Page 19 of The Fixer

Inside, Charlie flipped on lights and turned on the kitchen faucet. Knocking sounded, and the faucet vibrated so hard Joy thought it might launch. Seconds later, water spurted out. Obviously, Estelle had contacted the utilities, and surprisingly, the company had not only responded quickly, but on a weekend. That wouldn’t have happened in Chicago.

The utilities being on was the good news. The bad news was the color of the water pouring from the spout: brown, like Coke.

Charlie grinned. “Excellent.”

“Icky water is excellent?”

“No,runningwater is excellent. It means your pump is working. We weren’t sure without the power turned on. You’re on a well here, so you might have iron or rust or manganese in the water.”

“Mighthave?” Joy yelped. “How would that stuff get into the well?”

“They’re minerals, and they leach in through the soil. It’s natural, and it’s really common, especially in a town with a history of mining.” Amusement danced in his gray-greens, and he smiled at her like she was a dummy who needed to be helped along.

“Can I bathe in it, or is it toxic?”

“It should be fine. Might turn your clothes a funky color when you use the washing machine, though.”

Oh, there wasn’t going to be any using of the washing machine. She wouldn’t be here that long, and if she was …

“Does the Majestic have laundry service?”

“No idea.”

“Is there a laundromat in town?”

He bent his inked arm to scratch the back of his head, elbow pointing at the ceiling. The movement caused his sleeve to ride up, exposing more of the tattoo and his gorgeous bicep that flexed, blowing a few circuits in her brain. “Closest laundromat is about a forty-minute drive on a good day. Each way.”

He kept scratching, and she kept staring. What the hell had he just said? One side of his mouth curled up as if he knewexactlywhat she was checking out, and embarrassment spread through her, turning her cheeks hot. He’d caught her blatantly ogling, damn it!

She recovered quickly—she was smart that way. “I’ve been trying to figure out what your tattoo means.”

Lowering his arm, he eyed said tattoo. “It’s a mountain scene that reminds me of home.” He began pointing. “That’s Red Mountain there, there’s Mount Sneffels, and there’s Mount Eolus.”

“And lots of pine trees.”

“Lots of pine trees,” he agreed and began naming the various species. She didn’t register any of it because she was too busy tracing the corded veins crisscrossing his sculpted forearms and the light golden hair dusting them. And his hands. She was fascinated by those big, rough, man hands with their long, tapered fingers and square-cut nails. Why did such beautiful features belong to a man who was a thorn in her side?

Waking herself up from the testosterone-induced haze she’d been lost in, she caught the final words of his description: “And that’s Silver Lake.”

He lowered his arm, thank God, and she could re-focus. “Did you design it yourself?”

“I did, with a lot of help from a phenomenal tattoo artist. This way, I can take home with me wherever I go. Now back to your water …”

“My what?”

“The store’s water? If you want, we can run some tests, but it takes a while to get the results back, and in the end it won’t matter.”

Oh, right. The water. “Because …?”

“Remember what I said about bringing things up to code? Switching to the municipality’s water source is one of those requirements. Your well will have to go.”

“Is that expensive?”

“Capping a well? No. A water tap, though, that can get pricey.” He rubbed his fingers against his thumb in the universal sign for money.

She parked a hand on her hip and stared at him, waiting for him to … to what? Give her instructions on how to turn brown water clear so she could take care of her showering dilemma? Offer her another solution besides tapping into town water for some exorbitant amount?

He did neither, instead giving her a lift of his eyebrow. What did he want from her?

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