I couldn’t say no, so I nodded and headed for the shop.
I kept my work shirt on, sweat and all, and grabbed the toolbox from the tack room. My hands left gritty prints on the red plastic handle, but I didn’t wipe them off. The less “presentable” I looked, the better.
The walk to Parker’s old house was short—just across the road, through a windbreak of pecan trees and down a gravel drive lined with dandelions. The difference in atmosphere was immediate. The ranch vibrated with activity: calves bawling, diesel engines revving, the occasional bark from the kennel. Over here, you could almost forget there was a world beyond the drive.
The house itself was less impressive up close. The paint was flaking, the screen door had a rip near the bottom, and the porch swing leaned at an angle that dared you to sit. But someone had swept the steps, and a pot of pink geraniums sat on the rail, bravely defying the heat.
I stood on the lowest step and took a slow look around. Nanette’s white car passed me as I made my way up the drive; her perfume didn’t linger, but I could still pick up the faint signature of cold cream and Chanel on the front door. The other scent—lemon zest and flora—Brie.
I set the toolbox down with a thump and knocked once, hard.
No answer. I waited, fighting the urge to just leave. I tried again, and this time I heard the faint shuffle of bare feet on wood.
The door opened, and there she stood her face an accusation, deep turquoise blue eyes looking up at me, dark wavy hair, the blue streaked throughout.
“Finn.”
I kept my hat on. “Brie. The Alpha sent me to fix one of your doors.”
She eyed me like I was a wolf come to drag her back to the den. “Oh, yeah. Come on in.”
She led me through the house to the back door. It was located off the kitchen. I was surprised at how remarkably neat and clean everything was. The kitchen was dated, with cabinets and fixtures that screamed early 2000s, but Nanette clearly had a flair for decor. She’d added attractive decor to the counters, not so much that they looked cluttered, just classically pretty with a mix of wood and metal. Several pieces of art adorned thewalls; landscapes of Paris that I assumed Brie had painted. She was gifted; there was no question.
I immediately saw daylight coming in around the bottom corner of the door frame. I pointed at the gap where sunlight poured across the floor. “Doesn’t shut all the way. It’s definitely a safety issue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”
Fuck, she had a smart mouth. My eyes moved over her. She wore cut-off shorts and a tank she undoubtedly got from Parker that said: I LOOK BETTER BENT OVER A BOOK across the chest. She didn’t even flinch when she caught me reading it.
I set my toolbox down, dropped to one knee and checked the hinges. They were loose; the wood splintered from years of slamming. I could fix it in five minutes, maybe less.
I fished a screwdriver from the box and tightened the top hinge. “You ever try to fix this yourself?”
She snorted. “I’m not allowed to touch the tools. Last time I tried, I stripped a screw and Nanette freaked out.”
I grinned, couldn’t help it. “You do that on purpose?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
I finished the top hinge and then moved to the bottom. Her scent—lemon, with a wildflower edge—filled the air, and my wolf snapped to attention. I focused on the work.
“You doing okay here?” I asked, careful.
She hesitated. “I stay busy. There’s not much reason to go to the pack house unless you’re a joiner.” She said the last word like it was a disease.
I nodded. “Understand that.”
I tested the door; it swung smooth and easy. “All fixed.”
She looked almost disappointed. “That’s it? Bronc sends you to do all the hard jobs.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I’m the best there is. He knows it.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
I picked up my toolbox, ready to leave, but she didn’t move from her post at the counter. “You want a glass of water?” she asked, voice softer. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I did actually. The sweat had cooled to a sticky film on my skin, and my head pounded with leftover adrenaline.
