Artfully Yours

by Isabel North

  “I thought it was a gold mine.”

  “Like I said, lady, I got the good stuff. As for the rest, that’s your problem now.” He shot out of the driveway in a reckless reverse that had Derek scooping Jenny up out of the way and Elle dancing back just in time to avoid getting a foot run over. Because that was what they needed, another Finley with broken bones and hobbling in a cast.

  Glen leaned on the horn as he sped away, window all the way down to flip them off.

  Elle glared after him, turned to Jenny, and grinned when she saw Derek had picked her up, damsel-style. She was pink-cheeked and rigid in his arms.

  “I don’t know, Derek.” Elle strode past them. “I think you’re being too subtle. Be brave. Tell her how you really feel.”

  He juggled Jenny up and over his shoulder, falling into step beside Elle as they walked into the house. “What are you going to do with all this sh— Ow. Jenny, don’t pinch!”

  “PutmedownyouNeanderthal.”

  Derek ignored her. “So?”

  Elle stood in the center of the living room and looked around. “Anyone got a flamethrower?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  No one had a flamethrower, so they did it the hard way. It took hours and hours of backbreaking work to clear the kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom to share. They dragged the junk straight out the back and piled it up in the yard. They shut the doors to all other rooms to clear later. Elle picked Katie up from preschool, then she picked up a couple of gallons of Lysol, rubber gloves, and scrubbing brushes from the hardware store, and the next day they decided to risk moving in. Mostly because the next day, Lila chased Jenny down and pried the keys to her marital home from her clenched fist, gave her a noogie, and promised to chip in with the scouring at the weekend.

  It was painfully slow, but they were making progress. They quickly found a good working rhythm. Jenny flagged and sorted what she could with her limited mobility. Elle did the lifting and the shake-it-out-my-hair spider dances and got a fancy collection of bruises on her shins and splinters in her fingers. Derek swung by after work every day to help with the heavier items and carrying stuff down the stairs. Sooner than Elle had hoped, they had gutted the entire house. Of course, they hadn’t solved the problem, just relocated it. The yard resembled a landfill site, and they’d agreed the attic could go ahead and wait for Doomsday but, all in all…not bad.

  Until the night Katie skipped into the kitchen, her pink flannel pajama bottoms tucked into a cute pair of yellow wellington boots.

  Elle sat at her laptop, checking to see if they’d had any interest in the listings she’d posted on Craigslist of Mrs. Thompson’s junk (no), and Jenny was trying to bring the kitchen countertops back to life with sandpaper and fury, when Katie came in smiling to herself.

  “Girl’s got style,” Elle said.

  Jenny glanced over her shoulder. “What’s with the boots?”

  “I’ve been paddling!”

  “That’s nice, honey.” Jenny returned to rubbing the sandpaper over the countertop.

  Huh. Elle looked out at the dry yard, then turned to stare at Katie thoughtfully. “Where have you been paddling?”

  “Bathroom.”

  Jenny dropped the sandpaper and whirled around. “Katie! You’re not allowed to run the bath on your own!”

  Katie blinked. “I wasn’t paddling in the bath. I was paddling on the floor.”

  Jenny’s gaze found Elle’s, and held.

  “Sh—oot,” Elle said and lunged for the stairs, taking them two at a time with Jenny hobbling after her. Elle staggered to a halt in the bathroom doorway.

  The toilet was stuck on flush, running and running. Over the rim, over the floor. Gushing. There must have been an inch of water. And it wasn’t all clean water, either.

  Jenny bumped into her. “Do something!”

  “You do something,” Elle shouted over the noise of the pipes.

  “I can’t get my cast wet!”

  “You won’t get it wet, you’re on crutches. That’s the foot you don’t put on the floor.”

  “Elle!”

  Argh. She waded in, grabbed the toilet handle, and cranked it up to the three o’clock position it should be at. It fought back, but she managed it. The squeal of pipes and the hiss of rushing water cut off with a clang.

  The small room rang with heavy silence, punctuated by the rhythmic splat splat of Katie jumping up and down, admiring the spray she shot up with each landing. “Yay.”

