“So if you’re not looking to be a hero, then why?” she asked.
He sighed and shifted his gaze back to her. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
He brightened. “What if I leave you some money?”
“A bribe?” she asked, one eyebrow lifting as she shook her head and that ponytail of hers whipped back and forth. “That’s pitiful.”
“Yeah, probably.” Jo wouldn’t be bought off. He knew her well enough for that, anyway. The woman was like a terrier, once she had her eye on a prize. If she decided to have the whole story, he wouldn’t escape until she’d gotten it. Stubborn. He actually liked that about her. Which was just wrong, he supposed.
He gave another glance at the still dark house behind them and winced slightly. By standing around here, he was risking being caught by someone other than “the Great Marconi” and he didn’t want his identity being broadcast all over town. If it got out, he’d have to stop helping. Stop connecting. And this was the only way he knew.
“We should be going,” he said firmly.
“Not a chance,” she countered, now swinging the pipe wrench in a lazy motion at her side. “Not until you explain.”
Amazing woman. She swung that wrench, which had to weigh thirty pounds, as another woman would have dangled her purse. Tall and toned and way too gorgeous for his own good, Josefina Marconi was the most woman he’d ever known.
And she wasn’t going to move from that spot without either an argument or a long discussion. “Now’s probably not the best time,” he said, jerking his thumb at the quiet house behind him.
“Oh please. Mrs. Sanchez sleeps like the dead.” Jo shook her head and smiled again. “Start talking, Cash.”
A shame she didn’t smile more often, Cash told himself. Then realized that if she did, he’d be in worse shape than he was already.
And who the hell needed that?
“What’s to explain?” he demanded, keeping his voice low. “You caught me. Congratulations. Now go away.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck and stalled. It was a long story. One he hadn’t planned on sharing with anybody. But even in the dim starlight, he could see the stubborn glint in Jo’s pale blue eyes and knew he wasn’t going to ease out of this one.
“Fine,” he said shortly, feeling just a little trapped. “But can we go somewhere else?”
“I don’t know what you’re so—” She stopped, cocked her head and listened. “Did you hear something?”
“I can only hear you,” he snapped, but then shut up himself to strain his ears for whatever sound she’d caught.
“I’m sure I heard . . . there.”
Cash went completely still and, a moment later, he heard it, too. Just below the rustle of the wind through the trees. It sounded like . . .
Growling.
“What . . . ?”
“Oh crap.” Jo sucked in a breath and blew it out again hurriedly. Her voice rushed and colored with desperation, she whispered, “It’s Precious!”
An instant later, she turned and bolted for the street and the safety of her own lawn. Apparently giving up on the whole secrecy thing, she shouted, “Run for it!” as she sprinted.
It wasn’t until then that Cash noticed the doggy door cut into the bottom of Mrs. Sanchez’s front door. As he backed up, that door slapped open and a tiny brown ball of fur shot through it like a bullet, aimed right at Cash.
Instinctively, he backed up, then caught himself and laughed at Jo’s panic. A damn Yorkie made her run?
But his laughter died as the tiny brown dog lunged at him, all fangs and snarls. It buried its needle-sharp teeth in the leg of his jeans and tore at them as if Cash were a giant milk bone.
The little bastard meant business.
“Cut it out,” he said, trying to keep his voice low as he shook his left leg and hopped on his right.
“Head for the street,” Jo urged from across the way. “He won’t go into the road.”
“Great,” he shouted, forgetting all about covert maneuvers himself. What was the point with the world’s angriest rat attached to his left leg? “Just great. Get off me, you rotten little . . .” He swung one hand at the mutt, trying to dislodge it, and missed.
The little dog hopped and jumped around him, rearing back, snarling, biting through the jeans and trying to work its way down to flesh. It shook its head hard enough to send the little pink bow in its hair flying.
“Don’t hit him!” Jo warned.
“Him?” He glared down at the little monster still shredding his jeans, then lifted his gaze to see that a light had snapped on in the Sanchez house. “Perfect,” he muttered thickly, still shaking his left leg, despite the little dog dangling from him like some weird Christmas tree ornament. “Just perfect. Damn it, let go, you little fleabag . . .”
From down the street, a chorus of dogs picked up on Precious’s concert. Howls and barks filled the quiet night and lights flashed on behind closed curtains up and down the block.
“Precious?” A high, wavering voice called out in the night and the hairs on the back of Cash’s neck lifted straight up. Mrs. Sanchez could do voice-overs for horror movies.
He kept hopping, headed for the promised land—determined now to escape with what little dignity he had left.
This had all started out so well, too.
A simple job.
Leave the money, slip away.
Nothing to it. He’d been doing it for almost a year now and everything was fine. He had a system. He had a plan. He had . . . reached the curb. He hopped off and Precious instantly released him. Sniffing, snorting, the little dog lifted its hairy chin and then victoriously trotted back up the neat sidewalk to its house.
The porch light snapped on.
And Cash had to make a run for it. Still cursing the dog, he sprinted for Jo’s house. He joined her on the lawn and together they hid in the dark behind her truck while Mrs. Sanchez flashed her porch light on and off as if she were signaling ships at sea.
