#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

V incent watched the thin, gray-haired woman climb into her car. His landlady, Iris, waved as the small, red Prius backed down the driveway. When the car was out of sight, Iris danced her way into the house. With someone else close by, someone close to her own age, hopefully Iris would leave him alone. He loved the support she and his mom gave him, but God, it was frustrating being unable to support himself.

His phone rang. This was the call he’d been waiting for. Heart racing, he wiped his hands on his jeans and let out a breath before answering, “Vincent here.”

Twenty seconds later, it was all he could do not to throw the phone against the wall. There was no money to replace it.

He took three deep breaths. Each breath was accompanied by a positive thought. He had a family. He had somewhere to live. He was out of jail. He just wanted to add a fourth positive: having a job.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was thirty. At this point, he should have his own construction business and a string of successful projects behind him. Not a prison record. Not a history of temporary jobs that barely paid minimum wage. Not living in his mother’s best friend’s garden shed. Shit. How would he earn the money to pay for his contractor’s insurance? The worst part was telling his mom he had been turned down again. Wanting to put things off for a bit, he headed over to see Iris.

After two quick knocks, he entered the lower half of Iris’s house.

Beaming, she scurried toward him.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and propped a hip against the side of the kitchen counter. “Things go well?”

She hugged him, then twirled away. “Yes! She didn’t question the cost. Doesn’t have pets or stipulations and is ready to move in next week.”

“Sounds too good to be true. She must be an axe murderer.” Vincent hid a smile behind his frown.

Whirling back, Iris pushed against his shoulder. “Oh, God, I hope not! I don’t want to interview another prospective tenant.” A year after being widowed, she’d decided her split-level home was too big for her but didn’t want to move away. She and Vincent collaborated on a renovation design to create an apartment on each level. He did the construction work, and Iris now lived in the lower level.

Laughing, he turned to make his exit.

“Have you heard back from the contractor?”

His back stiffened. “Yeah. They have all the help they need right now. They’ll, um, call if there’s an opening.”

“Their loss.” Iris laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Shrugging, he pushed open the door.

“Oh!” she called. “The new tenant asked if I knew anyone who could help her move in. She’ll pay them, of course.”

Vincent sighed, though not loud enough for Iris to hear. He tossed a smile over his shoulder. “Sure. Let me know where and when. I’ll pencil her into my schedule.” With a wave, he headed across the backyard to his refuge: the garden shed .

D etermined to be pleasant to a mousy old lady, he approached the driveway where Iris and the new tenant stood watching the moving pod being delivered. “Good morning.”

The two gray-haired women turned his way…and there the similarity ended. Tongue-tied, he stood and stared as introductions were made. The too-slim woman named Hilary surprised him. Devoid of makeup and jewelry, the gray hair was the only thing that made her look older. Dark slashes of eyebrows above green eyes added color to her smooth, pale complexion. She stood tall with the erect posture of a dancer and a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. He took her outstretched hand, aware of his calluses against the cool smoothness of her slender fingers. Of its own accord, his hand squeezed hers, then he dropped it like a hot potato. Cheeks heating up with mortification, he caught her wide-eyed gaze and the slight flare of her nostrils before she turned away, stammering out a quiet hello. They watched the pod being unloaded while Iris nattered away.

When the truck left, she turned to them. “Well, you two have fun unloading this.” Iris disappeared into her house.

“Where do you—”

“I think we should—”

Vincent dipped his chin toward Hilary. “You go first.”

Cheeks slightly reddening, she tucked a curl behind her ear. “I think we should start with the big stuff.”

Two hours later, one-third of the meticulously packed storage pod had been emptied of the labeled, neatly stacked, organized-by-room boxes. As well as the larger pieces of furniture. She was stronger than she appeared. It wasn’t like he had gone all he-man, but she easily kept up with his pace and muscled around the bigger pieces requiring two people without complaint, without dropping anything, or without calling attention to his clumsiness.

Because, for the third time, Vincent dropped his end of the hutch. Hilary arched an eyebrow but didn’t say a thing. In fact, she’d barely spoken since Iris introduced them. What the hell was wrong with him? He was years younger, four inches taller, and at least fifty pounds heavier. Yet he was the one bobbling, jockeying, and fumbling like a middle school boy with a crush. So much for looking cool. This quiet woman in baggy clothes was his undoing. So far, he’d broken a lamp and dropped a suitcase on the stairs, which then popped open, spilling brightly colored panties and camisoles all over.

Pulling her ringing phone from her back pocket, Hilary looked at him in silent question. She moved to the back lawn at his nod to take the call. Thank Christ. Vincent wiped his sweaty hands down the front of his jeans. He thought about his least favorite prison guard to distract himself from catching her scent on the breeze sifting through her curls. The one who ate onions with every meal and apparently didn’t own a toothbrush. The memory worked. Until he looked at Hilary, wondering what color lingerie she wore under the shapeless jeans and sweatshirt.

“Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Ending the call and stuffing her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she returned quickly, huffing as she lifted her end of the heavy furniture. Vincent picked up his end, and they carried it up the stairs leading to the back deck and into the dining area.

Hilary stood and stretched, one hand on the small of her back. “I have to take off. The sprinkler system went off in my office, and I need to assess the damage.” She walked to the sink and bent over to drink from the tap as the glassware had yet to be unpacked. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Will you be available this afternoon?” She took another drink.

“Yeah. I’m around.” Standing with his hands propped on his hips, he stared at the roundness of her pert backside until she stood and pivoted toward him. He could practically hear the gears grinding. She leaned against the sink, drumming her fingers on the countertop as she stared into space, paying no attention to him at all.

She pulled her hoodie over her head, revealing a baggy, faded, long-sleeved T-shirt, and ran her hands through curls that sprang up around her face. “Good. I’ll lock up the pod, and we’ll finish when I get back.”

“I can unload as much as I can while you’re gone, if you want.” The words emerged without thought. What was it about this woman that compelled him to help her? She certainly wasn’t helpless; she’d proven that this morning.

He didn’t have much to offer but was certainly built for heavy lifting. He watched her gaze as it traveled over him, taking in the clean, white, well-worn T-shirt covering his broad shoulders. He knew what he looked like, wasn’t self-conscious, but didn’t preen. Her gaze traveled down his firm chest and flat stomach. Hoping to disguise the impact she made on him, he shoved his hands in his front pockets. Her glance skittered away when it hit the buttons of his jeans, and she moved quickly to the sliding glass door.

“If you don’t mind, that would be great,” she said over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. “Just put the boxes in the appropriate room, and I’ll take care of unpacking.”

She stopped on the bottom step and turned back, unaware he was right behind her. Caught off balance, she gasped and reached for the railing. He was quicker and grabbed her by the shoulders. They froze, Hilary’s wary green eyes colliding with his own. Once she had a firm grasp on the railing, Vincent smiled crookedly and released her. She continued to stare at him, so he took the time to take in her features, the dimple in her chin, the faint lines around her eyes, the full, soft lips on a wide mouth. They were still gazing at each other when Iris interrupted .

“How’s it going?” She kept talking as Hilary stepped away from Vincent and moved to stand beside the open pod. “I’ve made a pot of coffee. Help yourselves, and there are cookies on the counter.” She walked over to the pod and peered into the container as if eager for a glimpse into Hilary’s life. “My, aren’t you organized. Writing the contents on each box would never have occurred to me. That will make unpacking so much easier for you.”

“The unpacking will have to wait for a while. I have to head over to the college to clean up a mess.” Hilary stepped around Iris and squeezed past Vincent, unaware that he leaned forward to take in the scent of lemon and lavender following her.

“Is there something I can do?” Iris called after her, but Hilary had already carried a lamp into the house. So Iris followed Vincent into the pod, where he stooped to pick up a heavy box. “What happened at the college?”

He shrugged. “Something about the sprinklers going off in her office.”

“I wonder if there was a fire.” Iris’s eyes went round. “I’ll check the Keeney community Facebook page.” She bustled off into her part of the house.

Alone with his thoughts, Vincent continued to haul boxes up the stairs, stacking them in the living room. He had to get it together. He would be seeing the woman often, maybe on a daily basis. It wouldn’t do for her to think he wanted to get into her pants. He rounded a corner and bumped into Hilary again. This time he was startled and swore softly as he bobbled the box he was carrying.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

He gave her a lopsided smile and placed the box on top of the others. She’d changed into black yoga pants and an oversized loose gray V-neck sweater and was fastening a gold hoop earring to her right ear. He looked from her to her belongings. What a contrast. Why would a woman who bought her furniture in bright, bold colors dress as if she were trying to disappear? But it wasn’t his business. She was a successful professional, and he was an ex-con. They just happened to be neighbors.

“Can I get your number?”

Hilary cocked her head to the side.

Vincent rolled his lips between his teeth. “So I can contact you in case I have a question about your stuff.” He looked at her in expectation.

“Oh, right.” A soft pink stained her cheeks as she reeled off her number, and he tapped it into his phone.

“Thanks. Umm…do you want mine?” He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she pulled out her own phone and nodded.

A fter unloading more of the pod, he knew a little more about the careful, quiet woman who would be his neighbor. Delivery labels on new kitchen appliances had an Olympia address, and when a lid came off a banker’s box, he saw files marked MEDICAL EXPENSES and DIVORCE. They were none of his damn business, so he replaced the lid and put the box in its designated location.

