you have another?”
“Do you mean this?” Merritt went to the brick wall behind the stove and picked up the round piece of metal that had been on the ledge for as long as she’d been a resident. Early on, Alvie had told her it would need to be changed one day when the old one wore out. “I’d hoped it would last until spring when I could let the stove cool enough to work in there.”
“You thought you could do this yourself? First of all, your arms are too short to reach in and up that high. Second, how did you expect to hold it in place and still stand outside and slip in the rod to secure it?”
“I guess I didn’t think,” she admitted.
He grunted his agreement and opened the door on the stove to gauge what he was dealing with. A moment later, he slipped off his jacket and tugged his T-shirt over his head.
“What are you doing?” Merritt gasped.
“These are the only clothes I own at the moment. I’d like to avoid ruining them.”
The last man she’d seen in this state of undress had been her stepbrother, Dennis, whose skin was as pale as a corpse with a beer belly that hung so far over his jeans he resembled cupcake batter overflowing a pan. In comparison, there wasn’t an ounce of flesh on Cain Paxton’s bronze body that wasn’t hard muscle.
“But you’ll burn yourself.”
Testing the side of the stove with his hand, Cain shrugged. “It’s cooled down quite a bit. It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll need you to help, though.” He pulled the stem from the outside of the flue and the subsequent rattle and thud was indication enough that the old damper fell into the remaining few coals. “See this?” He showed her the steel pin with its twisted end designed for control by hand of the level of airflow. “When I stick the new damper up into the stack, you watch through that hole. When these slots are aligned to the opening, you stick this pin back through. You have to slip it all the way and make it come out the other side of the stack. Understood?”
“Is that even possible?” The slots weren’t half the width of her pinky nail—and she’d heard too often than she had the hands of a preteen.
“It better be, or you’ll freeze tonight as all of the heat rushes up and out of here through the stack.” After opening the stove door, he nodded. “The buildup of ashes over the remaining coals will help suppress the heat,” he said, lowering himself to his knees. “I’ll leave them until I’m done.”
Merritt didn’t think he would get so much as his head and a shoulder into the opening, but he managed. Nevertheless, it took several tries to get the damper replaced, partly because Merritt’s hands were shaking from nervousness, partly because Cain had difficulty maintaining the correct position. But—after several muffled curses from him—suddenly the pin slid all the way through and out the opposite hole.
“Thank God,” she whispered, almost weak with relief.
“As soon as I clean up, I’ll get rid of those ashes and get you that wood,” Cain said, trying not to touch his jeans as he rose to his feet.
Merritt saw how filthy he had indeed gotten on her behalf. “Please, the bathroom is to the left just before you go out the back door.” She pointed through the kitchen. “Help yourself to soap and towels. Whatever you need. I really am grateful for your help, Mr. Paxton.”
“The name is Cain. The only Mr. Paxton in these parts wouldn’t take kindly to hearing you using his name in reference to me.” Cain grimaced at his hands and the soot smeared over his arms and chest. “Do you have a couple of old rags? I don’t want to ruin any frilly lady things. This creosote won’t wash out easily.”
As she wiped at a miniscule streak of soot on her hands, Merritt felt another blush threaten. “I don’t own any frilly things. You use what you need to, and I’ll put on a kettle for tea. You’ll welcome that after being out in the wind again.”
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