by Candis Terry
Inside Little Britches—aka Andi’s clean and tidy house—Fiona was escorted amid friendly chatter back to the playroom, where Izzy and two other little girls her age were busy playing tea party. All wore plastic tiaras and glittery tutus. The cheeky grin on her daughter’s face assured Fiona she was having a blast.
“Mommy!” Izzy set down the polka-dotted teapot and ran into her arms. “See my new friends.”
Fiona swept her hand over Izzy’s blond curls and kissed her forehead before Izzy hauled her over to the table. Within seconds, Fiona had three little girls excitedly telling her about the day care’s pet rabbit, Hoppy, which immediately launched Izzy into asking for a dog.
Again.
How the two animals were related, Fiona wasn’t sure. But Izzy loved dogs, and in the Wilder family, there were plenty. Her little girl adored Jackson and Abby’s dog and cat Liberty and Miss Kitty, as well as her Uncle Reno and Aunt Charli’s dogs Bear and Pumpkin. Uncle Jesse’s cat Rango wasn’t the friendliest whisker-wearer, but his black Lab, Dinks, gave Izzy her favorite slobbery kisses. And when she could manage to catch her Aunt Allison’s quick-pawed pup Wee Man for a snuggle, her giggles of joy were endless.
Fiona had promised they’d talk about getting a dog once they moved into the new place. Aside from the added chores of a piddling pup or poop patrol, Fiona really wanted to provide her daughter with her heart’s desire. The issue was finding the time to make it happen.
Andi had been kind enough to fix an extra PB&J for Fiona, and when they all sat down at the lunch table, any lingering concerns Fiona might have had about day care completely vanished. Izzy was in capable and loving hands. Around her, the six children chattered happily like cartoon mice. And it was clear they all adored their caretaker.
“Izzy’s dad stopped by to give her a hug a little while after you dropped her off this morning,” Andi said in a low voice. “He had such glowing things to say about you, it was hard to believe you and he are . . .”
A laugh bubbled up past the peanut butter stuck in Fiona’s throat. Andi wasn’t the first to be surprised at how well she and Jackson got along postdivorce. “We’re very good friends. And I’m very close with the woman he’s about to marry.”
“Really?” Andi’s dark brows arched. “How does that happen?”
“They’re good people.” Fiona sipped her milk. “I’m guessing you don’t have that same luck?”
Andi shook her head. “Wish I did, though. It would be so much easier.”
“I guess it’s never really easy.” Fiona knew she was fortunate to have the relationship she did with Jackson and Abby. But that didn’t make all her regrets disappear like sunshine on a rainy day.
“I don’t like to talk poorly about my ex in front of Callie,” Andi said of her own daughter, who currently held court at the throne of the four-year-olds, “But he’d never even begin to take Callie’s best interest in mind instead of his own. So getting along is a total fantasy.”
“I’m very sorry about that. It does take two for it to work.”
“Right.” Andi nodded. “Thus our divorce.”
The subject was dropped, and for the remainder of the time, Fiona counted her blessings and focused on Izzy. When her visit came to an end, Fiona tucked Izzy in on the nap cot with her fuzzy butterfly blanket, kissed her forehead, then waited until she fell asleep.
On her way out the door, she paused, recognizing that Andi might appreciate another divorcee to talk to. “I know we’ve had different experiences, but since we don’t live that far apart, maybe we could get together sometime for some girl talk.”
“I’d really like that.” Andi’s face beamed. “After spending all day every day with little kids, I often forget there’s an adult world out there.”
“So you haven’t jumped back into the dating pool either?” Fiona asked.
“Oh, God, no. There aren’t big enough floaties in the universe to hold me up out there in those deep waters.”
“Then see, we have a lot in common.” Fiona gave her a reassuring smile, knowing it would take ginormous floaties and a swarm of swim noodles to keep her afloat in the dating pool. “We definitely need to get together.”
With a quick see-you-later, Fiona headed back to the shop with a list of projects to be done. At the top of that agenda was getting a jump on the painting before she picked up Izzy. Involving a four-year-old in anything that included cans of wet, permanent color, had disaster written all over it with a capital D. Especially for a four-year-old who loved to help.
An hour later, after prioritizing her to-do’s while nibbling on a York Peppermint Pattie, Fiona finally picked up a paint roller, dipped it in the tray of scrumptious pink, and started on the back wall. She’d forgotten how long it took to get everything taped off. Heaven forbid the time suck she’d probably face when she actually started painting the yet-to-be-fabricated cabinets and shelves with paradise green. Or the wood trim and moldings in whipped cream. An electric sander to remove the previously chipped paint would have been helpful. Alas, it was all elbow grease and a wad of fine-grit sandpaper.
A sudden whoosh of air signaled the shop door had opened. Fiona turned to find several of her fellow shopkeepers and a group she recognized from the senior center standing in what would eventually be her retail area. The charge, led by Charli Wilder, was in full force. In their hands were bouquets of flowers and baskets of goodies hidden beneath gingham or floral cloths.
“Welcome to the neighborhood!” they said in unison.
