Page 14 of Dirty Rumors

I'll take care of it. You're at the house now?

Nikki: Yes. OMG thank you!

No prob. Put the coffee on. I'll be there soon.

I throw my toolbox in the truck, and text my brothers that I'll be late. Then I phone Riggs, hoping that he's reachable right now. He flies private jets, so he can sometimes be hard to get hold of.

"Hey, Carson. What’s up? Only got a minute. Taking off soon." He always sounds a bit gruff, but right now he also sounds like he's walking somewhere in a huge hurry.

"I just spoke with one of the girls renting your house. Apparently the furnace is making what she’s calling a clunking noise. Sound familiar?"

He mutters a string of curses. "It's the main fan. The damned metal’s a bit warped on one side, and if the screws get loose, it starts misbehaving. If you've got a few minutes to run over there and tighten everything, I'd really appreciate it."

"On my way now. Just wanted to make sure I had your permission to barge into your furnace room." I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone barreling into my basement.

"Barge away. Thanks. Shoot me a text to let me know if anything explodes, okay?"

"Will do."

I drive over to his house, where Nikki is pacing back and forth on the front porch distractedly.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries out as soon as I approach, toolbox in hand. "It was a bit stuffy, so I thought I'd turn on the air circulation thing. But I guess I turned the furnace on instead, and it started making this horrible noise?—"

"It’s okay, kitten. I've got this."

I give her a quick peck on the cheek, then go down to the furnace room. The noise is certainly strange. No wonder she was anxious.

"I already called Riggs. He knows what the problem probably is." Setting the toolbox down, I pull out a screwdriver and get to work.

It only takes five minutes of what my grandad used to call "buggerin' around with the fool thing" before the clunking stops.

Nikki has been hovering behind me, and now I turn to see her smiling in relief. "Much better. Thank you." I tidy up, then we walk upstairs where I run through the different settings on the thermostat with her.

"Thanks again. I really appreciate this." Nikki looks so delicately beautiful in the morning light as we stand awkwardly in the front hall. Part of me wants to take her to the bedroom and show her how much I've missed her in the few hours we've been apart.

But it's still troubling me that she hasn't said anything about our budding relationship, or if things are turning real for her. She's still afraid for some reason. So until she speaks up I'm going to have to be extra careful that she doesn't think I'm only interested in one thing.

"May I take my coffee to go? I'll drive you downtown on my way to the shop."

From the way she looks up at me through her long eyelashes, I'd almost guess that she was hoping I would make a move. "Oh. Sure. Thanks." She fills up my traveler mug and her own, then grabs her shoulder bag on our way out the door.

Once we're on the road, I ask, "So… Is it about that time?"

I feel guilty about the nervous look she shoots me. "Time for what?"

"For you to explain about your mysterious secret agent work. I know you're doing some kind of research on the town. If it's genealogy, you could talk to my dad. He's always connecting the dots between families and who owned what property and remembers who married whom fifty years ago."

"It's not that kind of research." Nikki gives me a sideways glance, then her shoulders lift and lower with a long sigh. "Obviously, you need to be sworn to complete secrecy?—"

“Of course.” I cross my heart, then squeeze her hand. “I don’t want to tamper with the details of your evil global domination plans, kitten. Really. I just want to understand you better.”

“Okay. It’s kind of an internship for Professor Hewitt – he's a specialist in psychology and communications. He’s been doing studies on how verbal communication travels differently in big cities versus small towns and other places. Exploring if there are areas where important news and information is transferred in person rather than just online.”

I pause at a stop sign and turn to her. “So, what… You’ve been writing down people’s conversations?”

“Nothing secret or personal!” she exclaims. “Only open chatter in public, where it’s no big deal if everyone hears. And we’re not taking down names or any identifiable details or anything. It’s just like… ‘Middle-aged woman complains to her daughter that the price of cheese went up twice this year’. Or…‘Elderly man remarks how a local farmer is a better predictor of the weather than the news station’.”

I squeeze her hand again before rounding a corner. “Okay. I can see that. Plus, everyone knows Gus is better than those fancy weather machines.”

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