Fixed Up (9 page)

Did ‘don't come Friday' mean don't come Monday, too? And Tuesday? Ever? His heart beat wildly at the thought of never seeing her again. He couldn't entertain that possibility at all. So—

Where did they go from here? It was a crime against nature to ignore the fire in that kiss. He wanted her too much to not engineer a repeat performance. He wanted her more than he'd wanted any woman for years. And if some deep-buried conscience whispered he'd been pushy, that he'd forced the issue, he chose to ignore it.

Harper's overreaction represented a blip. A pothole. One stumbling block in a cracked wall begging for demolition.

He hadn't given up on Harper yet. Panic had caused her to push him away. Fear of losing what she'd worked so hard for. He'd seen the shutters come up behind her eyes when he'd pushed her too quickly. Her anger was a front for self-preservation. He didn't know why, but he understood that behind that tough exterior she was lost. Alone.

Who takes care of you, Harper Cassidy?

Harper's dreams on Sunday night came as a pleasant change from the previous three nights. Those nights her sleep had been full of Luke. Hot, restless dreams of kisses and touches, hands and tongues. She'd woken in an unaccustomed state of arousal, flushed and wanting. Her duvet discarded on the floor and her pillow clutched in a tight embrace.

Disappointment on waking never fully stole away the wanting. Hot on the heels of disappointment she relived the panic and the fury that had ended Luke's kiss in the classroom and she remembered she was mad at him.

On Sunday night the wind howled and, outside the house, unidentified flying objects crashed and bashed. She woke intermittently, her sleep interrupted by external forces of nature that at least made more sense to her than her internal chaos. A freak summer storm could be explained, rationalised and filed away, even on the darkest night—whereas her reaction to Luke belonged to the realm of fantasy.

Implausible. Unsuitable. Painful.

She'd take the freak summer storm any day of the week.

Or so she thought, until eight o'clock on Monday morning when she trudged, bug-eyed due to a lack of sleep, out her front door to head to the community centre. She halted in her tracks as she saw for the first time the damage the storm had wreaked. Radio updates while she'd showered and breakfasted had reported tales of massive wind gusts, power cuts to a third of the city and boats dashed to pieces in the marina. Trucks had tipped, trees toppled and Auckland Harbour Bridge had closed, cutting off part of the city. Emergency services were run off their feet.

Even hearing all this on the radio didn't prepare her for the sight of her own front garden. A trampoline—presumably belonging to the family across the road—sagged half over her fence. She wondered if that had been the loud crash she'd vaguely registered last night. She moved cautiously down her front steps, observing the tipped wheelie bins and the recycling strewn around them. Yuck. Something to not look forward to cleaning up when she got home. And something else wasn't right. She stood in the driveway.

Her car wasn't there. Or rather it was there, but buried beneath the splintered remains of her old eucalyptus tree. The bloody dead tree she hadn't had time to cut down. So now Mother Nature had done it for her. And a right sloppy job she'd made of it.

The trunk had split almost in half, the side closest to her driveway toppled right over to land on the roof of her car, engulfing the vehicle in sad, sorry-looking branches. She peered through a gap in the twisted foliage. The car looked thankfully undamaged but it sure as hell couldn't be driven till she'd got rid of its bushy appendage.

Heaving a sigh of relief that she'd probably avoided a hefty mechanic's bill, Harper trailed back into the house. Thirteen phone calls later she'd cancelled her class for the day, turned down six offers of help along the way and made her excuses to Mr Thompson. A day working to clear the driveway loomed before her. She couldn't afford to pay a tree service so it was just her and her trusty chainsaw, Madge. A bit of time alone together and this problem would be solved. Business would recommence as usual tomorrow and, if she'd lost a day's income today, she'd at least have firewood stacked ready well ahead of time for winter.

She changed out of her sneakers into steel-capped boots. Protective gloves, helmet and safety googles completed her fashionable ensemble. She took a deep breath; in the aftermath of the storm the air smelled cleaner, fresher, the humidity a tang on her tongue. A small thrill ran through her as she approached the tree and the sound of the chainsaw ripped through the neighbourhood.
Harper versus Tree
.

