Lauren wished she didn’t have to remember but couldn’t forget no matter how hard she tried. And this, she thought as they walked down the shady main street lined with eucalyptus trees, this wonderful, peaceful existence was going to be what Jem remembered about his childhood, no matter what she had to do to protect that.
She looked down at his tousled brown curls as he stopped to pick up a particularly grimy rock and stuck it in his pocket. Always gathering things, he was a bit like her in that way, although they shared no blood. But because she’d been his foster mother since he was abandoned as a baby and now she was his official adoptive mother, she realized this particular behavior could have been learned from her.
After all, she’d been collecting things as long as she could remember, long before she took Jem in and made good on the most important of her childhood pledges. And now that she’d retired from her grueling and time-consuming modeling career, she was going to fulfill another of her pledges and trot out all her precious things and open an antique store.
Jem slipped his hand back into hers as their house came into view and tugged to get her attention. “Look, Mommy,” he said in a loud whisper.
Lauren followed the boy’s gaze and automatically slowed her steps. There, standing on the front porch of their grand, gorgeous, dilapidated, falling-down Victorian house was a man, leaning casually against the main beam that held up the ornate overhang. He was staring up at the house’s eaves, his back to them. She took in the long length of him—his broad shoulders encased in a snug black T-shirt, down his sleekly muscled back, to his sculpted behind and his long, denim-clad legs—and swallowed thickly.
Holy cow. If she were looking for a man instead of a handyman, she wouldn’t have had to look any further. But she wasn’t. Two hundred and twenty-one days ago, she’d made herself a promise: no men for one year. It was the only way she’d been able to think of to reset her own personal Jerk-O-Meter and establish some good sense when it came to men. Her sanity—and, more importantly, the happiness of her child—depended on it.
As they approached, the stranger turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see a shock of sandy-colored, wind-tossed hair falling over his forehead and a sharp, confident profile so chiseled it should be etched in bronze and placed in the window of an art gallery. A disconcerting heat rushed through her as she watched him lift one hand to grasp a beam above his head and the muscles in his forearm and bicep bunched and flexed as he tested its strength. Oh, my, she thought, this guy really did have a body that went on for days, maybe even weeks. And for her that was saying something. In her former business she’d seen a lot of beautiful male bodies—not to mention some inflated, appalling male egos to match.
She slowed their steps further and worked to reclaim her composure as she took in the unfamiliar, battered truck with Washington State plates parked alongside the house. Whoever he was, she was sure it would be a mistake to bound up the steps with her face far too flushed for the cool morning temperatures, looking like a cheerleader stalking the captain of the football team.
Jem pulled on her hand. “Mom, do you think it’s him?” he said in a childish, hissing stage whisper.
And apparently it was loud enough for the man to hear because he turned around and smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth and lagoon-blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his wind-and sun-bronzed skin. Lauren’s breath hitched, then released in one long rush.
She tightened her hold on her son’s hand as the stranger reached behind him and pulled a newspaper out of the back pocket of his just-snug-enough Levi’s. Don’t worry, she told herself soothingly, he’s probably new in town and looking for directions. Just because he had the classifieds didn’t mean he was answering their ad. Please don’t be answering our ad. You’re far too distracting to be our handyman.
“Can I help you?” she asked as she and Jem walked up the steps, carefully avoiding the two broken ones near the bottom.
The man looked at Jem with a certain bewilderment, like someone looks at a person they’re sure they’ve met but can’t quite place. Then he turned and fixed his gaze on her. Their eyes locked and held, pulling her into a strange, thrilling vortex that made her feel as if she was still strapped into the Tilt-O-Whirl Jem had made her ride at the county fair last weekend.
“Maybe you can,” he said finally, and the spell was broken. “But I’m sure I can help you.”
“You are the man!” Jem exclaimed.
The stranger cocked his head to the side and the corners of his firm, sensual mouth tipped into the beginnings of a smile.
“He means—” Lauren began.
But the man just smiled at Jem and said, “I think I know what he means,” with a hint of laughter in his voice. Then he unfolded the newspaper and as he did, she saw their ad circled in red ink. “I’m here for the job you advertised.”
Wasn’t that just her luck? She’d been expecting a nice, graying old man with dentures, not some godlike creature who, with a simple smile, was stirring up something inside her that was better left undisturbed. Something that felt like it might be putting her yearlong hiatus from men in peril.
She sighed inwardly and told herself she’d just have to keep that commitment at the top of her To Do list. She was convinced that in just one hundred and forty-four more days, her instinct for men would be refreshed—not that her instinct had ever been all that finely honed to start with, but that wasn’t the point. For now, she’d simply have to get rid of this stranger who had been dropped on her porch by fate to tempt her.
The man in question waved the newspaper with a flick of his wrist. “Unless the position’s already been filled.”
She thought about lying for a half a second, but there was a light in his blue eyes that made it impossible for her to manufacture a fib on the fly. “No, it hasn’t. But—”
“That’s great.” His voice was calm, his gaze steady, his smile sure. “Because I can start immediately.”
Not on your life, she thought, certain that the hordes of very safe and very unattractive grandpa types would be descending on her house any minute. “Actually,” she said, seizing what she hoped would be a successful thanks-but-no-thanks tactic, “I’m really looking for someone local.” She glanced pointedly toward the side yard and his truck. “And I can see you’re from out of state.”
“Yes, ma’am. Seattle area.” His gaze never strayed from hers. “That’s where I’ve been most recently anyway. Did some good work up there.”
“Then I’d be happy to take your resume. But like I said, I’m giving the first crack at the job to someone local.” Sounds good, sounds reasonable, she thought as she watched the giant oak tree that swayed gently in her front yard cast captivating shadows on his handsome, confident face.
“I’ve got to warn you,” he said as he leaned against the post. He crossed his powerful arms in a way that let her know he had no intention of just tucking his tail and slinking away. “You’re not going to find anyone better than me.”
Any red-blooded woman with a good pair of eyes could see that, but Lauren wasn’t the type to acquiesce so quickly. “I guess I won’t really know for sure until I see the rest of the applicants. But I’ll be happy to review your resume and call you for an interview if you’d like.”
The stranger’s smile widened, softening his features and giving the impression that he could be trusted with the contents of Fort Knox. Then he pushed
