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.With her deep tan, slightly hollow cheeks and straight, strong nose she looked like an exotic Indian.Until one took in the deep-green eyes, the baggy carpenter jeans that rode low on her hips, and the sleeveless jersey that exhibited an expanse of long, muscled arms.She did love her muscles, she realized with a sigh.If she ever went back to a desk job she would miss the exercise.She didn’t take long in her choice of cabinets.Matthews had more than enough money, and while the rustic oceanside house was in no way elegant, no corners had been cut, either.She chose solid oak cabinets with a raised panel door, consulting the little plan she’d drawn up earlier several times as she chose the pieces that appealed to her.Too bad if the future Mrs.Matthews didn’t like to cook—she was getting a food preparation center that would hold a mixer, food processor and blender within a modicum of space.Too bad if she preferred a single sink—Anne picked out the champagne of double sinks, with every accoutrement a dedicated cook could ask for.The only thing that stumped her was the countertops—she couldn’t decide whether she wanted Formica in a nice primary color with a matte finish or solid wood butcher block.“Why don’t you go ahead and send this out on Monday and I’ll let you know about the countertops,” she said finally, signing her name to the order with a scrawl.“That’s the old Matthews place, right?” The teenaged clerk staggered back under the weight of the first cabinet, and it was all Anne could do not to come to his aid.Sternly she repressed the urge, waiting until he dropped it with an ominous thud.She knew how fragile male pride could be at that age, and she’d always had a fondness for that particular clerk.“That’s right,” she said pleasantly.“We’ll be there to give you a hand unloading.”“Oh, I won’t need any help,” he said righteously, mopping his sweating brow.“How’s the house coming?”He almost, but not quite, could have been her son, Anne mused, but the look in his eye was faintly swaggering.Maybe she should have helped him with the cabinet—it would have cooled his ardor a bit.She gave him her easiest smile.“It’s beautiful,” she said.“Another few weeks and we should be just about done.” She didn’t like to think about it, didn’t want to think about leaving her house by the ocean and the small town of Wilbury that she had come to love.“Hey, that’s great.I can’t wait to see it.Is it a real palace?”“Actually, it’s quite simple.Very pleasing aesthetically.” Almost too pleasing, she thought mournfully.“But nothing fancy.”The boy shook his head.“Sure am glad old Matthews decided to sell.It’s been great for business and it’s brought some welcome strangers into town.” His puppy-dog glance left no doubt as to who the welcome stranger was.Anne smiled uneasily.“You’re very kind.Now, I think I’d better—” Suddenly the rest of his words penetrated.“Did you say old Matthews decided to sell? When was this?” Perhaps his lady had turned him down after all.Perhaps Anne wouldn’t have to lose the second house she’d poured her life and blood and soul into.So far she had steadfastly refused to accept any part of the money from the sale of the old farmhouse.Her share came to over a hundred thousand dollars—she had no idea what Matthews would charge, but that would surely be enough to cover a goodly share of it.She could…The boy shattered her dreams a second later.“He sold his place three years ago.It’s taken this long to get the old ruins torn down and the new house started.It’s a lucky thing Mr.Grant finally got around to it—that place was dangerous, sitting around unused, with the floors caving in and all.After all, there aren’t any neighbors around, and kids used to go out there all the time.To…you know…neck and all.” He smirked lasciviously, but Anne was beyond noticing.“Grant?” she echoed, her voice a hoarse croak.“Noah Grant?”“Sure.Didn’t you even know whom you were working for?” The boy stared at her in amazement.“I do now,” she said grimly, turning on her heel and stalking toward the door.“Hey!” the boy called after her.“What time do you want these delivered?”Anne’s reply was succinct, obscene and quite loud before she sailed out the door, slamming it violently.How could he have done it to me again, she demanded in white-hot rage as her battered Volvo tore down the road.Did he get some sort of perverse pleasure in using her, making a fool of her? Or maybe, worst of all, he felt sorry for her.He carried such a burden of guilt already, maybe he simply added her to it, drumming up this job as therapy and to absolve himself of his responsibility in ripping her house from her.Well, this time he wasn’t going to get away with it.Hadn’t Aunt Lillian suggested revenge? Though Aunt Lillian’s part in this was none too pure, she realized belatedly.She’d been in on the setup all along, sending her straight into the lion’s den without a second’s hesitation.The traitor.Well, revenge might not be sweet, but it would be infinitely satisfying.Noah Grant was not going to live in the house she had sweated over, wasn’t going to bring one of his New York sweeties to live in her house.The Volvo raced at forty miles an hour down the rutted road that led to the house.In her red-hot fury Anne heard several pieces of metal fall off with a crash, and her foot pressed even harder on the accelerator.She wasn’t going to let second thoughts stop her this time.She’d leave Noah Grant a clear message as to what she thought of him.Sam had left long ago by the time she pulled up with a screech.She slammed the car into first and wrenched out the key, stalking from the car like a hunter stalking its prey.And even through her haze of anger she recognized the beauty of the house as it stood there in the late afternoon sunlight.The cedar shingles were stained a light gray; the row of windows reflected the setting sunlight with a rosy glow
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