Fiona’s heart skipped. She hadn’t known how the other longtime shopkeepers or the cupcake-buying public would accept her new venture. She’d only hoped things would go well so she could provide a nice life for her daughter. She hadn’t expected so much hospitality.
Then again, this was Sweet, Texas. The town an entire TV-makeover-show-watching nation had fallen in love with when it had appeared on My New Town, the show Charli had hosted.
“You have got to let me get my grubby little designer hands in here before you open,” Charli said. “And maybe Reno can paint a mural or the sign for outside.”
Fiona laughed at her enthusiasm. “Aren’t you supposed to be down the street working on opening up your own shop?”
“Oh, you know me.” Charli gave a wave of her hand. “I’m just multitasking my butt off like always. And when these lovely ladies told me they were headed your way, I just had to join the parade.” She handed off a bottle of wine with a kiss to Fiona’s cheek. “And now I’ve got to run before the crew working at my place use their noggins to make any unapproved alterations.”
With that, she was out the door, and Fiona turned her attention to these lovely ladies who were now headed up by Gladys Lewis in her traditional smear of red lipstick, and Arlene Potter, who’d donned a bright floral muumuu that frighteningly mirrored the one Gladys wore. The two blue-hairs were president and copresident of the senior center—aka the welcome wagon. They took their jobs very seriously, and apparently their matching wardrobes too.
They also shared a penchant for younger men, much like Chester Banks did for the younger ladies. Fiona didn’t know what they drank over at the senior center, but it sure kept the elderlies hopping.
“We know you must be busier than a bee in spring,” Gladys said, handing over a basket loaded with bottled water, cookies, a phone book, and an empty picture frame. “We just wanted to drop by and let you know how excited we all are about the opening of your new shop.”
“Thank you.” Fiona shook Gladys’s extended hand. “I really appreciate the hospitality.”
“Some of us who’ve already had the opportunity to taste your goodies can’t wait for opening day.” Arlene winked a rheumy hazel eye and did a finger wiggle. “Especially if he’s gonna be here. Hey there, handsome.”
Gladys gave Arlene an elbow to the side. “Always gotta be scamming on the young ones, don’t you.”
No doubt Gladys, Arlene, and some of their eighty-plus-year-old chums were either a bit eccentri
c or tipping the bottle a bit early. Fiona knew for certain there was no one behind her. All the movers had left a long time ago, and she’d been alone since she came back from having lunch with Izzy.
“I plan to open the shop in a few weeks.” Fiona smiled. “And I’ll make sure y’all get a personal invitation.”
“Him serving the cupcakes in some skivvies would be a mighty nice addition to the festivities.” Arlene gave another wink.
Fiona chuckled even though she thought poor Arlene might need to see a doctor about those wild hallucinations she was having. Or at least get her bifocals adjusted. “I’ll see if I can make that happen.”
Imaginary men she could do.
The real thing? Uh-uh.
After a few introductions, the crowd left their welcome gifts and scooted out the door. Fiona lifted a vase containing a colorful bouquet from the top of the display case to take to the back and add water. She turned and yelped with surprise. The vase slipped in her hands and nearly crashed to the floor.
There stood Mike Halsey—hottie fireman. Arms folded. Biceps bulging. Beard shadow dusting his strong jaw. And sensuous mouth smiling.
“I’m not sure what skivvies are,” he said. “But I’m dying to find out. And I might be interested in tasting your goodies too.”
“Oh my God. You scared me to death!” Fiona slapped a hand to her hammering heart. “I thought for sure poor Mrs. Potter was having a senior moment.”
“Sorry. I should have cleared my throat or something to make my presence known, but I didn’t want to interrupt your moment.”
He came closer, and his clean cotton and fresh manly scent turned on a crazy little vibration in her girl parts. And . . . good Lord, had he just said he wanted to taste her goodies?
Yeah, sure, she knew he meant her cupcakes. Didn’t stop her mind from wandering off in a completely different direction. And that little side trip verified it wouldn’t take more than a mouse’s IQ to realize she’d gone too long without s-e-x.
Mike unfolded his arms, revealing the broad chest beneath a snug white T-shirt and just the hint of a tattoo on his left biceps. Levi’s worn to a pale blue at the edges of the pockets and the interesting area around his zipper fit him like only a well-loved pair of jeans could fit a man. To perfection.
Yep.
Way too long without s-e-x.
The jury was in. Her overactive imagination had finally deteriorated to the level of a bad Skinemax movie.
“I brought my truck, so I parked in the alley and came in through the back door. It was standing wide open.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “You should keep that locked when you’re here alone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His look was apologetic.
Startle her? She couldn’t get past the hum vibrating through her blood to even think straight. “What are you doing here?”
Those dark mysterious eyes glimmered. “Day off.”
“And you decided to drive all the way to Sweet?”
He nodded and glanced around her shop. That drew her attention to his thick black hair. Cut short, it had been carelessly groomed. Her fingers tingled to touch it and see if it was as silky as it looked.
“I came to help,” he added.
“Help?” Confused, she shifted her weight to one hip. “But we agreed your debt was paid off.”
“Yeah. Not so much.”
“What do you mean not so much?”
