What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4) (6 page)

“Either way, I’m grateful.”

He tried to respond not with flirting but with the manners his mother had taught him. “You’re welcome.”

They stood there in silence while a wisp of something dark and sticky coiled in the air between them. He wanted to banter and flirt and be able to touch freely – he’d never been any different, and damned if he didn’t have a problem with the step back to polite formality. He didn’t
do
polite formality and distance. Did he?

He certainly didn’t do it easily.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she said awkwardly.

“Yep.” While her little girl blew bubbles in his direction and batted her eyelashes, and he tried to resist the attention.

And failed dismally.

He blew Claire a raspberry and watched her eyes widen in delight, and then she was trying to blow one right back at him.

“Nearly,” he coaxed. “Like this.” And did it again and this time she laughed and added her fingers to her raspberry attempt. “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep practicing. And when you turn two, we’ll get you some skis.”

“Don’t listen to him, Claire. The crazy man’s dreaming.”

“Nothing wrong with dreaming. Add ambition to dreaming and you can go a long way.”

“Is that what you did?”

“More or less, but there’s one other ingredient.”

“Skill? God given talent? A body made for—” She stopped abruptly.

“Speed?” he prompted silkily. “Endurance? Admiring?”

“You even flirt with yourself.”

“Now you’re getting the picture. There must always be flirting.”

“Why?”

“Because I need it.” It counteracted the relentless drive and self-focus that went hand in hand with reaching any sporting pinnacle. It acted as a balm in times of failure and heartache. Because if he couldn’t take the time to appreciate another person, what point was the rest of it?

“Is this another balance thing?”

“Yes,” he said firmly and followed through with an angelic smile. “Flirting is fun. And fun is essential.”

‡

T
here was a
rule in the Casey household about going to the hardware store and buying only what you needed. Jett’s mother had instigated it as a way of managing farm finances. That or she’d done it as a way of honing her menfolk’s debating skills when it came to justifying their purchases.

Mardie needed decent locks on her windows and her doors, no question. A simple safety issue and he couldn’t, in all good conscience, leave the store without them. He also needed to rent two types of vacuum sander to do the floor properly, and buy three grades of sandpaper and enough walnut wood stain and satin polyurethane to cover the room, the hallway, and more than likely the kitchen floor as well, because who wouldn’t want the color of their floorboards to match throughout the house?

Yes, a great deal of wood stain and sealer had to be purchased, and if there was any remaining after he’d finished, well, Mardie could use it to coat the boards on the porch, some of which needed replacing.

He wondered if he could justify replacing all of them.

He needed a decent sponge applicator or three because no one liked streaky floors, and no way was he getting down on hand and busted knee to apply the stain. Even his sainted mother would agree that not having the right tools for the job was false economy, and this place was
full
of the right tools, all shiny and beckoning. He scooped up a couple of bags of quick-dry putty, a couple of packs of face masks, methylated spirits, and when he got to the cashier, put all but the smallest tin of wood stain on his brother’s building account. Separate receipts.

Jett didn’t like moving slowly. Never had. When it came to this week, he wanted to get as much done as possible by way of home repairs and renovations and screw the expense, he’d pick up most of it, and he could justify that because…

Because…

Because he’d know Mardie was in a safe place, a nicer place than the one she’d once been in, and maybe, just maybe, when he dreamt of her, there would be less blood and violence and uncomfortable desire for her regardless of the ugly circumstances, and a whole lot more cavorting puppies and rainbows.

He could coax a kiss from
that
Mardie easily, and his dreams would be good.

Justification sorted.

He was good at this.

*

Mardie stayed away
from the house for as long as she could. She wheeled Claire to the park and then on to Main street. They looked in the window of Sage’s chocolate shop and resisted temptation, only to stop by the bakery five minutes later and buy two sugar-dusted puff pastry fingers filled with custard and freshly whipped cream. She needed something tempting to take her mind off the handyman doing heaven only knew what back at her house. She needed to look at Jett Casey and not see every good thing a person could be. A body made for worshipping. A charm offensive that made her want to bask in the teasing heat of it. Self-awareness. Adaptability. Tolerance. Even after she’d told him how she’d bargained her way free of her marriage, he’d kept listening. He hadn’t turned away from the ugliness or from her.

Trust him with a key to her home because he’d earned it.

Treat him like a champion because he was one, and not just on skis.

How on earth was she supposed to survive a week of him and not fall hopelessly in thrall?

Slipping the éclairs into her bag, she drew out her phone and dialed Ella’s number.

“Help me,” she said when her friend answered. “I’m having handyman fantasies. Or maybe they’re Jett Casey fantasies. Either way, I’m having them.”

“Very healthy.”

