Ryan's Renovation

Ryan's Renovation
Marin Thomas

A sky-high Manhattan office tower is the perfect place for Ryan McKade to hide from wounds both physical and emotional. Until, that is, his meddlesome grandfather puts a stop to his seclusion and arranges for some old-fashioned backbreaking work at Parnell Bros. Inc., a not-exactly-posh rubbish removal company in blue-collar Queens, New York.After just a few days on the job, the loner is nursing stiff muscles, evading his coworkers and pretending not to be attracted to Anna Nowakowski, the company's blond secretary. Her cheery personality and compassionate nature are irresistible to a hurting man like Ryan.Anna is determined to break down the defenses Ryan has spent years building, and Ryan can't help but let the luscious Anna get under his skin. The question is, will they be so enthusiastic about each other once each discovers what the other is struggling so desperately to conceal?

Ryan’s Renovation

Marin Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Mom

You sprouted your angel wings too early

and took us by surprise. But I guess you had things

to do and places to see. I close my eyes and imagine

you happily managing your craft boutique, the

Purple Plum. I see your gardens are in full bloom

and my latest release is on your bedside table. And

if I’m not mistaken, there’s a cowboy at your door,

who’s come a-courtin’.

I feel you around me every day, touching me

with your loving spirit. I miss you so much, Mom.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Ryan McKade, president of the New York City branch of McKade Import-Export, stood on the chipped-concrete sidewalk in north central Queens and studied the 1950s brick-and-stone building that housed Parnell Brothers Rubbish Removal. As a five-year-old he might have dreamed of becoming a garbageman, but he was thirty-six years old, for God’s sake—what had his grandfather been thinking?

The building reminded him of an old fire station. An extra-wide automatic door, with windows along the top half, faced the street. Two sanitation trucks sat parked inside, Parnell Bros. Inc. 1952 painted in bold black lettering across the red brick above the doors. A smaller entrance to the right of the garage area had the word Office etched into the glass pane.

A dingy American flag sagged from a pole—a victim of air pollution. Ryan had noticed the difference in air quality the moment he’d stepped off the train. He was accustomed to cab exhaust across the East River in Manhattan. Here in the industrial Flushing area, a heavy metallic taste flavored the air. Faded plastic flowers filled a pot next to a dented garbage can chained to the downspout against the building. Ryan commiserated with the fake yellow daisies—looking as out of place as he felt.

The sky rumbled for the third time in as many minutes. Flushing was home to LaGuardia Airport. During the pre–9/11 years, Ryan had attended several Mets baseball games at Shea Stadium, which had been built in the flight path of the airport. It was a toss-up what annoyed the visiting team more—the rowdy fans or the deafening air traffic.

A quick check of his watch convinced him that if he ran the four blocks to the train station he could catch the M line and return to his Wall Street office in Lower Manhattan within the hour. Or hire a cab ride across the Queensboro Bridge and arrive there in forty-five minutes.

Grandfather’s right. You are a coward.

Arguing with the ninety-one-year-old man had accomplished nothing. The family patriarch had embarked on a mission to teach each of his grandsons a life lesson before leaving the earth and he’d refused to allow Ryan to negotiate a way out of his. Not that Ryan had really tried. He owed his grandfather big-time.

Patrick McKade had raised him and his brothers, Nelson and Aaron, after their parents had perished in a private plane crash when Ryan was two. But more important, his grandfather had never left Ryan’s hospital bedside while he’d recovered from injuries sustained the day terrorists attacked the World Trade Center. Not even Ryan’s wife had had the fortitude to stick by him.

In truth, Ryan hadn’t been upset with the old man’s crazy scheme as much as he’d been devastated by the lesson he believed Ryan needed to learn—bravery. Evidently, rescuing a woman from the North Tower had failed to gain him hero status. Ryan believed it was no coincidence that his grandfather had arranged for him to begin the new job on September 11—six years post–9/11.

“Life goes on,” his grandfather had argued.

Maybe for people who’d watched the disaster unfold on television inside their homes. But for the unlucky ones, those who’d lived through the hellish hours of the attack, the memories never faded. They were always present…in the corners of his mind. In the eyes that stared back at him in the mirror. In the scars that hid beneath his clothes.

The old man’s right. You’ve got a yellow streak the length of the Holland Tunnel running along your spine.

A cool September morning breeze threatened to turn the beads of sweat on Ryan’s brow into flecks of frost. As much as he found the idea of hauling garbage for three months distasteful, the prospect of socializing with people made his stomach spasm. He preferred to work alone. Isolated from his staff. Isolated from the world.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, Ryan shifted his gaze from the plastic daisies to the head poking out the office door.

“You’ve been standing on the sidewalk for ten minutes.” The woman smiled.

Only a perpetually cheerful person would beam brightly at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday morning.