Sweet Surprise (5 page)

“A baby?”

“No baby.” A familiar ache squeezed his heart. “Always wanted one, but I guess God knew better than we did.”

“Don’t you worry.” She gave the top of his hand a little pat. “The perfect woman is still out there waiting for you.”

Mike hated to be the one to burst her bubble, but there was no one out there waiting for him. Mainly because the day he’d walked out of that divorce courtroom, he’d counted it as strike three. He was out. As a result, he’d locked up his heart along with his hopes and dreams of the whole loving-family-white-picket-fence scenario.

“It’s a very nice place you have here.” He might be pessimistic about the future, but he kicked ass at conversational detours. He leaned forward, setting both elbows on Jana’s nice sunflower tablecloth, and fed her a little of her own interrogation tactics. “So tell me . . . with four sons–who are more than capable of doing what needs to be done around here than me–why did you shell out good money at that charity auction for
my
help?”

“Because, sugarplum, I have bigger plans for you.” She leaned in and scorched him with a tenacious glare. “And not a single one of my boys can fulfill this particular . . . desire.”

Up to that point he hadn’t been nervous.

All that changed with one ominous word.

Desire.

Holy. Shit.

Chapter 3

T
he little town of Sweet looked like it stepped right out of a storybook. Like the cuteness fairy fluttered down Main Street, touching her magical wand to all the storefronts, and blessing them with glittery fairy adorableness.

At each corner, huge barrels overflowed with vibrant bouquets of flowers hardy enough to handle the blazing sun. The Victorian gazebo, pond, creek, and decorative cast-iron benches beneath the wide-reaching branches of the giant oaks in Town Square looked inviting enough for Mike to want to stop his car and sit for a spell.

Stores like Wilder and Sons Hardware and Feed, Goody Gum Drops Candy Store, and Harvest Moon Mercantile had been completely renovated by
My New Town,
the now-defunct cable makeover show. When former designer and show host Charli Brooks—now the wife of Reno Wilder—quit, the ratings hit rock bottom, and they canceled all further episodes. A shame, Mike thought. They—or Charli—had done amazing work.

If not for the genuine appeal of the place, the entire town would be almost too saccharine to believe.

Mike didn’t mind all the charm. He knew that the portrait of Sweet wasn’t just a movie-set façade. Behind the walls of those buildings and homes, there dwelled a community with heart and dedication to preserving a Mayberry RFD way of life. And for a man who’d grown up in the hell of a gang-dominated community, where graffiti was the height of artistic culture and blood bathed the streets and sidewalks, he’d be the last one to complain.

Ironically, the sun dipped low in the sky as Mike turned onto Sunshine Lane and headed toward the address Jana had jotted down on a “Hot Mess” sticky note. The woman had made him nervous as hell with that whole
desire
comment until she spelled out exactly what she wanted him to do.

Fortunately, it was far from the crazy things he’d imagined.

Un
fortunately, it threw him right in the path of disaster.

He should have refused. He should have found a way to talk his way out of the corner she’d backed him into. He should have offered to shovel shit or some other filthy ranch job that needed to be done. But Jana Wilder possessed that same damn persuasive trait her sons had when they wanted something done their way. He could have sat at her kitchen table all day making up excuses why he couldn’t carry out her
desire,
and his efforts would have been for naught.

Jana Wilder was the Bruce Lee of verbal judo. And with her being so nice to him, there was no way he could tell her no.

After parking his Durango at the curb in front of the little yellow cottage with the white picket fence, he stepped up onto the porch, took a deep breath, and knocked.

It took several minutes before the door opened.

It took one quick scan of his eyes and a mere two seconds for his jaw to unhinge.

In the doorway of that quaint little house stood Fiona Wilder, balancing on a pair of wooden crutches. Devoid of makeup and with her silky blond hair pulled back in a barrette, the nasty bruise and stitches near her hairline were prevalent. The swelling above the compression wrap around her injured ankle delivered a wallop of compassion straight to the center of his chest.

Still, without conscious effort, his inner caveman took over, and his eyes took a slow ride down her tall, curvy body. Down over the snug white Bon Jovi tank top. Down over the pair of Daisy Dukes that molded to her slim hips. Down over her long, shapely legs.

Mother Nature had been very, very generous with what she’d doled out in Fiona’s direction.

