All Through The House Read Online Free PDF

reds and purples, a drafter's slanted table.
    "I wouldn't say that," she countered. "It's charming.
Not very big, though, is it?"
    "We're cramped," he admitted.
    Abigail couldn't resist the opening. "If you decide to
move...."
    "Naturally, you'll be the first to know." He
smiled wryly. "But don't hold your breath. Business is picking up, but not
quite on that scale yet. Although we have some exciting plans, if we can get
the city to back down on this sewer ban. We could use a little more capital,
too. Now, if we could win the contract to build the new elementary
school...."
    "You mentioned that before." Abigail looked at him
curiously. "It'd mean a lot to your business, wouldn't it?"
    "Yes," he agreed, adding after a moment, "And
to me personally."
    She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she
confessed, "The Irving House is like that for me. Selling it could mean a
real breakthrough for our agency. And its success is...important to me."
    Nate didn't comment, which struck Abigail as strange. When
she glanced at him, she was puzzled by the look on his face. He was frowning,
and his mouth had tightened, as though she'd said something that had triggered
an unpleasant thought. Since he was preoccupied at the same time by backing the
truck into a tight spot along the curb, she told herself she was imagining
things. Abigail half expected him to bring the subject up again once they were
seated in the restaurant, and was further perplexed when he didn't.
    Instead, over sandwiches and cups of homemade vegetable
soup, Nate asked if she'd seen a new thriller that was currently playing at the
town's small theater.
    Abigail wrinkled her nose. "This one sounds too gory
for me. Have you seen it?"
    The conversation veered easily into a discussion of books
both had read. Not surprisingly, Nate was interested in history, and Abigail
found herself very curious to see one of the houses he had designed. She was
going to be disillusioned if they were all angles and glass and beams.
    When she asked him, he looked thoughtful. "Actually, I
am interested in houses in their historical context. I have a number of the old
pattern books, and use some of those elements. On the other hand, I'm not
interested in copying, however gracefully the original was done. Besides,
people's needs have changed. The trick is to employ what is functional and
decoratively exciting from the past in a fully modern house."
    As he talked, Abigail became conscious of the way he
gestured with his hands. She watched with fascination the images he drew in the
air. As he continued to talk she listened, but all the while she covertly
studied his hands. They were large and tanned, with a few noticeable calluses.
Still, despite their size and obvious strength, they didn't look as though they
belonged to a workingman. Although blunt-tipped, his fingers were too long and
sensitive, the skin too smooth. She pictured him holding a pen, but that
innocent image was overlaid by one of his hands caressing her. She had a
feeling that those hands would be as compelling as his voice, rough but soft,
both gentle and strong.
    Abigail drew a very slow, very deep breath and deliberately
blanked out her thoughts. She could only pray they hadn't been visible on her
face. When the waitress chose then to refill their coffee cups, she was
grateful.
    The woman retreated, and Abigail took a long sip of the hot
coffee. She'd successfully recovered her poise until she looked at Nate. He was
watching her very thoughtfully. There was a knowing look in his eyes that told
her he'd sensed her mood. A careful stillness about the way he held himself
made her suspect he shared it.
    But his words were conventional enough, if double-edged.
"I hope I haven't been boring you."
    Abigail's cheeks warmed. "No. No, of course not. I
enjoyed listening to you talk." She ignored the fluttering in her stomach
and went on chattily. "We have a lot in common, you know. I don't think
I'm very creative, but I love houses. I've