Hero by Nature

by Wilkins, Gina

  Hero by

  Nature

  GINA WILKINS

  For my favorite electricians—

  Vernon Vaughan, my father,

  and my brothers, Dennis, Pat and Doug.

  Thanks, guys.

  Copyright © 1988, Gina Wilkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Denise Marcil Literary Agency, Inc.; the agency can be reached at dmla@denisemarcilagency.com.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  1

  AUTUMN REED HOPPED nimbly out of the cab of the pickup, tugging the brim of her battered brown baseball cap low over her oversized sunglasses to shade her face from the afternoon sun. Her auburn hair was looped into a French braid, which had loosened over the course of the day so that it bobbed behind her as she strode briskly toward the front door of the impressively sized ranch-style house to which she’d been dispatched. To anyone reading body language, her movements were indicative of her personality—quick, restless, energetic, no-nonsense. She punched the doorbell with a slender, short-nailed finger, then waited impatiently for a response.

  “Well, hell,” she muttered when there was no sound of a chime inside to announce her arrival. The electricity was out. What was she doing ringing the bell? She knocked loudly, imperatively.

  While she waited for the door to open, she looked around. The house was gorgeous, the lawn beautifully landscaped. But then it had to be, in this Tampa, Florida neighborhood of equally gorgeous homes, equally beautiful lawns.

  The door opened, bringing her shaded green eyes back around. The man in the doorway was as beautiful as his home, she thought with detached amusement. Young, probably early thirties. Coal-black hair brushed casually back from a tanned, classically handsome face. Perfectly arched black brows over deep blue eyes, perfectly straight nose, perfectly even white teeth exposed by a mouth shaped for fantasies. Smooth, dimpled cheeks, square jaw, six feet plus of body that could serve as an advertisement for a health spa. He was one of your finer examples of the human male, and Autumn was woman enough to react quite physically. Mentally she knew that there had to be more to a man than a pretty face to make him worth her interest.

  “I’m with Brothers Electrical Company. You called for an electrician?” she asked in her direct, unceremonious manner.

  “Well, yes, but…” He paused, looking at her with a doubtful frown.

  She sighed resignedly. Damn. One of those. “I am a licensed electrician,” she assured him in a bored voice. “If you need to check me out, call the office. Of course, I charge by the hour and you’re wasting time.”

  “I’m sorry,” the attractive man answered, visibly flustered. “I wasn’t questioning your competence. I was simply surprised that you’re a…” His voice trailed off again.

  “Woman.” A very nice voice, Autumn thought automatically, even as she supplied the word for him. Low, rich, unapologetically Southern. Classy, too. Like someone who was intelligent and well educated but didn’t feel the need to make a big deal out of it. She had a habit of summing people up within a few minutes of making their acquaintance. She typed this guy as a successful professional with impeccable manners and a deeply ingrained woman’s-place-is-in-the-kitchen-and-bedroom mentality. Too bad. “What’s your problem?” she asked briskly.

  “I beg your—Oh, you mean why did I call an electrician,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving her face, or at least that part of it visible beneath her cap and huge sunglasses. Autumn wondered if she had overestimated his intelligence. “It’s the box on the side of the house, the one by the electric meter,” he told her finally, after clearing his throat. “A limb blew down during the thunderstorm last night and knocked it almost completely off. The electric company disconnected my power but told me I’d have to call an electrician to reinstall the service.”

  Autumn nodded. “No problem. I’ll get my tools, then you can show me where it is.” She whirled and headed back to the black Ford Ranger with the magnetic signs advertising the name of the company she worked for. Her belt was in the cab, and she retrieved that first. She strapped the tools around her slender waist, over her khaki jumpsuit, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the heavy tool pouch added almost fifteen pounds to her usual one hundred and ten. Then she reached into the bed of the truck for her ladder and toolbox, only to stop short when a long, tanned arm reached past hers.

  “I’ll carry those for you,” the dark-haired man offered, muscles rippling as he lifted out the heavy red metal toolbox as if it weighed practically nothing.

  Begrudging him his superior strength, Autumn tried to protest when he reached back in for the fiberglass ladder. “I can get it. I’m used to carrying my own tools.”

  “No trouble at all,” the man assured her, already moving away, toolbox in one hand and ladder balanced over his other shoulder, giving her a very nice view of his muscular back and lean hips. “This way, Miss…?”

  She exhaled impatiently and followed him. “Just call me Autumn,” she told him.

  “Autumn,” he repeated solemnly, smiling around at her. “That’s a very pretty name.”

  “Thanks,” she answered briskly, uncomfortable with the compliment.

  “I’m Jeff Bradford. And here’s the reason I called you.”

  Autumn raised one dark eyebrow at the sight he indicated. He hadn’t exaggerated. His service entrance was almost completely torn off the house, though fortunately it hadn’t been badly damaged. That would save her a trip after a new box. She pulled a screwdriver out of her pouch. “This is going to take a couple of hours,” she informed him. “I’ll try to have your electricity back on by late afternoon.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” he responded with a charming smile.

