"Not staying for lunch?" His uncle blocked his escape.

Sam edged past him. "Nope, not today."

Dan turned away from the door and walked beside him. "I heard the radio show this morning." He shook his head. "If your mom and dad were alive-"

"Well they aren't, are they?" They hadn't been since he'd been a teenager, not since his fifteenth birthday. And there it was-the shortness of breath, racing heart and sweating palms he always got whenever he thought about his mom and dad's accident. If his parents hadn't been flying their single-engine plane over Lake Superior to be home for him, they'd still be alive.

He hadn't let anybody new into his circle since that day, and he didn't plan to anytime soon. Yep. He'd closed himself off after losing the two people who mattered most. He wasn't an idiot. He realized his thinking was messed up, but it was what it was, and it worked for him. The friends he had today were the same friends he'd had since grade school-the few girls he'd dated included. The females in his circle were all married now, thank goodness.

Uncle Dan placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Your birthday was just a few days ago, and I know this is a rough time of year for you. But Sam, I also know my brother would expect better of you. As your uncle, it's my duty to say something about your behavior. Just think about it. You're a good kid." He patted him on the back. "Keep it in your pants, OK?"

"Uncle Dan," Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm not a kid."

Dan nodded, his gray eyes solemn. "Then don't act like one."

"I gotta go. Got a job to do." There was nothing wrong with his behavior. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. No one was getting hurt. He wasn't taking advantage of anyone. If anything, it was the other way around. Women were taking advantage of him, and he had no problem with that.

Haley stood in front of the full-length mirror behind her closet door, armed with a hair dryer. Already past five o'clock, she wondered if the estimator for the company her parents had hired would still make the appointment. At any rate, she'd be ready for her Sat.u.r.day night out with friends. It would be nice when she could dry her hair in her bathroom again.

Her hair dried and twisted up into a loose knot, she applied her makeup and contemplated what she'd wear. Black leggings, high-heeled boots and a jersey tunic or a slinky black dress? She glanced toward her window. Clouds obscured the little daylight left, and was that a snowflake or two? Brrr. Leggings it is.

A loud knock on her front door sent her blood rushing. This was it. A professional was going to look at the mess she'd made of her house. Whoever it was, he or she had better not judge.

Still wearing her jeans and a long-sleeve Henley, she hurried to open the door. Her breath caught. Before her stood a man who could easily be featured in one of those "Stud of the Month" calendars, or maybe a s.e.xy, blue-collar-works-with-his-hands calendar, featuring only him in different poses for each month-shirtless with a leather tool belt slung low on his s.e.xy narrow hips.

Tall, broad-shouldered and blond, his bluer-than-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he ran his gaze over her. Whoa. Was he checking her out? The curls and waves of his too-long sandy locks looked as if they hadn't seen a brush all week.

She wanted to run her fingers through that mop, straighten it out for him. The flannel shirt he wore under the Carhartt canvas work jacket couldn't be any more faded, and the white, crew-neck T-shirt peeking out from underneath somehow made the entire scruffy ensemble endearing. The overall effect screamed, "I need someone to take care of me." He handed her a card.

She took it and slid it into her back pocket, too distracted to read. Fl.u.s.tered, she rolled her tongue back into her mouth and swung the door wide. "Are you here to do the estimate on the repairs to my house? You're the guy from the construction company, right?" Oh, lord I hope so.

"Yes, ma'am." He put little paper baggies with elastic tops over his work boots before stepping through the door. "If you'd like to show me what needs to be done, I'll get started right away. I wouldn't want to take up too much of your time on a Sat.u.r.day night." He winked.

He winked at me? Once again those s.e.xy blue eyes of his roamed over her. How could he make the word done sound like crazy-hot s.e.x? Yikes. Where was this sudden surge of l.u.s.t coming from? She hadn't been interested in anyone since . . . Oh, for heaven's sake, Haley, you're not interested in him. He's just fun to look at.

