Watching him juggle fifty things at once brought back memories of her life as a Realtor when there had never been enough hours in the day, and she, too, had been tied to multiple cell phones and a pager. She didn’t miss that life and said a silent thank you to the man on her porch for convincing her to let go of the idea that she might one day return to it. No thanks, she thought, intrigued by the somewhat major revelation on this, her second day in Vermont. This place is working wonders!

After he extricated himself from the second phone call by barking out some more orders, he seemed to finally remember where he was. When he turned around, Clare almost gasped. Standing on her front porch was one deadly gorgeous carpenter, and he was in a foul mood.

“I’m O’Malley. What can I do for you?” His cheeks were rosy, as if he’d been outside all day.

“Come on in,” she said. With one quick glance, Clare saw the kindred spirit of a wounded soul in his stormy green eyes. Later she would pick over the meeting to try to understand how she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he too had experienced some kind of devastating tragedy.

Rattled, she led him into the house. “The kitchen is back here. I want to start with that. There’re three bathrooms to be updated and hardwood floors to be refinished. We’d also like to paint the whole interior.”

He released a low whistle. “That’s gonna cost you a pretty penny,” he said, lifting his hat to pull a pencil out of his hair.

“That’s all right. My brother has it to spend.”

“Do you have decision-making authority? I hate getting bogged down in decisions by committee.”

“I’m it. He doesn’t have time to deal with it right now, so I’m doing it for him,” Clare said as she followed him from room to room.

Other than an occasional grunt, he didn’t say anything else. He made notes, took a few measurements, and grunted some more. He ignored both cell phones and the pager when they rang again.

Clare followed him downstairs.

“What’s the plan for the kitchen? Are we gutting?”

“Yes, they want new cabinets, countertops, and appliances.”

“Granite?”

“Yes.”

He grunted again, twisted his head, seemingly to gauge the number of cabinets that would fit in a reconfigured kitchen, and wrote something in the notebook.

“Same with the bathrooms? Gut and start over?”

“Yes.”

He tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket and jammed the pencil back under his hat. “I have what I need. Ten thousand for labor. I’ll get you a written estimate for each room within a day or two.”

“I’ll be getting a couple more quotes.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“If I hire you, how soon could you start?”