One in a Million (5 page)

“
Then I'll pay for the repairs. The point of doing someone a favor is to make her life easier, not more
difficult." He casually cleared some space on the
vinyl floor covering. "I'm pretty sure I figured out
what was wrong with the machine."

“
Yeah?" Brett sounded skeptical. "Show me."
Nash scooted back to give the kid a clear view of
the machine. "That part back there came loose,
which meant this section moved forward. These two
pieces got in the way, and this one ended up a little
bent."
Brett crouched down and stared as Nash pointed to the problem areas. He explained what he'd done
so far and how he was now putting the machine
back together.

“I'll stop if you want," he said.

Brett sank onto the floor. His blue eyes widened
in surprise. "You mean if I say not to do any more
you won't?" ''That's right."
Brett glanced from the washer to Nash and back.
"I guess it would be okay for you to finish up.
Maybe you haven't made it worse."
High praise, Nash thought, holding in a grin.
"Want to help me?"

“
Yeah." Brett sounded eager. Then he gave a
shrug. "I mean I'm not doing anything else right
now."
Nash handed him the wrench and showed him
where to tighten the edge of the casing. "Turn that
there."
Fifteen minutes later, the washer was nearly back
in one piece. Brett had given up being distant and
sullen and now bombarded Nash with questions.

“
How'd you figure out what had happened? You
ever take a washer apart before?"

“When I was a teenager," Nash told him. "With
computer chips and electronics a lot of home appli
ances are getting pretty complicated, but this
washer's older. That made it easier to see what was
wrong. Your mom had already taken it apart. I just
poked around."
He didn't mention that Stephanie had been trying
a combination of guilt and physical abuse on the old
machine. Thinking about how she's stopped to kick
it as she'd walked out of the room that morning
made him smile.

“
My bike chain came off once," Brett said. "I
got it back on and tightened up some stuff, but I
guess that's not the same."

“
You're pretty mechanical," Nash told the kid.
"You handle these tools well."
Brett pretended nonchalance. "I know."
Just then someone cleared her throat. Nash
glanced over his shoulder and saw Stephanie stand
ing in the doorway to the utility room. The twins were right behind her, peering at him from either
side of her hips. She didn't look happy.

“
I know you're trying to help, Mr. Harmon, but
this isn't your responsibility."
Before Nash could speak, Brett scrambled to his
feet.

“
It's okay, Mom. I think Nash really fixed it. He
knows about machines and stuff. We're just putting
it back together. Let's test it."
Stephanie's doubt was as clear as her frown.
"Brett, the washer isn't a toy."

“
Good thing," Nash said as he stood and looked
down at her. "Because I wasn't playing."

Chapter Three

Had she already mentioned that the man was tall? Stephanie had to tilt her head back to meet Nash's dark gaze. Once her eyes locked onto his, she didn't think an earthquake would be enough to break the connection between them.

What exactly was the- appeal? His chiseled good looks? The hint of sadness even when he smiled? A body big enough and muscled enough to make him
the most popular guy in a "drawing the human
form" class? Her sex-free existence? That voice?
I wasn't playing.

She knew what he'd meant when he spoke the
words. He wasn't playing at being Mr. Repair. He
was just trying to help. But she wanted him to mean
something else. She wanted him to mean that he thought she was sexy, mysterious and, seeing as this was her personal fantasy, irresistible. She wanted him to mean he wasn't playing with her. He wanted it to be real, too.

Yeah, that and a nod from a genie would miraculously get the piles of laundry clean, too. "Stephanie? Are you all right?" Good question.

She forced herself to look away from his face and
focus her attention on the nearly assembled washer. The scattered tools on the floor were enough to remind her of Marty, who had loved to play at fixing
things. He knew just enough to be dangerous to both
himself and her monthly budget. Like she needed
that kind of trouble again.

“
Tell me exactly what you did," she said. She
would need the information to tell the repair guy. Before Nash could speak, Brett launched into an
explanation that involved calling tools by their ac
tual names and pointing out various washer parts on
a diagram so detailed, she got vertigo just looking
at it. She did her best to pay attention. Really. It was
just that the utility room was sort of on the small
side and Nash was standing close enough for her to
inhale the scent of his shampoo and the faint hint of
male sweat. It had been a really long time since
she'd seen a man perspire.

And it wasn't going to happen again anytime
soon, she told herself firmly. Men, good-looking or
not, weren't a part of her to-do list. She was going
to put any illicit or illegal thoughts of Nash Harmon
right out of her mind.

The bad news was she'd assumed that her reaction
to him that morning had come from a lack of caffeine and low blood sugar. As she'd had enough
coffee to float a good-size boat and she was still full
from lunch, she couldn't blame her current attraction
on either of those states. There had to be another explanation.