Two hours later Harper collapsed in a heap on the porch steps. Her protective gear lay discarded beside her as she rested, eyes closed, attempting to regain her energy. Cutting up the tree was taking longer than she'd anticipated. The tree was winning. At this rate it'd take all week and she couldn't afford to lose more than a day of teaching.

I'm just tired, she thought, that's why it seems so daunting. Coffee and a date scone. That would fix her. But a quick phone call confirmed her favourite local café had closed for business today due to loss of power. She groaned, needing a latte so badly she could actually smell coffee brewing in her garden. She opened her eyes. Luke stood on her path. Wind whipped at his dark hair, making it flop forward over his blue-grey eyes. He wore a jacket, which flapped open to reveal a fitted T-shirt beneath, stretched over a muscular chest and abdomen. In his hands he held out a tray with two cardboard take out coffee cups and a brown paper bag.

Harper swallowed deeply, a hot rush of longing catching her by surprise. She pushed it away. ‘What are you doing here? Haven't you done enough damage already?'

‘Peace offering,' he said.

Too tempting. Luke smiled his killer smile and her insides melted a little, liquid pooling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't fair. Her reaction to him wasn't fair. She needed to stay mad at him. It was the only way she'd hold it together. Looking at him made her eyes ache, her heart ache.

She sat upright, the movement stiff and ungainly as the efforts of the last couple of hours tugged at her tired muscles.

‘It's unnecessary,' she said. ‘You don't owe me anything.'
Much
.
Just a few nights' sleep, my sanity and my professional reputation.

‘I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have been so flippant on Thursday. I'm hoping you'll accept coffee and a muffin in good faith and let me help you with your tree problem.'

The ache in her heart lightened a little at his words. For a second she allowed herself to consider his offer.

‘I can accept the coffee, I suppose, and the muffin, but I've got everything else under control.' Except her libido. Ouch, and her lower back. She tried not to grimace and give herself away as she looked up at him.

‘Really?' Luke's tone conveyed a thousand degrees of dubious.

‘Yeah. I'm having a break before Madge and I crack on again.'

‘Madge? You've got someone helping you? I only got two coffees.' Luke looked around him.

Harper almost laughed. She would've lied and said yes, but for some weird reason the thought of lying to Luke, big-footed and annoying as he was, made her throat thicken. The lie could not pass her lips.

‘Madge is my chainsaw. I've only got one Madge so unfortunately you won't be able to help. Thanks for the offer anyway.' She smiled. ‘What flavour muffin?'

‘Passionfruit.' He settled himself on the step beside her. Close. The light pressure of his thigh made her hold her breath and she shifted a tiny inch away. He passed a coffee to her, fingers touching for only a second. Which was exactly the amount of time required for her to remember the dream she'd had about him. A hot memory swamping her with the irrational desire to clamber into his lap and throw caution to the howling summer wind.

Instead she took a fortifying sip of coffee and sniffed the muffin. Anything to take her mind off his scent. Her craving for coffee took second place now to her craving for the man sitting so close to her. An annoying strand of hair blew across her face and stuck to her lips and Luke reached across to gently hook his finger over it and tuck it back behind her ear. She barely felt his touch, but the surprising familiarity of his action almost blew her away, as if Luke touched her every day, a thousand times a day.

He drank his coffee, looking exactly like a man sitting on a step drinking coffee and focusing on the job before him. Which is what he was. So why did she feel as though every pore, every strand of hair, every nerve-ending in her body was acutely and riotously aware of him?

‘We need to get that biggest branch off, and then we can cut into the trunk more easily at the halfway point,' he said, indicating with his free hand, the one that seconds earlier had touched, barely, her lips.

Harper forced her attention back to the tree.
Focus
.

‘It's that old “we” again, isn't it?' she said. But she sounded unconvincing. Her forced smile felt weak on her lips. Hell's teeth, if she couldn't fool herself she certainly wasn't putting on a convincing performance for Luke. She no longer felt like a woman in charge of the job at hand.

