Page 1 of Steal My Heart

Chapter 1

“WHAT THEhell?” Hilliard almost dropped the box he was carrying up to what he hoped would be his office. Out in front of his house, two small dogs were barking like their lives were in danger. He set down the box and nearly fell down the stairs as he hurried to the front door, the barking getting louder with every step. “What’s going on?” The door nearly fell off its hinges as he burst out into the tiny yard, where a man lay tangled in leashes at the edge of the road just outside the picket fence. His two yippy terriers nearly came unglued at Hilliard’s appearance.

“Gigi, Poppy, stop,” the man said as he sat up and tried to get his legs out of the leashes. The two dogs bounded to him as soon as he was free, running in happy circles that threatened to tangle him up all over again.

“Are you all right?” Hilliard asked. The dogs ran over to him and jumped against his legs as though he might have treats for them.

“I’m fine, but these two hellions are going to kill me, I swear.” The man managed to get the leashes untwisted and one in each hand as he tried to keep the two manic dogs apart.

“Are you sure?” A trail of blood ran down the man’s leg below his shorts. “I think you need to clean that up.”

The man looked down and went pale.

Hilliard hurried inside and returned with a wet cloth, which he handed to the man, who used it to wipe up the blood. He still seemed unsteady.

“It’s just a small cut, nothing to be too worried about. Make sure you wash it well when you get home.”

“Thanks. I’ll be okay. It’s not that far,” he said and continued slowly down the road. Hilliard watched him go, because at the moment, other than marshaling the few boxes he’d brought with him, he had nothing else to do.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The tiny yard needed attention, and the house needed repairs and painting. He needed to get up on a ladder to see if he had to have the roof replaced, and Hilliard was pretty sure the hot water heater was on its last legs. So technically, he had a ton of things he needed to get his butt doing.

He closed the gate, and chips of paint fell off the fence to the sidewalk. Great—another thing to add to the list. That is if he decided to stay. God, right now he needed a glass of wine, some soft jazz, and maybe a damned good fuck. But he was out of wine and there was no place to buy it in town at this time of the night short of going to Fort Bragg, he hadn’t unpacked his collection of vinyl, and his boyfriend of eight years was back in fucking Cleveland, probably fucking the goddamned fucking guy who had cut their lawn for the past three years. So in short, he was shit out of luck.

Hilliard finished lugging in the last of the boxes and got them in their rooms. Then he sat in the living room in the old-lady chair with the doily over the back. That lasted about three minutes before he got up again and started pulling doilies off everything. He unpacked the living room boxes and repacked them with things he would never use, including dozens of lace table covers, knickknacks of every possible description, and enough throw blankets to cover half the small town. He wasn’t sure what to do with those boxes. Maybe one of the local churches would have a tag sale he could donate them to.

By the time it was dark, Hilliard had the windows open, and the sound of the ocean drifted in on the night fog. He still had thebedroom to set up, so he headed upstairs to the front room and got to work.

BARKING WOKEhim the following morning. Hilliard cracked his eyes open, got up, and pushed the curtains aside, peering down to the front of the house, where the same man tried not to get tangled in the leashes… again. Gigi and Poppy were in fine form, bounding everywhere, yapping, tails wagging a mile a minute. It took him about ten seconds standing in the open window before he remembered he was naked and probably flashing half of Mendocino. He jumped back, and the curtains fell into place. He didn’t hear any screaming or laughing, so maybe he hadn’t been seen.

He checked the time and groaned before pulling on a pair of light black sweatpants and a red Cleveland jersey and heading downstairs. He needed coffee badly, and maybe a chance to wake up. He brewed some and poured himself a cup, then headed out front to his small porch, where a wicker chair sat to one side. He sat down and promptly went through the seat, spilling coffee all over the floorboards.

“And I thought I was graceful,” the man said, coming from the opposite direction he had earlier, the dogs a little more sedate.

Hilliard managed to get out of the chair and stacked it with the pile of trash he seemed to be collecting along the side of the house. “I guess we’re two of a kind. Though you probably have one over on me. At least the dogs have minds of their own.” He smiled and got one in return. “They seem quieter.” He approached the fence and pushed open the gate. The dogs came right in, accepting all the attention he was willing to give them.

“And you seem a lot more… dressed.” That smile became a grin.

Hilliard colored, his cheeks heating. “Sorry.”

Damned if that smile didn’t stay in place. “Don’t be on my account.” Hilliard might have gotten a wink, but he wasn’t sure. One of the dogs, probably Gigi, decided to go in for a kiss and nearly knocked him off-balance. She bounded back as though she was checking her handiwork.

“Come on, little miss, we need to leave him alone so he can have some coffee, and I need to get you home so I can get to work.” The man flashed another smile and set off down the street. This time Hilliard groaned to himself as he watched him go, a pair of tight shorts hugging a perfect backside. If there were music, he could sing along with him and follow the bouncing buttcheeks. All he could think was he sure as hell was not in Cleveland anymore.

TWO DAYSlater, Hilliard was sitting in a new chair he’d gotten at the Fort Bragg Home Depot, waiting for the handyman. He’d gotten the living room set up and even painted his bedroom. Two rooms down, several to go. He had a small dining room, the kitchen, and the second bedroom, as well as his office, to finish working on. Oh, he almost forgot—by the time he went through the bathroom and threw away all the pill bottles, both empty and full, and half-full bottles of toiletries, he’d found a room in good shape in light green. All it needed was a thorough cleaning and he was set to go. But beyond that, he needed help.

He’d called a number of people in the area, but he’d only gotten voicemail and no callbacks. At the end of the list, he called and a lady answered the phone. She took his information and actually made an appointment for someone to come by this morning. Now if the handyperson actually showed up, it would be some kind of miracle. There were many things he could do, but heavy maintenance was not one of them. At least he had managed to get the old lawnmower that had been lodged in the tiny shed out back running, so he’d cut the grass.

At almost exactly eight, as promised, a red van pulled up in front of the house. Hilliard smiled as someone got out and came around to the gate, which promptly fell off its hinges as soon as he opened it. “I’m sorry,” Hilliard said as he hurried out. “It’s you.” The leash-tangled dog man smiled. Damn, he found himself grinning like an idiot. “Where are the dogs?”

“They don’t come to work with me. I’d never get anything done.” Damn, was it possible to be hotter in coveralls and a T-shirt than in tight shorts? Hilliard thought so. Maybe it was the hints of what was underneath, with the shirt stretched over his chest and the way his waist disappeared into the fitted green overalls. “I’m Brian Mayer.” He held out his hand.

“Hilliard Bauman, though my friends call me Hill.”

“Not Hilly?” he asked, and Hilliard fake scowled. “Okay, Hill.” He kept that smile in place. “What is it you need done?”

“Whatdoesn’tneed fixing? I think the place has had a good ten years of delayed maintenance. I know it needs paint, but I’m afraid to do that until I know that the rest of it isn’t falling apart underneath. The front door seems wonky, the water heater is cranky, and God knows what else. I’m a little afraid to turn things on.”

Brian nodded. “I get that, but believe me, I’ve seen worse. Grace was a nice lady, but she was old.”

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