And
he
really needed to stop staring.

“Mike?”

He lifted his gaze as her head tilted quizzically. And then she gave him
that
smile. The one that warmed him from the inside out. The one that dared to suggest she might be a little bit happy to see him. The one that could take him down like a house of cards.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was jam-packed with undeniable perplexity.

Okay, maybe
not
so happy to see him.

“I . . . um . . .”

She blinked those baby blues, and somehow he managed to roll his tongue back up in his mouth. “I have your boxes in my SUV.”

“My boxes?”

He nodded. “The ones we stored at the fire station?”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “Wow. I totally forgot about them. As you can see, I’ve got more than I’ll ever need right now.”

Behind her, the small living room was stacked high with cardboard containers. Small pathways had been created in between to allow space to maneuver through the room.

“How did you even know where to find me? Jackson?”

“Mrs. Wilder.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “She asked if I could bring the boxes over to you.”

“Ah.” Enlightenment dawned. “So that’s how you’re paying off your debt from the charity auction?”

“She asked me not to tell you. But I couldn’t imagine popping up at your door and pretending like I just happened by.”

“No, that probably wouldn’t have worked.”

“Plus,” he said, “I’m not a very good liar.”

“Well, that’s an X in your good-guy column.” She flashed another sweet smile. “I’d planned on picking them up later this week, after I’d settled in a bit more and was a little less gimpy. But obviously in the mix of things, I forgot.”

“You do look like you could use some rest.” At her instant frown, he backpedaled. “No offense. I didn’t mean you looked bad or–”

“No worries. I guess you might as well come inside.” She shifted her crutches to allow him room to enter the house. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the help, but . . .”

“You weren’t expecting company,” he said.

“I do always try to put my best foot forward.” She glanced around the room. “Obviously, this maze of boxes, my messy appearance, and my bandaged foot, aren’t it.”

Was she kidding?

To him she looked like a million and a half bucks.

“I’ve moved before. I know how it is.” He followed her inside the house, noticing the daisies he’d given her sitting in a glass jar on the coffee table. “But I’ve never had a car accident in the process. I say you get extra points.”

“You’re sweet to say so.”

Sweet?

If she had even an inkling of the
sweet
thoughts going through his head, she’d use her good foot to boot his ass out the door.

A deeper look around the room indicated that though the furniture seemed to have been arranged, everything else was in a state of chaos. It would take weeks for her to get everything unpacked and put away in her less-than-agile situation. Jana had been smart to call in the debt he owed to get someone to help.

“Where have you been sitting?” he asked, noticing a lack of places to land.

“A kitchen chair.”

“You should be elevating and icing that ankle.”

“I
should
be doing a lot of things. Mostly, I’ve been on the phone with the insurance company all morning, then trying to figure out how to get anything accomplished with these crutches as an accessory.”

“You wear them well.” Yeah, okay, so he used the wooden sticks as another excuse to let his gaze wander down to her long, tanned, bare legs again. So sue him.

“I’m thinking of decorating them with pink zebra Duck Tape.”

“Now there’s a fashion statement.” He took another quick glance at the chaos in the room. “How about if I go get those boxes and see if I can’t make you some room to move around in here.”

“I’d really appreciate it. But I’m sure you’re busy and don’t have time to do all that. If you’ll just bring in the boxes, I can get the rest figured out. Then Jana can find another way for you to pay off your debt that will actually benefit
her.
”

“Well, I could do that. But with all the other disgusting jobs the woman threatened me with, I’d much prefer this one. If you don’t mind.”

Her teeth snagged her bottom lip, and her eyes searched his face. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but he knew he needed to overcome whatever reservations she had.

“I promise I’m not Marvin the Masher. You’re safe with me.”

“Am I?”

He gave her a nod.

Effortlessly, she brought out his protective nature. Not that she was incapable of taking care of herself. He had no doubt she was a strong woman who obviously did well on her own. The feelings that took over when he looked into her eyes were ones he’d never experienced before. But they were ones he had to get under control. Fast.

She didn’t belong to him.

She’d never belong to him.

He had to get that through his thick skull.

“It’s really not an issue of trust,” she said. “And it’s not that I’m not appreciative. It’s just that . . . this is a new beginning for me. Something I’ve been working hard for. And I’ve really been looking forward to stepping up my independence. You know, doing things on my own. I’ve already asked too much of everyone.”