  “What she said,” Jenny muttered.

  Hands on hips, Elle stared into the bowl. “It’s not going down,” she said, pointing at the water level holding steady at the brim. She bent over cautiously and peered down the U-bend.

  “Flush it again.”

  Elle put out a reluctant hand but before she made contact, a large groan came from somewhere behind the toilet. She snatched her hand back and exchanged a wide-eyed look with Jenny. The water level dropped in a big gulp. Not to where it should be, but an encouraging amount.

  “Go on.” Jenny nodded at her. “Flush it again.”

  She did. The pipes began howling, and water cascaded into the bowl.

  “Nope,” said Elle. “Bad idea, bad idea.” She wrestled with the handle to stop the flush. Every time she got it up, it groaned back down.

  “Here,” Jenny said beside her moments later and handed her a piece of string.

  Elle held up the string. “Oh, good. Time to MacGyver it.”

  “Make a loop and sling it around the handle,” Jenny said, picking at a roll of duct tape to find the beginning. She zipped out a strip and cut it. “Leave a long end.”

  Elle did, handing the free end to Jenny.

  “Get the handle up and hold it.” Jenny pulled the string taut, taking the strain of the handle. She laid it along the side of the cistern, slapped the piece of duct tape over it to keep it there, zipped off another piece, and made a sturdy silver X.

  “Nice,” Elle said. “Very resourceful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Think it’ll hold?”

  Jenny stuck another couple of pieces of tape onto the string. “Yup.”

  “Fantastic. Now all we have to do is unblock it.”

  Jenny’s nose wrinkled, her shoulders drooped, and she turned to Katie. “What did you put down there, honey?”

  Katie stopped jumping. “Nothing.”

  Jenny closed one eye at her and made the other really big.

  Katie laughed. “Nothing!”

  “Darn it,” Jenny said. “The blockage must be…something else.”

  They shuddered. Elle took in Jenny’s pinched white face. “You put Katie to bed—” protect the eyes of the innocent, “—and I’ll make a plan.”

  Ten minutes later, the plan hadn’t much developed beyond Jenny’s, “Just stick your arm down there.”

  “No!”

  “You’re a nurse. Bet you’ve had your hand in worse places.”

  Sad but true. “And if you don’t get off my case, I’ll tell you about it in extreme and graphic detail. Besides, all those other times I had gloves and scrubs and methods of sterilization and hazardous waste disposal protocols.”

  “Then we just try flushing it again. Maybe it simply needs to pass. Like a kidney stone.”

  “It’s possible.”

  Jenny glared at the toilet. Then she whacked it with her crutch. “I’ve had it!” she whisper-yelled, mindful of her daughter in bed two doors down from the bathroom. “Stupid dumbass motherf—”

  The toilet gulped.

  “Hey,” Elle said, “that might work. Don’t break it, but give it another tap.”

  Jenny smacked it. The surface of the water in the bowl shivered, and something dark surged up from the U-bend.

  “Run!” Elle shrieked.

  They dashed out, slammed the door, and stood with their backs to it, panting.

  “The heck was that?” Elle gasped.

  Jenny covered her mouth to hold back the giggles.

  “Was
it a bird?” They had tossed a ratty old parrot cage earlier. “Did that thing have wings?”

  “Hell if I know,” Jenny managed to say, “but I’m thinking demon. Go look.”

  Elle eyed her. “I’m not going back in there without a weapon.”

  Jenny offered her a crutch.

  Elle batted it away. “I need a damn plunger.”

  “It’s nine p.m. on a Sunday night. I know I didn’t bring a plunger from home. From my ex-home. Nowhere’s open to buy one. And the odds of finding one in this junkyard?”

  “You found string and duct tape.”

  “That was my string and duct tape, from my ex-junk drawer.”

  Elle chewed her lip. “Not exactly a cup of sugar, but I guess I could go and borrow one from the neighbor,” she said reluctantly.

  Elle drove the short distance to the Adams place and turned down the track to where the house was set well back from the road, surrounded by trees. She wondered if Mr. Adams still lived there. She kind of hoped not. He wasn’t a nice guy.

