Page 4 of Morning Wood

“Do you make a habit of walking into abandoned homes?”

I shake my head no, holding back a smile. I like her sass, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that comment right now. “No, miss…?”

“You can call me Miss Owner of This Home. As a housewarming gift, you can show yourself out.”

I can’t hide the grin spreading across my face. She’s going to be trouble, this one. I can’t wait to see what kind.

“Of course,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to scare you. If you want, I can take a look around and see if I can help with–”

“Maybe come back when I’m not wearing a towel?” she says, cutting me off.

“Right,” I reply with a nod. “Sorry. I… I didn’t mean… I’m Beck,” I say awkwardly, holding out my hand for her to shake. She stares at it, and I realize she’s holding up her towel with one hand and still has the hair straightener to protect herself against me in the other. “Sorry,” I say again.

I nearly trip down the stairs in my haste to get out, but I manage to get onto the porch without breaking an ankle or stepping through a soft spot in the wooden floor. I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts. The first thing that comes to mind is that I need to fix that door asap. No way in hell am I leaving her vulnerable to strangers walking in.

I realize that’s exactly what I did, but my intentions were pure. Well, decidedly less pure when the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen stepped out of the shower dripping wet with nothing more than a towel to cover her curvy figure.

No one else gets to see her like that. She’s mine.

The thought flashes through my mind, stealing the breath from my lungs. Never thought I was a possessive man, but I have a feeling that Miss Owner of This Home is going to change everything about me. I can’t wait.

3

BEA

I’m startled awake by a muffled droning sound that becomes clearer as I slowly sit up in bed. It’s not so much a droning sound as it is a buzz-buzz-whirrr. I look to the left and the right, thinking there might be a wasp or hornet buzzing by my head. The fear of being stabbed and poisoned by either of these insects has me leaping out of bed in an instant.

Grabbing my pillow for a makeshift shield, I hunch down and place it over my head as I half crawl, half hop across the room to the door. It’s only once I’m out in the hallway that I realize the source of the mysterious sound.

Someone is drilling outside nearby. What the hell? Can I go more than twelve hours without someone unexpectedly showing up?

I wrap my left hand around my phone, clutching it tightly in case I need to call the cops. Slowly making my way downstairs, I get a better picture of what is going on. Someone is working on the front door. As soon as it comes into view, I notice the door is brand new and attached at all the right places. It looks downright safe, which is something the previous door was sorely lacking.

But who would do that? I didn’t ask anyone for anything. I haven’t even been in town for a full twenty-four hours yet. I was going to spend today combing through local websites and finding all the service options I have for the myriad of problems I know I’m going to discover.

The only other living soul I’ve talked to other than the concerned cabbie driver is… Beck.

My heart kicks against my ribcage as heat crawls up my neck and face, making me flushed and overheated. I'm not sure if I'm all worked up because this is the second time he's shown up without warning or my permission, for that matter, or… I couldn't possibly be having such a physical reaction to him because I want to know what his lips taste like and how it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong, toned arms, cradled against his sculpted chest while he holds me and comforts me.

Oh, Lordy. I’m in trouble.

I walk past a decorative table and grab a candlestick covered in cobwebs, just in case I need to defend myself. Again. This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my first day in Winifred.

Taking one last deep, fortifying breath, I grip the doorknob and rip the door open, jumping back as Beck tumbles inside. I’m too shocked to react at first, too enamored by the sweat glistening off his shirtless chest to say anything. Beck doesn’t seem to have the same problem.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says with a grin. Beck looks from me to the candlestick in my hand, then back at me, his sparkling blue eyes making it hard to breathe when they’re trained right on me. “I see you’ve upgraded your weaponry. Miss Owner of the House, in the entryway, with the candlestick,” he teases, insinuating this is all a game of Clue.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, scraping the bottom of the barrel for a sarcastic remark or a comeback that will shut him up. I've got nothing. How can I concentrate when he's smiling at me like that? It goes deeper than his soft lips and straight, white teeth. Beck smiles with his whole face, a few lines forming at the corners of his eyes indicating he smiles and laughs a lot. Those blue eyes shine with such genuine joy, that it's hard not to reciprocate his smile.

But I can’t. I control myself, barely. “What exactly are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my eyes trained on him and my voice steady. “For the second day in a row, might I add.”

Beck jumps up to his feet, wiping off the dust on his jeans. “Your door was a piece of shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say flatly.

Beck chuckles, the sound rich and warm as it rolls through me. “Through no fault of your own, of course. But that door wasn’t going to protect you. It couldn’t keep unwanted people out.”

“Clearly,” I say under my breath. I’m afraid I offended him for a second, but then Beck gives me another signature smile, followed by a wink. That’s not even fair.

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