Family by Design

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NICK LET OUT the breath he was holding when he was sure Becca was safely out of the room. What had he been thinking, sending her out to get his toolbox? Oh, he knew what he’d been thinking. And it wasn’t the kind of thoughts he wanted to be having, and the reason he had sent her on the errand. But even now, with the challenge of fixing the washing machine on his mind, he still couldn’t stop thinking about her. He could hear her running water in the kitchen. He could hear her moving, and he could imagine watching her. Becca looked even better than he had remembered. Still on the slender side, her body had rounded and softened. The kind of body men dreamed of holding and touch—

“Ouch!”

“Are you all right?” she called from the kitchen.

“Just great,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth at the pain in his smashed finger. If he didn’t get his mind on what he was doing, he’d be a mangled mess before he could ever get the damned machine working again.

After forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, he was deep into the internal workings of the washer when he chanced to look up. Becca’s son stood silently watching him. Nick leaned back against the wall, needing a break. Washing machines weren’t his specialty, and it had been a while since he had watched his dad repair the family’s washer.

“Can you fix it?” the boy asked, his expression too solemn for someone his size.

Nick was going more on hope than memory. “I think so. Might take a little time, though.” When the boy continued to study him, Nick shifted his position. “You don’t mind, do you?”

The boy shook his head, but didn’t move from the spot.

Nick gestured for him to move closer. “Ever see the motor of one of these things?”

“No.”

“Pretty simple,” Nick said. Picking up a screwdriver, he kept talking, pointing out some of the parts he could name. As he talked, the boy moved closer, and he could remember himself at the same age. He had thought his father knew everything there was to know about anything. Still did, sometimes, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He had a good relationship with his father and couldn’t imagine what it would have been like not to have had him around when he was a kid.

“Do you like machines?” Nick asked.

“I guess.”

Nick didn’t miss the shrug of his small shoulders. “Yeah, I feel the same way. Now, my brother Tony really likes them. But me? I like wood.”

“Wood?”

Keeping his attention on the work, Nick kept talking. “Yeah, like building things. You know. I like the feel of it in my hands. Sometimes it can be rough, sometimes as smooth as a baby’s bu—Uh, skin. There’s a lot you can do with wood.”

“I made a birdhouse once,” the boy said, hunkering down beside him. “It wasn’t very good, though.”

“Did you like making it?”

He nodded.

“Then that’s what matters. As long as you enjoyed yourself.”

“My dad never made things.”

Nick’s chest tightened at the face so devoid of emotion and wondered why the boy had used the past tense. Hadn’t Becca’s ex-husband been a good dad? Didn’t he spend time with the boy now? Nick couldn’t imagine any man not wanting to spend time with his son. Even though his own dad had spent hours at the garage, there had always been time for his sons. And daughters. But as much as Nick wanted to know more about Becca’s ex-husband and what was happening, it wasn’t his place to ask. Or to judge. “Not everybody likes it.”

“Danny?”

Nick looked up to see Becca standing in the doorway, Daisy on her hip.

“You aren’t bothering Nick, are you?” She looked from one to the other, her worry obvious.

“He’s helping.” Nick got to his feet and turned on the water faucets. “Give it a try, Danny.”

The boy stood on tiptoe to reach the dial and pushed it in. They watched as the tub filled, then the motor kicked in and began agitating.

“It works!” Danny shouted.

Even Nick was somewhat surprised at his handiwork. “Want to give me a hand putting the back panel on?” he asked the boy.

“Can I?”

The joy on Danny’s face was almost too much for Nick. Hadn’t Mr. Stockbroker ever fixed anything? He handed Danny the screwdriver. “Help me line up the holes. When I get the screws slipped in, you screw ’em in tight, okay?”

Danny’s head bobbed up and down.

Nick looked to see how Becca was reacting, but she was gone. He was sorry that she was missing how well Danny was doing. Spending this time with the boy had gotten his mind off the boy’s mother. And Nick was more than grateful for that.

When they had finished the repair job, Danny insisted on helping Nick put the tools away. With one hand on the boy’s shoulder and the other carrying the toolbox, Nick walked into the kitchen with Danny.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Nick said, thinking of the renovations he would soon be doing. Maybe Becca would let him borrow Danny. Then again, maybe not. Not after she learned the truth.

“Would you like to stay for supper?” Becca turned from stirring a pot on the stove. “It isn’t much. Stew, actually, but there’s plenty of it.”

She looked so pretty, with her face flushed from the heat of the stove, that Nick was nearly struck speechless. “Well, uh, it smells good, but I need to get going,” he finally managed to say.

“My mom’s a good cook,” Danny said proudly.

Nick ruffled the boy’s hair, but didn’t take his eyes off Becca. “I’ll bet she is.”

“He’s prejudiced,” she said.

When Danny slipped away, Becca and the aroma of the food she was cooking drew Nick to take the few steps that brought him to stand directly behind her. Peering over her shoulder, he breathed in. “Sure smells good.”

“The invitation is still open,” she said without turning.

But Nick wasn’t thinking only about the food. Becca smelled even better than the stew she was stirring. It wouldn’t take much to imagine what a happy little domestic scene this could be. He could see himself after a hard day’s work, stepping closer and slipping his arms around her. He’d pull her next to him. She’d protest with a laugh, then he’d nuzzle her neck and she’d turn in his arms, that sexy look in her—

“Raylene said you’re staying at your parents’ house while you’re here.”

“Huh?” Nick blinked and the vision vanished. Becca hadn’t moved an inch. What the hell was he thinking? He needed to leave. Get outside and get some fresh air. He took a small step back, then another. “Oh, yeah. My parents. For a while. And I’d better get going before someone starts looking for me.”

After tapping her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and putting on a lid, Becca turned around. “I’m in your debt again and can only say thank you. That’s not right.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shifted his toolbox to the other hand, shocked by his own crazy imagination. One more reason to stay away from her whenever possible. “If you have any questions about Ann-Marie’s list, give her a call. She said she’d be happy to help.”

Becca nodded.

Nick started for the living room, spied Danny watching TV, and turned back. “Would it be okay if I showed Danny my truck? I think he’d get a kick out of all the tools and stuff in it.”

At the mention of her son, she offered a grateful smile. “Of course. Just make sure he puts his coat on.”

Nick waited while Danny buttoned up in an almost-too-small coat. As the two of them walked down the porch steps, Nick promised himself that this would be it. He had rescued Becca on a lonely country road, had her flat tire fixed, her oil changed and her car checked over for any other problems. He’d given her a list of places to move and repaired her washing machine. He’d even taken a special liking to her son.

But no more.

Tomorrow he’d be at the job site for the new housing development, getting everything set up for Monday’s full day. There wouldn’t be time to help Becca. A good thing, too, because every time he did something for her, the past crept closer, and he forgot about the most important part—she had dumped him, and not in a nice way. He couldn’t forget about that. Not and get his house.