“Good morning, Mick,” Tina said in a voice that was entirely too chipper for this hour of the morning. She stood outside his bedroom door, holding a pretty basket of...something.

“Good morning,” he returned groggily, surprised at her visit. Again, this early. He looked back over his shoulder and squinted at the bedside clock, blearily bringing it into focus. Five AM. Five. What the hell?

“I hate to bother you this early in the morning--“

Could have fooled him, Mick thought. In fact, she didn’t look like she hated it at all. Her lips were shaped into a curiously happy yet strangely...malevolent grin.

“--but I wanted to give you these before I start breakfast this morning. Sarah Jane and I did some baking last night and she wanted me to give these to you.” She extended the basket. “Homemade brownies,” she said, smiling. “And she wanted me to let you know that she’s had an unexpected call about a Victorian mantle and won’t be at the Milton Plantation until around noon. She didn’t want you to get out there and have to wait on her,” she confided, rocking back on her heels. “Mason’s still sick.”

The rich scent of chocolate filled his nostrils. She’d baked for him? Really? he thought, pleased beyond reason as a sleepy smile slid over his lips. Had any woman ever baked for him? Naturally his grandmother had, his mother on the rare occasions he’d been home, but any other woman? No, not that he could recall. Odd that the domestic act should mean so much to him, but he was ridiculously delighted. An image of Sarah Jane clothed in nothing but an apron, chocolate battered spoon in hand, rose in his mind, making a snake of heat coil in his loins.

“Thanks,” Mick said, looking forward to sampling one.

“I’ll let you go back to bed,” Tina told him. “And just think, now you can sleep in.” She winked at him.

Sounded like an excellent idea to him, Mick thought, embracing the idea. He nodded a thanks to Tina, scarfed down a brownie, then found his pillow once more. Honestly, considering that he’d had another late night making sure she didn’t do anything that would land her beautiful ass in jail, he could do with a few more winks. He’d actually seen Tina arrive at Sarah Jane’s shortly after he’s supposedly left. He’d known they were in the kitchen cooking something up, but he imagined that they’d been working on fried pie recipes. Sarah Jane had mentioned that Tina was going to enter the competition this year as well.

At any rate, he thought, tucking a blanket more firmly around him, he knew he wasn’t ready to leave his bed just yet. And when he awoke several hours later, only the promise of another brownie followed by another fabulous breakfast--honestly he’d eaten better in the past two days than he had in his entire life--and then seeing Sarah Jane propelled him from beneath the covers.

Staunchly ignoring the sensation that he was once again being watched, Mick muttered a “Keep your hands to yourself,” to the resident ghost then quickly showered, dressed and made his way downstairs. The dining room was empty and when he poked his head into the kitchen to inquire after breakfast, he found Tina handing a basket identical to the one Sarah Jane had given him to Chase, the policeman from last night.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mick said. He directed a hopeful smile at Tina. “I’m afraid I slept through breakfast. Would there happen to be anything left?”

Tina cocked her dark head and her lips formed a regretful smile. “No, sorry.”

Chase shot her a strange look. “But I just saw--“

She stomped on his foot, eliciting a surprised grunt from her target, and angled in front of him. “That’s for Clara.”

Seemingly baffled Chase winced and darted her an irritated frown. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Have a brownie,” Tina suggested. “They’re excellent. I just gave a basket to Chase as well.”

He smiled down at her, intimacy clinging to the corners of his lips. “You keep cooking for me like this and I’m going to get fat.”

“They’re low calorie. All the goodness, none of the guilt.”

He grinned at her. “In that case, I’ll eat them all.”

“That was the point,” Tina said.

Feeling a bit like an intruder, Mick bid them goodbye, made the return trek upstairs for his brownies--he could do a lot worse for breakfast, he decided--then after stopping for a bottle of milk to wash down all the chocolate, made his way out to the Milton Plantation. Granted Sarah Jane wouldn’t be there for a couple of hours, but he knew what needed to be done. He could get a bit of a head start in helping her out, particularly since Mason was still under the weather.

A little envelope on the screen of his cell indicated he had a voice mail--must have missed the call while he was showering--so he quickly dialed in and listened to the message.

