Sugar Plum Season. Mia Ross
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have not,” she scoffed.
“I worked for a butcher in Utah for six months, and trust me, his cooler temp wasn’t far off this place. How do I get to your utilities?” She blinked up at him, then began casting around as if she had no clue. It shouldn’t have been funny, but he couldn’t help laughing. “There must be a way to get into the crawl space under the addition. Do you know where it is?”
“I’m sure Uncle Fred does.”
Jason hated to bother the man for something that simple, and he shrugged. “No problem. I’ll find it.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m hardly ever in here, so it doesn’t bother me.”
“Must get cold at night, though.”
After a couple of moments, she relented with a sigh. “Okay, you got me. I sleep on the couch in the office.”
“That can’t be good for your back,” he chided her as gently as he could. With an injury like hers, she should have the most supportive mattress she could get, not some lumpy old sofa. “You keep doing that, pretty soon you won’t be able to get up in the morning.”
“It’s fine,” she said curtly.
“It’s not fine, and before I go, I’ll make sure you’ve got heat. While we’re at it, have you got any idea where your roof’s leaking from?”
“Umm...above?”
A smart aleck, he groaned silently. Just what he needed. Then again, he’d had more fun with her than any other woman he’d met recently. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, and fortunately, he didn’t have time to ponder it now. “I’ll climb up there, too, and find out what’s going on. My hunch is you lost a few shingles in that bad storm we had last week, and now the water’s getting in. There’s some extra roofing stuff in the shed, so I’ll do a patch that’ll keep things dry in here.”
Gratitude flooded her eyes, and she gave him a sweet but cautious smile. “Thank you.”
Something in the way she said it got to him, and it took him a minute to figure out why. When he landed on an explanation, he couldn’t keep back a grin. Troubled but unwilling to ask for help, her fierce sense of pride reminded him of himself. “I’m confused. Why’re you living like this when your aunt and uncle are right here in town?”
“I prefer having my own place, even if it’s not ideal.”
Her suddenly cool tone warned him not to push, and he decided it would be wise to let her have this one. It was none of his business anyway, so he focused on something less personal. “So, we’ve got the furnace and the roof. What else is wrong?”
“I hate to impose on you,” she hedged, handing him a bright red cup with a handle molded to resemble a candy cane. “You’re already doing so much for me.”
He didn’t think this serious and very independent woman would respond well to a damsel-in-distress joke, so he sipped his coffee and saluted her with the festive mug. “’Tis the season and all.”
Another hesitation, then she finally gave in and rattled off a list of problems, from leaky plumbing to some kind of vague fluttery sound above the drop ceiling.
“I’d imagine there’s a bird stuck in there,” he commented. “Or a bat.”
Every bit of color drained from her face, and he reached out to steady her in case she fainted on him. After a few moments, she seemed to collect herself and pulled back. “Bats?”
“Kidding.” Sort of. But her reaction had been real enough, and he made a mental note that the pretty ballerina wasn’t a big fan of the local wildlife.
“I do not want anything flying or crawling or scurrying around where I live,” she announced very clearly.
“Don’t worry. If I can’t get rid of ’em myself, I’ll call an exterminator.”
“But don’t hurt them,” she amended, her soft heart reflected in those stunning blue eyes. “Just take them out to the country where they belong.”
“Will do.” While they chatted, he’d been eyeballing the old floorboards, searching for some kind of opening. When he located it in the kitchen, he popped the edge with the heel of his boot and set it aside. “Got a flashlight?”
That she had, and after she gave it to him, he swung it around in the darkness. The opening was a pretty tight fit for a guy his size, but he decided to give it a shot. Worst case, he’d get stuck and Paul would come rescue him. And never let him hear the end of it.
Thinking again, he handed his phone over to Amy. “There’s gonna be some banging and grumbling down there, so don’t worry. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call my dad and tell him to bring a reciprocating saw. His name is Tom, and he’s speed-dial number 2.”
“Reciprocating saw,” she repeated with an efficient nod. “Got it.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of pliers or a wrench or anything?”
To his amazement, she went to an upper cupboard and brought out a small toolbox. “Uncle Fred left me this in case I needed something. Will anything in there help you?”
“Maybe.” Jason took what he thought would be most helpful and tucked the tools into the back pockets of his jeans. Then he sat on the edge of the opening and gave her a mock salute. “Here goes nothin’.”
He wedged himself into the cramped space and pulled himself along on his back, hand over hand from one floor joist to the next. When light suddenly flooded the darkness, he yelped in surprise. “Whoa! What’d you do?”
“I wheeled in a portable spotlight from the studio,” she replied in a voice muffled by the floor. “Is it helping at all, or should I change the angle?”
“It’s awesome,” he approved heartily. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Even from a distance, she sounded pretty proud of herself, and he chuckled. To his relief, the furnace malfunction was nothing more than an air duct that had wiggled loose and was dangling free. He nearly shouted out the problem, then thought better of it. From several comments she’d made, he gathered Amy was concerned about money. She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to discover she’d been paying to heat the crawl space under her apartment.
Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a screwdriver and tightened the screws on the collar that fastened the duct in place.
One extra turn for good measure, Jason. He heard Granddad’s voice in his memory. That kind of thing happened more often lately, as Will Barrett’s time on earth gradually ticked away. Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, Jason grimaced even as he followed his grandfather’s advice.
When he was finished, he carefully shimmied back out the way he’d come in, settling on Amy’s kitchen floor in a cloud of dust. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be silly,” she scolded with a delighted expression. “Do you feel that? It’s warm air!”
Grabbing his hand, she held it over a nearby register to prove it. When their eyes met, she seemed to realize what she’d done and abruptly let go. Feeling slightly awkward, he did his best not to read anything into the odd exchange. She’d been freezing, and he was the one who fixed her furnace. No biggie.
But another part of him saw things differently. Until now, she’d been polite but reserved with him, making him believe it would take a long time—and a truckload of patience—to gain her trust. That quick but impulsive gesture told him he was making progress, and she was beginning to warm up to him.
He didn’t know what the lady had in mind, but he was looking forward to finding out.
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