Holiday Hideout: The Thanksgiving Fix / The Christmas Set-Up / The New Year's Deal

Not that she was trying to be beautiful. She wore a faded UNR sweatshirt, baggy sweats, and—he couldn’t help smiling when he saw them—sock-monkey slippers. Her dark brown hair was caught up in a haphazard ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup, which only emphasized the soft green of her eyes. Any woman who could look that appealing without trying captured Mac’s attention.

“I’m Mac McFarland, the handyman,” he said. “Ken and Jillian called me about a potential leak.”

“Oh!” She glanced at the toolbox in his hand. “I’m sorry you’ve made the trip, especially in this weather. I fixed it.”

“So there was a leak?” He didn’t want to insult her by implying that she hadn’t fixed it, but he loved this cabin and he was crazy about those oak cabinets. A leak that could threaten the finish he’d painstakingly applied had to be investigated. By him.

“Yes, but I handled it. Thank you for coming by, but everything’s under control. Happy Thanksgiving.” She started to close the door.

He put his hand on the door. “I believe you…” Although he didn’t, not really. “But would you mind if I double-check the situation to see if it’s dripping again? Leaks can be tricky.”

“You don’t think I fixed it, do you?”

She seemed pretty confident, but he still wanted to look for himself. “I’m sure you did, but I promised to report back to Ken and Jillian after I checked on things.” He smiled. “It’s what they pay me for.”

She hesitated and finally shrugged. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to jeopardize your work relationship with them.”

“I’d rather not. They’re good customers.” He gave her points for being understanding.

“Okay, then.” She stepped away from the door with obvious reluctance. “I’m sure the pipes are fine, though, and I’m kind of busy right now.”

He glanced at the cozy fire, the glass of wine, the cheese and crackers, and a yellow legal pad with some things scribbled on it. “Are you a writer?”

“No.”

So much for that attempt at conversation. Damn, now he was curious. Maybe she’d recently broken up with someone and this was how she was dealing with it. He couldn’t imagine anyone giving up on a woman who looked like her, but she could have a boatload of bad habits.

As he walked into the kitchen area he noticed a toolbox sitting on the floor beside the row of cabinets. He gave her more points; no women he knew traveled with a toolbox.

And it was definitely hers, because Ken and Jillian kept whatever tools they needed hanging inside a locked closet by the back door. Ken had made the decision not to give renters access to the tool closet, which Mac thought was a wise move—not so much for fear of theft as for incompetence.

Mac took off his heavy parka and draped it over a kitchen chair. Then he crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet doors. They moved smoothly on their hinges, exactly as he’d intended when he’d put in all-new hardware last summer.

Nothing was dripping now. He rolled onto his back and scooted under the sink to examine the pipes and fittings. All was well. “Would you turn on the faucet for me, please?”

She walked over, her monkey slippers whispering against the wooden floor, the scent of cinnamon arriving with her. Water splashed into the stainless-steel sink, but none of it dripped from the fitting.

“Thanks, that’s good.”

The splashing stopped and she walked away again.

He waited. Still no drip. That left him with no reason to stay, no reason to satisfy his curiosity as to why this beautiful woman was here during what was, for most people, a family holiday. He certainly would be dealing with his family tomorrow—along with Stephanie, the woman his mother hoped would become the bearer of McFarland sons.

Easing out from under the sink, he sat up and leaned his arms on his knees.

Beth stood looking at him, her expression more open than it had been a few moments ago. “No leak?”

“Not that I can see.” Something else was different about her, too. Then he realized she’d taken her hair out of the ponytail. It fell to her shoulders in soft waves and he noticed tinges of red mixed with the brown. “Whatever it was, you’ve obviously taken care of it.”

“Thanks.”

He stood. “Guess I’ll let you get back to your fire. I appreciate you allowing me to come in.” He walked over to the chair where he’d hung his parka.

“It seems a shame that you drove over here for no reason.”

He picked up his coat and turned toward her. “No worries. It’s okay.”

“I don’t know if you have somewhere you need to be, but…would you like to stay for a glass of wine?”

He had no idea what had prompted that invitation after her initial chilly response, but he wasn’t opposed to her idea. At all. “I have nowhere I have to be, and that sounds great. Thanks.”

“I hope you like red.”

“Absolutely.” And this would give him a chance to stay a little longer and try to unravel the mystery that was Beth Tierney. “But I should call Jillian and let her know the leak’s not a problem.”

“Sure. While you do that, I’ll pour you some wine.”

“That’s a deal.” He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and punched in Ken and Jillian’s number.

Jillian answered on the first ring. “Mac? Did you take care of the leak?”

“No, Beth did and it’s fine now.”

“Oh. I see. So I guess you didn’t need to go out in the snowstorm, after all. Sorry about that.” Jillian sounded a little subdued.

“Guess not. You have a capable renter here.”

“Right. So you’re heading home?”

“Not quite. Beth offered me a glass of wine, so I’m taking her up on it.”

“Oh! That’s great! I mean…how nice of her.”

The puzzle began to click into place. “Jillian, what’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just think you two might have some things in common. She’s Irish, too, you know.”

Turning away from the living room, Mac lowered his voice. “Did you arrange this?”

“Not exactly. Well…sort of.”

“Honestly, I’m beginning to think you’re in league with my mother.” But Jillian was a customer, so he couldn’t be too hard on her. Still, it was an under-handed trick.

“Mac, it’s harmless. I just thought you two might get along. If you don’t, no harm done.”

He glanced toward the living room where Beth sat on the couch with her wineglass on one end table and his on the other. She’d put the plate of cheese and crackers on the couch’s middle cushion. A guy would have to be dead to turn down the chance to spend time in front of a fire with a beautiful woman on a snowy night, even if it was technically a fix-up.

He angled away again, once more shielding his conversation with Jillian. “I’ll say this,” he murmured. “You have good taste. Talk to you later.” He disconnected the call and tucked the phone in his pocket.