Page 6 of Seasoned
She sighed. “Well, damn.”
What is he doing here?
Renee watched Clive approaching from the window of her office.
The doorbell rang, and she scurried to the front and opened it.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m here to help you. My daughter told me what happened, and I spoke to Jim across the street, and he said he helped you secure the back door, but you’ll need to replace the door completely, am I right?”
“I will,” Renee said slowly, already guessing the direction of the conversation.
“I’m sure you know, I used to work construction. I can help…assuming you want my help.” One dark eyebrow lifted in inquiry.
Renee’s first inclination was to decline. After all, they hadn’t exactly been friendly over the past year, but she saw no point in continuing to hold a grudge. Frankly, if not for his dog, which she now considered a godsend, she might not be standing here today—or at the very least, she could have been hurt instead of only losing a television.
“Actually, I would appreciate your help.”
His eyebrows lifted higher, as if he’d fully expected her to decline his offer.
“In that case, I think we need to start over.” He extended his hand. “I’m Clive Stevenson. Call me Clive.”
“Renee Joseph. Call me Renee.” She took his hand.
His rough-textured palm was not unpleasant, and his handshake wasn’t the aggressive kind some men liked to use. His was firm, but rather warm—comfortable, even, sending a tingle of sensation up her arm and making the hairs stand on end. When he released her hand, she missed the contact.
She cleared her throat and stepped back to allow him in. “Thank you for coming over.”
“No problem.”
“They came in this way.” She walked him through the house to the living room and showed him the boarded up area. “They kicked in the back door and entered through here.”
“You were fortunate not to be home,” Clive said grimly, setting down the tool box.
He rested his hands on his hips, and when he stepped closer to examine the damage, she took the liberty of checking him out. Her eyes trailed down the length of his sturdy-looking legs and retraced the path upward to check out his solid-looking back, one of her favorite parts of a man’s body and what had attracted her to her second husband. This man was fit.
Renee shook her head to dispel those thoughts. She’d had three unsuccessful marriages. She wanted nothing else to do with men.
Clive turned to face her. “Here’s what I suggest. For your next set of French doors, get the ones with impact-resistant glass, and a multi-point locking system. Those include flush bolts that go into the frame and into the floor, making the door harder to kick in. The doors should swing outward, but that can leave your hinges exposed, so I’ll install security hinges.”
“That sounds…complicated.”
“Not really. I can get all the supplies for you, but trust me, it’s worth having the extra security. Even with the multi-point locking system, if burglars have something as simple as a hammer, they could release the flush locks at the top and bottom of the door and easily push their way in.”
“Even with the deadbolt locked?” Renee asked, alarmed.
“Afraid so, but don’t worry about that. I have a neat little trick that stops that problem.” His gaze traveled to the hole in the sheetrock. “I can take care of that for you, too.”
“Okay. So how much is all of this going to cost me?” Renee braced for the figure.
“Just the door and any supplies I don’t have in my shed. Labor’s free.”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t allow you to do that. I have to pay you.”
“I won’t take your money.”
“Why not?”
