Page 4 of The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

This man did not look like a local.

For one, he was wearing leather. A patch-covered leather jacket hung on his broad shoulders. He was also tall – almost as tall as Hank, Luanne’s lanky boyfriend. Tattoos covered his neck, there was a stud under his lip, and his black hair was stiffened into a mohawk.

He was also gorgeous, if you liked the type.

She frowned at the sight of him, though. A man alone arriving at her house never signified anything good. Men never stayed at a bed and breakfast alone – she always got couples. Add in the tattoos, the bike, the mohawk…and her hackles went up. Plus, the motorcycle was sitting on the spot under a tree she’d been trying so hard to grow grass in. Combine this with no sleep and she was a bit pissy, to say the least.

Not that the stranger noticed. He continued grinning at her and pulled out a small pad of paper. “This the Peppermint House?”

“Do you see a lot of other red and white Victorians in town?”

Instead of being affronted at her tone, his grin just grew even wider. “Well, you never know with people. Maybe you just have a thing for barber poles.”

Emily blushed. “I hope you’re not parked on my lawn.”

He started, pointing back at his bike. “Is it not okay to park it under the tree? Thought I’d save the parking spaces for customers.”

Like she got a lot of those. She shook her head and waved a hand at the two spaces in front of the house. “Please just park there.”

He gave her a jaunty salute and headed back to his bike. As he walked, she watched his backside. Rather tight, and so were his jeans. Emily felt a little overheated. What on earth was wrong with her? This man wasn’t her type in the slightest. He looked entirely too dangerous.

A moment later, the motorcycle roared to life again, hurting her ears, and he moved it to one of the spaces, casually kicking the stand down. She noticed he wore a pair of cowboy boots, at odds with his biker wear and bizarre hair. As he jogged back toward the house, she had second thoughts. He was a dangerous looking man and she was a woman alone.

That made her nervous.

So she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any vacancies at the moment.”

The friendly smile on his face shuttered in an instant. He studied her for a long moment, and then put his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels casually. “Well, that’s real nice and all, but I’m the handyman. Name’s Jericho. I believe you called me?”

Emily’s eyes widened in horror. Her gaze flicked to his appearance – shit! Hidden just under his loose jacket was a low-slung black tool belt. She looked over at his bike – on the back of the Harley was a beat-up old toolbox. Oh, damn it. Now she’d made an ass of herself. Emily swallowed hard and took a step backward, holding the door wide. “I’m sorry. Come on in.”

“You sure you want me to?” He asked in a flat voice. “I might bite.”

It wasn’t humanly possible for Emily’s cheeks to get redder. Maybe she’d get lucky and the old hardwood floors would cave in and the ground could swallow her up. That might be nice. “Just come on in.”

He stepped inside and followed her lead, and Emily found herself wringing her hands as she led the man in. God, she’d insulted the handyman. She really was becoming a jerk living alone, wasn’t she?

“What did you need fixed?” His voice was polite, if stand-offish.

She considered the flickering lighting, but she wanted to see what he could do, first. If he was shitty at his job, he’d just set the entire house on fire. So she said, “Some of the boards under the eaves on the back porch are rotted.” Em crossed her arms over her chest. “Here, I’ll show you. I have the lumber, but it’s hard for me to reach on my own.”

She led him to the back of the house and showed him the work she’d already done. “I replaced these,” she said, showing him the fresh lumber. Then she pointed higher, at the parts just out of reach. “I’m having more trouble with those.”

He ran a hand along the boards. “Your husband did a good job. Nice and even. Hardly any space in between the boards.”

“I don’t have a husband,” she said bluntly. “Like I said, I did those boards.”

He continued staring at the boards for a moment. Then, he said slowly, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

God, she felt so awkward. Everything was so damn awkward. “I should apologize to you. Maybe we should start over.” She shoved her hand out in his direction. “Hi, I’m Emily Allard-Smith. I called for a handyman.”

He looked over at her with a wicked grin that seemed to curve only one half of his mouth (oh heavens) and put his hand in hers. “Name’s Jericho, but you can call me J if you like. And I just so happen to be a handyman and plumber.”

She found herself warming to that smile. He was pretty, with gorgeous eyes and a killer smile. Why did he ruin his appearance with tattoos and that awful hairdo? “It’s nice to meet you. Let me show you my eaves.”

“Please do. I love a nice set of eaves.” He gave her hand a squeeze before pulling his away.

Emily couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Why does that sound so incredibly dirty?”

---