Chapter Ten

Hanna had slept all of thirty minutes last night, and none of those had been consecutive. She was exhausted and wrung out, but all those sleepless hours had at least done something good.

She'd made a decision.

She was going to become a nun. It was the only way to keep her and her wayward mouth away from men.

Just the memory of Nate's kiss was enough to have her squirming and clenching her thighs together to drive away the aching need drenching her pussy.

She didn't have enough clean, dry panties left for the things Nate Grace did to her.

The sun was just cresting over the rolling, green horizon when she heard tires crunching on broken concrete.

Nate was here.

The instant thrill that news caused was followed immediately by disappointment in herself for giving into her emotions.

He was her boss. A few days from now, he'd only be a memory.

A hot, sexy memory with a kiss that made her quiver all the way down to her bones.

Sweat beaded along her spine as she went out to greet him. No sense in hiding from him when it would only make things even more awkward. Better to face him head-on.

Nate was dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt tight enough to show off the delicious contours of his chest. In his hands were two tall paper coffee cups and a small white sack.

When he saw her, his face warmed with a smile, and she swore she could practically see him thinking about last night's kiss.

"Good morning," he said, eying her up and down briefly. "Brought coffee and breakfast."

Her brain perked up at the sight of caffeine—something she'd been unable to find in the little garage apartment. There was a coffee pot and filters, but nothing to brew. She'd told herself she'd live through a single morning without coffee, but she realized now just how wrong she'd been.

"My hero," she said, her voice nearly breathless with anticipation.

He sat on the steps leading up to the front porch and motioned for her to join him.

The morning air was cool and clean, with a brilliant sunrise that brought the promise of sweltering heat before noon. Not that she minded. She'd take blistering heat over numbing cold any day of the week.

He handed her a cup, and she sipped. It was perfect, with a hint of sugar, just like she liked.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I watched you yesterday. Saw how you took it."

His attentiveness came off as sweet, rather than creepy, as it would with some men. She found herself wondering what else he'd noticed about her that she hadn't realized.

"Blueberry or cinnamon muffin?" he asked.

"Whichever you want. I'm not picky."

"The blueberry is good, but the cinnamon will change your world."

She laughed. "My world could definitely use a little change. Got a muffin that will fix Rex faster?"

He peered into the bag. "Sorry. Aunt Beth was all out of gooseberry, the official truck-fixing muffin of vehicles everywhere."

Hanna bit into the cinnamon muffin and instantly felt her world shifting beneath her feet. It was sweet, but not too sweet, with the perfect amount of spice, and a hint of something else she couldn't quite place.

She moaned in appreciation.

"Told you," he said.

"Your aunt is the queen of life-altering pastries. I bow down."

Nate grunted. "She's not my aunt, but you're not wrong about the muffins. You should try her pies."

Hanna stared at him. "So, everyone in this town is related to you except the woman you call Aunt Beth?"

"Pretty much. Everyone calls her Aunt Beth—at least everyone younger than my parents." He paused. "But now that I think about it, she might actually become my aunt by marriage if my brother Saxon is smart enough to ask Aunt Beth's actual niece to marry him."

Hanna held up her hand. "Stop right there. If you become part of the muffin empire, then I might have to marry you just to get a piece of that tasty action."

He laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. "At least you're honest about your motivations. I can respect that in a woman."

They finished their breakfast in silence, listening to the birds celebrating the new day.

The companionship was nice. Comfortable. Even her traitorous hormones had died down now that they were getting small doses of satisfaction from his presence.

"So, what's on your plan for the day?" she asked.

He pulled out an old pocket watch and flipped open the case to check the time. The piece was clearly antique, but it was polished as bright and shiny as it would have been new. "I've got most of the day free. I'm going to make a plan of attack for the old girl and create a material list so I can get some supplies on order."

"I've done that before. Want some help?"

He stared at her with wide eyes.

That pale green was the same color as the new blades of grass poking up from the rich earth. And like those tiny plants, his gaze was filled with optimistic hope.

"Seriously?" he asked.

She nodded. "Sure. Back in a former life I did a bit of restoration work. My specialty was restoring intricately carved wood—old furniture, mantles, picture frames—that kind of thing. But I've done some bigger jobs, too."