“Hey, man. It’s Huck. Just got a call from Chastity that she’s going to be out of town through next Thursday. I thought that might be helpful to your ‘poking around’ and buys the time I suspect you were looking for.” He chuckled softly. “Also, the Designing Weekly piece is a go and they’ve agreed to use your photos.” He paused. “Thought you’d want to know that. They’re going to get in touch with Sarah Jane in the next couple of weeks, so that the spread will run in the issue we’d told her. I know you’re officially off the case, but leave me in the loop.”

Pleased, Mick snapped the phone shut. Excellent, he thought. On more than one level. Sarah Jane wouldn’t lose the business she’d counted on and, with Chastity out of town, he’d have an opportunity to search her house. Things were falling into place nicely, he decided, feeling better about the situation as a whole.

He pulled up to the front of the house and powered down his windows so the interior wouldn’t turn into an oven--moot point in hundred plus degree heat, he supposed--then grabbed what was left of his brownies and milk and made his way inside.

He picked up a hammer and set to work removing the oak paneling in the dining room where they’d left off yesterday. It took precision, extreme care and strength and the idea that he was saving something from certain ruin--something handmade and beautiful which had stood the test of time for more than one hundred years--made his chest swell with a quiet sense of pride and true admiration for Sarah Jane.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, ignoring a sudden stomach pain--no doubt he should have foregone a few of the brownies, but in absence of a breakfast he’d pretty much decimated the entire basket. He carefully pried a section of panel loose from the wall, growing more confident and more relaxed with each successful piece. Now this was work, Mick decided, the thrill of purpose chugging through his veins.

This he could get used to.

 

*   *   *

 

This would have been so much easier if he’d had a shirt on, Sarah Jane thought as she silently watched Mick stack the last piece of paneling onto the pile in the corner. Sweat glistened off of muscles she’d touched last night but hadn’t seen and the sight...oh, the sight of them literally made her mouth water.

And there it was, she thought, spying the tattoo he’d told her he didn’t know her well enough to show her. Yet. Lord how she’d looked forward to that yet, and she’d imagined it would have come via an act a little more physical and intimate than watching him work with his shirt off. But there it was, lower back, just above the low-slung waistband of his jean on his right hip--a little pitchfork. Given the nickname he’s shared with her last night--the Hell-raiser--it seemed completely fitting and apt. And, damn her traitorous body, sexy as hell.

But then, so was the rest of him.

He was tall and broad, but lean and splendidly proportioned. A mustang, she thought again, wishing that a.) she didn’t still want him and b.) that he hadn’t turned out to be a scheming lying in-cahoots-with-Chastity bastard. Her chest ached with the weight of the betrayal--however short-lived it still hurt because, just like Ponder Hill she’d begun to spin dreams about him as well--and her irritation returned full force when she realized she was literally subsidizing her own downfall. Her eyes narrowed.

Thanks to him.

She felt a perverse jolt of joy as she watched him wince and rub his belly in pain, then allowed him to work a few more minutes--after all, she was paying him, wasn’t she?--before making herself known.

He’d made remarkable progress in the dining room, having almost finished it, and though it galled her to make the admission, she found herself reluctantly impressed. Rather than just rushing in and stripping the room, he took time and almost reverent care with the work, inspecting each board and section for damage or weak spots before beginning the salvage.

Frankly, Mason didn’t have the strength or the finesse to do the job and, though she’d let a few younger carpenters help her in the beginning, they’d always been too eager and had done more damage than they’d been worth.

Since then she’d forgone working with a partner because she knew she was an exacting boss, but strangely in an ironic twist of evil fate, she thought she could actually work with Mick, had even enjoyed herself yesterday when he’d returned from taking Mason home and had helped her. It had been nice and, much to her regret, had inspired a series of if-only’s, first and foremost of course...if only he’d stay.

A lie, she realized now, given his purpose here, but nice all the same.

Speaking of his purpose, it was time to put a stop to that. Sarah Jane stepped into the room and resisted the urge to return his smile. It looked so genuine, she thought, open, intimate and his mouth... She swallowed back a whimper. She loved his mouth. Loved that little crooked upper lip and the way it made his cheek crease with an endearingly sexy dimple. But she wouldn’t be deceived.

Couldn’t afford to be. Literally.

Clearly, he was just a good actor who’d gotten really into his part.

And into her mouth and almost into her bed which would have undoubtedly let him into her heart, but thankfully Chastity hadn’t been able to keep her gloating pie-hole shut, preventing the worst. Yes, her pride was wounded, but at this point she was less disappointed and more angry. And anger was good. It had the bullying ability to push every other emotion aside until she had the time to deal with it.

