in surprise and wondered what he was fighting here. For that matter, why the hell was he fighting it, period?
So what if Brett was different from other women he’d been attracted to? Nothing wrong with that. She was a sexy woman, just the right height for him; he remembered that from the way she’d slid her shoulder under his arm. The top of her head was just beneath his chin. When he’d briefly held her in his arms earlier, she’d conformed to his body as if designed for that purpose and no other.
It suddenly occurred to him that this handywoman situation could turn out to be a blessing in disguise, after all.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” Brett asked suspiciously.
“What way is that?” he countered.
“The old I’m-a-man, you’re-a-woman look.”
“I am a man. You are a woman.” His shrug was surprisingly continental. “Is it so strange I would look at you as such?”
“You bet. I’m not that kind of a woman.”
“What kind might that be?”
“The kind who makes men go all gooey-eyed.”
Stung, he drew himself up to his full height, his look now a glare.
“Aha,” she said approvingly. “That’s more the look I’m used to getting from you.”
“You know nothing about me,” he reminded her. “We only met for the first time this afternoon.”
“You don’t have to remind me.” She still hadn’t figured out what had happened a few hours ago when she’d stepped out of his kitchen to tell him she’d fixed his stove. She’d felt so strange…as if she’d been bound to him by invisible chains. The look in his hazel eyes had pierced her soul and she was still trying to repair the damage. Because men simply didn’t look at her that way. Unless they wanted something—usually to borrow money. Otherwise she was just one of the boys. Always had been. With one exception…
Feeling the pain ready to creep up on her like the cold fingers of mist that came off the lake, she resolutely changed mental gears. Leaving Michael’s side, she focused her attention on getting the last of her belongings into her new home.
All the while, she was only too well aware of his intense gaze homing in on her. He really did have the most incredible eyes. And he looked like such an outsider, standing apart from the action, watching but not involved in it.
“Would you like to come in and have some coffee or something?” she invited, unable to leave him just standing there. “We’ve got plenty of food.”
Michael fully intended to say no. Hanging out with a bunch of adolescents wasn’t his idea of a good time. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to voice the refusal. He really wasn’t himself today.
Exasperated by his silence, Brett said, “It’s really not that tough a question to answer. Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but it might be easier for people to get to know you if you.”
“If I what?” he demanded irritably. “Don’t stop there.”
“If you lightened up a little, maybe.”
His fiery look would have sent a weaker soul scurrying for cover, but not Brett.
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be Suzy Sunshine,” he retorted.
She flushed. Is that how he thought of her? She knew he wasn’t alone in that opinion. If only they all knew how far from the truth that was. There was a cold darkness in her soul that no amount of cheerfulness could melt.
But the bottom line was that she’d never been able to say no to those in need, because she knew how it felt to need someone, or something, so badly and not be able to have it—not ever.
“That was a stupid crack I made,” Michael said, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Her heart stopped. His touch was so gentle.
“Yo, Brett, where do you want this box?” thirteen-yearold Juan asked her.
Brett stepped away from Michael—silently noting that each time she did so, it got harder and harder. Stepping inside the basement apartment, Michael poured himself a mug of coffee from a coffeepot that looked like it had been around during World War II. Sipping his coffee, he observed the suspicious looks the kids gave him. Each glance held a warning. Their protectiveness was impressive.
When Brett was outside, he took the opportunity to get a little more information about his new employee. “Your name is Juan?” he asked the kid in the baseball cap.
“That’s right. You wanna make something of it?”
“Why this routine? What makes you think Brett needs protecting?”
Eyeing him, Juan waited before replying. “Because she’s the Mother Teresa type,” he finally said. “Too good. She’s been hurt already.”
“By whom?” Michael demanded.
Juan shrugged. “She don’t say and I don’t ask. All I know is that since she started volunteering at the center, things have been different. She understands.”
“What center might that be?”
“St. Gerald’s Youth Center. Two blocks from here. Which means we’re close enough to check up on you.”
“Do I look impressed?” Michael countered.
“You look mean, but Brett told us that you’re not really.”
“What did she say I was, really?”
“Lonely.”
The observation stung. Slamming the coffee mug back on the rickety table, he glared at Juan before making his departure. He didn’t need this aggravation. Michael enjoyed his own company. He certainly didn’t need a snottynosed kid telling him what was wrong with his life.
As soon as Michael got back to his apartment, he turned on his computer and did some checking into Brett’s background. He learned that she was thirty and had no middle name. No criminal records. The pickup out front was hers and was apparently paid for. She only had one credit card and that had a modest fifteen-hundred-dollar limit. She was still paying off a large medical bill at a Northside hospital for a stay involving a surgical procedure almost two years ago.
Her job history was sporadic. She’d tried her hand at just about everything, from flipping “sliders” at a popular burger joint, to a stint as a waitress in a Rush Street watering hole, to working in a hardware store. She was only twenty credit-hours short of earning her degree in psychology, from Loyola no less. But she’d been a parttime student there longer than some people were president. She wasn’t attending classes now, but was registered for the next semester starting in mid-January.
There was no indication of her having any living relatives and she’d never been married. He wondered why not. With a loving heart like hers, she’d make some man a wonderful wife. She was great with kids, too. And smart. Caring. Sassy. No pushover. And she had the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
Yes, he’d done right to hire her. It had been a wise and logical decision. That was his story and he was sticking to it.
“Are you crazy?” Michael shouted at Brett not even a week later.
“I was just…”
“I can see what you were doing. Trying to get your neck broken! That’s much too heavy for you to carry.”
“I wasn’t carrying it. I was using leverage…”
“Don’t do it again,” he interrupted her to order, moving the huge potted plant in the hallway for her. The thing weighed a ton. “Why are you moving this, anyway?”
“Because I needed to