Hot Handyman for Hire
21
T he handyman hadn’t called back by the next morning. Brynne filled two garbage bags with wet laundry and took them to the launderette in town. Aunt Josie had fallen in love with clothes dryers during a visit to Canada. She imported one and then created a laundry room outside of the kitchen. Many considered her to be eccentric, but Brynne knew she was a trailblazer.
The repairs could be costly, and she had very little money in reserve. She stared out at the islands in the distance and nibbled on her bottom lip. The old stone house was over a century old. It was bound to have some issues. She called Jared and talked him out of making the twelve-hour drive to Skye. After explaining the saga of the washing machine, he suggested she pay the plumber with sex and kill two birds with one stone.
“You are assuming I’m good enough in bed to get all the flooring, plumbing, and god knows what else fixed in this house!”
“I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Bree!”
She laughed, then abruptly yelled, “I’ve got to go. He’s calling!”
Logan sounded as sexy as his voicemail and offered to come over at nine on Saturday morning to look at the job. Brynne gushed her thanks and forgot to ask anything about the cost. It didn’t matter. It had to be fixed, and if she needed a loan from the estate, she’d speak to Alistair. That settled, she checked her email and searched online for estimates to ship boxes of clothes from London to Skye. Jared offered to pack her clothes and courier them, so she didn’t need to fly back for a while.
Eventually, she would need to decide what to do with her apartment in Brixton. If there was no work in London, Edinburgh could be another option.
Brynne wished she had more time to enjoy the tranquility of the cottage. The last few months had been frenetic, and she was glad to be off the treadmill. Unfortunately, it made her realize she was bone weary and adrift at sea without a rudder. Friday came too damn fast, and she was due at the restaurant in less than two hours.
The place was cozy and casual, with sage green walls and dark wood tables. The bar lined one end, a stage for live music at the other. Myrna showed her around and explained how the POS system worked.
“Our slang is the hardest thing to learn. It can be a wee bit hard to hear when the music is blaring. Cook will do a couple of specials for lunch and dinner, and you’ll get used to it in no time.”
The kitchen staff was friendly, and Brynne was secretly relieved to be around regular folks. They were not likely to get any stuck-up billionaires demanding forty-year-old whisky. She looked forward to brushing up her bartending skills on Monday night.
Two men came in after the lunch crowd had thinned. One of them was too handsome for his own good. He had a full beard and wore his blonde hair tied back in a man bun. She never thought that look was sexy—until now. He was a cross between a sun-kissed surfer and a biker from Sons of Anarchy.
Myrna went over and took their order while Brynne finished clearing dishes. Soon after, Myrna announced she had put the coinneach’s fish and chips order in and she was going to take her break. At Brynne’s questioning look, she said, “It’s Gaelic for cute hunks.” Myrna winked conspiratorially.
The cook’s bell signaled their food order was up. Up close, surfer boy had a deep tan that showed off his baby blues, and those superhero muscles were hard to miss.
“Is there anything else I can get you, gentlemen?”
The dark-haired man shook his head and started popping chips into his mouth. The blond turned his gaze on her. “You must be new around here, Red?”
She froze. When she finally spoke, her voice had a serrated edge. “Yes, I am new around here. And my name is not Red.”
She could tell her hostile reaction surprised him. Undaunted, he asked, “Well, sweetheart, tell me your name, so I know what to call you?”
Right, she didn’t have a name tag yet. She didn’t want anyone to connect her to the article. “Bree. My name is Bree.”
He took his time studying her. “Nice to meet you, Bree. I’m Logan, and this is Fergus.” He winked. “I’d like another Caledonian, please.”
She nodded and hurried to the bar, berating herself on the way. His name was Logan. Knowing her luck, he was probably that Logan. How many hot handymen could there be in this small town?
She delivered the beer and pasted on a smile. “Are you Logan Mitchell, by chance?”
“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly pleased to be recognized.
“Declan referred you to me—you agreed to come and look at my pipes tomorrow.”
His friend Fergus made a strangled sound. The man’s face was beet red, and she thought he was choking, so she pounded his back until he raised his hands in surrender. She didn’t get the joke until she looked at Logan, who was desperately trying not to laugh.
He tried to look serious and failed. “I’ll be over to inspect the, um, pipes.”
They couldn’t stop laughing. She shook her head and walked away in disgust.
Myrna returned and asked what had her so flustered. “Those two infantile twats are laughing at my expense.”
She made a tsking sound. “My dear lass, that one is as cute as a dumplin’ in a hankie. If I were your age, I’d be wheedling and fawning for his favor. He’s single, built nice and burly, and they say he’s quite a braw lover.”
