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Scoop. Shovel. Tie. Toss.
On a folding table in the living room, Kevanne worked the assembly line.
Using a coffee scooper, she shoveled a spoonful of lavender potpourri into a pastel bag, tied it closed with a purple ribbon, and tossed it into a big basket. Next time I’ll spring for drawstring bags! They cost a little more, but oh, the time she would have saved. She’d forgotten how long it took to fill and tie potpourri bags. Two days, 180 bags later, she was almost done. Actually, it had taken a day and a half. Half of yesterday had been spent at the big-box hardware store in Spokane because the one in Coeur d’Alene was out of what she’d wanted.
Scoop. Shovel. Tie. Toss.
“Herian! Fithic!” She didn’t understand the language, but there was no mistaking the panic.
What now? She dashed into the kitchen.
A geyser arced into the air from the open pipe as Cam Leon tried to plug it up with his hands. Water bounced off the ceiling and puddled on the floor.
“Shit!” She rushed to the sink and ducked under the cabinet.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning off the water!” Like you were supposed to do! She’d told him to switch off the main valve before removing the faucet.
She was getting drenched as she fought with the rusted spigot. The plumbing was as old as the house, and the valve refused to budge. “It’s stuck, I can’t get it!” What was she going to do? The house would be flooded before she could get a plumber.
“Let me.” Cam dropped down beside her to peer under the sink.
He grasped the valve lever.
“Turn it clockwise,” she said.
She got a blank stare.
“To the right!”
He turned it easily, and the water shut off.
Okay, he was strong. And he smelled good. But he had to be the worst handyman in the world.
“I’m sorry.” Water dripped off him. “I screwed up again.”
His face was so close, if she leaned in, their lips would meet. Her stomach fluttered the way it always did when she got too close to him. He only had to walk into the room, and her stupid body reacted. Stop it!
“Why didn’t you turn off the water like I told you?” she snapped, more irritated at herself than him.
“I thought you meant up top—at the faucet.”
She sighed. “It’s all right. Honest mistake. I’m sorry I shouted at you.” If she’d ever used that tone with Dayton...
Cam seemed to have a general idea what he should be doing, but there were significant gaps in his knowledge. He’d planed the swollen doors okay, but he’d sprayed so much oil on the squeaky hinges, it had dripped all over the floor. He’d misunderstood her directions, and instead of caulking the windows and applying weather stripping to the exterior doors, he’d caulked the doors and had begun sticking the weather stripping to the window frame when she’d caught him. Giving him a task was like teaching a child—it would have been easier to do the work herself.
She’d sensed he was down on his luck, and, having been there herself, she’d hired him to help him out. But she needed a professional handyman—someone who knew more about home repairs than she did. If she had any sense, she’d fire him. Pay him for his time and send him on his way.
Except he seemed so earnest, so genuine in his desire to help.
“I didn’t like the person I was. I hated myself,” he’d told her two days ago. She couldn’t imagine what the company he’d worked for had demanded of him, but his confession had resonated down to the dark, secret places inside of her. She hadn’t liked herself, the person she’d allowed Dayton to shape her into becoming. He’d had her convinced every problem in their marriage was her fault. Then he’d died, and the necrosis of guilt had spread like a flesh-eating bacteria.
I’m so sorry for your loss. People meant well, but every sincere condolence had worsened her shame. Therapy had walked her back from the brink of despair, allowed her to accept and own her emotions. It was okay to feel what she felt. But some days, dormant doubts reawakened to undermine the progress.
So she’d hired Cam, not out of sympathy—but empathy.
And she kept him on for the same reason, but she crossed her fingers he wouldn’t destroy her house before he fixed it.
Rising to her feet, she bumped into him. He steadied her with a hand to her elbow. Heat sizzled at the point of contact. “Let’s get the kitchen mopped up.” The floor was one giant puddle.
“I am so sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t work for you.”
There. He’d given her an out.
“Hey, you can’t run out on me now!” she joked and tapped his arm. “I’ll grab the shop vac.” Fortunately, the previous owners had left behind many of their tools. Some were too old and worn to be of much use, but others had saved her a lot of money.
She wasn’t destitute, but the insurance money was all she had, and after buying the lavender farm, she didn’t have a lot left, and what remained needed to last until the farm turned a profit. So, except for business expenses, she was determined to only buy bare necessities.