She led him through the living room, the small dining area and into the kitchen. Following his gaze as he studied the room, she knew it couldn't be called a kitchen anymore. Not since she'd torn it apart.

"Cripes." He turned around slowly, taking in the state of disrepair. "What happened here? Did you get this place through an auction? Was this a drug house or something, and a search and seizure led to this?" He gestured toward the walls.

"Hey." She glared at him. "I've been doing the tear-out myself, and you can't tell me your tear-outs look any neater. It's not the demolition that matters." She glanced at the holes in the old plaster walls where she'd begun to tear them down. "This kitchen needs to be rewired and the outside walls insulated. I was going to put up new sheetrock once that was done."

One side of the kitchen counter she'd managed to pry away from the wall, but the side with the sink she'd left intact. She had to brush her teeth somewhere. "I have stuff stored in the bas.e.m.e.nt. A new sink and faucet I got on sale . . . light fixtures, insulation and drywall. I haven't picked out cabinets, countertops or flooring yet."

She stuffed her hands into her front pockets. "I'll need new appliances, of course. I think this stove is from the fifties, and the fridge is probably about twenty years old."

Moving over to the intact counter, she picked up the plans she'd had drawn up for her dream kitchen, along with the pictures she'd cut out of magazines of how she wanted the room to look. "This is what I had planned to do, only . . ."

He laid the plans on top of the aluminum clipboard he held in his hands, the kind that held a stack of papers inside and latched shut. She couldn't help noticing his hands. He had fine hands, long slender fingers that somehow managed to look entirely masculine. Maybe it was the roughness of the skin . . . Something about a man's work-callused hands just screamed s.e.xy to her.

He studied the plans, and then he glanced at the magazine pictures. "Hmm." He lifted his gaze to hers, his expression incredulous. "You thought you could do this yourself?"

She nodded. An angry spark flared to life. She was intelligent and capable. Given enough time and a little direction, she could accomplish anything she set out to do, including installing a new kitchen. There had to be cla.s.ses offered somewhere. She just hadn't had the time to look into taking one.

He gestured toward the entryway between her kitchen and dining area. Exposed fragments of framing from the wall she'd been knocking away stuck out at odd angles. "You do know that's a load-bearing wall, right?"

She had no idea what that meant. "Does that mean I can't widen the entry to the dining room? This house just feels so cut up. I want to improve the flow of movement from one area to the next. You know, open it up a bit."

"Sure. It can be widened, but you have to add support." He moved to the wall in question and stared up. Then he glanced at the arched entryway dividing her dining area from the living room. "You want it arched like that one?" He gestured with his pen.

"That would be nice," she said.

"If you don't mind my asking, what do you do for a living?" One side of his s.e.xy mouth quirked up, rendering her weak in the knees. "I'm guessing you don't have a lot of experience in home repair."

"I'm a paralegal." How tall was he? Around six feet and some change, she guessed. Standing near him made her feel positively delicate. "Do you want to see the bathroom?"

"Is it in a similar state as the kitchen?"

She nodded. "'Fraid so."

He smiled and pointed with his pen. "Lead on, pretty lady."

He thinks I'm pretty? Her insides fluttered. She shook it off. He probably said that to all of his female clients. He's schmoozing, that's all. Her bathroom had puke-green, white and black swirly linoleum tiles covering the floor, and pink and black plastic tiles covering the walls halfway up. Hideous. She had no shower, and corroding chrome fixtures completed the dismal decor that hadn't been updated since the house had been built, and that had been 1947.

She'd ripped the rusting medicine cabinet and mirror off the wall, along with the matching fixtures for the toilet paper holder and the light switch cover. The vanity was cheap and the sink tiny. She'd shut off the water to the sink and had already torn the vanity away from the wall too.

Problem was, most of the things she'd torn out in her bungalow were too heavy or awkwardly large for her to carry out of the house by herself. As much as she hated to admit it, she did need help. "The only things working in here are the bathtub and the toilet." She backed away so he could move inside the tiny room. "I want a shower installed."

