“Hydrants,” Babs provided and smiled as though that made perfect sense.
“Pardon?”
“Fire hydrants. The Duke loves fire hydrants. And fire engines and fire hats and his favorite color is, oh my, it is, uh . . .” The woman’s lips pursed in concentration as she snapped her fingers.
“Red,” Abby offered.
“Yes.” She clapped her hands and the dog barked. “The Duke just loves fire-engine red. With yellow accents and little bones everywhere. That will be nice, don’t you think?”
“Um.” Abby’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from the weight of keeping her smile in place. This woman was as crazy as her dog. No wonder she had scared off six other designers. “I’ve never considered fire-engine red as a soothing color. But maybe if you showed me the space, explained what you envisioned, I could better understand—”
“You saw the space when you came in.” Babs looked as confused as Abby felt, and suddenly that bad feeling—the one that had formed in the pit of her stomach when Richard showed up on her lawn that morning and gotten worse when she’d learned she was stuck with him for a week—turned into a painful ache that swelled up into her chest until she was afraid she might pass out.
“Right,” Abby ventured. “The old Jackson Bottlery downtown, the one at the end of Main Street. I passed it on my way here.”
“No, the bottlery is for my cheese shop,” Babs explained slowly, her brows furrowing even more. “I was talking about my late husband’s old den. I pointed it out when you arrived. It’s the perfect place for The Duke’s new doggie habitat.”
Which explained the “bonding” hour. And why Babs had set out a bowl of kibble on the coffee table next to the nuts. She was setting the scene for Abby to meet her new client. “But I don’t do doghouses.”
“Habitat, dear. They’re all the rage,” she said, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. “The Duke and I saw a lovely alpaca habitat last week on our morning walk, and it got us thinking, ‘Now, wouldn’t that be nice?’”
Yes, lovely and nice, lovely and nice, lovely and nice. They were the only adjectives the woman knew. Oh my God, Abby was going to lose it right there. On Mrs. Hampton’s settee. With The Duke playing witness.
“Then I ran into your brother, Nathaniel, at the market, such a nice boy.” She gave that smile that every woman between newborn and not quite embalmed gave when they encountered Abby’s older brother. “I was buying some prime rib for The Duke’s dinner and Nathaniel told me that you helped him design the alpaca habitat. Invited me over for a tour, even gave me a bottle of that fancy wine of his wife’s, and I have to say I was impressed.”
“With the wine?”
“With the habitat. Although, that I acquired a bottle of Red Steel was all the talk at the Garden Society’s Friday tea.”
“I bet.” Abby was going to be sick.
“But the real star was that habitat. What a serene, playful, and perfect space you created, Abigail.” She patted the dog’s head. “Only we want ours red and with bones. Maybe even a little siren he can ring.” The Duke looked up at his mistress and barked, and Babs clapped once with excitement. “Or maybe a palace-themed habitat. I see royal, regal, elegantly fit for a duke. But with hydrants. Gold ones.”
“I only directed Nate to a site that sold habitat blueprints. I didn’t actually design it.”
“He said you helped add on the reading room and exercise corral as their wedding present.”
“Yes, I did.”
Screw sick, she was furious. Not only had Nate butted into her life, something that all of her brothers had spent a lifetime mastering, he also felt as though he had to bribe an old lady with fancy wine in order for Abby to book an interview—for a freaking habitat.
Closing her eyes, she let her head drop back against the couch, wondering how she could have been so stupid.
Her husband was naked on her lawn and the entire town was flocking to get a look. Her family thought she was as good as her last closet. She was considering taking a job building a doghouse for a four-legged duke. And, oh God, the worst part of all—Tanner had all but told her so.
Her life was a mess. She was a mess. A talentless, jobless, pathetic mess.
Your designs speak for themselves. If they pass, it’s their loss.
Tanner had been wrong on both counts. Her designs wouldn’t be seen, let alone heard, and if Babs passed, it would be Abby who lost out. And she didn’t know if she’d bounce back. Because after her hellish day, she stood to lose a whole lot more than a stupid job.