She and Dayton had lived well—too well, as it had turned out. He’d insisted on handling the finances, taking it as an insult if she asked about their money. Upon his death, she’d discovered they were in over their heads. They had a huge mortgage she couldn’t afford to pay on her own, and their luxury vehicles were leased. Credit cards were maxed. Dayton’s salary had been larger than most people’s, but they’d still lived paycheck to paycheck. After selling everything to pay off debts, she’d been left with nothing.
She’d been seeking employment as a dental assistant—her occupation before Dayton had convinced her to quit—when she got a call from his employer’s benefits administrator. Turned out she was the beneficiary of an insurance policy he’d taken out when they’d gotten married. She had a hunch Dayton had forgotten it existed.
She wheeled in the shop vac. “Have you ever used one of these before?” she asked. Of course he hadn’t. Dayton, a suit-wearing corporate executive vice president who hired out everything, had been handier than Cam.
“No...” he admitted.
She demonstrated how to flip the switches from off to on, and from wet to dry.
“Oh—it’s simple,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, but she’d learned not to take anything for granted.
She left him to vacuum up the water and went to change her wet clothes and dry her hair. When she returned to the kitchen, she discovered the water had been sucked up, and he’d installed the faucet.
“Look!” he demonstrated turning it on and off.
The water ran full and steady, the way it should. Trying to be surreptitious about it, she peeked under the sink. Nope, no leaks.
“You fixed it! It’s perfect!” she said, pleased, and a little surprised, although she shouldn’t have been. Despite his mishaps, he was a fast learner, and once he got the hang of something, he did good work. “Thank you!”
He stood there grinning, beaming with pride—and soaked to the skin.
“I’m so sorry! I forgot about your wet clothing. Let me put your stuff in the dryer. I don’t have anything that will fit you, but you can wrap up in a large towel while your clothes dry.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact as all sorts of ribald, juvenile naked handyman jokes sprang to mind.
Her cheeks felt hot, and she feared she was blushing. Her mind might be dirty, but her suggestion had been made with the best of intentions. The man was soaked, dripping all over the floor. Wetter than she had been. Although not anymore...stop it!
“I’d appreciate that! Thank you.” He sounded so relieved, she felt guiltier for her dirty thoughts. Two days ago, I was ready to zap him with bear spray, and today I’m looking for an excuse to get him naked.
The two bedrooms, the bath, and the small laundry closet were off the hall. “Come with me.” She winced.
He followed, seeming not to notice the double entendre.
That’s because he’s a gentleman, not a dirty sex fiend like me. Not that she’d practiced any fiendishness lately. She hadn’t had sex since before being widowed. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s not hot. Maybe I’m horny and desperate. Any port in a storm, and all. She risked a glance at him.
No. It was him. All him. Until he’d appeared on the scene, she’d sworn off men. Her libido had been nonexistent. Now her lust had shot from zero to sixty.
The everyday towels would be too small, so she found a beach towel and set it on the sink, and then moved into the hall so he could enter. She focused on his throat. “Um, you can hand me your wet clothes through the door, and I’ll put them in the dryer.”
She heard rustling and a plop as if sodden garments hit the floor. The door opened, and his bare arm snaked out with his wet clothing, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved pullover shirt. She cleared her throat. “Uh, what about your underwear?”
Don’t think about him naked. The towel would more than cover his modesty, and it would be uncomfortable to wear a wet T-shirt and shorts. Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about—his comfort.
“Underwear?” he asked.
“T shirt? Shorts?”
“This is all I have.”
“All righty, then.” She shoved his jeans and shirt in the dryer and fled to the kitchen. She tidied up, throwing away the old faucet, putting the cleaners back under the sink. She was bent over, wiping a cabinet, when she caught sight of bare masculine feet and calves, her lime-green beach towel printed with pink flip-flops hitting him above the knees. Some men had bony knees. His were sexy. She gulped and stood up.
“Your, uh, clothes are in the dryer,” she stated the obvious. The squeaky hum could be heard. “It might, uh, take a little while. Your clothes were pretty wet.”
He shrugged. “What else would you like me to work on?”
