CHAPTER TWO
One week later
“So, any ghosts today?” Luanne asked, reaching across the kitchen counter and grabbing a double chocolate muffin.
“The usual last night,” Emily said, rubbing her eyes. “And don’t eat all the muffins. They’re for the library fundraiser.”
“Oooh, lookit me, eating all the muffins,” Luanne teased, cramming one into her mouth and pocketing the other. “Can I bring a few for Hank and the boys?”
Emily pulled a half-dozen off of the plate she was Saran-Wrapping and put them on a separate plate for Luanne. At least she’d stopped by to see how Em was doing. “Of course you can. You know that. Just tell Hank I appreciated him checking out my attic this last weekend, even though it didn’t lead to anything.” Just more of the same. Noises, but nothing found in the attic.
She was starting to get really freaked out. Maybe she needed to call in Braden and his ghost hunter television show after all.
“So what’s on the schedule today?” Luanne asked, licking her fingers clean.
“Elise is out and about but I think she’ll be home later tonight, which means I need to make something for dinner.” Emily checked her watch. “The new carpenter’s supposed to be by here in the next hour. I’m going to see if he can fix some of the water-damaged eaves outside, since I have a hard time reaching those without help.” She brightened and looked directly at Luanne as her sister snuck another muffin. “I don’t suppose you want to help—“
“Gotta go,” Luanne said, hopping off of her stool. She snagged the plate of muffins in her free hand and crooked her head at the door. “Working on the county law enforcement server. Can’t help. Sorry!”
Emily’s mouth twisted into a slight smile. She knew that would make Luanne run off, and just in time before Emily had to make an entirely new batch of muffins. “Of course. See you later.”
~~ * * * ~~
Scraping wallpaper wasn’t the most satisfying of tasks, but there was something almost orgasmic about lifting one corner and finding that it peeled up a foot of ugly grayish floral paper. Emily’s fingertips tugged gently at the paper, and she held her breath as the piece lengthened and continued to lift from the wall. If she didn’t mess this up, this would be the biggest chunk she’d removed yet—
A muffler roared somewhere outside of her bathroom window, jarring her. Emily’s fingers slipped; she ripped the paper just before it got to a particularly ugly section. Damn it! She turned and tried to peer out the window – it was thick, stained glass (and very pretty) but you couldn’t see out of anything except maybe the yellow panels, which were a bit faded. Someone had pulled up something very loud on her lawn, not ten feet from the bathroom.
Irritated, Emily swiped at her brow and ran for the front door. She was sweaty and dirty, and she needed a shower. Of course, she needed a bathroom with a working shower first. There were several in the guest quarters of the house, but she didn’t use those because she liked to keep them clean in case of drop-ins.
Maybe this person – however rude – was a drop in. She could use the company. Elise was dating someone and was spending a lot of time away. Emily didn’t mind the money she was missing out on, but she could have used the company.
Emily headed toward the front of the house, paint scraper in hand, and opened the front door just as the person on the other side was reaching for the doorbell.
The man blinked, pulled back a little, and grinned at the sight of her.
Emily just stared.
Bluebonnet, Texas was a small town. Last time she’d checked, there were no more than two thousand people living in the area. That meant a long drive toward anything resembling a city, and that meant that most of the people that came through were locals, or family members of locals.
This man did not look like a local.
For one, he was wearing leather. A patch-covered leather jacket hung on his broad shoulders. He was also tall – almost as tall as Hank, Luanne’s lanky boyfriend. Tattoos covered his neck, there was a stud under his lip, and his black hair was stiffened into a mohawk.
He was also gorgeous, if you liked the type.
She frowned at the sight of him, though. A man alone arriving at her house never signified anything good. Men never stayed at a bed and breakfast alone – she always got couples. Add in the tattoos, the bike, the mohawk…and her hackles went up. Plus, the motorcycle was sitting on the spot under a tree she’d been trying so hard to grow grass in. Combine this with no sleep and she was a bit pissy, to say the least.
Not that the stranger noticed. He continued grinning at her and pulled out a small pad of paper. “This the Peppermint House?”
“Do you see a lot of other red and white Victorians in town?”
Instead of being affronted at her tone, his grin just grew even wider. “Well, you never know with people. Maybe you just have a thing for barber poles.”
Emily blushed. “I hope you’re not parked on my lawn.”
He started, pointing back at his bike. “Is it not okay to park it under the tree? Thought I’d save the parking spaces for customers.”
