designer, now. I’ll help him choose a nice color. Something to lighten him up a bit.”
Bill looked impressed. “Good for you, Lucas. You’ve got the best designer in Ketchikan, our girl Liv.” He made a face. “Didn’t think you’d be able to afford her, not on what we make here.”
I thought about whacking him upside the head with my cane, but thought better of it. “Bill, so help me, please, shut the fuck up.”
“What kinda language is that to use around a lady?” Bill said with a cackle as he walked back to the storeroom.
Liv was laughing, though. “He is kinda funny.”
“He’s nosier than you are. Loudmouth motherfucker, too,” I added.
Olivia’s laugh was something a guy could get addicted to—it came easily, naturally, and beautifully. Her laugh made you feel like you were the funniest person on earth, and each note of it jolted through you like a thousand volts of pure electricity.
“You really are a fan of the colorful language, aren’t you?” she said, not sounding offended, though.
“Ain’t been anyone to care how I talk in…well…” A harsh sigh scraped out of me. “A long time.”
Olivia’s gaze was speculative as she led the way out of the store into the parking lot. “If I asked you what that meant by that, I’m guessing you’d dodge that question, too?”
I nodded. “Probably.” A glance at her, a long glance in which I nearly lost track of myself in her open, questioning hazel-brown eyes. “You always make a habit of asking people about the hard-to-talk-about shit within ten minutes of meeting ’em?”