Part 6 (1/2)
Her fingers tightened around the socket wrench. ”You need a chainsaw?”
”I've got to clear the road back before I get the new roofing iron and timber s.h.i.+pped up. It's crazy overgrown.”
”And you've used a chainsaw before?”
”Nope, but I've used a skill-saw, so how hard can it be?”
That startled a laugh out of her, and she cut him a glance, drinking in the tee s.h.i.+rt taut against his chest but a little loose over his flat stomach, and his long legs crossed at the ankles, the only parts of him she could see. ”Such a guy thing to say, usually right before someone hacks off a limb.”
”Ah.”
One hand disappeared from view followed by a raspy sound she identified as fingertips scratching stubble.
”Hadn't thought of that.”
”No offence, but you don't look like the chain-sawing type.”
”Not much call for chainsaw skills in my usual working day. My Auckland apartment only has a balcony, so the last time I even used a lawn-mower was as a teenager, when I helped pay my way through university by doing yard work.”
With the last radiator bolt tightened, Lauren backed out from under the hood. ”Mac's place must feel strange to you.”
He flashed a crooked grin. ”So much solitude and fresh air, it's kind of spooky when you're used to the city or being around crowds of people living in third-world conditions.”
”It does take some getting used to.”
”But you enjoy it?” Pus.h.i.+ng away from her station wagon, he shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered over.
”It's home.” As soon as he moved into her little hemisphere of safe s.p.a.ce, her skin started to p.r.i.c.kle, so she grabbed the first rubber radiator hose off the bench. This was an opening, a chance to put her change-Nate's-mind-by-being-nice plan into action. ”Listen, since you were kind enough to help with the whole stuck car thing, I'll chainsaw for you a couple of mornings to clear the road.”
”You know how to chainsaw?”
She shot a glance at his incredulous tone, found him shaking his head, fists on his hips. ”Don't look so stunned-you've already witnessed how I can outdrive you in your own car.”
”Going to make me eat humble pie?”
”Double helping, now that you've called my chain-sawing skills into question.”
She returned with the radiator hose and he moved aside, but leaned over the Impala to watch her work. Having him this close made her fingers function like ten fat sausages, and she nearly dropped the hose as she ducked under the hood.
”You sure you can spare the time?”
”I can spare it. The Impala can wait until the afternoons. Besides, I don't want to feel responsible if you accidentally amputate something.”
He chuckled, low and husky. ”I appreciate your concern for my body parts remaining intact.”
Underneath the baggy cotton coveralls, the fine hairs on her arms stood to attention, but she managed a droll tone as she said, ”It's the neighborly thing to do.”
”We're not big on neighbors and community in the suburb where I live-not that I'm there much.”
”Well, it's a little different up here. When a neighbor needs help, we pitch in and get the job done.” Lauren popped each end of the radiator hose in the clamps and wriggled them into place. ”Can you pa.s.s me the screwdriver from my tool-box before you go?” Rude, but his concentrated focus propelled her blood pressure higher and higher.
”I'm happy to be your tool b.i.t.c.h if you need me.” Metal clanked as he rummaged through her tool-box.
She didn't dare look up from the hose clenched in her hands. ”You've got more than enough work to do.” A screwdriver, held in long, tanned fingers, appeared in front of her face, and she grasped the metal shank and slid it from his grasp so their hands wouldn't touch. ”Thanks. I'll see you at about half nine tomorrow morning.”
”Okay then, Lauren.”
The sound of her name, so rich and deep in his sinfully smooth voice, sent a s.h.i.+ver down her spine as he left the garage.
She held tight to the screwdriver. In only a matter of days, her new neighbor had gate-crashed her safe little world, turning everything topsy-turvy. She had to take control and remember who he was-before it was too late.
The next day, after Kathy left with the kids for the morning school and preschool run, Lauren loaded up her car, whistled for Java, and set off toward Mac's place. Impossible to think of the property as Nate's.
Parking beside Todd's truck, she spotted her brother on the roof, already bare-chested in the morning sunlight. He waved and tossed a length of corrugated iron over the edge.
Java disappeared into a tangle of Kikuyu gra.s.s and overgrown gorse as she climbed out of her car. Blackberry brambles strangled the trees encircling the homestead, and a large camping tent was pitched in a trampled-down spot to the right.
She waded through the long gra.s.s, stumbling to a halt as Nate, also minus his s.h.i.+rt, opened a gla.s.s sliding door and strode onto the deck. Her throat clamped shut, and she swallowed past the blockage with a hollow click. He glanced up at her approach, raised a hand in acknowledgement and then brushed it over the hard, bronzed muscles of his shoulder. Tiny woodchips and dust cascaded off his skin.
”Watch out for the deck to your left; it's rotten right through,” he said, as she climbed the steps.
”Thanks.” She tugged the zipper tag on her coveralls higher and averted her gaze from the hard planes of his chest. Except her gaze drifted farther south to a taut stomach and a leather tool belt slung low across his hips. A spark of heat flared between her hips, and she mentally shook herself.
”Sure your ankle is good enough for this kind of physical work?”
She rotated her foot inside her leather work boot. ”It's fine.”
”Good to hear.” He shook more woodchips from his hair and tugged the tee s.h.i.+rt he held over his head. ”Do you want a quick tour inside before you start?”
”Okay.” Normally, she didn't suck at small talk, but today, with Nate and all that perfect male skin? Her tongue refused to cooperate.
The windows, opaque with cobwebs and grime, blocked her view of the house's interior. Nate stood back, and she crossed the peeling threshold and stepped inside.
Her breathing hitched as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. ”Holy h.e.l.l-what a bombsite.”
”Yep. Talk about your fixer-upper.” Nate scuffed a boot across the carpet remains, and the rotted pile flaked away in clumps.
”How did this happen?”
”Rain, through the roof predominantly. One winter's damage, according to your brother, who incidentally shares the same opinion of me as your dog.”
”He's overprotective.”
”Todd or the dog?”
”Both.” She grimaced as the lingering stench of rat and rot a.s.saulted her nostrils. ”And the other rooms?”
”The floor is unstable in spots, and unfortunately, some of the piles under the house have sunk, but the roof needs replacing first.”