Like she got a lot of those. She shook her head and waved a hand at the two spaces in front of the house. “Please just park there.”
He gave her a jaunty salute and headed back to his bike. As he walked, she watched his backside. Rather tight, and so were his jeans. Emily felt a little overheated. What on earth was wrong with her? This man wasn’t her type in the slightest. He looked entirely too dangerous.
A moment later, the motorcycle roared to life again, hurting her ears, and he moved it to one of the spaces, casually kicking the stand down. She noticed he wore a pair of cowboy boots, at odds with his biker wear and bizarre hair. As he jogged back toward the house, she had second thoughts. He was a dangerous looking man and she was a woman alone.
That made her nervous.
So she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any vacancies at the moment.”
The friendly smile on his face shuttered in an instant. He studied her for a long moment, and then put his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels casually. “Well, that’s real nice and all, but I’m the handyman. Name’s Jericho. I believe you called me?”
Emily’s eyes widened in horror. Her gaze flicked to his appearance – shit! Hidden just under his loose jacket was a low-slung black tool belt. She looked over at his bike – on the back of the Harley was a beat-up old toolbox. Oh, damn it. Now she’d made an ass of herself. Emily swallowed hard and took a step backward, holding the door wide. “I’m sorry. Come on in.”
“You sure you want me to?” He asked in a flat voice. “I might bite.”
It wasn’t humanly possible for Emily’s cheeks to get redder. Maybe she’d get lucky and the old hardwood floors would cave in and the ground could swallow her up. That might be nice. “Just come on in.”
He stepped inside and followed her lead, and Emily found herself wringing her hands as she led the man in. God, she’d insulted the handyman. She really was becoming a jerk living alone, wasn’t she?
“What did you need fixed?” His voice was polite, if stand-offish.
She considered the flickering lighting, but she wanted to see what he could do, first. If he was shitty at his job, he’d just set the entire house on fire. So she said, “Some of the boards under the eaves on the back porch are rotted.” Em crossed her arms over her chest. “Here, I’ll show you. I have the lumber, but it’s hard for me to reach on my own.”
She led him to the back of the house and showed him the work she’d already done. “I replaced these,” she said, showing him the fresh lumber. Then she pointed higher, at the parts just out of reach. “I’m having more trouble with those.”
He ran a hand along the boards. “Your husband did a good job. Nice and even. Hardly any space in between the boards.”
“I don’t have a husband,” she said bluntly. “Like I said, I did those boards.”
He continued staring at the boards for a moment. Then, he said slowly, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
God, she felt so awkward. Everything was so damn awkward. “I should apologize to you. Maybe we should start over.” She shoved her hand out in his direction. “Hi, I’m Emily Allard-Smith. I called for a handyman.”
He looked over at her with a wicked grin that seemed to curve only one half of his mouth (oh heavens) and put his hand in hers. “Name’s Jericho, but you can call me J if you like. And I just so happen to be a handyman and plumber.”
She found herself warming to that smile. He was pretty, with gorgeous eyes and a killer smile. Why did he ruin his appearance with tattoos and that awful hairdo? “It’s nice to meet you. Let me show you my eaves.”
“Please do. I love a nice set of eaves.” He gave her hand a squeeze before pulling his away.
Emily couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Why does that sound so incredibly dirty?”
He mock clutched his chest and feigned putting a hand to his forehead. “Heavens to Betsy. Whatever do you mean?”
She just rolled her eyes, amused. She liked this man’s sense of humor. “I showed you my eaves. Now show me what you can do with them.”
“I love a challenge,” he said with a wag of his dark brows. “Let me take a look and I’ll write up an estimate for you.”
Jericho kept her laughing with his silly quips while he inspected the work and pried up one of the old boards, examining the rot. When he was finished assessing, he headed back to his motorcycle and returned with a clipboard and pen, and wrote out an estimate for the work.
It was cheaper than she’d expected. “Are you trying to give me a discount?”
“Because you’re cute and single? No ma’am. Though you are both.” He gave her another wicked grin. “I’m just happy for the work, and I figure if you’re a satisfied customer, I can get more work and hopefully some word of mouth.”
His comment about her being cute and single left her a little flustered. It wasn’t something she got called often. Because she owned the Peppermint House, she seemed to fall into that ‘matron’ or ‘mom’ category despite not being a mom. And she rarely ever got hit on, especially not by guys in mohawks. She didn’t know what to think of that. So she steered things toward a safe topic: lunch. “If you can do all this work for that price, I’ll even make you lunch.”
