Maverick Vs. Maverick

He nodded toward the wood pile. “Same as you. Helping with the harvest festival.”

She scoffed. “Right. And why the heck would you do that?”

“To build goodwill.” He shrugged. “I want people in this town to like me. So sue me. Oh, wait, you already are.”

At least he was honest about why he was here. But that didn’t make her like the idea any more. She wanted Walker Jones gone from Rust Creek Falls, gone from her peripheral vision...just gone. Even if he did looked damned good in jeans and a white button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up. “You just want to win the lawsuit. Buying a round of beers and helping set up for a harvest festival won’t do that.”

“Walker Jones?” Rosey Traven, Sam’s wife and the other co-owner of the Ace in the Hole, came striding over. She reached out and took his hand, giving him a hearty shake. “I heard you were in my bar last night, buying beers for everyone. That was a really nice thing to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, shaking Rosey’s hand as he spoke. “I figured since I was new in town, I should say thank you for the warm welcome I received.”

Warm welcome? Lindsay rolled her eyes.

“Well, there’s no better way to say thank you than with a couple of drinks.” Rosey smiled, then turned to Lindsay. “Hi, Lindsay. Nice to see you here today. We sure appreciate your help with the booths.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad to help.” She pointed at the convoluted boards. “Once I figure out how, that is.”

“You’ve got some handsome help here. I’m sure he can figure out how to get that together right quick.” Rosey smiled at Walker. “I best be going. Sam and I are bringing sandwiches to all the volunteers in the park. You two have fun!”

Which left Lindsay alone with Walker. Again. “Listen, we are on two different sides of a lawsuit,” she said, trying to work the drill again and back out the screw. It whined and groaned in place. “Damn it!”

“You’re going to strip the screw. Let me help you.” Walker’s hand covered hers.

She didn’t want to like his touch. Didn’t want to react. But her body didn’t listen to her head. The second his hand connected with hers, his larger fingers encompassing her smaller ones, a little flutter ran through her veins. In that instant, she was acutely aware of how close he was. How good he smelled. How the veins in his hands extended up his muscular forearms.

And how much she wanted to kiss him.

“I’ve got it.” She yanked the drill up, so fast and so hard that it sent her sprawling back. That flutter had been an anomaly. That was all.

Walker’s hand was there again, stopping her from hitting the floor. A quick touch, but it sent another explosion through her veins. “Whoa. I said a little pressure. Not a tidal wave.”

“I can handle this. I don’t need your help.” It was a lie—she needed help—but she didn’t want it from the man she had sworn to hate. The same man who was—damn it—handsome. And intriguing.

“How many things have you built?” Walker said.

“None.” She waved that answer off. “But I can read directions.”

“That’s great, except some things come with experience, not directions.” Walker gestured toward the misassembled corner. “You are a smart, capable, beautiful woman, but you are tearing up that screw head and making it almost impossible to take those two pieces apart. Now, you may not want my help, but I think you need it, at least for a minute.”

Had he just called her beautiful? Why did a part of her do a little giddy dance at that?

Lindsay bent her head and worked on the screw again, but the two pieces of wood were not coming apart. The screw refused to go anywhere but in a pointless circle. Lindsay really didn’t know what to do with a stripped screw head, or what one even was, only that it sounded bad. She was going to mess this up, and that would mean someone would have to buy more wood. For a festival that was operating on a shoestring budget to begin with, that would be a disaster, and Lindsay didn’t want that on her shoulders. She knew when she was beaten, even if the victor was some scraps of wood and a single screw.

She handed him the drill. “Fine. You do it.”

To his credit, Walker didn’t say I told you so. He held the pieces firmly with one hand, pressed the drill into the screw and let the bit whir slowly as he backed the screw out a little at a time. Clearly, the key was patience and pressure.

Pretty much the same thing in a court case, Lindsay thought. A lot of patience and a little pressure usually equaled success.

“Thanks,” she said. The two pieces of wood were still intact, though the screw was worse for wear. Far better to replace one screw than the more expensive wood, which was still fine to use. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

Walker chuckled. “I can’t build a house or anything, but I do have some handyman skills. My grandpa liked to make things, and I was at his house most weekends when I was a kid, so he taught me what he could.” His gaze went to someplace far away. Dwelling on memories, perhaps? “I miss him terribly, and every time I see a birdhouse, it makes me think of him. He was a hell of a guy.”