“They say that, do they?” Brynne made an unladylike sound. “I don’t go for pretty boys. Besides, my last relationship recently came to a screeching halt, so I’m not interested in sampling the town’s tastiest tomcat with a tool belt.”
Myrna burst out laughing. “We’ll see how you feel in a few months when the weather is dreich and you’re needing something warm and muscley in your bed!”
Brynne tried not to laugh but couldn’t stop herself. She would get on well with Myrna. She reminded her of Aunt Josie.
Myrna collected their payment, and when they got to the door, they waved and blew kisses to them both. The flirting gave her a fleeting lift, but the reality of going home alone to the cottage brought her back down with a depressing thud. She never minded being on her own—she was used to it from an early age. It was more the absence of him . She missed the angst-ridden anticipation she felt before seeing Gage, the excitement of their furtive attraction, and the thrill of playing with danger. She’d fallen unwittingly into his thrall.
Declan came in as they were setting up for dinner. He reminded her to order a meal from the kitchen to take home. She agreed to work again tomorrow for karaoke night, which was always wildly busy. She gave him a hug and thanked him for looking out for her, staving off the stupid tears that threatened to spill.
Before she left, she asked him to make her name tag Bree, not Brynne. “New name, new hairdo, and new beginning.”
“Right! We’ll see you tomorrow, Bree.” He winked.
Brynne stopped at the market for a bottle of wine to go with her takeout spaghetti. She came out with two bottles of wine, a bottle of Glayva liqueur, one apple crumble, and a can of whipped cream. At this rate, she would find all the pounds she lost last week. She scoffed at her reflection in the rear view mirror. “Do you give a flying fuck? Nope! ’Cause nobody’s going to see you naked!” She put the car in gear and headed home in a dark mood.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Brynne’s head was pounding. It sounded like someone was hammering nails right next to her. She opened one eyelid and quickly closed it when sunlight pierced her eyeball. It wasn’t her imagination; someone was banging somewhere. On her door. Who the hell would be here this early?
She squinted at her mobile phone and saw the screen said 9:10 a.m. “Oh god,” she groaned. “Why did he have to be all that, and punctual?!”
She got up from the couch and felt woozy. Ouch. Polishing off half a bottle of wine with her dinner, followed by a tumbler of sweet liqueur, was a bad idea. She pulled her robe tightly closed over her nightie. One look in the mirror, and she wanted to cry. No time to fix the hot mess staring back at her.
He was almost to his truck when she yanked open the back door and called out. “Logan, please wait! I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the door.”
He turned back, annoyance written all over his face. He slowly took in her appearance, and his eyes went from cold to amused. His mouth twitched. “You look like you were in a fight, princess.”
She nodded and rubbed her forehead. “In a manner of speaking, I was. The Glayva won.”
He chuckled. “Ooch no, that stuff is lethal. It’ll put you into a sugar coma.” He reached the steps as Brynne backed away and tried to wipe the caked mascara from under her eyes.
She stood back as he examined the floor and the pipes connected to the washing machine, taking notes in a little book as he went.
“Either the machine has been leaking for a while, or there’s a problem behind this wall. I won’t know until I rip up the floor and get into the crawl space.”
“My aunt did this addition about twelve years ago, and I think she replaced the washer around then. I can’t be sure.”
“I’m no appliance expert, but repairing it will probably cost more than a new one.”
“And what about the floor?” She braced herself for the answer.
He got down on the floor with his flashlight to check the space beneath the boards.
“I’ll need to replace this entire section to ensure you don’t get mold.”
She laid on the puppy dog eyes and wrung her hands nervously. “I’ve just moved here and don’t have a lot of savings. How much will this all cost?”
“With labor and materials, it will be around 850 pounds. It will take about a week, provided there are no surprises.”
Brynne chewed her bottom lip and sighed. “Okay. It’s got to be done. I pray critters don’t come climbing up through that hole in the floor.” She shivered just thinking about the spiders and other vermin under there.
“From what I can see, they sealed the crawl space well. I can put a sheet of plywood down in the meantime because I can’t start until next week.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll come by tomorrow. What time will you be up tomorrow, princess?”
She blushed. “I have to work late tonight, so could we say after twelve noon?”
“Sure. I’ll see you then.” He winked and added, “I like your Scottie dog PJs.”
Uh oh, flirting. “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for not taking off.”
“Of course. Declan said you’re a good friend. Besides, I would never leave a beautiful damsel in distress.”
Once he was gone, she went to the front room and surveyed the mess. Gross. She scraped the plates and filled the sink to soak the crusty dishes. She got coffee on and put some raisin bread in the toaster. Her stomach wouldn’t handle much else.