She'd wanted to do more, but Jack had made sure that would never happen—at least not in Cincinnati.

Hope turned to scrutiny. "You never told me that."

"You didn't ask. You wanted me to pick up trash, so that's what I did. Which reminds me, I am about two rooms from being finished with that."

"How late did you work last night?"

Hanna hesitated. She needed the money from the hours she worked, but she really didn't want him knowing she'd stayed up late because she couldn't get him or that steamy kiss off her mind.

In the end, she went with need over emotion. "I quit around two this morning." When the battery-powered lantern she'd been working by had started to fade.

Concern creased his wide brow. "Oh, Hanna. That was too much. You should have gotten more sleep. Why don't you go back to the apartment and get a nap?"

"I'm fine. All sugared up and ready to go."

He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "You'll quit early today. I don't want you killing yourself—not when you've still got a long drive ahead of you."

"I'm tough," she said. "No need to worry."

"What did Declan say about your Rex?"

"It's going to be a couple of days. He has to ship in a part from KC."

Nate nodded. "I'd better pick your brain while I can, then. Let me grab some supplies and I'll meet you inside. We'll start in the attic and work our way down."

***

Nate wasn't sure if he was more impressed by Hanna's work ethic or upset that she pushed herself so hard.

As he made his way up the three flights of steps, he glanced through open doorways, inspecting her work.

All the trash was gone. The broken plaster and lath had been removed. Even the dust and cobwebs had been swept away.

It would have taken a crew a couple of days to do what she'd done by herself in just one.

His respect for her ticked up a notch as he cleared the landing and found her standing inside the door of the attic.

"I found a few things that didn't look like trash, so I saved them for you," she said. "They're in that box."

"What are they?"

"Old photos. A couple of newspaper articles. A set of skeleton keys. An antique wooden duck decoy. Kinda neat."

He knelt down and riffled through the box briefly. Everything in here was a memento from the past. He could already see the photos framed and on display, right next to the newspaper article about the new discovery of the cave on the edge of town.

"Thanks for saving this stuff. I love it."

"Me too. These old houses are such a treasure chest. Just wait until you start finding things inside the walls. I found a bag of coins once, along with a loaded pistol. I told myself all kinds of stories about why those might have been stashed there."

He sat back on his heels. "How many projects like this have you done?"

"Like this? None. This is a big job. I've done smaller stuff, like bathrooms and decorative accents. And I didn't do anything structural—I was more focused on the aesthetics."

"My family owns a construction company, and all of us kids started working there when we were young. I'm not worried about the structure or the systems."

"What are you worried about?"

"Keeping the original character. Doing justice by a home that's seen more life than I ever will."

"At least you didn't take one look at her and decide the only tool you needed was a bulldozer. Or a match."

He grinned. "I suppose it's still an option."

He picked up the old wooden duck decoy. "Too bad this is in such rough shape. My grandad collects these."

She wiped the dust away with the hem of her T-shirt. "It's not beyond hope. Leave it with me and let me see what I can do with it."

He stared at her for a long second, wondering if she was for real, or if she was just blowing smoke. Only one way to find out.

"The duck is yours. As for the rest of the Yellow Rose, let's see what we're working with."

The inspection took hours. Hanna was right with him the whole time, holding the ladder and pointing out things he hadn't noticed. By the time they were done, he'd gone through every room and closet, from the shingles on the roof to the dirt floor in the cellar.

"Well?" she asked, handing him a bottle of water from her little white cooler. "What do you think?"

He took a long, cold drink, then flipped through the dozens of pages on his legal pad, refreshing his memory on the big-ticket items.

"New furnace, water heater, wiring, plumbing and ductwork. But I already knew that. The roof, siding and landscaping are already in the budget, too."

"Anything we found that's not in the budget?"

"I'm going to need to get a better look at the crack in the foundation. I'll probably have to jack up one corner where it settled. The plaster is in worse shape than it was when I walked through before the sale, thanks to the drunken kids who slammed holes into it."

"You're going to make a bunch of holes for wiring and plumbing, anyway."

"I was hoping to minimize the damage, but I guess that's spilled milk. I'll find places to shave a few bucks here and there."

"What's your plan for the bathrooms?"

