Page 52 of The Fixer

“Sterling, I’ve been working in a hot, stuffy, dusty store filled to the ceiling with shit piled on top of shit. I saw no reason to get dolled up.” This conversation was going nowhere except higher up her grate-o-meter.

“Maybe I should come out there and spend some time with you.”

“And do what, Sterling?” She could just imagine his face when he walked into her mother’s store. He’d probably run from the place screaming, then cut ties with her after getting an eyeful of her origins—not that she’d ever hidden them from him. But hearing about them and seeing them up close were two entirely different things.

“Maybe I could help you.”

“I don’t think you’ll want to walk your Bottega Venetas in here.”

“We don’t have tostaythere. There’s this nice resort about ten miles up the road—Silver Summit. We could play golf, have a spa day. Have you checked it out yet?”

“Again, I’ve only been here two days.” Her eagle eye caught sight of Charlie’s truck, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She gave herself permission to cut the call short. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll update you when I have a better idea of when I’m coming back.”

Sterling dragged out the good-bye, and by the time she hung up, Charlie was nearly all the way across the backyard. She shoved the phone in her back pocket and opened the door just as his knuckles were poised to knock.

He greeted her with his signature grin. “Good timing,partner.”

“Not so eager, Mr. Beaver. We have lots of details to hash out.”

“You mean work through.”

“No, I meanhash, as in argue.”

He closed the door. “Sweet. I love winning arguments.”

God, he was cocky! The eye-roll she’d been holding back during her conversation with Sterling gathered steam and came out in spectacular fashion. Lord, what had her unchecked impulse led her into? She quickly cut from that thought to noticing he’d pushed his long sleeves up to his elbows, exposing gorgeous forearms and that fascinating tat—

Oh shit!

Panicked, she glanced down at the floor where, below the windowsill, the book lay face down. She sidled over to it and gave it a kick. Unfortunately, that kick didn’t land right, and the book flipped right side up.

She dropped to the floor and snatched it up against her chest.

“You okay down there?”

When she looked up, Charlie’s expression was part amusement, part concern.

“It’s true,” she wanted to say, “your newpartneris a complete lunatic.” Instead, she blurted out, “Just wanted to be sure neither of us stomped on the book. It’s going to a, um, sale.”

He held out his hand to pull her up, but she was so busy clutching the book to her chest that she couldn’t spare a hand. She rocketed to her feet, and as she did so, she lost her grip on the book.

His hand shot out to catch it. “Here, let me—”

“No!” she shouted and batted his hand away. Wide-eyed, he hopped back in surprise. Yeah, who could blame him?

She grabbed at the book and pressed it back against her chest. “Let me, um, I’ll just … uh, I’ll be right back.” She scurried into the bedroom, tossed it on the bed, and slammed the door. Straightening the hem of her T-shirt, she slowed her steps and returned to where he still stood, hand on his jaw and puzzlement etched in his handsome features. No, not handsome. Just plain old everyday manly man features.

Time for a distraction. She lifted her chin toward his hand. “Any significance to the rings?” He wore two on his left hand—one on his middle finger and the other on his forefinger. On his right hand, his ring finger sported a single band. All three were silver.

He examined his digits as if he’d forgotten the adornments were there. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. One belonged to my great-grandfather and the other to my grandfather. They were crafted right here in Fall River from silver mined in these mountains.” He held up his right hand. “This one I made myself after I graduated high school. It was sort of a ‘Yay, me!’ present I gave myself when I first opened the business.”

“Oh. There’s history there.”

“They worked with their hands. A lot. We Hunnicutts are very skilled with our hands.”

Was he intentionally throwing out the innuendo? She stared at him for a beat, but his expression was guileless. “What about the bracelets? Did someone in your family make those?”

He twirled said bracelets on his thick wrist. “A cousin made the beaded one, and I made the other one.”

---