  The lights were on in the house. Good start. The idea of getting the angry old man out of bed to ask him for a plunger wasn’t something she relished. Elle jumped out the car and jogged up the driveway. She banged on the door and waited. Banged again. No answer. “Hello?” she called. Still nothing. She went back to her car, jingling the keys in her hand, trying to decide if she had the nerve to go pound on the back door.

  A faint glow of light gleaming from the rear of the house caught her eye, and she heard a metallic clanging noise. She walked around the side of the house, did a double take at the state of the backyard—almost as bad as hers—and headed over to a large barn, its door a golden cut in the night sky. Elle made it to the threshold and stopped dead.

  The barn was filled with scorching light, and at the heart of it a figure was at work, bending over a twisted structure of metal. The air pressed against her skin, and she broke into a light sweat at the heat of it. Or maybe it was just the scene in front of her. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to, just stared.

  This was not Mr. Adams.

  The guy was big and built. He wore faded jeans, and he bent over a lot. Elle’s head tilted to the side in appreciation, and she was caught off-guard by her own faint sigh.

  I’m perving on this poor guy’s ass and he doesn’t even know I’m here, but…damn.

  His T-shirt clung to defined back muscles. His hands were covered by heavy work gloves and a welding helmet hid his face. He moved like he knew what he was doing, with an absorption that seemed to ripple the air around him. The practical side of her wondered if he wore adequate protection. The entirely female side of her told the practical side to shut up and appreciate the spectacular view.

  Get it together, Finley.

  She rapped her knuckles on the door jamb. No response. The welder’s helmet must have been muffling any noise she could make. He continued to curl over the metal wreck, intently focused. She glanced around, spotted a light switch. Should she flip the lights on and off? Or would it be better to approach him? No. It didn’t seem a great plan, considering the size of the flame he wielded. She might startle him. He could set himself on fire. He could set her on fire.

  Lights. Definitely try the lights. She reached out for the switch, then snatched her hand back when he stilled.

  He straightened slowly and turned to face her.

  She gave a little wave at waist height, you goof, and said, “Hi. Sorry. I did knock.”

  The hiss of the torch snapped off, and he set it on an enormous work bench cluttered with tools. Then he stripped off his gloves and started toward her. All this with the helmet still on. She took a nervous step back, and he stopped. He muttered something, took the helmet off, tossed it on the ground, and came toward her again.

  The beard was gone, replaced by heavy scruff, but there was no mistaking his size, or the intense dark gaze that made her stomach dip and every nerve-ending she possessed spark.

  “Oh, shit,” she said.

  It was the gargoyle man.

  Alex didn’t know why he suddenly sensed her. Just that he did. One moment, Elle was that familiar fiery rush in his blood and he was forcing the metal into the explicit curve of his fascination, and the next moment he felt her. There in the barn with him.

  The hairs at the nape of his neck lifted, and a brush of icy heat stroked down his spine, prickling over his entire body. He turned from the sculpture, barely registering the rapid fade of the metal as he withdrew the kiss of the torch. He snapped off the flame. Set the torch down.

  Any leftover high principles about keeping his hands off his muse, principles that had held him leashed from hunting her down since the ice cream incident, sizzled into nothing.

  Elle.

  She’d come to him. She was there, right there, in the doorway. Her hesitation showed in the polite but cautious expression on her face, in the way she held herself. Wanting to reassure her, he started across the distance, only realizing he still wore his protective helmet when she took a wary step back. No. Don’t go. He pulled the helmet off. His face didn’t seem to comfort her much; her eyes widened and he saw her lips shape the words, “Oh, shit.”

  Too late. He’d closed the gap. He stood before her. I’m here. You’re here. At last.

  “Elle,” he said, then he kissed her.

  He slid an arm around her waist to catch her as she backed up, tightened it to bring her against him, and he touched his mouth lightly to hers. Yes? No? Do you want this as much as I do? Do you need it like I do?

