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the disappointment. Catching a whiff of the soft, flowery scent that drifted from her hair only made things worse.
    She pointed to the materials list. “Exactly what is strawboard, and why do you need so much of it?”
    “It’s a building material made from compressed wheat and rice straw,” he answered. “I’m redoing the upstairs bedrooms with it.”
    Her eyes rolled. “This is another of your environmentally friendly things, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it’s considered green technology,” Jamal replied with a defensive edge he’d tried, but failed, to keep from his tone. “Strawboard is as durable as plaster and drywall and more fire- and mold-resistant than either of the other materials. It also provides better sound insulation, so guests won’t be disturbed by what may be going on in the next room.”
    “But what about the wainscoting in the bedrooms? It’s over a hundred years old,” Phylicia protested.
    “I’m not getting rid of the wainscoting.”
    “But you can damage it by removing it. And if you think bathroom fixtures are hard to find, just try century-old beadboard wainscoting.”
    “That’s why you’re here,” he said. “To make sure none of this valuable original woodworking gets damaged.”
    She brought both hands up and rubbed her temples. Jamal was pretty sure she wanted to strangle him.
    “What’s this?” she asked, pointing at a spot he’d X-ed out on the blueprint.
    “It’s an odd little room on the other side of the house. Looks as if it was added long after the original structure was built.”
    “I know about the room,” she said. “What are you planning to do with it?”
    “Get rid of it.”
    Her brows spiked in shock. “Why?” she asked with enough distress to give him pause.
    “Because it sticks out like a sore thumb,” Jamal answered cautiously. “I want the house to be as authentic as possible, and the room takes away from the original design.”
    “Authentic!” she screeched. “You’re putting strawboard walls in a Queen Anne Victorian, yet you’re claiming you want authenticity?” Her expression darkened, those smoky brown eyes turning almost black. “Of all people, I cannot believe this house fell into your hands.”
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “You are going to destroy it!”
    “The house was abandoned,” Jamal pointed out. “It was already on its way to being ruined.”
    “It was not abandoned!” she shouted. “I’m sick and tired of everyone saying the house was frigging abandoned!” She slapped her hands on the table. “I can’t do this.”
    The emotion he heard clogging her voice shot a lightning rod of alarm through him. “Phylicia, what’s going on here?” he asked.
    “I’m sorry.” She pulled in a deep breath. “You’ll have to find someone else to help you.”
    She glanced up at him for the briefest moment, but it was long enough for Jamal to notice the sheen in her eyes. He caught her by the elbow, but she jerked away from him and half walked, half ran to her truck.
    “Phylicia!” Jamal called, but her truck was already backing out of the driveway. Jamal stood in complete shock, trying to figure out just what in the hell he’d done wrong this time.

Chapter 4
    P hil pulled into her driveway and hopped out of her truck, making a beeline for her workshop. She needed a solid hour of mind-numbing work before she could even think about doing anything else. She wanted to hit something with her mallet. Hard. But she’d passed the pounding stage on all of the projects she currently had in the works.
    The blowtorch would have to do.
    Phil headed for the back of the shop. She lowered the safety shield over her face and ignited the blowtorch. Moments later, she was lost in the piece she had been working on for the past few months.
    With painstaking precision she carved intricate loops and curlicues through the metal she’d found at a scrapyard, creating a lace effect. Immediately, the lace curtains that once hung