by Beth Andrews
“Wait, wait, wait,” Harper called, hurrying up the porch steps. “We have to discuss this.”
“Not everything needs to be talked to death.”
During the time they had their little discussion, he could be done and on his way back home.
“Be that as it may, you seem to have forgotten one itsy-bitsy—but very important—thing.”
Frowning, he glanced into his toolbox. He didn’t need much for this job, chalk—which she’d provided—and a hand planer. It wasn’t rocket science. It was planing a door so it opened and shut smoothly. “No, I didn’t.”
“You forgot,” she said in a calm, patient tone she probably used when trying to get through to the kids in her class, “that I did not hire you to fix my door.”
Was that all? “I’m off the clock. No charge.”
But when he knelt to tap the pin free of the bottom hinge, she blocked him. “Eddie, I didn’t ask you to fix my door. I didn’t hire you to fix my door. I do not want you to fix my door. Clear?”
“Crystal.”
She nodded, all self-satisfied as if she’d won some battle.
“You didn’t ask me to fix your door,” he repeated, straightening. “I’m offering. To...thank you. For helping Max.”
“Oh. Oh,” she repeated, drawing the word out so that it was three syllables long. No easy trick, that. “What you mean is, you want to fix the door so you won’t feel beholden to me.”
“I don’t usually use words like beholden, but yeah. That about sums it up.” And he didn’t like that she’d read him that correctly. That easily. “But if you don’t want it fixed—”
“Far be it from me to stand between a man and his pride,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing grandly. “Please. By all means, do what you have to do.”
He would. He just hoped like hell she didn’t keep staring at him as if trying to bore a hole into his skull so she could read his mind. Women, they all wanted to know every thought a man had, every feeling.
He was entitled to his own thoughts and to the right to keep those thoughts to himself.
Using a hammer and nail set, he tapped the pins free from the hinges. He wiggled the door free only to freeze when she laid her hand on his back. It was only for a second but it was long enough for her warmth to burn through the fabric of his T-shirt, to heat his skin.
He whipped his head around so fast, he was surprised he didn’t dislodge a few vertebrae.
She didn’t notice. She was too busy peering over his shoulder. “Why don’t you unscrew the hinges from the wall?”
“Easier this way.”
“Don’t you have to measure it?”
He carefully opened the door, pointed to the chalk. “See where it’s rubbed off?” She nodded. “That’s where it’s swollen.”
She smiled. “That’s really clever.”
Yeah, that was him. Clever. He wiggled the door free, let her help him lift it and lay it on its hinge side.
“Want me to hold it?” she asked.
“Why don’t you do the planing?”
She laughed, the light sound carrying on the breeze to wrap around him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve never done it before?”
He held out the hand planer. “First time for everything.”
She hesitated then accepted the tool. “What do I do?”
“Just run it along the edge,” he said, pointing again to where the chalk was gone. “Hold it with both hands, flat against the wood. You don’t have to press hard, let the blade do the work and just...” He made a pushing motion, going up at the end as if ascending an incline. “Don’t stop dead when you reach the end, sweep it up.”
“Sweep it. Okay. Sure.”
He kept the door steady while she laid the tool on the wood.
“Sweep it,” she repeated in a whisper. She bit her lower lip, frowned in concentration and pushed the planer. “Like that?”
He nodded and couldn’t stop from smiling at how serious she was, how intent, as if he was going to grade her. “It probably doesn’t need much, maybe two or three more times.”
While she went over the door, he glanced at the kids. Max was on his stomach, making what looked to be an apple orchard on the sidewalk. Cass mimicked his pose, from her feet being in the air to her hand holding up her chin. Looked like his kid had his first female admirer.
“Well,” Harper said, as several thin sheets of wood curled at her feet. “What do you think?”
“Let’s try it out. See how we did.” Together, they lifted it upright and set it back into the hinges. “Much better,” he said after shutting it and opening it a few times. “Can you hand me those pins?”
She picked them up from where he’d laid them by his toolbox. She was quiet. He didn’t like it. Not when he was getting used to hearing her talk.
Her silence made him nervous. Made him think he had to find something to say to fill it.
Shit.
“So...uh...” He tapped the top pin into place, cleared his throat. “You like the Steelers, huh?”
He winced, felt a blush creep up his neck. Of course she likes the Steelers, you idiot. Look at her clothes.
“Like is such a weak word to describe what I feel for the boys in gold and black.”
She sounded so serious, so devoted to Pittsburgh’s professional football team, he glanced over his shoulder. She wasn’t kidding.
“I never would’ve pegged you as a football fan,” he said. Weren’t women like her, smart, educated women, into finer pursuits? The ballet or opera?
“I get that a lot. When we were first dating, Beau thought I only spent Sundays watching the games because he liked to.”
Beau, her dead husband. “He liked the Steelers, too?”
She nodded. “He preferred baseball, though.” Glancing around, she leaned in close and lowered her voice. “He was a Yankees fan.”
