Page 8 of Sworn to Protect

“Then he came to the right place.” I laugh and nudge my way to Mr. Morgan. This conversation is over. I place Mr. Morgan’s coffee in front of him. “Here you go.”

“Heard you were staying at Galleze’s old rental. Is everything going okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, for the most part. There are a few plumbing problems. The toilet runs continuously, and the kitchen faucet leaks. Water springs from the handle on the hot side.” I wink. “Makes doing dishes a challenge.”

Mr. Morgan frowns. “Have you told them about it?”

“Not yet. They’re still on vacation and won’t return for a couple of months. It’s not a big deal.”

“I can send one of my boys out to fix it.”

“That’s not necessary.” My words come out rushed. But one of his “boys” is an ex-boyfriend. I definitely don’t want Mark to come to my house or back in my life. I ended things abruptly after meeting Ethan.

“It wouldn’t be a problem. Mark was just asking about you.” He pats down the pockets of his cotton shirt. “It seems I left my phone in the truck, but I can go grab it.”

“Don’t you dare.” I motion for him to remain seated when he tries to stand. “You finish your coffee. That leak isn’t going anywhere.”

“Ready for a refill?” I ask as I swivel to face Nate. The scowl marring Nate’s face makes me pause. But he isn’t directing that look toward me. Nope. He’s aiming it straight at Mr. Morgan. I can’t imagine what the sweet man did to warrant Nate’s wrath. It’s as if he’s jealous, but that’s preposterous. He wouldn’t be envious of an older man. Nate’s eyes cut to mine, and his expression softens. Despite the hard stare a moment ago, desire flickers to life as my mind swarms with warnings and possibilities. I need to stay away from this man. It’s highly inappropriate for me to lust after anyone. It makes no difference that the train departed the moment those sinewy muscles covered in a light sheen of sweat strutted toward me. As much as I wanted to pull the train’s emergency brakes, my libidokicked in full steam ahead. And even now, with him fully clothed, I can’t seem to stop. It’s those damn honey-rich eyes. They draw me in and refuse to let go.

“I’ll fix your toilet and faucet for you.”

It takes a moment for me to realize he spoke. “What?”

“Your toilet. I can fix it for you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You need a functioning toilet and hot water in the kitchen. I’d say they’re essential.”

“Are you a plumber?” I eye him skeptically. He doesn’t fit the profile. But really, how does a plumber look? All that comes to mind is some heavy-set, middle-aged guy bent over showing plumber’s crack.Stereotype much?

“I’ve dabbled.”

“Still, I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in it. I don’t mind helping. I’ve already helped with your tire.”

“That was a hopeless cause.” I laugh but pull my phone from my pocket, glancing at the screensaver. My kids smile back at me, looking so much like Ethan, it hurts. I swallow past the lump threatening to form and hand over the phone.

Nate stares at the kids’ photo. Sadness crosses his eyes as he absorbs the picture. Does he know about my situation? Unless he ran into Loose-Lipped Linda, I don’t see how that’s possible.

“There. Now text me your address, and I’ll be over to fix it.” He stands, and the chair titters from his abruptness.

“Okay. Do you want a refill to go?”

“No, I’ll be okay.”

And with those parting words, he leaves. Confusion swirls through my mind. I get the feeling I did something wrong. But what, I don’t know. I glance at his contact information and can’t help but smile at his contact name—Mr. Fix It. The man is mysterious but comical. A wave of uncertainty consumes me. I slide the phone into my pocket without texting my address.

Mom and Stan’s pale yellow, Queen Anne-style home comes into view as I pull into their driveway. I shut the car off and glance at the wrap-around porch. Nostalgia hits from out of nowhere. This porch saved me from making the worst mistake of my life when we first moved here before my senior year. I came so close to staying behind with my brother Jordan in San Francisco. Thank God I didn’t because that would’ve been a colossal mistake.

Our dad wasn’t fit enough to take care of himself, let alone his teenage daughter. But that wasn’t important to me at the time. And the compact apartment Mom and I shared didn’t bother me. I was entering my last year in high school, and I didn’t want to leave my friends or the city for this small town.

But this porch, though.

Once I stepped on it, my attitude changed. I felt at home. I felt wanted. Stan wasn’t rich by all means, but he provided the sense of security I didn’t know I needed. But for every positive came a negative, and our negative was leaving Jordan behind. Stan opened his home to him, but Jordan had refused to come. I understood,sort of. His refusal sure broke Mom’s heart. She always had a soft spot for him.

“Hello,” I utter to the empty living room once I make it inside.

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