He had that perfect V shape of broad shoulders tapering to slim hips. Smooth skin stretched taut over his muscled chest and bulging biceps. Scruff darkened his squared jaw, giving him that rugged lifeguard look. He can save me any day. Help! I’m drowning!
Maybe the Argent town council could feature him on different billboards for different seasons. Hot lifeguard for summer, sexy ski instructor for winter. All he’d need would be a prop, maybe a life preserver or a set of skis or...
The front of the towel tented with arousal.
Every cell went on alert, buzzing with awareness. Her entire body burned like fire. It has been so long... She forced her gaze up to his face.
“Maybe swap out the bathroom faucet?” she suggested, shifting and pressing her thighs together.
“Will do.”
She sneaked one last peek. Her reaction reminded her of the cheesy porn Dayton used to watch. Horny widow puts the moves on the handyman...
She was glad she was wearing a good bra because her nipples were hard.
On that thought, her eyes widened at his smooth muscular chest.
“You don’t have nipples!” she burst out and clapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have said such a thing! “Oh my, god, I’m sorry.” Embarrassment flooded her face in a surge of heat. Either he’d had surgery or he’d been born with a deformity. She was inclined to think the latter because there was no scarring. He was still handsome, but to call attention to his condition...
And then he turned every shade of the rainbow. Literally. As she gaped, his face contorted and his entire body turned lime green with pink patches like the towel, then yellow like the kitchen walls, then bright blue, and finally returned to a mocha shade, except for his feet. They were blue.
“Oh my god! What’s happening to you?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he clenched his fist. “The way you affect me...I worried this would happen.”
What did happen? If not for his reaction now, she would have sworn she’d imagined what she’d seen, that she’d been hallucinating. She pressed a hand to her throat, almost afraid to ask the question, but she’d been through too much to shy away. “How—how did you change color like that? Why are your feet blue?”
“I’m losing the personification.”
“The person—what?”
“I don’t have nipples because I didn’t realize male humans had them. Where I’m from, only females have them. The man on the billboard was wearing clothing, so I didn’t know. I’m not human,” he said. “I’m Xeno. I come from a planet in another arm of the galaxy.”
Her snort of laughter died a sudden death at the seriousness on his face. It was the craziest thing she’d ever heard, but his feet were still blue, and he didn’t have nipples. I do not have an alien in my kitchen.
But that meteorite... Wary, she backed away. Her heart thudded.
“I usually have much better control, but you make it hard to concentrate. I know I’m not the handyman you expected. I flooded your kitchen. I’ve made other mistakes. You were so kind to keep me on. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I can transform myself to mimic other life-forms. But in my natural state, this is what I look like...”
Ripples moved under his skin as it turned the color of a summer sky. He seemed to grow several inches taller and broader. As his towel fell away, any salacious ideas were erased from her mind when his back hunched and a ridged tail thrust out of his spine.
Cam Leon still had two eyes, two ears, and one nose, but the shapes were unhuman, and his mouth—he had freaking fangs!
An alien. A real alien. Oh my god. Oh my god. Her knees shook. Encountering an extraterrestrial for real was nothing like a science fiction movie—except for the ones where the aliens killed all the humans. This man was not human! “What are you? Stay back!” He’d tricked her, lied to gain admission to her house. Oh god. She backed into the stove.
Cam flinched but held out a claw-tipped hand. “Kevanne—” His expression beseeched, but she wasn’t about to be fooled again.
An alien. A real alien. “Don’t touch me! Get out! Get out of my house!” She dashed to the other side of the small butcher block island.
His expression closed up, he turned, and he marched out of the kitchen.
Moments later, she heard the front door close.
Heart pounding, she crept to the living room window and peeked through the curtains to see Cam, dragging his tail, walking down the driveway toward the woods. She ran to the door and locked it then returned to the window in time to see him disappear around the bend.
It’s cold out there, and he’s naked. I didn’t even let him get dressed.
He’s an alien! From outer freaking space! He pretended to be human! He could have killed me. Or beamed me aboard his spaceship. When will I ever learn? First Dayton, now an alien.
She had no reason to feel guilty for chasing him away.
But she couldn’t forget his expression of hurt before he’d masked it. He’d revealed himself, she’d recoiled, and he’d looked crushed.