So far, he’d carried ten boxes of books into one of the smaller bedrooms. Three were non-fiction. He longed to open the seven boxes of fiction. What was she into? Historical? Political thrillers? Maybe romance novels featuring half-naked men on the front. Those were the books his mother read. As if conjuring her out of thin air, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Vincent? Where are you?” Marcia Ortiz nosily peeked into each room she passed.

“Ma, what are you doing here? You can’t just walk in; this isn’t Iris’s house anymore. It belongs to her tenant. ”

She waved away her son’s protests. “I brought you some lunch. I didn’t want to yell because that would be impolite.”

As if trespassing was polite. “Thanks, Ma.” He bent to kiss the tiny woman on the cheek.

She gave him a quick, fierce hug and backed off. “Come, I’ve only got an hour. It’s downstairs. We’ll eat with Iris.”

His mother worked from home, handling the billing for a number of doctors. She set her own hours and did fairly well for herself. She and Vincent shared a meal at least once a week. The cost of meatloaf sandwiches and lasagna was filling his mother in on the details of his life. Rather intrusive to a man of thirty, but he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Without her help, he’d still be in jail.

“Where did you apply this week?”

Holding up a finger, Vincent chewed a delicious piece of homemade calzone and swallowed it before answering. “I applied online to Starbucks, Home Depot, and the Garden Center.”

Like she was following a tennis match, Iris moved her head back and forth, watching Marcia grill him. He stayed with his mother when he was first released from prison, but her hovering nature wore thin. Fortunately, Iris stepped in to save him. In exchange for doing yard work and converting the garden shed into a tiny house, she offered him a clean, quiet place to stay and all the food he could eat without charge.

Her husband, Darryl, died when Vincent had been in prison and was unable to attend the funeral. To make up for Iris’s generosity, Vincent happily took care of the little repairs that accumulated in the year since Darryl’s death. The washing machine no longer vibrated in the spin cycle, the bathroom door opened without squeaking, and the dead flies had been cleaned out of the light fixtures.

When Iris decided to renovate her home to take in a tenant, the tiny house plans were put on hold in favor of the renovation plans. Asking Vincent to do the work was a huge leap of faith for which he would be forever grateful.

Iris was loading the dishwasher when she spoke, “Vincent, can you fix dishwashers?”

He nodded.

“Garage door openers?”

He nodded again.

“What about door locks?”

Vincent nodded again. “Why?”

Marcia shot a quizzical look at Iris. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about Lois Johnson, Char Floyd, and Virginia Smith.” Closing the dishwasher, she leaned back against the counter.

“What about them?” Marcia asked.

“Lois’s dishwasher hasn’t worked in six months. Char’s garage door opener turns on the television, and Virginia has to use her back door because there’s a key broken off in her front door.” Iris gazed at Vincent, a small smile on her face. She sat back down at the table, folding her hands before her. “They need work done. Vincent is looking for work.”

Marcia shook her head. “The reason they haven’t had the work completed is because they’re too cheap to pay someone to do it. And Vincent can’t work for free.”

“True, but he could certainly work for good reviews posted on social media.”

“Huh,” his mom responded, sitting back and crossing her arms.

He took his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed them, and added them to the dishwasher. Both women were eyeing him with matching smiles when he turned back. “What?”

“How do you feel about going into the handyman business?” Iris asked.

“Setting up my own business? I don’t know if I can do that with a record. Besides, who’d hire me?” Turned down by every contractor he’d applied to, the dream of starting his own business was beginning to seem like that—a dream.

“I would, or more precisely, Keeney Building Supply would.” A gleam entered her eye, and she waggled her eyebrows.

Iris and Darryl started a small building supplies store shortly after marrying thirty-five years ago. Darryl took care of the day-to-day running while Iris did the bookkeeping in a tiny office in the back of the store. Something she continued to do after their son Eddie was born. The business succeeded, but Darryl’s ambitions were not big, so he and Iris never expanded beyond the one store in downtown Keeney. They made enough money to support themselves, put Eddie through college, and build a nice retirement fund for when the time was right. But fate stepped in, and Darryl developed colon cancer. While he went through treatments, Eddie took over the business. After Darryl’s death, Iris retreated from KBS; too much of her life centered around it.

Vincent could see she was ready to get back to work. She missed her small office, she missed working with numbers, and she missed feeling useful. She was beaming. He was frowning.

What would it be like to work at KBS? For a time, his mother worked there, and Vincent spent countless hours roaming the store, hunting down supplies, ogling the power tools, and developing a love for building things. He’d liked the purpose of the place. Closing his eyes, he could smell the combination of lumber, oil, and burnt popcorn. But to work there? Without Darryl and with Eddie? Somehow, he didn’t think it would be smooth sailing. Eddie had made life difficult for Vincent while growing up. And while he had not seen him in almost four years, he doubted Eddie had changed.