Samson heard the challenge in Joanna’s voice. A gauntlet had just been thrown down, and now it was up to him to either pick it up or admit defeat. Scratching his chin, he considered his answer carefully. “No, but given the timeframe we have, in order to do what you’re asking, I’ll have to bring in other companies to get the job done on time. I know the money isn’t an issue, but you need to understand we’re talking about working around the clock for two weeks straight. That means there’ll be crews here day and night, and trust me, they aren’t quiet, and neither are the trucks. I’ll have to arrange deliveries as soon as I can get them, which means I’ll have to store all the materials here, so they’ll be immediately on hand. That’s a lot of disruption, not to mention the noise and the chaos. Are you really prepared to deal with all of that?”

Joanna widened her stance and held her head high. “I am if you are.”

***

Noah waited until the kitchen door closed behind Joanna before he headed over to the table and slipped into a chair.

Evelyn raised her eyes. “So, what do you think?”

“Well, you’re the one who told her to poke a stick.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a poke. This is a...a bloody stab wound,” Evelyn said, pointing at the sketches Joanna had left behind. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled the work is getting done and ridding the house of that blasted ivy is a godsend, but I think Joanna’s timing is a bit off.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, come on. You must have noticed the change in Addison over the past several weeks. She isn’t barking orders or slamming doors, and just the other day I heard her thank Fiona for bringing her coffee. So, why now, when Addison seems to have finally...well, mellowed a bit, would Joanna purposely try to make her angry?”

“You think she is?”

“You don’t?”

“Oh no, I do,” Noah said, smiling. “But then again, I see the forest. You’re still looking at the trees.”

Evelyn cocked her head to the side. “Well, I’m familiar with the saying, but I’m not sure I understand your reference.”

“Well, how about this one,” Noah said, his eyes twinkling as he took a sip of coffee. “Hell hath no fury...like a woman scorned.”

“What in the world are you talking about, and stop talking in riddles.”

“Actually, I think that was Shakespeare.”

“In point of fact, it’s a pared down version of a line from The Mourning Bride. A play by William Congreve.”

“Seriously?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, seriously.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I always thought—”

“Can we please get back on subject?”

An impish grin overtook Noah’s features. “Sure. Go ahead,” he said with a chuckle.