“He was ripping up the carpet in the front room and all those muscles were straining…and there was bending… and rolling, and wanton sighing on my part. Have you seen that man’s butt?”

“I’ve seen it. And you are right to be impressed.”

“
And
he’s flirty,” she said darkly. “Men, women, mountains – that man will flirt with anything.”

“Have you considered flirting back?”

“Considered and rejected as a catastrophically bad idea. The man’s a globe-trotting athlete. I am a bar waitress with an attention-loving one-year-old and a thirty-year mortgage. What good could possibly come of it?”

“Relationships
are
allowed to be flexible, Mardie. Casual, even, as befitting the needs of both parties. There could be breakfast in bed, given that you work evenings. There could be mountain tops on your days off. Potentially, there could be extreme sexual satisfaction. Tell me that’s not appealing.”

“To me, yes. But why would that be appealing to
him
?”

“You have a very poor sense of self, let me just state that for the record. And there is no point explaining what any man might see in you if you’re not prepared to listen. Why would I waste my breath?”

Mardie blew out her own breath and watched it condense as it hit the cold air. “I’m listening. Tell me what he might see in me.”

“Strength, resilience, and a determination to succeed. Don’t tell me a world-class athlete won’t value those qualities highly.”

“Maybe.”

“I also see too much stubborn pride – Jett, however, might see it as independence. And like it.”

“One can hope,” she murmured, for Ella’s benefit.

“I see beauty that is ageless. Anyone who looks at you sees that. As for you not being athletic enough for the world champ, you deliver vast quantities of food and drinks to people every evening. You can probably bench press twenty times your own weight. You’re like an ant. Ants are sexy.”

“You’re telling me I’m a stubborn, sexy, ageless worker ant.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Ella said.

“I bought him a chocolate éclair.”

“Excellent. Keep me posted. Hey, I asked around and it seems that Jett really does have the building skills advertised. He and his brothers are fully capable of building a house from the ground up, so don’t be shy about asking him to tackle bigger projects. He’s there to work. When he’s not flirting, that is, because you’re flirting back.”

Mardie knew manipulation when she heard it. “You just want him to fix the porch.”

“Yes. He can do that for you. And I’ve been thinking about what you said about not having the funds to fix it right now. It doesn’t have to be that way. I can loan you enough to buy the materials he needs.”

“Ella—

“Get it done. Make it safe. Don’t waste Jett Casey’s time and skill on work that you can do yourself. Get him to do something big.”

“But—

“Offering you a loan doesn’t make me the Queen of Lost Causes. Accepting the offer doesn’t make you weak or incompetent. We’re friends. Friends help each other out all the time, back and forth, and so it goes. Let me help you this time,” Ella pleaded.

A no hovered on her lips, an automatic response based on years of conditioning.
Don’t ask for help, because you’re not going to get it. Don’t ask for anything, and you won’t be disappointed.
Mardie opened her mouth to say no once again, and then she remembered Jett’s words of this morning, and how he too had wanted to help her more and been refused.

Different circumstances, definitely.

But his desire to help had been as fierce as Ella’s was now, and maybe, just maybe she could bend a little.

Mardie closed her eyes, gripped the phone a little tighter and let down her defenses bit by bit. “Okay, yes, lend me some money and I’ll get the porch fixed. But you’re getting the money back with interest.”

*

There was a
difference between the way Jett tackled a job and the way others might approach it, decided Mardie, later that afternoon. He had energy to burn, which was the first difference. He didn’t let up, didn’t stop for a breather, he worked harder than anyone else she knew and by five thirty that afternoon the floor in that front room was baby-bottom smooth, dust free, mopped to perfection and ready for staining.

She’d watched him clean up behind himself every step of the way. Nothing got left out for Claire to find and put in her mouth, buckets got emptied, mops rinsed and put away. And then he’d headed out to his truck and stripped down to nothing but jeans. He’d picked up some snow and rubbed it all over his face and neck before wiping himself down with his Henley.

She leaned against her front doorway and watched, and he knew damn well he had an audience. It was probably why he’d done it.

“I do have a shower,” she said. “You want to use it?”

“Nah.” He scratched at his hair and then shook it for good measure. “Wood dust, man. It gets everywhere. What time is it?”

“Five thirty. I don’t know what hours you usually work, but I’d say you’re well into overtime.”

He shrugged and wasn’t that a pretty sight, what with all that skin and muscle rippling. He reached into the cab for a clean shirt and tugged it over his head and Mardie didn’t know whether to sigh with relief or regret.

Did he know the effect he had on the libido of others?

Mardie was going to go with yes.

People looked at him with appreciation, and he knew it. Permission granted. No big deal for anyone involved.