by Candis Terry
Fiona glanced at her surroundings and the modest pieces she’d combined to give it a homey feel. Her love of eclectic décor made hitting up yard sales and secondhand shops more than just a hobby. It became a true expression of herself. Pride sent a little tingle to her heart.
“I wanted Izzy to feel at home right away. I know moving can sometimes create anxiety in kids.”
“You’re a good mom, Fi.”
“Thanks.” The compliment felt good because there were days when she really wondered if she was doing a good enough job with her daughter. “So what’s going on at your house that you needed a break?”
When Abby had first returned to Sweet, she still looked and dressed like the wife of the owner of the Houston Stallions NFL team. Soon after, she set aside the heartbreak she’d suffered, and the real Abby had reemerged. Her long, curly blond hair gave her the look of a woodland fairy. Her paint-splattered jeans verified her to be a hardworking woman. And she was nice. Just so very nice it hadn’t been hard at all becoming good friends.
“Jesse and Reno dropped by the house, and before I knew it, Jackson had goaded them into a competitive round of who was the better horseman. You’d think sibling rivalry would end at some point.”
“Not with the Wilder boys.” Fiona laughed. “So what you’re saying is there was too much testosterone in your house?”
“Oh yeah.” Abby dropped down to the sofa. “I had to bail before they dragged me into the argument by making me decide who was better. And I’m afraid I don’t do a very good Simon Cowell impersonation.”
“Tough shoes to fill. Plus there’s that whole British-accent thing. Want something to drink?”
“Only if it’s in the form of a glass of wine.”
“Coming right up.”
“Half a glass will be fine. Speaking of Izzy, where is she?”
“Taking a bath and probably flooding the bathroom floor.”
“Oh yeah.” Abby chuckled. “She’s good at that. Want me to run interference?”
“That’d be great. I checked on her just before you came in, but we both know she can destroy a room faster than a mini Godzilla.”
When Fiona returned to the living room with the wine, Abby reappeared with the front of her shirt drenched in water.
“Uh-oh.”
“I was attacked by a hippopotamus squirtie.” Abby’s grin said she didn’t mind it so much.
“Well watch out for the elephant.” Fiona set the glass down on the damask glass photo coaster she’d received as a favor from Reno and Charli’s wedding. “He’s got a lethal trunk.”
Abby sipped her wine and grinned. “God, I love that kid.”
“I know you do.” Fiona had no doubts about Abby’s very real love for her daughter. Fiona didn’t fool herself for a minute. She was lucky. She’d heard too many times where the new wife was jealous of the old wife and the children. That would never be an issue in their case. Abby had enough love inside her for everyone. “And she loves you just as much.”
“Life is so crazy, you know?” Abby leaned back into the sofa. “That day I took off like a brokenhearted fool for Houston, I never imagined everything would end up this way. I never dreamed I’d ever come back to Sweet—albeit once again brokenhearted. And I certainly never dreamed Jackson and I would ever find our way back to each other.”
“Well, it’s a good thing he finally pulled his head out of his posterior. He’s always been in love with you.”
“Oh, Fi.” Abby looked up, eyes dark with regret. “I’m so–”
“Stop! Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. For anything. If it hadn’t been for my wild streak, and Jackson’s incredible sense of honor, we never would have gotten married.” Fiona admitted the truth. “You two were meant to be together. I’m genuinely happy for you. I love you both. And together, we’re all good for Izzy.”
“I’m so glad we have this friendship.” Abby leaned in and gave her a hug. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“Me too.” Fiona’s words were sincere. And for a moment, it felt good just being hugged by someone she knew genuinely cared for her.
When they both chuckled, Abby leaned away and wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean you won’t get upset if I ask you a favor?”
“Of course I won’t get upset. What kind of friend do you think I am?”
“You’re the best. And you’re so talented. And I know you’re really busy right now but—”
“Spill it, girl.”
“Don’t feel obligated to say yes, but it would mean so much if . . . oh, God, I can’t believe I’m asking you this . . . if you’d agree to make our wedding cake. I know it’s asking a lot, and money’s no issue to compensate you for your time and–”
“I’d be honored to make your cake. I don’t care how busy I might be. And, no, you can’t pay me.” Fiona honestly didn’t know where she’d find the time, but she’d make it happen. “What kind of friend would I be if I took your money?”
“Thank you!” Abby hugged her again. “You did such a beautiful job with Charli and Reno’s cake. We just want something simple. And we’d like chocolate—both the cake and the frosting or fondant, whatever you decide to use. And we insist on paying.”
“Shut up. Consider it a gift.”
“You’re the best. And you’re bringing a date to the wedding, right?”
A date?
Her mind clicked off the possibilities. When it landed on a hot fireman with dreamy eyes, a sexy smile, and a killer body she blinked away the fantasy.
“We’ll see.” Two simple words that combined were completely noncommittal. But Fiona had been a mother long enough to know that we’ll see meant a big hell no.
When the alarm clock went off, Mike was already wide-awake.
