Of course, if he had been the new owner, he’d have had the sense to make sure the stove was safe before turning it on and starting the fire in the first place. The sting of his current situation surged up again. Why did he have to be on duty when this particular call came in? Why did he have to find out the cottage he’d intended to buy had been sold this way? He picked up his helmet from the chipped Formica counter, forcing kindness into his tone. “Look, don’t be worried. You did the right thing, Ms....”
“Taylor. Charlotte Taylor.” So that was the name of his pretty little adversary.
“Don’t ever hesitate to call on us, Charlotte. Especially if you’re on your own. It’s why we’re here, okay?”
Her eyes scanned the smoke still hovering close to the kitchen’s tin ceiling. Jesse had always thought the ceiling was this kitchen’s best feature. Stuff like that was hard to find these days. Would she appreciate that or tear it down and put in a boring ceiling with sterile track lighting? “Okay.” She mostly mumbled the word, her face pale and drawn tight.
She didn’t look anything close to okay. Her nerves were so obviously jangled they practically echoed around the empty kitchen. “If you don’t mind me asking...why the sudden need for tea? You’re not even moved in, from the looks of it.” Her reply might let him know what her plans were for the place. If she was plotting a teardown and wasn’t planning to move in at all, he could skip the preliminaries and get right down to hating her this minute.
She flushed. “It was a celebration thing. I just signed the papers on the place today. I told Melba I just wanted to have a cup of tea on my new deck.”
How had he missed this? The facts wove together in his brain, making everything worse. “You’re Melba’s friend?”
Chief Bradens had mentioned his wife’s friend was buying a weekend cottage in town. Never in a million years did Jesse consider it might be this cottage. Now, annoyed as he was, he’d have to be nice. A friend of the fire chief’s wife demanded special care. “No harm done that I can see.” He put his helmet back down on the counter as he swallowed his sore pride. “I should check the rest of the place. Just to be safe,” he said over his shoulder as he began banging open the two remaining kitchen windows when they refused to budge.
She shrugged. “Probably a good idea.”
He knew the rooms of this house. A visual inspection wasn’t really necessary, but it might give him a last look at the place before she stripped it of all its charm. Charlotte followed him around the empty rooms while he peered at light switches, tested the knobs on heating registers and tried the fuses in the antiquated fuse box. Did she know what she was getting into here? This was no starter project for a hobby house flipper. “You can still keep lots of the place’s charm, but you’re gonna need some serious updating.” He raised his eyebrows at her resulting frown. “You knew that going in, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
She did not. Now that was just dirty pool, letting someone like her beat him to a place like this.
Some jilted part of him wanted to tell her the house was chock-full of danger, but it wasn’t true. Nothing looked dangerous to his contractor’s eye, just old and likely finicky. The greatest danger she faced was blowing a fuse if she plugged her hair dryer in while the dishwasher was running. Charlotte had nice hair. Platinum blond in a city-sleek rather than elegant cut. She looked relatively smart, but what did he know? Do smart people set their teakettles on fire?
He avoided looking at her by inspecting the stove knobs. “Nothing about wiring came up in the home inspection?” He almost hated to add, “You did have a home inspection, didn’t you?” It was killing him—she looked as if she didn’t even own a hammer, much less the belt sander it would take to bring those hardwood floors in the dining room up to snuff. Still, she had a certain spunk about her. It hadn’t been there when he and the other guys first barged in the door, but he could see it now returning to her eyes. If she made the right choices, she might do okay. Not that he wanted her to succeed.
“Of course I did. Only now I’m thinking maybe it wasn’t so thorough.” She crossed her arms over her chest and her eyebrows furrowed together. “Honestly, the guy looked like he did inspections for laughs in between fishing trips. Mrs. Bearson said he was reliable, but...”
Helen Bearson. He could have guessed she’d made the sale. Helen was a sweet lady, but the kind Jesse referred to as a “hobby broker.” Dollars to donuts the inspector was her brother. “Larry Barker?” Even someone he resented as much as Charlotte Taylor deserved better than that guy—Jesse wouldn’t pay him to inspect a shoe box.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “A mistake, huh?”
He couldn’t just sit there and let her make choices from what was likely bad information. Well, he could, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who would—even under these circumstances. Jesse shucked off his heavy firefighter’s coat and squatted down in front of the appliance, opening the oven door and peering inside. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t be my first choice,” he said, giving Barker more benefit of the doubt than he deserved. “I haven’t seen anything that should have stopped your sale.” In fact, he knew there were no massive problems because he’d given the house a thorough once-over himself, far beyond his ten-minute walkthrough just now. Still, the word sale stuck in his throat. “This could really be just an old stove, not faulty wiring or anything.” He stared at a layer of grime so thick he could sign his name in it with a fingernail. “I don’t think this has been used in a couple of years. You’ll want to replace it.”
She groaned. “But I love the way this one looks. Does it cost a fortune to rehab a stove?”
Dark brown eyes and blond hair—the effect was striking, even with a frown on her face. “You can’t really rehab a stove. Still there are ones that look old-fashioned but function like new. They’re pricey, but you had to have known you were going to put some money into the place.”
“Well of course I did, but I was hoping to wait longer than two hours before the first repair.”
Despite his irritation, Jesse liked her sense of humor. He glanced out the window to where the three other firemen were putting gear back into the truck. Normally he didn’t fish for contractor work while on firefighting duty—especially given this particular circumstance—but she was pretty and clearly on her own and, well, seemed at a loss. Sure he’d regret it but unable to stop himself, Jesse swallowed the last of his pride and pulled a business card from his pants pocket. “I’m a licensed contractor over at Mondale Construction. If you like, give me a call tomorrow and I’ll walk through the house with you over the weekend. I can go over what Larry said and either confirm it or tell you differently. I’ll help you figure out what really needs work right away and what can wait until you’ve gotten over the sticker shock.” If he couldn’t have the house, maybe he could at least get the work, much as it would dent his ego.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
He hated when people gave him “the contractor out to take you to the cleaners” look. “Because you’re a friend of the chief’s. Because I’m a nice guy.” Because I’m an idiot and am trying not to be a sore loser. “And because I can make sure Mondale gives you a good price for work I could do and recommend a couple of guys for the other stuff—guys who will do it right and not empty your checkbook for the sport of it.”
She took the card but still eyed him. Good. She shouldn’t be trusting everyone who walked in here offering to help her, even him. She looked smarter than that, and he could bring himself to be glad she was acting like it. “So maybe you really are a nice guy,” she said, still sounding a bit doubtful.
“Don’t take my word for it. Look, you ought to know I don’t normally pitch work on duty. Only I think Chief and Melba might ride me if I didn’t offer my help, given the—” he waved at the smoke now almost completely gone from the kitchen “—circumstances. It’s the least I