Only a foot separated them, a mere twelve inches between him and those lush curves, that perfect mouth. His brain screamed at him to retreat, his body told him to get closer. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Hey, I didn’t make the rules. You either love the Yankees or hate them.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “But you still married a Yankees fan.”
She sighed dramatically, but couldn’t hide her own smile. “Everyone has their flaws. That was Beau’s. Luckily, I’m a very tolerant and forgiving soul.”
“He was a lucky man.”
Staring at her daughter, she rubbed her thumb over the base of her wedding rings. “I was the lucky one.”
He hated the sadness in her eyes, the thickness of her voice as if she was fighting tears. Hated that she’d been so hurt, that she still dealt with that pain. He had no clue what to do, how to act. He felt useless and more tongue-tied than usual, afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d say the wrong thing. Make everything worse.
But she was sad. And that wouldn’t do.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping she understood what he truly meant.
I’m sorry for your loss. So sorry your daughter will never know her father, that you have to live the rest of your life without the man you so obviously loved.
“Thank you. It was hard. Some days it’s as hard as the day he was killed. Others...” She shook her head. “Others it’s as if he’s been gone forever. Almost as if he never was a part of our lives.”
“He’s still a part of it,” Eddie said softly. “He always will be.” He nodded toward Cassidy, who was talking a mile a minute to a patient Max.
Harper followed his gaze then looked back at him. “Wow. Who would’ve guessed behind all that—” she waved a hand at him vaguely “—stoic silence, were
such deep, insightful thoughts?”
She was teasing him again. He could handle good-natured ribbing. He had two brothers who excelled at it, a sister whose tongue was as sharp as a blade.
But he didn’t like the idea of Harper thinking he was some dim-witted fool, someone who kept his peace because he didn’t know what to say.
Even if there were times that assessment was correct.
He stepped closer to her, noted the small frown that formed between her eyebrows, the way her throat worked as she swallowed. “I don’t say every thought that pops into my head,” he told her, his words low, his tone mild. “If I did, I would’ve told you, as soon as you opened the door, how pretty you look today.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her instead of complimented her. “I...you...”
He grinned. He liked that he could make her stutter, could make her speechless. “I would have said,” he continued relentlessly, “that I like your hair pulled back because it shows off your neck and reminds me of when you used to cheer at the football and basketball games. It seemed every time I happened to glance your way, you were smiling. Laughing.” He dropped his gaze to her lips. “I used to dream about your mouth.”
She inhaled sharply, took a quick step back.
Shoving his hands in his pockets where they couldn’t get him into trouble—like his mouth probably had—he met her eyes again. “Those thoughts deep enough for you?”
* * *
IT’S THE QUIET ones a girl has to watch out for.
Dear, sweet Lord, but she’d hit the nail smack dab on the head with that one.
Harper’s scalp prickled, sweat formed between her breasts as if the air temperature had suddenly shifted a good forty degrees or so. Two minutes ago she’d been perfectly fine, calm and cool. Comfortable and at ease with quiet, shy Eddie Montesano. Teasing him a bit, being her usual oh, so witty self, saying—as he’d put it—every thought that had popped into her head.
She should take a lesson from his book.
Because now she was hot, sweaty and a cluster of nerves. Flustered beyond anything she could recall in recent memory.
Stepping back again, this time trying to make the move as casual as possible, she linked her hands together at her waist. “Uh...yes. Those were...that was...”
Bizarre. Disconcerting. And very, very confusing.
Not that Eddie seemed bothered in the least. Oh, no, he was just fine, thank you very much, watching her in that careful, assessing way of his. As if he hadn’t shared words that had the power to turn her safe, settled world upside down.
Well, she wouldn’t let them. Wouldn’t let Eddie change anything about her, about her life. Including how she dealt with him.
“Kids,” she called, sounding desperate to her own ears. Okay, so maybe she would let him change how she dealt with him. A woman had to be smart, had to protect herself, didn’t she? And if there was one thing Harper was, it was smart. She forced a smile when Cass and Max looked up. “Why don’t you come inside? We’ll have milk and cookies.”
“Cookies!” Cass cried, doing a decent imitation of Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster as she clambered to her feet. She tugged on the slower-moving Max’s arm. “Come on, Max! Come on.”
“I’ll just clean up here,” Eddie said.
Was that humor she heard in his voice? Figured, the first time she’d seen him amused it was at her expense.
“Sure. Fine.” She put her hands on her hips as Cass and Max raced between them and into the house. Dropped them back to her sides. Felt like wringing her hands but that seemed a bit overly dramatic. “Come on in when you’re done. We’ll be in the kitchen. And...uh...thanks again. For fixing the door.”
No matter what anybody said, Harper did not bolt as if her rear was on fire. She walked, rather sedately if you asked her, her head held high, her arms loose and swinging naturally. If she so happened to slam the door shut with more force than necessary, it was only because she wasn’t used to it swinging into place so easily.
