seen her first.
He shook his head at his own foolishness. He had better things to do with his time than stand in Nilsen’s Hardware and have fantasies that could get him arrested in half the states in the country. If he was going to get his house finished on his land before the cold weather set in so he could move out of his tiny unheated trailer, he needed to get going.
Yeah, right, he thought, rooted to the spot as he watched the utterly female way she walked.
She made her way to the power tools and bent over the boxes that contained sanders. Tony bit back a groan and headed for the counter to pay for his supplies.
A man could only take so much.
Cliff rang up the sack of nails and caulking. He made change, his attention not on what he was doing. Tony had to grab the coins before they dropped on the counter.
“Who is she?” Tony asked, resisting the urge to turn around and take another long look.
Cliff shrugged and leaned to the side so he could see around Tony. “Don’t know. This is the first she’s been in here.”
She had to be new in town, Tony thought. In Ferndale strangers never went unnoticed. Especially women who looked as good as this one.
He lingered until Cliff straightened up and smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, alerting Tony to the fact she was on her way to the counter. He moved a few feet away to look at a display of saw blades.
She walked by him carrying a box and trailing the fragrance of summer flowers, sweet and fresh.
“Does this sander come with instructions?” She laid a credit card beside the box.
Tony stifled a groan. He was all for equal opportunity, but unskilled women and power tools were generally a bad combination.
Cliff slid her plastic credit card across the counter, swiped it through his machine and handed it back before Tony could read the name on it.
Cliff mumbled and reached to open the box. He waved a piece of paper. “Sorry, miss, no operating instructions. Just the usual safety warnings.” He handed her the credit slip to sign.
Unable to help himself, Tony stepped closer, hoping his carnal thoughts didn’t show on his face. “Excuse me, miss. Maybe I could help.”
Julie turned to glance at the great-looking man she had noticed lurking by a display of big metal wheels with wicked teeth. Boy, they sure didn’t grow them like this in Los Angeles. From the top of his cowboy hat to the tips of his leather boots, he was one tall gorgeous hunk of man.
She flashed him her best smile. “Could help me with what?” she asked, wondering exactly what he meant.
She liked the way he squirmed just a little as she studied him. Shy, perhaps. Handsome as he was, he didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who would be bashful around women. She also liked the muscles that showed through the close fit of his white T-shirt. Brawn like his was the result of hard outdoor work and not a gym.
He took off his hat and ran a big square hand through his cropped dark chocolate-brown hair, then gestured to the box the middle-aged clerk struggled to repackage. “The sander, ma’am.”
The cowboy was blushing. She swallowed a smile. Was it possible he was just being neighborly and not flirting?
She hoped not.
She was going to be in Ferndale all summer, and had no friends here. No one she knew from Los Angeles was likely to come for a visit. She’d been dreading being stuck in this small town for three long months.
Quaint Victorian Ferndale hadn’t changed any since she’d left almost ten years ago to go to college. Now that she’d used her credit card, within hours everyone in town would know she was back in Northern California. Give her a big city any day. There was no such thing as privacy in a small town.
She winked at him. “Thanks, cowboy, but I think I can manage.”
At least she could learn. With her budget and time limit, she had to become adept quickly to finish all the things that needed doing to her grandmother’s house.
Her house now.
She wanted get the place fixed up and put it on the market. She had to get back to L.A. before the school year started.
He tapped his forefinger on the box. “Do you have any experience with power tools?”
The cowboy had a polite earnestness about him she found appealing. The men she knew were so into their own image and being cool they would never show the kind of interest she saw on his handsome face.
She shrugged, amused that he would assume she couldn’t manage by herself because she was a woman. She was smart and could figure out how to do what needed to be done.
Julie glanced around at the men who had gathered to listen openly to their conversation, then gave them a smile.
“How hard can it be? You all know how to use them, don’t you?” she asked sweetly, then picked up the box and sauntered out onto Main Street.
Every pair of eyes watched her leave. As she disappeared from sight, Tony swore he heard a collective male sigh from inside the store.
Tony turned to Cliff. “Who is she?”
Cliff scratched his bald head, still staring at the now empty door. “Dunno.”
Tony reached over and pulled the credit slip out of Cliff’s fingers.
“Julie Kerns.” He read aloud.
“That was little Julie Kerns?” Mr. Dunn peered around Tony trying to see the slip of paper.
Tony turned to stare at the old man. “You know her?”
Mr. Dunn nodded. “She used to live here. Moved in with her grandma when she was a little girl after her folks died.”
“Where does her grandmother live?”
“Doesn’t. Her grandma was Bessie Morgan. Died about two months ago.”
Tony thought for a minute. The name was vaguely familiar. “The blue-and-white Queen Anne style house with the vines over by the church?”
Mr. Dunn nodded. “Yup. Heard Julie got the house. Must be moving in.”
Tony stored that bit of information away and left the store whistling.
He’d find a reason to go and pay the little lady a call and remind her how neighborly Ferndale could be.
Tony stood on the sidewalk in the hot noon sun and shifted the ladder on his shoulder to a more comfortable position. He contemplated the cottage belonging to the very enticing Julie Kerns.
Two things came to mind.
First, the house was a marvel of workmanship, with all the trim and special touches that went into a Queen Anne. Not as fussy as most Victorians, he’d always liked the design.
Second, the place needed a heck of a lot of work.
For starters, the top two wooden steps to the porch were rotten. He glanced up and noted the rain gutter had rusted through in several places. That explained the rot.
He leaned the new ladder she’d ordered against the side of his truck and hefted the five gallon cans of plastering compound and primer.
Skirting the rotten wood, he climbed the stairs and set the cans beside the front door. The doorbell, a round crank set in the wall, rang loud enough to be heard in the next block.
Within moments, he saw her through the beveled glass window set in the middle of the door. She wore baggy old jeans and a big shirt. He missed yesterday’s outfit.
Julie opened the door and raised an eyebrow. “Hello, cowboy.”
He grinned at her and tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Kerns.” He’d forgotten how pretty she was.
“Please,