One In A Million

“Hi, there.”

The boy didn’t smile back. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes as he studied Nash. “You’re not the repair guy.”

“You’re right. I’m Nash Harmon. I’m a guest here.”

Nash wiped his hand on a paper towel and held it out. The boy hesitated, then slowly offered his own hand.

“Brett Wynne.”

They shook slowly. Nash had the feeling he was being given the once-over and judging from Brett’s expression, he wasn’t measuring up.

“Why are you messing with our washer?” Brett asked. “Guests aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing. If you break it worse, Mom’s gonna be real mad. Plus it’ll cost more to fix.”

The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve. Tall and skinny, with light blond hair and blue eyes like his mother. Of course his father could have had blue eyes, too.

He looked hostile, protective and painfully young. No kid that age should have to feel as if he was all that stood between his family and a hostile world.

Nash carefully set the wrench on the ground. Brett’s fierce scowl and hostile words brought back memories from a long time ago. Back when Nash had felt he was the one responsible for making sure his mom and brother were safe. The accompanying feelings weren’t comfortable.

“You have a point,” he said quietly. “I am a guest here. The thing is, this morning the battery was dead on my rental car, so your mom gave me a jump. I wanted to pay her back for that. She’d been working on the washer when I found her and asked her to help me. She’s a real classy lady, so I knew she wouldn’t let me pay her. That’s when I thought of the washer.”

Brett’s expression softened a little, but he didn’t look a whole lot more welcoming. “What if you break it worse?”

“Then I’ll pay for the repairs. The point of doing someone a favor is to make her life easier, not more difficult.” He casually cleared some space on the vinyl floor covering. “I’m pretty sure I figured out what was wrong with the machine.”

“Yeah?” Brett sounded skeptical. “Show me.”

Nash scooted back to give the kid a clear view of the machine. “That part back there came loose, which meant this section moved forward. These two pieces got in the way, and this one ended up a little bent.”

Brett crouched down and stared as Nash pointed to the problem areas. He explained what he’d done so far and how he was now putting the machine back together.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he said.

Brett sank onto the floor. His blue eyes widened in surprise. “You mean if I say not to do any more you won’t?”

“That’s right.”

Brett glanced from the washer to Nash and back. “I guess it would be okay for you to finish up. Maybe you haven’t made it worse.”

High praise, Nash thought, holding in a grin. “Want to help me?”

“Yeah.” Brett sounded eager. Then he gave a shrug. “I mean I’m not doing anything else right now.”

Nash handed him the wrench and showed him where to tighten the edge of the casing. “Turn that there.”

Fifteen minutes later, the washer was nearly back in one piece. Brett had given up being distant and sullen and now bombarded Nash with questions.

“How’d you figure out what had happened? You ever take a washer apart before?”

“When I was a teenager,” Nash told him. “With computer chips and electronics a lot of home appliances are getting pretty complicated, but this washer’s older. That made it easier to see what was wrong. Your mom had already taken it apart. I just poked around.”

He didn’t mention that Stephanie had been trying a combination of guilt and physical abuse on the old machine. Thinking about how she’s stopped to kick it as she’d walked out of the room that morning made him smile.

“My bike chain came off once,” Brett said. “I got it back on and tightened up some stuff, but I guess that’s not the same.”

“You’re pretty mechanical,” Nash told the kid. “You handle these tools well.”

Brett pretended nonchalance. “I know.”

Just then someone cleared her throat. Nash glanced over his shoulder and saw Stephanie standing in the doorway to the utility room. The twins were right behind her, peering at him from either side of her hips. She didn’t look happy.

“I know you’re trying to help, Mr. Harmon, but this isn’t your responsibility.”

Before Nash could speak, Brett scrambled to his feet.

“It’s okay, Mom. I think Nash really fixed it. He knows about machines and stuff. We’re just putting it back together. Let’s test it.”

Stephanie’s doubt was as clear as her frown. “Brett, the washer isn’t a toy.”

“Good thing,” Nash said as he stood and looked down at her. “Because I wasn’t playing.”

Chapter Three

Had she already mentioned that the man was tall? Stephanie had to tilt her head back to meet Nash’s dark gaze. Once her eyes locked onto his, she didn’t think an earthquake would be enough to break the connection between them.

What exactly was the appeal? His chiseled good looks? The hint of sadness even when he smiled? A body big enough and muscled enough to make him the most popular guy in a “drawing the human form” class? Her sex-free existence? That voice?

I wasn’t playing.

She knew what he’d meant when he spoke the words. He wasn’t playing at being Mr. Repair. He was just trying to help. But she wanted him to mean something else. She wanted him to mean that he thought she was sexy, mysterious and, seeing as this was her personal fantasy, irresistible. She wanted him to mean he wasn’t playing with her. He wanted it to be real, too.

Yeah, that and a nod from a genie would miraculously get the piles of laundry clean, too.

“Stephanie? Are you all right?”

Good question.

“Fine.”

She forced herself to look away from his face and focus her attention on the nearly assembled washer. The scattered tools on the floor were enough to remind her of Marty, who had loved to play at fixing things. He knew just enough to be dangerous to both himself and her monthly budget. Like she needed that kind of trouble again.

“Tell me exactly what you did,” she said. She would need the information to tell the repair guy.

Before Nash could speak, Brett launched into an explanation that involved calling tools by their actual names and pointing out various washer parts on a diagram so detailed, she got vertigo just looking at it. She did her best to pay attention. Really. It was just that the utility room was sort of on the small side and Nash was standing close enough for her to inhale the scent of his shampoo and the faint hint of male sweat. It had been a really long time since she’d seen a man perspire.

And it wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon, she told herself firmly. Men, good-looking or not, weren’t a part of her to-do list. She was going to put any illicit or illegal thoughts of Nash Harmon right out of her mind.

The bad news was she’d assumed that her reaction to him that morning had come from a lack of caffeine and low blood sugar. As she’d had enough coffee to float a good-size boat and she was still full from lunch, she couldn’t blame her current attraction on either of those states. There had to be another explanation.