Maverick Vs. Maverick. Shirley Jump

pressure. Not a tidal wave.”

      “I can handle this. I don’t need your help.” It was a lie—she needed help—but she didn’t want it from the man she had sworn to hate. The same man who was—damn it—handsome. And intriguing.

      “How many things have you built?” Walker said.

      “None.” She waved that answer off. “But I can read directions.”

      “That’s great, except some things come with experience, not directions.” Walker gestured toward the misassembled corner. “You are a smart, capable, beautiful woman, but you are tearing up that screw head and making it almost impossible to take those two pieces apart. Now, you may not want my help, but I think you need it, at least for a minute.”

      Had he just called her beautiful? Why did a part of her do a little giddy dance at that?

      Lindsay bent her head and worked on the screw again, but the two pieces of wood were not coming apart. The screw refused to go anywhere but in a pointless circle. Lindsay really didn’t know what to do with a stripped screw head, or what one even was, only that it sounded bad. She was going to mess this up, and that would mean someone would have to buy more wood. For a festival that was operating on a shoestring budget to begin with, that would be a disaster, and Lindsay didn’t want that on her shoulders. She knew when she was beaten, even if the victor was some scraps of wood and a single screw.

      She handed him the drill. “Fine. You do it.”

      To his credit, Walker didn’t say I told you so. He held the pieces firmly with one hand, pressed the drill into the screw and let the bit whir slowly as he backed the screw out a little at a time. Clearly, the key was patience and pressure.

      Pretty much the same thing in a court case, Lindsay thought. A lot of patience and a little pressure usually equaled success.

      “Thanks,” she said. The two pieces of wood were still intact, though the screw was worse for wear. Far better to replace one screw than the more expensive wood, which was still fine to use. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

      Walker chuckled. “I can’t build a house or anything, but I do have some handyman skills. My grandpa liked to make things, and I was at his house most weekends when I was a kid, so he taught me what he could.” His gaze went to someplace far away. Dwelling on memories, perhaps? “I miss him terribly, and every time I see a birdhouse, it makes me think of him. He was a hell of a guy.”