She jumped at the sound of the voice and turned, surprised to see Nick.
“Danny let me in,” he explained. “Tony forgot to put the stroller back in the trunk, so I told him I’d drop it off. I left it on the porch.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I was out, anyway,” he said with a shrug. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a folded paper and handed it to her. “My sister moved this summer and kept the list she’d made of possible rentals. I thought it would save you some time.”
“Thanks.” She scanned the well-compiled list, wondering how she was supposed to come up with a deposit, when she couldn’t even come up with enough for one month’s rent. “Ann-Marie always was an organized person.”
“My sister is a pack rat.”
“Yes, but an organized pack rat. It makes a difference,” she told him with a smile. She knew all of his family well.
He stared at her, their gazes locking until he finally looked away. Becca felt the warmth flow through her body and wished he would go away. She didn’t need him here, bringing lists that were of no use to her and looks that threatened to melt her on the spot.
“Want me to take a look at that?” he asked, indicating the washing machine with a nod.
Becca wasn’t sure she wanted to be beholden to him any more than she already was, but they needed clean clothes. “Do you know anything about washers?”
“Enough to know if they can be fixed or not.”
She couldn’t be sure if he was serious, but once again she wasn’t in a position to refuse him. “I guess that’s better than nothing and a lot more than I know. What can I do to help?”
He was already reaching behind the machine to turn off the water. “There’s a toolbox out in the back of my truck. If you’d get it, I’ll see what I can do here.”
Relieved to escape, Becca grabbed her jacket and scooted out the door. The wind had picked up, blowing dirt and swirling around her legs, chilling her to the bone. Hurrying to his truck, she noticed the company logo on the side and came to a halt.
“Big Sky Construction,” she whispered, staring at the graphic of stars, complete with a comet that looked like the twin of the one she had seen. She hadn’t noticed it the night before. But then she had been in a state of shock at seeing Nick.
In the bed of the pickup truck, she found a red metal toolbox, but when she tried to pick it up, she could barely lift it. Putting all her effort into it, she finally managed to slide it to the edge of the tailgate and dragged it off, nearly smashing her toes in the process. She took a deep breath and squatted the way she had seen weight lifters on TV lift hundreds of pounds, and was finally able to pick it up from the ground. The distance to the house seemed like miles. She carried it with both hands gripping the handle, convinced her arms would be several inches longer. If she ever made it inside, she thought with a grimace of pain.
Getting up the back porch steps was the hardest part, and she kicked at the door, hoping someone would open it for her.
“Stay back,” she puffed in warning, when the door opened to two small, curious faces. Danny and April made a wide berth for her as she struggled with the last few steps into the tiny laundry room. The box landed with a loud thud less than a foot behind Nick. Bent down and looking at the workings of the machine, he jumped back and nearly knocked her over.
“I’m sorry,” she said when he turned to frown at her. “It was a little on the heavy side.”
He looked at the toolbox and then at her, frowning. “No, I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t think about how heavy it is.”
With one hand, she massaged the muscles in her other arm. “And I thought my kids were heavy to carry around,” she said, attempting a weak laugh.
Taking a step forward, he rubbed her arms. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t, especially when he stopped rubbing but didn’t move his hands from her arms. She took a step to back up, and he jerked away as if he’d been burned. She watched as he opened the toolbox and dug through it, not sure if she should stay or go. “Can I do anything else to help?”
His hand stilled on a wrench. “Another cup of coffee would be nice.”
There was a strange quality to his voice, and he didn’t look at her as he went straight to the back of the machine without a glance. She didn’t know how, but she was pretty certain she had made him mad.
“I’ll fix a fresh pot,” she said, then hurried out of the laundry room.
Glad to escape again, she tried to ignore the fact that Nick was less than ten feet away. She wasn’t successful. The sounds of him moving around were a constant reminder. While he worked, she prayed that the machine would be simple to fix and that Nick would be gone soon. She didn’t seem to be able to do or say anything right when he was around.
NICK LET OUT the breath he was holding when he was sure Becca was safely out of the room. What had he been thinking, sending her out to get his toolbox? Oh, he knew what he’d been thinking. And it wasn’t the kind of thoughts he wanted to be having, and the reason he had sent her on the errand. But even now, with the challenge of fixing the washing machine on his mind, he still couldn’t stop thinking about her. He could hear her running water in the kitchen. He could hear her moving, and he could imagine watching her. Becca looked even better than he had remembered. Still on the slender side, her body had rounded and softened. The kind of body men dreamed of holding and touch—
“Ouch!”
“Are you all right?” she called from the kitchen.
“Just great,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth at the pain in his smashed finger. If he didn’t get his mind on what he was doing, he’d be a mangled mess before he could ever get the damned machine working again.
After forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, he was deep into the internal workings of the washer when he chanced to look up. Becca’s son stood silently watching him. Nick leaned back against the wall, needing a break. Washing machines weren’t his specialty, and it had been a while since he had watched his dad repair the family’s washer.
“Can you fix it?” the boy asked, his expression too solemn for someone his size.
Nick was going more on hope than memory. “I think so. Might take a little time, though.” When the boy continued to study him, Nick shifted his position. “You don’t mind, do you?”
The boy shook his head, but didn’t move from the spot.
Nick gestured for him to move closer. “Ever see the motor of one of these things?”
“No.”
“Pretty simple,” Nick said. Picking up a screwdriver, he kept talking, pointing out some of the parts he could name. As he talked, the boy moved closer, and he could remember himself at the same age. He had thought his father knew everything there was to know about anything. Still did, sometimes, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He had a good relationship with his father and couldn’t imagine what it would have been like not to have had him around when he was a kid.
“Do you like machines?” Nick asked.
“I guess.”
Nick didn’t miss the shrug of his small shoulders. “Yeah, I feel the same way. Now, my brother Tony really likes them. But me? I like wood.”
“Wood?”
Keeping his attention on the work, Nick kept talking. “Yeah, like building things. You know. I like the feel of it in my hands. Sometimes it can be rough, sometimes as smooth as a baby’s bu—Uh, skin. There’s a lot you can do with wood.”
“I