“Now you’re talking,” he said. “Got a ladder?”
They were both quiet as she led him to the back shed where she kept her tools. He plucked the ladder from the wall with effortless grace and carried it back to the porch, where her rotten eave was. Emily watched, trailing behind him awkwardly. Should she leave him to his work? Or talk to him some more? What was the polite thing to do?
In the end, he solved the problem for her. As Jericho climbed the ladder, he called down, “So what’s on the menu?”
“For lunch? I was thinking homemade chicken and dumplings?”
“Never had it,” he admitted. “Any good?”
“You’ve never had chicken and dumplings?” She stepped to the side as he pried one of the old boards off and a shower of sawdust rained down.
“I have not. Unless you can microwave it, I probably haven’t tried it. My family wasn’t much in the way of cooking, unless it was meth.”
She blinked.
He looked down at her and grinned. “That was a joke, by the way.”
Emily laughed nervously. “Very funny.”
“Yeah, it never ceases to get a reaction,” he said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, whatever you cook is great. Not a lot of fast food around here so I mostly do a peanut-butter jelly thing.” He patted the side of his jacket.
“That sounds awful.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Feeds me. Can’t complain.”
If there was one thing Emily was proud of, it was her skill in the kitchen. And for some reason, she wanted to impress this man. If she didn’t cook up a good batch of chicken and dumplings, he’d be turned off of the dish for the rest of his life. And wouldn’t that be a shame?
“Well, I’m going to let you start on this,” she said, waving a hand. “And I’ll work on lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he ripped one of the boards down with his bare hands.
Mercy. That was…impressive.
~~ * * * ~~
“Another bowl?” Emily asked, unable to keep the pleasure out of her voice.
“Please,” Jericho said, and held his now-empty fourth bowl of soup out to her. “That’s some incredible shit.”
She laughed and ladled another spoonful into his bowl. “I’m glad you like it.”
He pointed his spoon at his bowl. “So is this you that’s amazing or is this chicken and dumplings?”
“A little bit from column A and a little bit from column B?” She refreshed his iced tea. “I’m sorry it’s not something nice and cool to eat. I know you must be working up a sweat outside.”
“You kidding me? This is amazing.”
She couldn’t help but preen a little under his compliments. “I had some leftover chicken and dough so I thought I’d make some. It’s one of my favorite things to eat.”
Jericho spooned another heaping mouthful between his lips and gave her a thumbs up. She laughed and began to wipe down her counters, thinking about what to bake next. Baking always eased her mind, and she’d promised the police department of Bluebonnet fresh muffins for a month for checking her house out at two in the morning last weekend.
They’d found nothing, surprise surprise. She was starting to think her ghosts were just messing with her. She got out her muffin tins and began to pull ingredients out on the counter.
Jericho waved his spoon at her. “So what’s with all the Martha Stewart stuff? You one of those anti-feminists?”
Emily made a face at him. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t enjoy baking without being an anti-feminist? Assumptions much?”
“Kinda like when people assume others are criminals just because they drive a Harley.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Touché.”
But he only winked at her. “I’m teasing you. We started off on the wrong foot but we’re cool now.”
With a small smile, Emily shook her head and pulled a carton of fresh blueberries out of her fridge. “I like to bake. It soothes me. Some people knit, some people scrapbook, I bake for everyone in town. And today, I owe the police department muffins.”
“Why’s that? You got a sweetheart there?”
“For a handyman, you sure do ask a lot of questions about if I’m dating or not,” she said lightly, her heart thrumming a bit.
The look he gave her was heated and made her body flush with pleasure. “I’m trying to suss you out.”
“How so?”
“See if a girl like you would go out with a guy like me.”
Emily’s heart stopped for a second, then began to crash in her breast. “You asking?”
“I am.” Jericho gave her another one of those lazy smiles, but his eyes were keen. Shielded. She suspected that he was waiting for her to say no.
Maybe he didn’t realize just how lonely she was? Emily dumped her blueberries in a colander and began to rinse them in the sink. “Where are we going?”
“You pick. My treat.”
“Can it be low key? Jeans and t-shirt sort of thing?” She would be horribly uncomfortable if they went somewhere fancy.
The look he gave her was relieved. “My favorite kind of date.”
“Movie? There’s a little theater a few towns over that has the new releases.”
“I think I can handle that. Tomorrow night, maybe? I’ll finish up your eaves today, and it’ll give you some time to miss me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Emily Allard-Smith, local lonely divorcee, had a date.
~~ * * * ~~