“Hey,” he said, his gaze falling to her mouth, causing her traitorous lips to tingle. “Thanks for the brownies,” he confided.

“You enjoyed them?” She kept her tone deceptively light.

“I ate every one.”

Sarah Jane winced regrettably and strolled over to inspect his work. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.”

He twirled the hammer, still grinning. “Aw, Tina said they were low calorie, so I’m not worried about it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and made a false moue of concern. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Open smile still in place, he switched the hammer to the other hand. “Oh?”

Sarah Jane looked up and met his gaze directly and had the pleasure of watching a flicker of trepidation form there. “I know who you are and why you’re here, Mick.”

There was a momentary flash of insight in his gaze before it grew guarded. An uneasy laugh bubbled up his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Sarah Jane chewed the inside of her cheek, struggling to stay calm. “You don’t? Well, then, let me illuminate the facts to you as I know them. You’re not from Designing Weekly--thanks for that, by the way,” she added. “It’s nice to know I’ve done all this prep work for nothing and the money I was expecting isn’t going to come.”

“I--“

“You are working as a private investigator for Chastity and you’ve been charged with the task of watching me trying to break into my own house to try and find my father’s will so that I can claim my inheritance before my thieving slut of a stepmother runs through every bit of it and sells off my home to subsidize her future plastic surgery. If I understand things correctly, the only reason you’ve brought a camera along is to document the evidence of my so-called crime so that you can give it to her whereupon she will have me arrested.” She paused, staring at him, and quirked a brow. “Have I left anything out, Mick?” She rolled her eyes and snorted as if this was all laughable, as if she wasn’t disappointed and angry, as if she hadn’t felt a spark of something special between them, something more substantial than sexual attraction. “If Mick is even actually your real name.”

Mick didn’t try to deny a single part of her story, silently confirming his guilt. He merely looked away, rubbed the back of his neck and swore.

“Now, I realize that I’m actually paying for your services--by proxy, of course,” she added sweetly. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon you earn your keep somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”

“Sarah Jane, listen--“

She stepped forward and very deliberately took the hammer out of his hand. “I’ve finally figured out your Indian name, Mick. Wanna hear it?”

He grimaced comically, making the moment particularly sweet. “Somehow I doubt it.”

“It’s Squatting Snake In the Grass.”

His brows drew together in a questioning line. “Squatting Snake In--“

She pretended to be thoughtful. “Last night it was just Snake In the Grass, but today--“ she felt her lips twitch “--I think adding the ‘squatting’ to the front is going to be particularly significant. Also, I knew how much you liked it.”

His belly gurgled ominously and his suspicious gaze narrowed. “What--“

“I’m so glad you liked those brownies. You’re right. They’re not the kind that’ll truly stick to your ribs because I added a little secret ingredient for you.” She smiled evilly. “Those mocha chunks in there? Did you notice them?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Those were actually chocolate laxatives.”

Gratifyingly his eyes widened in horror. “No,” he said, laughing uneasily even as his stomach made another interesting sound. “You didn’t.” He swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving uneasily.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. “Because it was underhanded and sneaky and vindictive?” She frowned pointedly. “Like you.”

“Sarah Jane--“

“I’d hurry if I were you,” she said, cutting him off once again. “I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s no bathroom out here and if you ate all of them like you’ve claimed to...” She shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid and winced regretfully. “It’s a long drive back to town.”

Looking a bit pale and more sweaty than he had a few minutes ago, Mick grabbed his shirt and shrugged into it. He pulled his keys from his front jeans pocket and sent her a comically pained but determined look. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“The hell it’s not,” she shot back. “Stay away from me, Squatting Snake in the Grass. We’re done.” She summoned a sweet, patently false grin just for his benefit. “Enjoy your afternoon. I believe Clara keeps a stack of magazines in the common room.”

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, completely ignoring her. He was a man, after all, she thought, watching him awkwardly slide into his SUV and roar out of the driveway as though the hounds of hell were on his tail. She smiled. Or, more accurately, the bowels of hell.

Either way, she meant what she said. They were done.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And as Mason had said yesterday, Sarah Jane was nobody’s fool.

Even a good-looking, lonely mustang’s who made her heart long for things it had never wanted and her body burn like a lit match to dry tinder.