He tucked his thumbs into the leather tool belt around his lean hips as he paced slowly around the room, checking out the supplies she had spread out all over the floor. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Dear God, what was it about a man in a white T-shirt, jeans, construction boots, and a tool belt?
“There’s a lot to be done here,” he said.
The T-shirt that hugged his body was a complete distraction. She couldn’t stop wondering what he’d look like without it. Couldn’t stop wondering . . . boxers, briefs, or the ever-sexy combination of boxer-briefs? She didn’t even want to contemplate that he might go commando. Her heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
“And . . . your debt is paid,” she reminded him.
“Do you really think Jana is going to pay that huge sum of money for me to just move a few boxes?”
“You didn’t just move them. You helped unpack them and put the contents in place.”
He jacked up a sleek brow.
“Didn’t you tell her to use your skills for something else?” This whole ordeal was starting to make her feel very uncomfortable. Clearly, by the look on his face, he wasn’t much happier.
“I told her.”
“And?”
“And I’m here, aren’t I?”
“She wouldn’t let you off the hook?”
“Have you ever won an argument with that woman?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“So what makes you think I would?” he asked, the gruffness in his tone displaying his displeasure loud and clear.
Decidedly uncomfortable.
Both of them.
Well, at least the score was even. But where to go from there? It didn’t take a genius to figure out neither of them really wanted this forced alliance. Even though their specific reasons were probably vastly different.
“I see you got the painting started,” he said. “What other projects do you have on the list?”
He shifted the tool belt around his narrow hips. The movement drew her eye right to where the soft cotton of his shirt lay against that rock-hard stomach like a second skin and below the belt . . .
When he cleared his throat, she knew she was busted.
Eyes up, girl.
“So . . . are you thinking cabinets?” There was a definite hint of amusement to his tone. “Maybe some shelves?”
Thinking?
She was supposed to be thinking?
“I . . . ummm.” Was it even possible to get her mind off him and back onto business? “Exactly how good are you with your tools?”
Oh yeah. That comment would do the trick.
Not.
One corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Very good.”
She managed to keep a long sigh from escaping her lungs. No doubt with a body like that he’d be . . . memorable. But then she’d meant the tools hanging from the belt, right? The hammer, pliers, screwdriver. None of those consisted of words like zipper, pecs, or six-pack.
“I do construction on the side,” he said in a completely businesslike tone. “In fact, I’m a licensed contractor.”
“So you know your stuff.”
“Let’s just say that when it comes to putting things together, I know what I’m doing. Knowing what skivvies are, that’s a different matter.”
Yeah, like she needed to be thinking in that direction again. And yet her head tilted of its own accord as her mind again pondered boxers or briefs. “They’re underwear.”
“Ah. My Avó would say calcinha.”
“Is that Spanish?”
He shook his head. “Portuguese. My mother’s family comes from Brazil.”
That explained his gorgeous dark looks, deep mystical eyes, and naturally tan skin. “And your father?”
“He was as all-American as they came.”
“Was?”
“My father was a firefighter in Los Angeles. He was killed in a warehouse fire when I was twelve.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” She knew the pain too well. There had been too much loss in recent years.
“Thank you. He was a good man.”
“I’m sure he’d be very proud to know you followed in his footsteps.”
“I hope so.”
She could tell the exact moment he’d become uncomfortable with the subject. Taking mercy on him, she decided to help him out of the corner she’d inadvertently pushed him into by diverting the conversation back to the absurd.
“So it looks like you were inducted into Gladys and Arlene’s hall of fame today.”
>
“Are those the golden girls who wanted to see me in my underwear?”
“That would be them.” Laughter bubbled from her chest. “I’m afraid if you’re going to be around here much, you’ll have to get used to the attention. Gladys and Arlene are always on the prowl. You might want to ask Jesse Wilder about that.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “And from what he says, if they offer you a glass of sweet tea, just say no.”
“Why’s that?”
“Apparently, it’s been known to be spiked.”
One dark slash of brow lifted. “With booze?”
She smiled again at his complete astonishment.
“Well, that takes said the spider to the fly to a whole new level.”
Not only was the man sexy as hell, he had a sense of humor to go with those great looks. And that was dangerously attractive.
“A minute ago you said if I planned to be around here much,” he said. “Does that mean you’re weakening to the idea?”
“Never assume I cave so easily.”
“Believe me . . .” His gaze traveled down and back up her body. “I would never take you for granted. But . . . there’s a lot of work to be done. So how about we get started?”
Time for her to take control of the situation before she did something foolish and embarrassing.
Like drool.
Jana might have donated to a charity for a good cause, but Fiona didn’t want to feel like a charity case. She’d been saving and working hard for this day. She had a plan of action and a decent budget to pay for the work she needed done.
“Not so fast.” She wagged her finger. “I said if. And that street goes both ways. If you insist on being here and if I allow you to stay, it’s going to be on my terms.”
His head tilted in an entirely curious and sexual way. “And those are?”
“If we both agree to the terms, it means you work for me. And if you work for me, I pay for your services. Not Jana. Much as I appreciate her generosity.” She folded her arms. “So how do you feel about working under a woman?”
