Page 14 of Sworn to Protect

“Why do you need eye goggles?”

“Why are you putting the blade in a vice?”

“What’s an angle grinder?”

By the time Ethan was ready to align the grinder to the blade, he had blown up and sent Liam inside. My heart broke for the kid because he only wanted to learn. Ethan’s patience always ran thin.

I blink away the memory and march toward the bathroom. “Okay, kiddos, leave Mr. Dixon alone. Don’t you have some chores to do before we head to the park?” I’m met with a couple disgruntled, “Yes, ma’am” responses.

Those honey-rich eyes flash toward mine, but he doesn’t speak until the kids leave. “They weren’t bothering me.”

I study him for a moment. Did he purposely wait until the kids were out of earshot so as not to undermine my authority? If so, I’m not sure how to process his gesture. I blink the notion away. I’m sure I’m reading too much into his statement. “They can get a little overbearing.”

He shrugs. “They’re just curious, that’s all. Liam’s pretty inquisitive.”

My head swims as I blow out a slow, steady breath. Nate is making it very hard not to like him without even trying. But I can’t like him. Not in the way my body reacts to him. How can I know all of this and still be attracted to him?

“I’ll be done in a minute. I just have to cut the standpipe. It sits higher than the fill valve.” He grabs the hacksaw, and I stand there, watching his biceps flex while he moves the saw back and forth.

A beat later, I feel a little stalkerish and march toward the living room. But damn, that man’s impressive. Looks aside, not only did he fix the toilet, but he brought his own tools. Nice, shiny, bright ones that look brand new. Did he buy them specifically for this job? No. That makes little sense. He wouldn’t have purchased new tools for me.

I’m in the middle of chastising myself for such thoughts when a curse word followed by a clang cuts through the air. I rush to the bathroom, not knowing what to expect. Nate opens and closes his left hand a few times before grabbing the saw, but the slight tremor in his hands is evident.

“Are you sure your hands are good?”

Nate’s body stills as his gaze cuts to mine and holds, the light shades of golden brown darken. Holy fuck, that smoldering lookcauses my synapses to misfire. I blink a few times, unable to formulate a coherent thought. A cross between a gasp and moan escapes my mouth as my nipples harden. Jesus, who knew watching him play with a toilet could be sexy.

“Trust me. My hands are very skilled.” His deep, raspy voice glides over my skin and wraps around me like a warm, cozy blanket. But it’s the wordsvery skilledthat have my inner thighs clenching.

I swallow the carnal thoughts clouding my mind and utter an, “Oh.”

The slightest grin crosses his face as his usual hardened features soften, and for that brief moment, I glimpse a more relaxed version of Nate. It’s boyish and carefree—a side I like. One I could get used to.

We stay this way, holding each other captive, neither one wanting to make the first move. My heart pounds as my mind races to determine the secret meaning behind his words. I’m sure my imagination is getting carried away.A lonely, desperate woman seeking more meaning in frivolous things.He severs the connection almost as if he’s solidifying my thought. I take a stuttering breath as he grabs the saw, silence eating up the air in this small space as he makes the last cut.

“There, you should be back in business.” He flips the valve to turn the water back on and tests his handiwork. After the toilet flushes without any leaks, he gathers his tools and sits back on his haunches. “Does anything else need fixing besides the kitchen faucet?”

Part of me wants to say everything, but he can’t provide the help I need. I won’t delve into my problems and shake my head slightly. “Nothing pressing.”

He stands. “Alright then, I’ll tackle that faucet.”

“The kitchen is down the hall to the right.” I’m not sure why I told him. The house isn’t that big.

“The handle’s loose,” he says, turning the door handle.

“Yeah, I meant to tighten it.” Our eyes divert to my bedroom,where moving boxes stay piled—another chore I’ve yet to tackle. Most packages contain Ethan’s belongings. I can’t force myself to sort through them. It was hard enough packing it all. “Among other things.”

“Grab me a Phillips screwdriver, and I’ll work on this next. The last thing you want is one of the boys to get stuck inside.”

“You don’t have to fix that. I’m quite capable of turning a screwdriver.”

“I have no doubt you’re qualified, but I’m here now. I have time.”

With no further protest, I get him the screwdriver. After tightening the knob, he follows me to the kitchen, where he proceeds to fix the faucet. I don’t bother him and opt to see how the kids are progressing with cleaning their room. Thirty minutes later, I wander back into the kitchen and stop mid-step. Nate lies on his back with his upper torso hidden underneath the kitchen sink. His shirt rides up, teasing me with a glimpse of his happy trail that leads to his nether regions. Oh, how I’d love to trace my fingers along that path. Or better yet, trace it with my tongue. But as soon as I process the thought, guilt grabs hold and refuses to let go. What is wrong with me? I blame the lack of sex as the force driving my libido. Regardless of the reason, it isn’t fair for me to think about anyone else but my late husband. Doesn’t that make me an awful person? The state of our marital status shouldn’t matter. It’s wrong. He was still my husband, and now, my kids are fatherless.

I clear my throat. “Are you running into more problems?”

“Ah, no. I had to disconnect the faucet to replace some of the O-rings. Luckily, I bought the right size.”

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