  Autumn swallowed and turned to her ladder. Lord, but he was attractive! Distracting, as well. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished,” she told him in what she hoped was a dismissive tone.

  “I think I’ll watch, if you don’t mind,” he replied diffidently. “It’s, uh, it’s dark in the house, and I’ve nothing better to do.”

  She shrugged, determined not to show him that his magnificent presence was in any way disconcerting. “Suit yourself.” She tossed out the words and set to work with grim concentration.

  Jeff shoved his fingertips into the pockets of his gray denim jeans and leaned one shoulder against the side of his house as he watched her climb three rungs of the ladder. The siding was rough through his thin cotton knit shirt, but he spared the sensation little thought as he mentally castigated himself. He was acting like a tongue-tied idiot, he told himself with disgust. What on earth had gotten into him? Fifteen minutes earlier he’d been a fairly bright, reasonably urbane kind of guy, and then he’d opened his door to this woman and lost whatever intelligence he may have possessed. He hadn’t said anything worth listening to since she’d first spoken to him in that low, husky voice.

  And the hell of it was, he wasn’t even sure if he found her all that attractive. Her hair was a pretty color, kind of a dark red as best he could tell from the functional bra
id. Her face was almost completely hidden by that beat-up baseball cap and those ridiculous sunglasses. What he could see was very nice. Small nose, squarish cheeks, soft, sensually shaped mouth that did not owe its rosy color to cosmetic aid. She was small, the top of her head coming just to his chin—about five, five he guessed. As for her figure, it might be good, but who could tell with that loose-fitting jumpsuit and bulky tool pouch? And even if a woman like this would deign to enter a beauty pageant, she certainly wouldn’t win the prize for Miss Congeniality. So why had he suddenly developed a tendency to stutter?

  He reached up automatically to take the metal box she’d just disconnected, noting the slight twist of her mouth as he did so. She wasn’t overly pleased about him helping her. One of those rabid feminists who entered a vocation normally filled by men, then found it necessary to continually justify her choice, he decided. Well, he was sure she was a fine electrician and he couldn’t care less if she chose to spend her time twisting wires, though he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do so. Personally, he preferred women who were softer, more feminine, whatever their chosen careers. Less antagonistic.

  Then she tugged off her sunglasses and shoved them into the breast pocket of her jumpsuit, glancing down at him as she did so. Jeff froze, staring at her like the tongue-tied idiot he’d just accused himself of being.

  He’d always heard that one could tell a sorceress by her eyes.

  Green. The truest green he’d ever seen, with deep, hot flames, carefully banked, in their depths. Evidence of a fiery temper, he was sure. He found himself wondering if her passion was as volatile. He would be willing to bet it was. Her long eyelashes and boldly shaped eyebrows were unusually dark in combination with her auburn hair.

  She was beautiful. He’d suspected that she was attractive, but he hadn’t guessed that there was a rare, earthy beauty hidden behind those god-awful dark glasses. And he was standing there like a tourist gazing in awe at the Statue of Liberty.

  Make conversation. “How long have you been an electrician?” he asked abruptly. Oh, terrific line. Straight out of How to Win Friends and Influence People, he thought with a mental groan.

  Autumn glanced down from her work, intending to let him know that if he was going to stand there, she would appreciate it if he’d be quiet and let her work. Instead, she found herself staring at a generous, warm smile that only a coldhearted puppy hater could ignore. “Almost five years,” she answered, her voice more friendly than she’d originally intended. She looked back at the mess of wires in front of her, trying to concentrate on what she was doing.

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Beats sitting behind a typewriter,” she replied as she pulled a pair of side-cutting pliers from her pouch.

  Her action drew Jeff’s eyes back down to her waist, which was just below his eye level. He was suddenly fascinated by the roll of black electrician’s tape that dangled from a chain on her belt, swaying against her hip as she moved. He cleared his throat and turned his eyes sternly upward. “You’re not from Florida originally, are you?” he asked.

  “No, Arkansas. Hand me that set of cable cutters out of my toolbox, will you?” Autumn decided that keeping him busy might just keep his mouth shut, though she doubted it. She thought he had a very nice voice, but it was definitely distracting.

  Jeff frowned into the open toolbox, staring at the assortment of tools there. The only thing he recognized was a big screwdriver. He’d never been much of a handyman—by choice. He preferred to pay people to do that sort of thing. Now he wished he hadn’t chosen extra science classes over shop. Using a rapid process of elimination, he grabbed something big and heavy and held it up. “You mean this?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said casually, taking the tool from him and turning back to the service.

  He just managed not to say “whew” and wipe his brow. He didn’t know why he was suddenly trying to impress this woman, but he felt as if he’d just earned himself a few points.

  “Now would you hand me—”

  Jeff tensed, glaring back down at the toolbox. What now?

  “The hacksaw?” Autumn finished.

  Thank goodness. Jeff snatched up the vaguely familiar instrument and offered it upward, grinning broadly.