"I know a place to buy reproduction tubs, sinks and tile. They won't be original, but they should work."

"I think you can re-glaze the tub and sink in the upstairs bath, rather than replace it. I did that once and it turned out great. The other two aren't period pieces, but I know a place in Cincinnati and another in Detroit that sell antique fixtures pulled out of old houses, if that's what you want."

"It's what my client wants. All original wherever possible."

"But with air conditioning," she said with a grin.

"The woman may be an eccentric artist, but she's not an idiot. She wants all the comforts, but tucked out of sight."

Hanna drank, her throat working as she swallowed the cold water.

Nate tried not to stare, but failed. Even her neck was sexy.

Hands off, he reminded himself. Eyes, too, or the hands will surely follow.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "All the original bathrooms have the same tile. I bet you could steal some from one of them to replace the cracked ones in the other two. That way you'd only have to find new tiles for the smallest bath and the one added in the seventies."

It was more work than simply scraping the old tile away and laying new, but he wasn't in this for simplicity. It was a labor of love.

"I bet I can save most of the floors, too. The wood in the two apartment kitchens upstairs is beyond repair, but I can patch what's bad with new boards. Once I sand and stain the whole thing, no one will be able to tell what was old and what was new."

She looked away, as if afraid to meet his gaze. "What are your plans for that mantle?"

"You mean the elaborately carved thing of beauty that someone painted over?"

She nodded. "There are four layers of paint. I checked."

"Want another project?" he asked, knowing that was what she was angling for. She'd said she had some experience with it, but what he saw in her eyes now was more than that. It was excitement. Passion.

If only she looked at him like that, he'd have his mouth back on hers and her curvy body pressed against a cracked wall again within seconds.

The memory of that kiss fluttered through him, speeding his pulse and making his cock twitch beneath his shorts.

"I won't be here long enough to finish it," she said. "I need to be clear about that. I don't want you thinking I can get it done that fast. But I could start. Or take it with me when I go and return it when it's done—if you trust me enough, that is. Those roses were so beautiful. And that scrollwork…I've never seen any better. Whoever painted over it should be charged with a felony."

He chuckled. "I don't think felony painting is a thing, but I'll ask my cousin next time I see him."

"Your cousin the sheriff? The one who thinks I'm mentally unstable?"

"Don't worry. I'll straighten him out before he meets you. Which reminds me, what are you doing next Sunday afternoon?"

"Are you asking me out again? I thought I was clear that we can't date. Or anything else," she said, apparently thinking about their kiss if the blush stealing across her cheeks was any indication.

"It's not a date. I just thought you could come to my granddad's birthday party and eat some of the best smoked meat on the face of the planet."

"I'll be gone by then."

"And if you're not?" he prodded.

"I will be."

"Then you won't mind agreeing to come with me, seeing as how you won't be here."

"You're relentless, you know?"

He bobbed his eyebrows. "I do. It's part of my charm."

"Where I'm from, we don't call that charm," she said, but her grin softened the insult.

"Does that mean you'll go?"

"If it gets you to stop asking, then yes. I'll go to your grandfather's birthday party."

He rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Now, how about lunch? The Thursday special at Dockside is chicken pot pie. Gemma makes them, and they are out of this world."

"Gemma, heir to the muffin empire?"

"That's the one."

"I'll admit I'm tired of peanut butter sandwiches, and intrigued by the idea of what the muffin princess could do with a pot pie." Hanna's mouth twisted in thought. "I'll agree to lunch, but only if you let me pay. I've earned enough money to cover lunch for two, assuming my boss cuts me a check."

"I think he can do that." Nate had no intention of letting her pay, but if that's what it took to get her to eat with him, he'd call it a white lie and feel not even one twinge of guilt.

They washed off the worst of the dirt and cobwebs in the garage apartment. The space was dark and cramped, and positively screamed 1970s. Thick, matted, orange shag carpet blanketed the space, broken up only by garish avocado green linoleum in the kitchen. The walls were covered in fake, dark walnut paneling, and the ceilings were so low they were nearly claustrophobic.

The idea of Hanna sleeping in such shabby surroundings bothered him, but he bit his tongue to hold back his offer to let her stay at his bright, comfortable home. Not only was it inappropriate for him to ask his employee to sleep in his house, he knew instinctively that she'd reject the offer.