A few minutes passed as they huddled together, listening to the street settle down again. One by one, the other dogs quieted and lights clicked off, welcoming the darkness.
“Well,” he said finally, leaning back against the cold steel bumper. “That was humiliating.”
She grinned at him in the dark and Cash had to fight down a rush of something hot and ridiculously needy pulsing inside him. The woman had no idea what she did to him. Or maybe she did and she was just enjoying the torturous aspect of their relationship.
“I told you to run,” she said, still chuckling over the picture he and the little dog had made.
“So you did,” he admitted, raising his knees to rest his forearms on top of them. “But I wasn’t expecting that clump of hair to be so damn mean. He wrecked my jeans.”
“Poor baby,” Jo said, then gave his arm a friendly pat. “Maybe the Money Fairy will visit you so you can get a new pair.”
He ignored that. “And what kind of name is Precious for a male dog? And a pink bow? Hell. No wonder he’s vicious. He’s fighting for his manhood every time he steps outside.”
Jo leaned her head against the back of the truck, set the wrench down on the cold concrete and laughed again, a low, warm rumble of sound that seemed intimate in the shadows. “The male ego is a fragile thing, it’s true.”
“Speaking for my gender . . . hey.”
“Sorry,” she said, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
“No nerves hit. Just . . . bruised.” He shrugged. “You’re not exactly catching me at my best.”
“Is that right?” She tipped her head to one side to look at him and he tried not to notice how that thick brown ponytail lay against her shoulder.
Swallowing hard, he pointed out, “I’ve been doing this nearly a year. Tonight’s the first time I was caught.”
“Which,” she pointed out, “
brings us back to the ‘why’ portion of our evening. You said you’d explain.”
Yeah, he had. And he should have known Jo wouldn’t let it go. The woman was like Precious in that. Once she had hold of something, she just dug in her heels and hung on for all she was worth. So, he surrendered to the inevitable and started talking.
Staring up at the starlit sky, he focused on the brightest spot of light he could find. “Chandler’s the only place I’ve ever thought of as ‘home.’ ”
“It’s my home too, but I don’t run around at night playing Santa.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it. This place.” He waved a hand at the big old house with its shutters and wide front porch and overgrown flower beds. “—This place was always yours. You never had to doubt it. Never wondered if you could stay. It just . . . was.”
He shook his head, glanced at her, then turned his gaze back on the heavens. It was easier to talk if he wasn’t looking at her. If he looked at her, he wanted her, and then all thinking went right out the window.
“Every summer, I came here with my mom and her friends and we’d stay at Aunt Grace’s and—”
She grabbed his upper arm and Cash felt the flash of heat jolt through him like a summer-fueled brush fire. “Aunt? Grace? Grace Van Horn is your aunt?”
He nodded. “My mom’s older sister.”
“Grace never said anything.”
“Any reason why she should?”
“No . . .”
“I live on her property,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but I just thought—hell. Don’t know what I thought.” Jo released her grip on his arm and eased back against the truck. A night for surprises, she thought, studying his profile as he studied the night sky.
She’d thought he was finished surprising her. When she’d seen the house he’d created, she’d taken a new look at him and admitted the possibility that there was more to Cash than she’d thought. Tonight, she discovered that Cash was the Money Fairy. Still more depths to the man she’d have been willing to bet money was as deep as a cookie sheet.
Now she’d found out he was related to Grace? Instantly, she cringed to think of all the snide comments she’d made about the fluttery, sometimes nutcase older woman. Not that she didn’t have reason. Grace was enough to drive any contractor right out of his mind. But she felt bad now, knowing that Cash had heard plenty of her tirades. Just went to show, her mother had been right. Better to not say anything at all, if you couldn’t say something nice.
But then, Jo mused, if she and her sisters lived by that rule, they might as well be mute.
As her mind raced, one thought flashed through, demanding to be noticed. “You said you used to come with your mom and her friends. You mean the gypsies?”
He winced and nodded. “You know they’re not really gypsies, right?”
“Sure.” It’s just what the town called them. A small group of women who traveled the country together. They’d been coming to Chandler since before Jo could remember—and now she knew at least part of the reason why. “So your mom’s one of them.”
“Kate.”
The beautiful one, Jo thought now, remembering last summer and how she’d seen Cash walking with the woman with long, inky black hair. She’d been disgusted with him at the time, thinking that he was hitting on a woman old enough to be his mother—now, she was chagrined to find it really was his mother.
“I’m an idiot,” she murmured, shaking her head and smiling.
“Care to tell me why you think so?” he asked, his voice a whisper of sound, barely louder than the gentle wind dancing around them.
“Not particularly,” she admitted as she remembered the stinging slap of jealousy she’d felt at the time, watching Cash and Kate together. Idiot.
Nodding, he said, “Anyway, a few years ago, I decided to move here. Started building my house . . .”
God, that amazing, incredible house, she thought.
“When it was ready, I moved in.”
She shook away the memory of that house and her hunger to get a look at the inside. “Still doesn’t explain the Money Fairy thing.”
He shrugged and rubbed his palms over his knees. “Just . . . looking to belong, I guess.”