  Autumn took the saw, wondering why Jeff was suddenly looking so pleased with himself. Strange guy, she mused. Gorgeous but strange.

  A particularly vigorous movement on her part shook the ladder beneath her, but Autumn wasn’t concerned as she steadied herself on the wall in front of her. After all, her feet were barely three feet off the ground. She’d fallen farther.

  Jeff, however, was not so unconcerned. He reached out at the first shimmy of the ladder and steadied her, one hand on the ladder, one on the back of her leg, a scant few inches below the slender curve of her hip.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Impatient, she sighed and looked down. “Yes, I’m…fine.” Her voice faded as she looked down into the face turned up to hers, their gazes locking. She was suddenly vividly aware of that warm hand on the back of her thigh. She cleared her throat soundlessly, “You want to, uh…”

  “Do I want to what?” Jeff asked eagerly.

  “You want to move your hand?” she continued more forcefully.

  His mouth tilting into a one-sided smile that she secretly found devastating, he looked down the length of her body to the hand in question. “No, not particularly,” he informed her.

  “Well, do it, anyway,” Autumn snapped. “I’m trying to work here.”

  “Sorry,” he murmured, looking back up at her with sparkling blue eyes that showed not the faintest apology. He moved the hand but took his time about it.

  Autumn tightened her jaw and turned curtly back to the job before her, telling herself that she was not blushing. Dammit, she hadn’t blushed since junior-high school! What was with this guy, changing from a rather sweet, shy, awkward type to a practiced flirt in the blink of an eye?

  Rebuilding Jeff Bradford’s meter loop should have been a routine, if painstaking, job, requiring little more than perfunctory concentration on Autumn’s part. In reality, it became a test of her skill and professionalism as she struggled grimly to perform her job while her uninvited “helper” hovered beneath her, making cheerful conversation, offering assistance when none was needed, occasionally handing her a tool in response to a grudging request. Autumn had to ask herself more than once why she was being so patient with him. She had been less patient with other pesky males, customer or not, and had even been known to lose her formidable temper with a few. But Jeff continued to be so relentlessly nice and courteous that she would have felt like a complete shrew had she been anything less than tolerant of him, though her tolerance may have been a bit forced.

  “Do you know that you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen?” he asked her at one point, gazing earnestly up at her. “Are they naturally that green, or do you wear contacts?”

  Autumn swallowed and dropped the stripping knife she’d been using, relieved that it fell nowhere near her uninvited assistant. “Jeff, do you suppose you could bring me a glass of water?” she asked with hidden desperation, unaware that she’d casually called him by his first name. “It’s, uh, it’s really hot out here.”

  He grinned, as aware as she that the moist, late-October breeze around them was quite comfortable. “Sure, Autumn,” he answered without further comment. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t hurry,” she called after him.

  The next four and a half minutes were the most peaceful time she’d managed since Jeff Bradford had answered her knock on his door. So why did she catch herself smiling when he returned with the requested water?

  “Almost finished now,” she announced a short while later, relieved that she’d done a creditable job despite her uncharacteristic clumsiness. “I just have to connect these grounding wires to the back of the box and—”

  Because her attention was more on the man beside her than on what she w
as doing, she awkwardly allowed the screwdriver she was using to slip out of the groove of the screw, the forward momentum of her hand causing her knuckles to smash painfully into the side of the metal box. Autumn swore colorfully under her breath, jerking her abused hand out of the box. She was particularly chagrined that she had done this in front of Jeff, although it was a common occurrence in her job.

  As she would have expected, he reacted with sympathy and concern. “Are you okay?” he demanded for the second time that afternoon. “Let me see your hand.”

  “It’s fine, Jeff, really. I just—” Her words died in a resigned sigh as he took her slender hand in his bigger ones, probing and massaging with the skill of an expert.

  “Nothing broken, but you’re going to have some interesting bruises,” Jeff told her with relief. “It will be sore. You really should wrap it in ice.”

  “Really, Jeff, it’s okay. I’ve done this before. More often than I like to remember,” she assured him, embarrassed. “Occupational hazard.”

  His thumb traced the delicate bones in her hand. “You’ve broken a couple of these bones, haven’t you?” he asked, feeling the almost imperceptible ridges beneath her surprisingly soft skin.

  “Yeah, I broke a couple of bones in an accident once. What are you…a doctor?”

  “Pediatrician,” he admitted.

  She hadn’t really thought he was a doctor. She’d only been asking to divert his attention from her hand. For some reason she was suddenly self-conscious, though she couldn’t have explained why. “If you’ll let go of my hand, I’ll finish this up,” she told him rather briskly.

  “You’re always asking me to let go just when I’d like to hold on,” Jeff complained good-naturedly, though he released her hand.

  Autumn made a concerted effort to ignore him as she rapidly completed her job and climbed down the ladder—with Jeff’s help, of course. She figured that his mother must have taken him to classes in Southern gallantry from the time he could walk. She tried to tell herself that his studious politeness annoyed her, even as she found herself thanking him for his assistance. What on earth was wrong with her?