Steal My Heart

Chapter 1

“WHAT THE hell?” Hilliard almost dropped the box he was carrying up to what he hoped would be his office. Out in front of his house, two small dogs were barking like their lives were in danger. He set down the box and nearly fell down the stairs as he hurried to the front door, the barking getting louder with every step. “What’s going on?” The door nearly fell off its hinges as he burst out into the tiny yard, where a man lay tangled in leashes at the edge of the road just outside the picket fence. His two yippy terriers nearly came unglued at Hilliard’s appearance.

“Gigi, Poppy, stop,” the man said as he sat up and tried to get his legs out of the leashes. The two dogs bounded to him as soon as he was free, running in happy circles that threatened to tangle him up all over again.

“Are you all right?” Hilliard asked. The dogs ran over to him and jumped against his legs as though he might have treats for them.

“I’m fine, but these two hellions are going to kill me, I swear.” The man managed to get the leashes untwisted and one in each hand as he tried to keep the two manic dogs apart.

“Are you sure?” A trail of blood ran down the man’s leg below his shorts. “I think you need to clean that up.”

The man looked down and went pale.

Hilliard hurried inside and returned with a wet cloth, which he handed to the man, who used it to wipe up the blood. He still seemed unsteady.

“It’s just a small cut, nothing to be too worried about. Make sure you wash it well when you get home.”

“Thanks. I’ll be okay. It’s not that far,” he said and continued slowly down the road. Hilliard watched him go, because at the moment, other than marshaling the few boxes he’d brought with him, he had nothing else to do.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The tiny yard needed attention, and the house needed repairs and painting. He needed to get up on a ladder to see if he had to have the roof replaced, and Hilliard was pretty sure the hot water heater was on its last legs. So technically, he had a ton of things he needed to get his butt doing.

He closed the gate, and chips of paint fell off the fence to the sidewalk. Great—another thing to add to the list. That is if he decided to stay. God, right now he needed a glass of wine, some soft jazz, and maybe a damned good fuck. But he was out of wine and there was no place to buy it in town at this time of the night short of going to Fort Bragg, he hadn’t unpacked his collection of vinyl, and his boyfriend of eight years was back in fucking Cleveland, probably fucking the goddamned fucking guy who had cut their lawn for the past three years. So in short, he was shit out of luck.

Hilliard finished lugging in the last of the boxes and got them in their rooms. Then he sat in the living room in the old-lady chair with the doily over the back. That lasted about three minutes before he got up again and started pulling doilies off everything. He unpacked the living room boxes and repacked them with things he would never use, including dozens of lace table covers, knickknacks of every possible description, and enough throw blankets to cover half the small town. He wasn’t sure what to do with those boxes. Maybe one of the local churches would have a tag sale he could donate them to.

By the time it was dark, Hilliard had the windows open, and the sound of the ocean drifted in on the night fog. He still had the bedroom to set up, so he headed upstairs to the front room and got to work.

BARKING WOKE him the following morning. Hilliard cracked his eyes open, got up, and pushed the curtains aside, peering down to the front of the house, where the same man tried not to get tangled in the leashes… again. Gigi and Poppy were in fine form, bounding everywhere, yapping, tails wagging a mile a minute. It took him about ten seconds standing in the open window before he remembered he was naked and probably flashing half of Mendocino. He jumped back, and the curtains fell into place. He didn’t hear any screaming or laughing, so maybe he hadn’t been seen.

He checked the time and groaned before pulling on a pair of light black sweatpants and a red Cleveland jersey and heading downstairs. He needed coffee badly, and maybe a chance to wake up. He brewed some and poured himself a cup, then headed out front to his small porch, where a wicker chair sat to one side. He sat down and promptly went through the seat, spilling coffee all over the floorboards.

“And I thought I was graceful,” the man said, coming from the opposite direction he had earlier, the dogs a little more sedate.

Hilliard managed to get out of the chair and stacked it with the pile of trash he seemed to be collecting along the side of the house. “I guess we’re two of a kind. Though you probably have one over on me. At least the dogs have minds of their own.” He smiled and got one in return. “They seem quieter.” He approached the fence and pushed open the gate. The dogs came right in, accepting all the attention he was willing to give them.

“And you seem a lot more… dressed.” That smile became a grin.

Hilliard colored, his cheeks heating. “Sorry.”

Damned if that smile didn’t stay in place. “Don’t be on my account.” Hilliard might have gotten a wink, but he wasn’t sure. One of the dogs, probably Gigi, decided to go in for a kiss and nearly knocked him off-balance. She bounded back as though she was checking her handiwork.