“
Mom, you're not listening," Brett complained.
"I am. You got a little technical on me. I guess
it's a guy thing."
She watched as her son tried to decide between
being huffy at her inattention and pleasure at her
calling him a guy.

“
There's a simple way to ease your mind," Nash
said.

Reluctantly she looked in his direction, careful
not to get caught up in his lethal gaze.

“
Let me guess," she said. "You're going to turn
it on and prove to me that it works."

“Exactly."
He smiled and staring at that was nearly as dan
gerous. When his mouth curved, her stomach
swooned. The sensation was more than a little disconcerting.

“
Okay, let her rip." She bent down to the twins
and rested her hands on their shoulders. "You two
brace yourselves. If the washer starts to hiss and
shake I want you to run for cover. Okay?" They nodded solemnly.

The three of them watched as Nash closed the lid,
then pushed in the dial. There was a second of si
lence followed by a click. Then, amazingly, the old
washer chugged to life. She heard the sound of the
tub turning, followed by water gurgling down the
drain.

“
I don't believe it," she said. "It might actually
be working."
Brett grinned. "Mo-om. It is working. Nash and
I fixed it."

“
Wow!" She brushed his cheek with her fingers.
"I'm impressed."
Adam tugged on her shirt. "I'm hungry, Mom. I
want my afternoon snack."

“Me, too," Jason said.

“
Meet me in the kitchen." She turned her atten
tion back to Nash. "I don't know how to thank you. Of course I'll discount your room for the work. The
last time the repairman was here, he charged me a hundred dollars."

“
Forget it," he said as he crouched down and began collecting tools. "You helped me out this
morning. I'm returning the favor."

“
Jump-starting your car hardly compares with
fixing my washer. I have to pay you something."
He glanced up. "Then I'll take an afternoon
snack, too.

That wasn't enough, but it would have to do for
now. Brett planted his hands on his hips.

“What do I get?"

“My undying gratitude."

“How about a new skateboard?"
She winced. The one he wanted had special
wheels or a secret finish or something that cranked
up the price tag to the stratosphere.

“We'll talk," she told her oldest.

“You always say that, but we never have the con
versation," he complained as he stalked out of the
room.

She watched him go and was pleased when he
turned into the kitchen rather than heading toward
the stairs and up to his room. Brett was twelve-
nearly a teenager. She didn't want to think about
handling a teenage boy all on her own. She didn't
like to think about dealing with any of it all on her
own. Unfortunately, she didn't have a choice. The
past few years had taught her that alone was a whole
lot better than marriage to the wrong guy.

She turned back to Nash. "How about coffee and shortbread cookies?" He finished putting the tools in the box and stood. "Sounds terrific."

“
I'll bring them into the dining room in about
five minutes."
She started to leave, then stopped. The washer
clicked over from spin to rinse. "I still can't believe
you fixed that. I have laundry piled up to the ceiling.
We've been running out of clothes. I really do ap
preciate your help."

“
I was glad to do it." He leaned against the
washer. "My work keeps me pretty busy. I'm not
used to having a lot of free time and this gave me something to do."
She laughed. "Uh-huh. Next you'll be telling me
I was doing
you
the favor by letting you work on
the washer."

“Exactly."

“
Nice try, Nash, but I don't buy it."
She headed for the kitchen. Every single cell in
her body tingled from their close encounter. Did
sexual attraction burn calories? Wouldn't it be nice
if it did?
She started a fresh pot of coffee, then got out
glasses for the boys. Brett poured the milk while she
set out grapes, string cheese and a plate of cookies.
By the time that was done, the coffee had finished.

She poured it into a carafe, then set it on the tray,
along with shortbread cookies, grapes and some crab puffs she'd been defrosting.

“
Be right back," she told her children as she
picked up the tray and walked toward the dining
room.

Nash stood by the front window, staring out onto
the street. When she entered, he turned and smiled. "Thanks."

“
You're welcome." She put down the tray. "Let
me know if you need anything else."

“I will."
She would like to tell herself that he was talking
about more than just the food. While she was busy
imagining that, she could pretend that his gaze lin
gered on her face and that his relaxed stance belied
pulsing erotic tension building just below the surface
of his calm facade. Or she could be realistic and get
her fanny back to the kitchen. -
Being reasonably intelligent, she chose the latter
and left Nash in peace. The poor man hadn't asked
for her sudden rush of hormones. If she didn't want
to embarrass them both, she was going to have to
find a way to get her wayward imagination under
control. If logic wasn't going to work, she was going
to have to think of more drastic measures.