It stung.

‘Still only got one chainsaw,' she said.

‘And it's a bit of a girl's chainsaw.'

Harper stiffened. ‘Seriously. Is this macho thing for real?'

Luke laughed and stood up, wiping his hands on his faded jeans. The denim couldn't hide how muscular his thighs were, and as he walked away down the path her eyes followed him, enjoying the sight of his butt, snug in jeans that hugged him in all the right places. Her mind couldn't help registering, yet again, how attractive he was as he circled the tree, kicking loose branches out of the way. He disappeared round the corner for a minute, then reappeared with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and a large chainsaw in his hands.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling against the wind. ‘My chainsaw's bigger than yours.'

‘God you're tragic,' said Harper, but she'd lost the urge to fight him. Tackling the tree alone no longer appealed. If Luke insisted on helping, maybe she should let him. See what he was made of, with his large chainsaw and confident swagger …

The thought brought a smile to her lips and gave her a second wind. Harper stood up, stretched out her lower back for a second before reaching for her protective gear. Round two.
Harper and Luke versus Tree.

***

Communication was initially tricky. Both wore protective gear—Luke had pulled a chainsaw helmet and gloves out of his bag—but after a few false starts and awkward moments involving lots of arm waving and pointing, they fell into a rhythm. Luke worked quickly and efficiently, finishing the job Harper had begun of limbing the fallen tree. He dragged the branches up the driveway to Harper, who split them to stackable firewood size and carried them round the side of the house to the old woodshed. Cut, drag, split, repeat. And the morning marched on, the tree in the driveway getting smaller as her wood supply got bigger.

Harper wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead with the back of her glove. The wind had dropped and the sun was high in the sky. Her gurgling stomach told her it was well past lunchtime. Her watch told her it was two o'clock. Luke showed no signs of slowing down as his adept handling of the chainsaw made light work of the previously daunting task.

Harper appreciated his help, she really did, but whether it was hunger, fatigue or downright perverseness, she fought a prickle of annoyance at how he'd taken over. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. He didn't exactly order her about but it seemed he was used to taking charge and others—her today, despite it being her tree, her problem—naturally fell in line. He led by example, hands on, working tirelessly, giving the impression of abounding energy and unstoppable manliness.

And I'm knackered. I want to sit down.

She moaned—on the inside. There was no way she'd stop before Luke did. It was her friggin' tree and she'd keep working if it killed her. Which it just might. She rubbed her lower back, taking a deep breath before stooping to pick up another armful of logs … and felt them pulled from her arms almost at once.

Luke pulled an ear muff away from her ear, his breath tickling her cheek as he spoke. ‘What's wrong with your back?' he asked, her armful of wood fitting neatly in one arm.

‘Nothing. Just a twinge from all the bending and stretching.'

‘You should take a break. It'll only take me half an hour to get this lot split and stacked. Go make yourself a cup of tea or something.'

He gently replaced the plastic over her ear. It was infuriating. Ordering her around again. She tried to pull the logs out of his arms, but he held them high, out of reach. Ignoring the nerve she could feel pinching in her back, she picked up another load. She saw Luke let out an exasperated sigh as he bent to heave more logs into his arms and strode towards the woodshed. Harper followed more slowly, allowing him time to stack his wood, stepping aside when he turned back to fetch more.

‘You've one rubber bosom,' he shouted on the way past. Startled, she dropped a log, and he stopped to pick it up. He balanced it back on the pile held in her arms, standing too close and smiling down into her eyes. Her gaze went to his lips, which moved, but with her ear muffs on she couldn't hear what he said. She assumed it was about her and that it wasn't particularly complimentary, judging from the accompanying eye roll. She stepped neatly around him and deposited her load just as neatly on the stacked pile. With her hands free again she pulled the ear muffs down around her neck. ‘What did you say?'

He laughed. ‘Probably best you didn't hear.'

‘Go on. I can handle it.'

‘I said, you're one stubborn woman.'