“Come on, little miss, we need to leave him alone so he can have some coffee, and I need to get you home so I can get to work.” The man flashed another smile and set off down the street. This time Hilliard groaned to himself as he watched him go, a pair of tight shorts hugging a perfect backside. If there were music, he could sing along with him and follow the bouncing buttcheeks. All he could think was he sure as hell was not in Cleveland anymore.

TWO DAYS later, Hilliard was sitting in a new chair he’d gotten at the Fort Bragg Home Depot, waiting for the handyman. He’d gotten the living room set up and even painted his bedroom. Two rooms down, several to go. He had a small dining room, the kitchen, and the second bedroom, as well as his office, to finish working on. Oh, he almost forgot—by the time he went through the bathroom and threw away all the pill bottles, both empty and full, and half-full bottles of toiletries, he’d found a room in good shape in light green. All it needed was a thorough cleaning and he was set to go. But beyond that, he needed help.

He’d called a number of people in the area, but he’d only gotten voicemail and no callbacks. At the end of the list, he called and a lady answered the phone. She took his information and actually made an appointment for someone to come by this morning. Now if the handyperson actually showed up, it would be some kind of miracle. There were many things he could do, but heavy maintenance was not one of them. At least he had managed to get the old lawnmower that had been lodged in the tiny shed out back running, so he’d cut the grass.

At almost exactly eight, as promised, a red van pulled up in front of the house. Hilliard smiled as someone got out and came around to the gate, which promptly fell off its hinges as soon as he opened it. “I’m sorry,” Hilliard said as he hurried out. “It’s you.” The leash-tangled dog man smiled. Damn, he found himself grinning like an idiot. “Where are the dogs?”

“They don’t come to work with me. I’d never get anything done.” Damn, was it possible to be hotter in coveralls and a T-shirt than in tight shorts? Hilliard thought so. Maybe it was the hints of what was underneath, with the shirt stretched over his chest and the way his waist disappeared into the fitted green overalls. “I’m Brian Mayer.” He held out his hand.

“Hilliard Bauman, though my friends call me Hill.”

“Not Hilly?” he asked, and Hilliard fake scowled. “Okay, Hill.” He kept that smile in place. “What is it you need done?”

“What doesn’t need fixing? I think the place has had a good ten years of delayed maintenance. I know it needs paint, but I’m afraid to do that until I know that the rest of it isn’t falling apart underneath. The front door seems wonky, the water heater is cranky, and God knows what else. I’m a little afraid to turn things on.”

Brian nodded. “I get that, but believe me, I’ve seen worse. Grace was a nice lady, but she was old.”

“Did you know my great-aunt?” Hilliard asked as he leaned the gate against the fence.

“I did.” Brian looked around. “This is a small town, so just about everyone knows everyone else in one way or another.” He lifted his gaze upward. “I always loved this house, with the ornate trim and the widow’s walk on the roof. This is one of the older homes in town, and it has plenty of character.”

It did have that. “I came here a few times when I was a kid with my grandmother. I have vague but happy memories of Aunt Grace, though I hadn’t seen her in quite a while.” Honestly, he had thought she’d died years ago. No one in the family talked about her much, at least not after Gran died. He never understood that.

“How about I start inside with the water heater and the furnace? Let me check those out, and then I’ll look at the door and gate, as well as the rest of the outside. Do you want me to check the roof?”

“Please. I need to know what’s going to require work so I can put together a plan. Some of it I can do myself, but there is some stuff that I can’t.” And he needed a place where he could have some peace and quiet.

“I see,” Brian said.

“Alan, my ex….” Thank God they hadn’t gotten married. Hilliard knew he had dodged a bullet there. They had been talking about it and were even looking at rings, but now he knew those plans had been a way for Alan to trap him. “He was handy around the house and could fix anything.”

“All right, why don’t I get started? It will take me about an hour to look things over, and then we can go from there.”

“Great. I have some coffee or water if you’d like some,” Hilliard offered. He handed Brian a cold bottle of water, then let him get to work.

Hilliard wasn’t going to follow him around, looking over his shoulder, so he went upstairs to work on his office. Fortunately it wasn’t wallpapered. Hilliard was dreading the dining room, with that blocky flowered paper that had probably been up fifty years or more. The room upstairs was mostly storage, and he had already hauled everything out. He’d hoped to come across something interesting, but no such luck. There had been no hidden gems in the pile of crap. He did find out that his aunt loved romance novels. He’d even found signed books, which he transferred to the shelves in the living room, removing tons of paperbacks to make space. His plan was to donate them all.