“Cassidy,” Harper said on a groan when she stepped into the kitchen and caught her baby sitting on her knees on the counter. “What have I told you about climbing onto the counter?”
Happy as you please, Cass bit into a chocolate chip cookie, leaving a smear of chocolate on her chin. “I not ’posed to.”
“Exactly. You’re not supposed to. So why are you?”
Cass widened her big blue eyes and held out a cookie. “Want a cookie, Mommy?”
Harper sent a pleading look to the heavens. Both Cass and Max looked up as well as if to see what the heck she was looking at.
“No, I do not want a cookie. But thank you for asking and trying to distract me from you breaking the rules.”
“You welcome.”
Some days Harper wondered why she bothered. She set Cass on the floor. “Let’s go into the bathroom and wash your hands.”
Cass wrapped her arms around Max’s waist, squeezed him so hard, Harper was surprised his eyes didn’t pop out of his head. “I want Max to wash them.”
“Max has to wash his own hands.”
“I can help her,” he said. “If you want.”
“That’s very nice of you, Max, but you don’t have to.”
“It’s okay. I want to.”
Harper shouldn’t let him. God knew Cassidy didn’t need to get her way all the time—and she didn’t. But Harper wouldn’t mind a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts. Get herself back on steady ground.
“That would be great. Thank you. Let me get the water going so it’s not too hot for her.”
After leaving them in the bathroom, both of them sudsing up their hands, she poured milk into plastic cups, put a lid on Cass’s. She plated some chocolate chip cookies and laid them on the table, then took a deep breath. Shut her eyes and cleared her mind. Exhaled. There. Much better.
I used to dream about your mouth.
Her eyes flew open and she glanced around, but Eddie hadn’t appeared in the kitchen. His words, that particular statement, however, kept playing over and over in her head.
I used to dream about your mouth.
Oh, jeez. Oh, God. That was...that meant...
Her mouth dried. Her palms grew damp. She lifted the gallon of milk, drank deep straight from the container. She lowered it and wiped the back of her trembling hand over her mouth. No. No. It couldn’t mean what she was thinking.
He probably meant it in an innocent way. Kissing or...or...
She rolled her eyes. Or what? He’d been a teenage boy. Who knew what sort of things they thought about, what with their rampant hormones and wet dreams and all.
Had he fantasized about them? Him and...and...her?
She sagged against the table. The mere idea of something so intimate, so raw and basic between them, between her and another man, a man who wasn’t her husband, should send her running, screaming in terror. In offense. And mortification.
It did. Of course it did. She was a nice girl and a nice girl did not think about even the possibility of oral sex with the father of one of her students. Not while their children were splashing in the sink in the next room, their giggles high-pitched and infectious.
Unless that nice girl also happened to be a grown woman. A woman who’d been married for years and had a child. A woman who enjoyed sex very much. Very, very much.
A sudden image slammed into her, a familiar fantasy, one she’d had often of Beau, one they’d lived out many times. She, on her knees in front of him, his hands tangled in her loose hair, his head thrown back as she took him into her mouth.
It was so clear, so intense and erotic, she bit her lower lip to stop a whimper. Lust pooled in her stomach, swept through her veins even as tears stung her eyes.
Because this time, it wasn’t Beau she was pleasuring.
It was Eddie.
She slid onto a chair, grabbed a cookie and viciously bit into it.
Joan would say she was transferring what she really wanted into a desire for chocolate.
So be it. Chocolate may add a few more pounds to her hips—and was already to be blamed for the extra ten she carried there—but at least she didn’t worry about what it would do to her reputation. And having sexy Eddie Montesano at her house, telling her things he had no right telling her was messing with her brain. And her willpower.
It was putting ideas into her head. Enticing, highly-charged, lust-filled thoughts that had no right being there.
Only because she hadn’t had sex—real, live sex with a real, live man—in almost a year. Because she was a woman in her prime. Not because she was attracted to Eddie.
She ate another cookie. Yes, he was attractive with that shy grin, his golden eyes. More so than she may have realized until now. Much, much more than she would have liked.
The kids came in, their feet pounding on the wood floor. Thank God. Without a distraction, she didn’t trust herself not to create other dangerous, pornographic scenarios starring her and Eddie.
“Have a seat,” she said, pulling a chair out for Max. “Help yourself.”
He sat and Cass immediately shoved a chair next to his and climbed up.
“You my boyfriend,” she told him in the same no-nonsense tone most people used when informing someone that the sky was, indeed, blue.
Max, in the act of reaching for a cookie, froze, complete terror crossing his face. His panicked gaze flew to Cass and then to Harper. “Uh...”
“How about if Max is your friend who happens to be a boy?” Harper asked Cass.
Cass frowned, looking so much like her father, Harper’s heart broke just a little. “No. He’s my boyfriend.” She turned to Max, hands on her hips. “You my boyfriend.”
“I thought Hunter and Travis at day care were your boyfriends?” Harper said. “And Nate? Nate’s the paperboy,” she explained to Max.