“I can understand and respect that. And under any other circumstances, I’d get out of your way. I just don’t know how you’re going to manage moving such heavy stuff around while balancing on those crutches.”

Her head came up just slightly, and her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. “My grandmother always said I had a stubborn streak.”

“Then how about we don’t prove her right. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

“I just . . .” She glanced away, then brought her gaze back. “Don’t want to feel like a charity case.”

“You’re not.” He glanced around the cluttered room and found a motive that might put her a little more at ease. “Think about it. Jana paid good money to a charitable foundation for services. Consider me no different from someone who’s been hired from Angie’s List. And if you let me help you out, that just means you can get Isabella home faster.”

“Well, I would like that. I get very lonely without her.”

He knew all about loneliness. Lived and breathed it for the most part. “Then let me help.”

Pretty white teeth snagged her bottom lip again as she debated. Today, he’d sworn on a sack of grain to Jana that he wouldn’t leave without getting Fiona situated in her new house.

He didn’t take promises lightly.

Or damsels in distress.

He moved the boxes off the sofa to the floor to make a place for her to sit. When he returned to where she remained near the door, she looked up at him. She might not want to admit the need for help, but it was there all the same in those deep baby blues.

He’d seen those eyes before, only in a deeper shade of brown. His sister had thought she could handle the challenges that had presented themselves. But she’d been wrong. Her pride and obstinacy had played a huge part in her downfall. And though he could hardly compare Fiona’s situation to Avianna’s, he still couldn’t turn away.

Allowing the lady to retain her dignity and not feel so powerless was vital. So instead of expecting her to give in, he just did what he thought was necessary. He pointed to her crutches. “May I?”

“But . . .”

“Just lean your hand on my arm for stability.” He propped the crutches against the wall, then easily lifted her into his arms.

A startled gasp cleared her delicate throat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you off your feet.” He crossed the room, remaining as conscious of her injured ankle as he was of the scent of peaches that drifted up from her warm skin. Gently, he positioned her on the sofa. Before she could protest, he placed a throw pillow beneath her head and two beneath her ankle.

Dodging stacks of boxes, he went into the kitchen, opened the freezer door, and was relieved to find several trays of ice on the top shelf. On the counter, an open box revealed some dish towels and other kitchen items. He emptied an ice tray into a towel, twisted the top, and carried it into the living room.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she protested.

“The faster I get this done, the faster you can be rid of me.” He eased the ice over her swollen ankle.

She touched his arm. Just slightly. But it was enough to send a warm vibration down his spine.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He cleared his throat and righted himself.

The tip of her tongue swept nervously across her bottom lip. His body tightened in response. And he realized, the sooner he got things done and got out of there, the better for both of them.

S
wimming in bewilderment, Fiona somehow managed to remain relatively calm while the man who’d starred in her dreams for months sat beside her on the sofa. Relatively calm—in her dictionary–loosely translated to not drooling or humiliating herself. All in all, she managed a vaguely intelligent conversation.

Some men when they entered a room were barely noticeable.

For hours, as she’d watched him come in and out of the room, Mike Halsey filled the space with masculinity that stole her breath. The seductive hint of his aftershave, which whispered of citrus and clean linen, didn’t help.

Sitting side by side with him on the sofa proved to be a challenge of a different order. Because while her head throbbed, and her ankle ached, there was no stopping the hot tingles of desire that scorched other parts of her body.

For several hours, they worked as a lopsided team, with him doing all the heavy lifting. He’d bring the boxes in. One by one she’d go through them, remove the items, and instruct him where to put them. Although she did draw the line at having him tuck away her Victoria’s Secrets.

Unlike most men she knew, he took instruction well. Probably from the years he’d spent in the Army. Then again, the Wilder brothers had spent years in the Marines, and each of them was worse than the next at taking orders.

Thanks to Mike, her house now actually resembled a home and not a box factory. He’d flattened the empty containers, then stacked them out in the garage while she admired the flex of his muscles as he worked. In a box stuffed with Barbies and storybooks, they’d uncovered Izzy’s Hello Kitty boom box. Mike had turned the dial and stopped on Taylor Swift singing “All Too Well.” An anthem to lost love. Something Fiona would rather not experience again.