Part of him felt bad that he was removing his aunt from the house. This was all that was left of her, and it felt like he was evicting her one room at a time. Maybe he could think of a way to keep her memory alive in the house, but for now, he needed a functional office space, which meant cleaning and painting.

“Hill?” Brian’s warm voice drifted up the stairs. Hill put his cloth aside and went down to meet him. “I have good news and some bad news. The water heater is nearly toast, and I’m surprised it hasn’t sprung a leak already. The furnace just needs a good cleaning and it will be ready to go, though. I can handle both of those for you.”

“Excellent.” Hilliard tried to keep his mind on what Brian was saying, but his attention wandered, along with his gaze.

“The roof is only ten years old, so it’s in good shape, no troubles there. I can fix the front door and the gate. The fence needs to be painted. The outside of the house needs to be cleaned and painted, as you expected. The porch in front is good, but the steps are a hazard and need to be rebuilt.”

Hilliard nodded. That wasn’t as bad as he had feared. “So can you do all that?”

“Of course,” Brian said.

“Okay. When can you start?” Hilliard asked, anxious to get started but figuring he would need to wait his turn.

Brian cleared his throat. “Right away.” He suddenly seemed nervous.

“Don’t you have other clients?” Hilliard asked. “I would suspect that a handyman would be really busy.”

“I just finished up a job and have a hole in my calendar, so I can get started.” He went to the truck and returned with a clipboard. “These are my rates. I do good work, and I don’t waste time. I believe my customers should get a good value. I keep my receipts for supplies and charge you accordingly.” Hilliard reviewed the document, which detailed the work Brian was going to do and his hourly rate. Then Hilliard signed the order, and he got right to work, which pleased Hilliard. Brian’s plan was to fix what he could today, and then tomorrow he’d get the new water heater and the supplies for the steps and install them.

Hilliard loaded the car with things he planned to donate, then dropped the books at the library for their sale room and drove to the church, where he hauled in four boxes that the church ladies seemed thrilled to get.

“You’re Grace’s nephew?” one of the ladies asked.

“Her great-nephew, yes.” He wasn’t sure why he was being so exact.

“I’m Ruth. She and I were friends for many years.” Her hands shook, but her eyes were warm and bright. “Good friends, and I remember you.” That took Hilliard by surprise. “You were about eight or nine when you visited. We walked you out to the end of the point because I said that sometimes there were seals and you wanted to see them.”

“Yes. I remember that. Auntie held my hand because she was afraid I was going to get too close to the edge.” He smiled. That had been a long time ago.

“Yes. Grace was always cautious. Are you staying in the house?”

“Yes. I’m working to get it back into shape.” He was still trying to decide if he was going to stay here or fix up the house to sell it.

“I know a good handyman if you need some help,” one of the other ladies said, verbally muscling in on the conversation.

“I’m sure Hilliard’s man is more than capable, Violet,” Ruth said in a fake sugary tone that seemed to go right over Violet’s head.

“Stevensons are the people I use. They’re out of Fort Bragg, but they do good work. I can give you their number if you need it.”

Hilliard shook his head. “No, thanks. I already have someone. Brian Mayer is at the house now.” He smiled until Violet’s expression fell, and then she put her hand over her mouth.

“No,” she said, leaning closer. “You left him at the house alone?” She clicked her teeth softly.

“Violet Trainer, that’s enough. You know being gossipy is not your best trait.” Dang, Ruth had some teeth and was ready to use them. “The boxes Hilliard brought in need to be sorted.”

Violet cleared her throat like she was going to persist, but turned and strode away.

“I take it there’s a story there,” Hilliard said.

Ruth nodded. “But it’s not ours to tell,” she said more loudly, meeting Violet’s gaze until the other lady lowered hers and got busy. “I’m sure everything is going to be fine and you have nothing to worry about.” She took his arm and guided him out of the church and away from prying ears. “When you go through things, make sure you look closely before throwing anything out. Grace could be squirrely, especially these last few years.”

“She may have hidden things?” Hilliard asked.

Ruth nodded. “Yes. From her son, Timothy.” She made that sucking-a-lemon face, and Hilliard couldn’t blame her from what he knew of Timothy. “That man was not good to her. The last time I saw him, he and Grace were fighting. Grace and I were going to have lunch, and he was saying hurtful things to her. Anyway, she told me that he had been in the house and that she thought he was looking for things, but that he wasn’t going to find anything.”

That could mean a lot of things. “I’ll be careful and look through everything.” Maybe he should have checked through the books, but it was too late now.

Ruth patted his arm and then let go with a smile. Hilliard left the church, stepping out into the misty air, anxious to get home and hating that Violet’s comments had gotten to him.