Hell, to be truthful, he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
He’d always had a problem with his conscience, and, unfortunately, it never took a day off. Not even in the days he’d tried to keep it comfortably numb.
In the early days, his parents had worked hard to instill a clear sense of right from wrong in all their children. For the most part, he’d tried his best to make them proud. But when life derailed, he’d found it harder and harder to remember what they’d taught.
Yesterday had been one of those times.
Yesterday had been a disaster.
He’d been sent on a mission.
To do a favor.
To repay a debt.
In the end, all he’d really wanted to do with his handyman skills was to put his moneymakers all over Fiona’s soft skin.
Okay, so maybe he was only dreaming it was soft because he’d actually never touched anything more than her hand or her neck when he’d danced with her or when she’d been trapped inside that car. But from his eyes she looked like creamy satin. Her blond hair looked just as silky soft. He knew he’d serve himself—and her—much better if he quit daydreaming about the one thing that was completely off-limits. His conscience certainly told him to back off. Too bad the rest of him wasn’t in sync.
He showered, shaved, and tried to find a way to battle this insane attraction. But other than wearing blinders and turning off all his other senses, he could probably stamp FAIL on that grandiose idea.
By seven o’clock, he was on the road and, once again, headed toward Sweet. By ten minutes to eight, he was parked in the back alley of the row of shops waiting for his boss to arrive on the job site.
On the long commute to Sweet, that’s how he’d decided to deal with his wandering imagination, so he didn’t wind up with wandering hands.
Fiona was his boss.
She was in charge.
Whatever she said went.
He made a promise to keep it professional. No wayward thoughts. No missteps in actions.
When she climbed out of her rental car a few minutes later in a tight pair of jeans and a snug tank top with the words TOUGH GIRL emblazoned across the front, all his good intentions cracked like an eggshell.
&n
bsp; The crazy thing about the way she intrigued him? It wasn’t just her incredible body. He liked the way her mind worked. He liked that her daughter came first and that she’d made a plan for her future. He liked her independence. He liked her sense of humor even if at times it seemed self-deprecating. He could completely understand why Jackson had married her. He just didn’t understand why he’d divorced her.
“Morning.” He got out of his truck, met her at the shop door, and waited for it to be unlocked. When he realized he was standing close enough to catch her freshly showered, sweet scent, he backed up a few steps. No sense tempting the dragon from his lair.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said. The wad of keys hanging from her KEEP CALM AND EAT A CUPCAKE keychain clanked against the metal door as she pushed it open.
“Hungry?” Dangerous question.
“Yes.” She ran back to her car and came up holding an aluminum tray. “Because I’m going to use you.”
Hell yes. Use me.
Everyone knew a man’s mind immediately went to the gutter. His didn’t disappoint.
“Dare I ask what for?” He followed her into the shop. “Or am I just at your mercy?”
“You’re totally at my mercy.”
Hooray. There was a god, and he was listening.
“I want to see if I can tickle your taste buds.”
“With what’s under that foil?” Because with the way she looked in those tight jeans and that snug top, he was far more tempted by tasting all her exposed skin.
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. Then she tore the foil off the tray, and a delicious aroma floated into the air.
Bacon.
The only thing men loved more than or at least as much as sex.
“I’m thinking of occasionally adding this to the menu as a breakfast cupcake, and I need to know what you think.” She lifted a paper cup from the tray and handed it to him.
Their fingers touched, and he swore there were legitimate sparks.
He breathed in the mouthwatering aroma of the “cupcake” warm in his hand while she handed him a napkin. “What is it?” he asked, wondering why he was wasting his time talking instead of devouring.
The cupcake. Not her.
“A nest of hash browns, egg, cheese, bacon, and a splash of Sriracha.
“Spicy. Now you’re talking my language.”
He peeled back the paper and took a bite. The flavor burst across his tongue with a combination of savory and spice. He grunted his approval. Then for human comprehension, he gave a nod, and said, “Delicious.”
Her smile was infectious. “You approve?”
“Approve? Bela, if you put this on your menu, I’d be tempted to drive in from San Antonio every day.”
“Thank you.” Her hand settled on his forearm, and she gave a little squeeze. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve received in a long time.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, outside of family. And they have to say nice things because they’re related.”
“Surely when guys take you out, they pay you plenty of compliments.” Damn. No, he wasn’t fishing. That one just slipped out.
Or maybe the dragon was just getting restless.
“Oh.” She set the tray down and handed him another cupcake. “I don’t date.”
Surprise halted the cupcake halfway to his mouth. “Why not?”
Could it be she was still in love with Jackson?
Could she still be mending from their divorce?
“It’s a long story.” She brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Help yourself to as many as you like.”
“I’ve got all day.” He snatched another cupcake from the tray and followed her into the front of the shop. She flipped on Izzy’s Hello Kitty radio.
“All day for what?” She bent down, opened a can of scrumptious pink paint, and poured a splash into the tray. The movement exposed a creamy slice of skin between her top and the waistband of her jeans.
“To listen,” he said.
