Chapter Three
Zane looked at Clara from the corner of his eye as he worked. She was cute. Even soaking wet, she had a pixie-like appeal. She was taking this disaster in stride, without complaining. He didn’t much care for her frown though.
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said. “We’ve got this. I don’t mind helping and I’ve got some construction experience. I can make sure nothing has been permanently damaged.” Aside from the watery disaster, the interior of the inn looked to be in great shape. Solid porch, flawless floors, neatly painted walls. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he feared.
Her face scrunched up. “I’m not worried about that,” she said. “Okay, I am, but I was thinking of something else.”
Humidity hung in the air, saturating the small portion of his clothing that hadn’t been soaked when he dived under the sink. “Judging by your expression, it wasn’t anything nice.” He wanted to worm the information out of her. Maybe he could help her fix whatever plagued her. She was too pretty to wear that hurt frown. He didn’t even know her and the desire to make her happy was overwhelming.
“Yeah, well. My life wasn’t always great. My father was a tool.”
That was random. She was thinking about her family and getting mad while she cleaned. That didn’t make sense. It felt vaguely Cinderella-like, but he wouldn’t mention it.
“Some fathers are jerks. Mine wasn’t exactly a hero,” he blurted the words without thinking. He never told anyone about his father. He usually pretended he was fatherless. His mother had died when he was twelve and his father turned to drink for solace. Unfortunately, drinking and his dad didn’t get along. He was a surly drunk and liked to take his depression out with his fists. As an only child, Zane was his number one target.
He decided to change the subject. “Looks like we’re done here. I can check for water damage downstairs if you can make coffee. You do have coffee?” he asked, half teasing.
“Um, yeah.” She rested her hands on her hips in mock indignation.
He laughed at her petulant teenager imitation.
“Get that coffee brewing, Miss Clara, and then phone Uncle Robert and see if he can help us out. We can swing by the hardware store later and get a new faucet and a couple of shutoff valves for under that sink. I’ll install them for you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll call a plumber.” Clara’s cheeks turned an adorable red. Obviously; she didn’t want to impose on him.
“No problem. You’ll be doing me a favor. I’m on a mandatory vacation from work. I’ll be bored out of my mind without something to do.” Okay, partially a lie. Zane had been forced to take eight weeks of accumulated vacation before he lost the banked time. The firm he worked for as a forensic engineer had stopped paying out overtime and unused vacation. It was a use it or lose it situation. After working long, hard overtime hours, he chose to take the time off. He wouldn’t be bored on his vacation because he had a plan for keeping himself entertained. A new life goal. He was going to write a novel if it killed him.
“I don’t know.” She nibbled her baby fingernail. “You’re my guest. I can’t ask you to do my work. Not that I haven’t already.” She groaned.
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered. Just be glad the door was unlocked. The way you screamed; I would have bust it down to get in here.” No joke there. He was dead serious, despite the humor he put into his tone. A screaming woman wasn’t something you ignored.
“No way!” She stared at him like he was half crazy.
“Yes way. You might have been hurt, or in danger. I couldn’t let that rest. A man doesn’t leave a frightened or hurt woman to fend for herself. So, I let myself in. Now, you’re out of danger and have a smaller problem. You have a guest—me, and no running water. Good thing you have that water cooler over there, or I’d never get my coffee. I’ve been on the road for six hours. I need a jump start. I’ll trade you, a cup of delicious coffee for my labor.”
“And for what you’ve already done?” she asked, seeming a little more at ease.
“Oh, I don’t know. After you get groceries, maybe you can bake some brownies. I love brownies.” Zane was a total chocoholic. He’d eat anything chocolate. He’d packed a couple dozen top quality bars in the suitcase still in his truck.
“I’ll see your brownies and go one better. I’ll give you a nice dinner as well.”
“Real food, right? Not vegan or anything silly like that. I’m a carnivore.” He growled lightly. Her laugh was like a sucker punch to the stomach. It nearly floored him. Heat shot up his spine and then further south. Whoa! When had a woman last affected him like that?
Never, that’s when. Not even his long since ex fiancée.
He pivoted away from her and jogged downstairs. “Put that coffee on, Miss Clara,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’m parched.”
“Parched?” her voice carried down the stairs after him.
In the basement, he paused to catch his bearings. Darn, she was adorable. Not classically cute, but pixie-ish. Not small, but not tall. Probably five six, five seven. Not heavy, not scrawny. Just enough curves to be feminine and enticing. She had the most incredible eyes, so dark and emotional. They reminded him of coffee. Dark brown, almost black, deep pools he could drown in. Like everything else about her, her hair wasn’t exactly one thing. Her shoulder length hair was cocoa brown, with lighter tendrils flying around her face as it started drying. There was a shocking white patch just above her left ear. Bleached? Genetic anomaly? Either way, it looked soft and touchable.
He had damn near stepped on his tongue when he first saw her. Soaking wet, her clothing clinging to her body. She was delicious and he wanted a taste. His hunger had only increased as they worked together.
“Get a grip, Zane,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re a guest. Clara’s in a tight spot. You aren’t looking for a relationship. Your stay here is temporary.” So why did dealing with her disaster feel like where he wanted to be? He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d jumped in and taken over, and Clara had let him. What woman did that these days? He knew women who were staunchly independent; they refused help even when they most needed it. It was frustrating to his chivalrous side, but he took his cue from their attitude and acted accordingly. In this case, Clara didn’t object, so he helped.
It was nice that Clara wasn’t ashamed of her lack of knowledge, she just accepted it.
Standing in the basement, thinking of her, he shivered. Not from his sodden clothing, but from the feelings she invoked in him. They struck out of nowhere. Clara hadn’t even touched him, and she’d stolen his breath. He couldn’t analyze his reaction. He spent his whole life working things out. His puzzle solving skills had carried him to the top of his field as a forensic engineer. Analysis wasn’t just what he did, it was who he was. Not being able to put his finger on the cause of his unusual attraction made him uncomfortable. Why was he so off-kilter?
He toured the nearly empty basement, glancing in the furnace room and small bathroom. Aside from a pile of cardboard boxes, an enormous television, a yoga mat and blocks; the carpeted place was empty.
None of the drywall ceilings showed signs of damage, nor did the white walls. There were no pools of water dampening the pale gray carpeting. His fast action had probably saved her a ton of trouble. He’d remind her to get someone in with a moisture meter to check the walls for hidden water. No sense taking a chance on growing mold.
A quick cup of coffee, a tap repair, and then a shower. They could both use a shower to warm up. A heated image of them in the shower, together, scorched his retinas as if it were real. “Get a grip, man. Get your bloody mind out of the gutter.”What was wrong with him? He didn’t think of women that way. He respected them too much.With a mental head shake, he headed upstairs.