  She took a swift breath in; he waited a second, then—thank you, God—she reached up for him. He drew away a taunting fraction, making her follow, making her have to be the one to do it. She stretched against him and he laughed, bending his knees enough to lift her up and press her against the inner wall of the barn.

  Full-body contact. Skimming a firm hand down the length of her thigh, he dragged it up and around his hip. She obligingly raised the other leg, locked her ankles, and squeezed him closer as he dropped his lips to hers again, taking in her startled breath before his mouth opened over hers, and he was in.

  The world inside him realigned as he filled her, tongue sliding against hers in a deep, slow lick that made her fist a hand in his hair convulsively. Everything lit up, and all the edges of himself he’d felt splintering off into orphaned shards just…clicked back together.

  He cupped her chin, angled her head, and deepened the kiss, holding her for it.

  He was home.

  Alex leaned his weight into her until he wondered if he was crushing her, but she didn’t make any protest, just shifted against him restlessly. He held her, steady and controlled, focused in his passionate exploration. As for Elle, she caught fire. Her hands went everywhere. From clutching his hair to tracing the line of his shoulders, then down his sides and, yep, she grabbed his butt. He shook with longing as she tugged his shirt clear and dragged her palms up the damp muscles of his back.

  Down to his butt again.

  He felt her fingers trace the waistband of his jeans and growled encouragement into her mouth.

  She froze for an instant, then pulled back. “Wait!” she said, her eyes dazed, pupils dilated.

  Vibrating with the effort it took to stay still, Alex stared at her. Elle’s gaze dropped to his mouth, an inch away from hers, and she bit her lip. Then she sighed and bit his, so he figured he could go ahead and kiss her again.

  They strained together in a furious tangle until she pulled back again. “No. Wait.”

  “No?” He moved to her neck, alternating between kisses and light nips. He sucked gently at a patch of skin, and she shuddered. “Are you sure?” His question came out in a short, harsh pant.

  “No. Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t come here for this.”

  He switched to the other side of her neck. Her legs around his waist tightened reflexively, and he couldn’t help himself from rocking up into her. Once. Then—it felt so good—again. And again. Slow. Hard. Deli
berate.

  “Oh, my God.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she blindly caught his jaw, directed him back for another kiss, deep and wet. Then, damn it, she broke away again. Her palm still lay on his jaw and, as they stared at each other, she stroked, subtly, as if she couldn’t help herself. The shiver that ran through her at the abrasion of his stubble wasn’t even remotely subtle.

  “Why did you come here, if not for this?” His voice sounded rough and unrecognizable to his own ears. He slid a hand between them, down over her soft stomach, lower. He stopped, let it rest there. Ask me to go lower. Say the word. Please. Say it.

  “P-plunger,” she said.

  He nudged her higher up the wall and went back to pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck. Plunger? Was that code for something? “Please let that be code.”

  “Hah. Yes. Code for there’s a demon in my toilet.”

  Alex straightened in surprise and swore when she unhooked her ankles and shoved at his shoulders. He hesitated before he set her down. She sidled sideways in an attempt to put some space between them. He blocked her exit by bracing a hand by her head, no, don’t go, and that was it. Wrong move.

  She ran.

  Alex watched as she damn near flew around the corner of the house. His entire body jolted with the primitive urge to chase her, and he gripped the side of the doorway to restrain himself. Chasing a woman through the night, unless she asked you first, was probably not a good idea. Probably get him Maced, or arrested. Or kicked in the balls. Which were in a bad enough state as it was.

  Elle Finley.

  He smiled as her car peeled out of his driveway, hit the road, and vanished.

  He’d be seeing her again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was full light when Elle opened her eyes the next morning. She’d expected to toss and turn, be kept awake by that crazy kiss in the neighbor’s barn, for hours. Instead, she’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It didn’t seem right that she’d sleep well. For one thing, the pillow was on the floor, along with the cheap sleeping bag she’d bought from an outdoor store while she waited for the bed she’d ordered. Yet she’d fallen asleep like everything was perfect in her world, and woken up with a smile. An actual smile, on her face. She could feel it stretching her cheeks. She could still feel his lips moving against hers. She could still feel him, moving against her.