“It would only bore you.” Paint roller in hand, she nodded toward the cabinets he’d worked on yesterday. “Those look really nice. You have a lot of talent.”
“So do you.” His boots thumped on the wood floor as he went to stand in front of her and block her way to the wall. “For changing the subject.”
“I know.” She gave a little sigh that hinted of humor. “It’s a practice I learned long ago when I’d get caught sneaking out of my parents’ house.”
“Rebellious teen?”
“On occasion.”
“I have a little knowledge of that myself.”
“You were a rebel?” A smile brushed her lips. “I thought you had a bit of a pirate look about you.”
He chuckled. Shook his head. “I tried to be good, so I didn’t cause my mother any trouble after my father died. She already had enough to deal with.”
“Thoughtful consideration.” She smiled. “An honorable trait.”
“You did notice I said tried. Right?”
Her laughter danced across his skin.
“You said you’re the only boy in your family?”
He nodded.
“Which means you probably tried to take on your father’s responsibilities at a young age.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Would you also say you’re a cautious person?”
“I wasn’t always,” he said. “But I am now.”
“Me too.”
He didn’t quite understand what that meant, but he wanted to find out. When she ducked around him and pressed her paint roller to the wall, he figured the subject was off-limits. And because he was a person who didn’t like to be pushed, he let it go. It wasn’t any of his business anyway. But that didn’t stop him from being curious as hell.
For a few minutes, they worked in silence, the buzz of his electric saw the only sound in the room. Covertly, he watched her at her task. She was careful and precise. And every time she reached that roller brush up high, her shirt lifted and exposed a tasty little slice of skin beneath her tank top.
Fiona was like one of those mystery packages you used to get from mail order. As soon as it arrived, you wanted to unwrap it quick to see what was inside. But if you were smart, you allowed yourself to savor the moment. Choosing instead to take your time and peel away each layer nice and slow.
Mike had a feeling Fiona had many layers, each one more interesting than the next. Under any other circumstances, and if she were anyone but Fiona Wilder, he’d be very tempted to take a peek beneath all those remarkable tiers.
He dropped his safety glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, then shifted his focus to the miter saw and the plank of MDF in his hands. He was hired help. And everyone with a brain knew the hired help didn’t mess with the boss.
Not, at least, if he planned to keep the promise he’d made to himself.
He’d called her bela.
Slip of tongue or something more?
Fiona guessed it didn’t matter. Judging by the way the term of affection skittered across her skin and brought a greater sense of awareness of him, she had no choice but to assume the moment was entirely one-sided. Because, without a blink, he’d immediately immersed himself in the project at hand.
Which is exactly what she needed to do.
Focus.
Her time frame with getting the shop together was limited. Which also meant so was her time with Mike and noticing how nice his biceps or that hint of a tattoo looked when he sawed a piece of wood. Or hammered a nail. Or how the leather belt that hung low on his hips from the weight of the tools drew her eye to his well-worn Levi’s, the frayed edges of the seams around the zipper, and the way they hugged his thighs when he knelt to drill something.
The cabinets he’d built were beautiful. Just enough design to make them interesting but not too much to draw the eye away from the products for sale.
“Do you know anything about sanding floors?” she asked, finishing up the back wall
with a last layer of paint.
He lifted the safety glasses to the top of his head. “You talking about these floors?”
She nodded.
“I’d advise against it. It’s expensive. And unless it’s done right, it’s messy.”
“Oh.”
“I think the way they look now adds character to your shop.”
She liked that he had an opinion that seemed carefully spoken. Unlike the Wilder brothers, who offered their advice or opinion whether you wanted it or not.
“Well, lookee here.” Jana Wilder and her big Texas hairdo came in through the back of the shop. Hanging from her arm was a wicker basket with a floral cover thrown over the top. “Y’all have really made some progress. Y’all make a good team.”
“I have a very short window to get things done,” Fiona explained, suddenly feeling like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Guess it’s a good thing I called in my charity debt and got Mike to help you.”
Fiona looked at Mike, who took a sudden interest in the cabinet trim. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Haven’t had a chance,” he said, without looking up.
Fiona sighed and silently called him a chicken.
No doubt Jana was the head of a strong-willed bunch of sons because she was pretty iron-willed herself. When she got something in her head, Lord help anyone who tried to remove it. Fiona knew anything her former mother-in-law did was with good intent, and that didn’t always make it easy to throw a roadblock in her path.
So she softened the blow with a hug. “I really appreciate you offering your charity donation for Mike to help me move my boxes and furniture around, but I can’t accept that generosity. I want you to play that card for something you really need to have done around the ranch. Or maybe even the shop you and Charli are putting together. Surely, you have things that need to be built over there.”
“Not really. Pretty much everything we need to fill our place can be covered with the stockpile of antiques I have above the barn. If not, the boys can take care of it.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Well, I budgeted enough to hire a woodworker. Mike told me he has a construction business on the side, so I hired him to build the cabinets for the shop. He was supposed to tell you he’s working for me.”