At least she wasn't sleeping in her truck. He'd count that as a win and move on.

She'd cleaned the place up a bit, dusting and wiping down the counters and cabinets in the kitchen. When she'd had the time to do that, he wasn't sure, but the more he was around her, the more he respected the sheer amount of work she was able to accomplish. He knew from years of hiring and firing how rare a trait that was.

"Are you comfortable here?" he finally asked, unable to keep that hopefully innocuous question contained.

"Sure. It's great. Running water, a real bed, a working refrigerator for cold drinks, a clean shower—now that I evicted the dead bugs I found there. Everything works, and it's blissfully quiet at night. Not to mention, there's nothing quite as decadent as not having to put on shoes to use the bathroom in the middle of the night."

That such simple things—things he took for granted—could please her broke Nate's heart a little. Most people would be bitching that there was no TV, or that they'd had to clean up bugs, or that the front door stuck every time it was shut all the way. But not Hanna.

How bad had her life been before this that basic comforts seemed like a big deal?

He swallowed a lump in his throat and did his best to keep all signs of sympathy from his expression. He didn't want her to think he pitied her and drive a wedge between them now that she'd finally started to relax around him.

No more worrying about him killing her in her sleep and playing with her entrails.

"Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?"

"For the mantle I'll need some paint stripper and a few other basic tools."

"I'm not talking about the mantle, though I will pick up what you need and drop it off. I'm talking about you, personally. Is there anything you don't have that you need?"

She gave him a sweet smile. Her face was freshly scrubbed pink, and her eyelashes stuck together with drops of water. "Do you like to take care of everyone, or just random women you find on the side of the road?"

He shrugged. "Grace men are raised to be providers. It's in our blood."

"You should bottle that up and sell it to all the boys masquerading as men, playing video games in their mama's basements until they're thirty."

"Ouch. Sounds like someone got burned."

She smiled, but something haunted her pretty gray eyes. "Third degree. What about you? Do you get tired of people always taking from you?"

He paused, considering.

Hanna laughed. "You've never even stopped to think about it, have you? You just go on playing hero, too busy to worry about whether or not you should be bothered by all the users."

"I don't see it like that," he said.

She propped her curvy hip against the refrigerator and studied him. "How do you see it?"

"It's my job to take care of people—to fix problems."

"Some problems can't be fixed." She paused, her smile fading. "Some people can't be fixed. You should save yourself a lot of trouble and stick to fixing old houses."

"You sound like the voice of experience."

"Miles of it." She nodded once, clearly ending the conversation. "How about lunch?"

Nate wanted to ask her more about her miles of experience and third-degree burns, but decided not to push it. She'd agreed to have lunch with him, and for now, that was enough.

They rode to town together in silence, with him occasionally pointing out an interesting bit of history here and there. Old buildings, a mill that no longer functioned, but the wheel still turned in the stream, a tree that had the initials of every town mayor for the last hundred years carved in it. He showed her which road to avoid in a rain and which ones to avoid completely.

"Lots of meth out here," he said. "Folks set up campers and trailers out in the woods to cook the stuff, knowing how hard it is to find them. Lots of isolated land with no one keeping an eye on things. Makes some of the residents a bit twitchy of trespassers."

"So, I shouldn't go for a stroll through the woods, then," she said.

"Not unless you know where you're going and which people are of the shoot first, question second variety."

"Good to know."

They pulled into the parking lot at Dockside, and had to circle twice to find a spot.

"Wow. Chicken pot pie day is a big deal."

Nate chuckled. "It's always like this at lunch. Not many choices available, and since the café shut down, the pickings are even slimmer."

"What happened to the café?"

"The owner went a little wackadoodle and poisoned some of her customers."

Hanna nodded knowingly. "That does tend to be bad for business."

"The locals will forgive her eventually, but not until she proves she can stay on her meds."

"I'm surprised they will forgive her at all."

"She does make a mean cup of coffee."

"Mean enough to overlook a little food poisoning?"

He lifted a brow as he grinned at her. "You've never tried Wanda's coffee."

Hanna shook her head, but she was smiling. "Sounds like Wanda isn't the only one in this town who's nuts."