Josie’s agent emailed to confirm that they would release the death announcement to the public today. It would be in the newspaper, online, and on Twitter and Facebook. Josie wrote under the pen name Joyce McLennan, and from the very beginning, she guarded her privacy tightly. Her stories were very risqué for their time. Using a pseudonym protected her from overzealous admirers and adoring fans alike. In the small community of Portree, a simple obituary ran in the local newspaper a week ago. Her dear friends knew her secret identity, and everyone in town protected her when fans came snooping around.
Brynne decided she needed a pen name for herself. It would free her to write the wildest material imaginable, without fear of judgment. Josie used to tell her that publishing a book was like walking down the street naked. It took guts to reveal what your imagination conjured up. It was more important than ever to create a new identity since her name had been dragged through the mud.
She arrived ahead of her shift to find Myrna tidying up. They went over the dinner specials, and she introduced her to the bartender and other servers.
By nine thirty, the place was packed. This would be like her university days—fast, loud, and exhausting.
A girl got up and sang “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. Her friends cheered and Brynne wished she had friends to go out on the town with. If Jared visited, they could do one of their favorite duets. Ever since she started dating Ross, they hadn’t gone out partying. Wow, she hadn’t thought of him at all. Gage had monopolized her thoughts more after a few weeks than the man she spent over a year with. What did that tell her? That she never loved Ross—she’d just found a safe place to hide.
A group of people stayed until the house lights came on and the karaoke operator started packing up his stuff. The work was exhausting, but it kept her hopping and her mind off the depressing state of her life.
When she got home, Brynne barely had the energy to wash her face and brush her teeth. She was dozing off when she remembered to set her alarm. No way did she want to be caught in her pajamas again.
Sunday morning dawned sunny and warm. She sat on the deck outside to have her coffee. The breeze was crisp, so she opened the windows to let the ocean air freshen the house. After breakfast, she went to take a shower. The water pressure was oddly light. She cranked the dials all the way to the max and suddenly brown water started sputtering out of the faucet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Cursing, she stomped upstairs to the ensuite bathroom, which had an old clawfoot tub. The water was clear, and it was warm—there just wasn’t any pressure. At this rate, it would take a day to fill the tub, so she stuck her head under the faucet, soaped up, and splashed the rest of her body in three inches of water. Afterward, she moved her things up to Josie’s room, so she was out of Logan’s way.
As promised, he arrived at noon. She watched him covertly from the back window as he unloaded the plywood from his truck. His faded jeans hugged his mouthwatering butt like a glove. That body was hard to ignore. She prayed his plumbing skills were as impressive.
She opened the door before he could knock. “Hi.”
“Good morning, beautiful. Looks like you had a better sleep last night?”
His smile was infectious, and she smiled back. “Yeah, I slept great, but I’m wondering if I’m cursed. I’ve got another plumbing problem.” She showed him the brown water coming out of the bathroom taps. “When I tried the bath upstairs, there was hardly any pressure, but at least it was clear.”
“Oh boy, that’s not good. There must be a problem behind these walls. I’ll see if I can close off pipes in the newer part of the house and divert water upstairs for you.”
“I hope that works.”
He rested his hands on his tool belt and tried to look serious. “You can always come and shower at my place.”
She smirked. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m sure I will manage.”
“Have you got a boyfriend, then?”
The bluntness of his question took her by surprise. “No. I just broke up with my boyfriend and I’m not ready to date yet.”
His mouth quirked up. “The best way to get over a breakup is to have fabulous revenge sex.”
“I’m not sure it’s revenge I need.”
His face lit with mischief. “Even better. Sex for the fun of it. I’m happy to volunteer my services. Just say the word.”
Brynne laughed. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but could we stick to plumbing for now?”
“All right. But I hope we can expand the scope of work at a later date.”
She watched Logan single-handedly carry the washing machine out the back door and questioned her sanity. The man was sex on two legs, and she was letting him walk. In her twenties, she moved effortlessly from one man to the next without remorse, revenge, or regret. There was no reason she couldn’t erase the lingering thoughts of Gage with hot sex. Maybe that was exactly what she needed.
Brynne left a message for Alistair, asking for an advance from the estate. She sat down at her computer and opened her manuscript. It had been over a week since she had written a word, and it was time to recapture the momentum. This book had to sizzle, and she would do whatever it took to get it back on track. She searched through her backpack, looking for the sticky notes with the websites and BDSM chat rooms. If she was lucky, she would find a real Dom online, willing to answer her questions.