“By buying your way in?” Jo stretched her legs out in front of her, folded her arms over her chest, and shook her head. “That’s not belonging,” she said.
“Good enough for me,” he insisted, and pushing to his feet, he stood up and held out one hand to help her up, too. “I can help people out and—nobody has to know it’s me.” When she was standing, he released her hand and shoved both of his into his pockets. Glaring at her defensively, he asked, “What’s it hurt?”
She wished for more light.
She wished she could see his dark eyes more clearly. Try to read what he was thinking. Feeling. But in the heavy shadows, she could only guess, judging by the tone of his voice—and that told her plenty. He was embarrassed and defensive and a little on edge. So not like the Cash she’d thought she knew.
“It doesn’t hurt, I guess,” she admitted. “And you’ve helped a lot of people. It’s just—”
“Look.” He interrupted her and pulled both hands free of his pockets to drop them on her shoulders. Jo felt the heat of his touch right down to the soles of her feet. Wow. Hadn’t really expected that.
“Josefina, I’m not hurting anybody. I can afford it. So what’s the harm?”
“None, but—” She wondered how a carpenter made enough money to play Mr. Benevolent all over town, but she wouldn’t be getting the answers to that question tonight.
“Glad you agree. So, the question is, are you going to squeal on me?” he asked, his grip on her shoulders tightening reflexively.
“Squeal?” she repeated, smiling in spite of the situation—in spite of the growing heat blossoming under the spot where his hands held her. “What’re we? In the mob?”
His answering grin flashed white in the shadows, then disappeared again quickly. She found she missed it.
“Are you going to keep my secret?”
A few seconds ticked past while she considered it. After all, did it really matter who the Money Fairy was? Lots of people had been helped when they most needed it. And weren’t most people in town enjoying the mystery? The sense of expectation? And hey, best of all, wasn’t it great to know something neither one of her sisters had a clue about?
“Okay,” she said, stepping out from under his hands, because having him touch her didn’t help the whole “thinking” thing. She moved farther out into the yard, needing a little distance from him, a little space from the heat he engendered with a single touch. “For now, I’ll keep quiet.”
“For now?”
She shrugged and looked up at him. Here, in the open starlight, the darkness was lifted just enough for her to see the whisker stubble on his jaws. To notice how his dark hair fell across his forehead. To see his equally dark eyes narrow on her thoughtfully.
“For now’s the best I can do,” she said, reserving the right to spill the beans at some later date.
“I guess that’ll have to be good enough,” he said, less worried now about keeping his voice low. A moment passed, then two. “Well, it’s been nice being attacked with you.”
She smiled again, remembering Precious attached to Cash’s leg. “Yeah,” she said. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
Something flashed across his features, brightening his eyes, tightening his mouth. Reaction jittered through Jo, but she really didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider that she was actually starting to feel something for the one man who could be a real danger to her.
Then the moment was gone again and he was taking a step closer. “I think I’m going to have to hold you to that, Josefina.”
For the very first time, a ripple of something delicious stole through her when he said her full name.
Oh boy.
Behind them, a bedroom window on the second floor of the Ma
rconi home opened and a loud, clear voice rolled out into the quiet. “Basta, Josefina! Enough! Is late. Who issa that man?”
Jo muttered a curse, but Cash was already shouting, “Cash Hunter, ma’am.”
“Ah.” Nana leaned on the window sash. “Bring your young man inside. Issa too cold for making romance outside. I make him some soup.”
“Ohmigod.” Jo closed her eyes, groaned, and prayed that the ground would open up beneath her.
Cash laughed and called out, “Another time, ma’am. Thank you!”
“Call me Nana,” the older woman shouted back. “Josefina! Kiss your Cash good night and come inside!”
Jo glared at the man still grinning at her. “One move, Cash Hunter, and you’re a dead Money Fairy.”
Seven
Jo looked across the bed of the truck at her little brother. Sunlight danced in his eyes, and though he tried to control his grin, his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.
Forced to swallow a smile of her own as she remembered the excitement of going out on jobs with her father, Jo narrowed her eyes on the boy. “Remember. You’re going to do everything I tell you to do. And you’re not going to get into trouble.”
“Right.” He nodded so hard, his hair dipped into his eyes and he whipped his head back to clear his vision.
“Really got to get you a haircut,” Jo murmured as she reached into the lockbox for her battered, red steel toolbox.
“Mike says haircuts make you stupid.”
Jo stopped, looked at him and shook her head. “You start listening to your sister Mike, and that’s a bad sign.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Emma told me she said it.”
Jo sighed. “Sam had better tell her daughter not to listen to Mike too much.”
“Why not? She’s funny.”
“Yeah, she is.” Then she winked at him. “But don’t tell her I said so.”
He laughed and Jo felt a small rush of pleasure. Funny, but since Nana had arrived, she and Jack were getting closer. Probably, she thought, from banding together in self-defense.
Nana hadn’t stopped cleaning since she hit town.
For the last five days, the only rest Jo got was when she was on a job site. And Jack was in no better shape. Their grandmother had cut off his video-game and TV time in favor of reading aloud and telling her how he had spent every minute of his day.
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