"I see," he said, making notes on his clipboard. "Give me about twenty minutes to do some measuring, and then we'll sit down and talk about an estimate."

"All right." She fought the urge to follow him around her house just to ogle. "I'll leave you to it. Just give me a shout when you're done."

He already had his tape measure out. His pen, now clamped between his teeth, and an expression of concentration on his ruggedly handsome face, he set to work. Haley moved down the short hallway to her bedroom. Might as well change for her night out. Her clothes were lying across the end of her bed. She closed the door, stripped and quickly dressed, and then she went to her closet to choose a purse-something small to carry the bare minimum so she could keep it slung across her chest all evening. She'd just finished transferring items from her larger bag to the smaller purse when the estimator called out to her. What was his name? His card was still in the pocket of her jeans. She'd look at it later.

His gaze traveled over her from head to foot again as she met him in her dining room. He sat with a bunch of papers spread out on her table. Was she imagining the look of appreciation he flashed her way? "So, what are the damages?" she asked, sliding into the chair next to him.

"Well, there are a couple of ways to go." He shuffled the papers in front of him. "We can get materials and appliances at wholesale, and our markup isn't nearly as high as the markups through retail stores. This estimate is for labor only," he said, pushing a page toward her. "If you decide you want to buy the materials on your own, keep in mind that's going to add quite a bit to the total. If you decide you want to purchase cabinets, countertops, et cetera through us, I'll point you in the right direction and give you a few catalogs to look through. Everything Lowe's, Home Depot and Menards carries, we can get for you at a good discount."

Haley glanced at the figure for labor, and a tiny gasp escaped. Whoa. "That much?"

"You want it done right, don't you? Your job is significantly more involved than just handyman services. This is a remodel."

"Of course I want it done right." Maybe she should insist that her parents get a few more estimates before deciding. But her mom had said they'd already hired this company, and knowing her dad, references and comparisons had already taken place. She stood up. "OK. I'll probably get materials and appliances through your company. At least that will save a little money." She'd pay for materials herself, no matter what her parents said.

He rose from his place and held out his hand. She rose with him and reached out to shake on the deal, stunned when she found herself being drawn closer. She peered up at him, confused. Alarmed. Aroused.

"I have some time on my hands. Would you like me to stay for a while?" he purred.

"What?" She withdrew her hand from his and took a step back.

"You know." He winked at her again. "I have time for a little of that special touch you requested. Although I have to admit, the touching part generally doesn't happen until after a job has been completed." He stepped closer. "In your case, I'll make an exception."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and you need to leave. Now."

Confusion clouded his face. "When you called . . . when we made the appointment . . . you said you wanted my special touch."

"What are you talking about? I never called you." All the air left her lungs. "My mother is the one who set up this appointment." His expression went through a series of rapid changes, which would have been amusing under different circ.u.mstances.

He pointed his finger at her. "Your mother pimped you out? Why would she do that?"

Indignation swirled into the mix of mortification and shock freezing her in place. "No." She fisted her hands at her sides. "You're the one being paid here. My mother pimpled you out." Suspicion dawned, and more than anything, Haley wanted to be wrong. "What's your name again?"

"I gave you a card."

"I didn't read it."

"Sam Haney, with Haney & Sons Construction and Handyman Service."

Her eyes went wide, and her stomach dropped. "You're him. That guy from the radio show." Her humiliation was now complete. Her own mother had tried to set her up for a one-night stand with Sam the Handyman from Loaded Question. Her hand went to her forehead. "You're the man-wh.o.r.e who . . . you're a . . . a . . ." she stammered. "What do you call the male equivalent of a s.l.u.t? There's a word for that; I know there is."

"Yep. It's lucky." He shrugged and began to gather his things.

"No. That's not it."

"Depends on your point of view."

"Lothario. That's the word, and you're fired," she bit out between clenched teeth. Her mother had gone too far this time, and Haley couldn't wait to have at her.

"You can't fire me. You didn't hire me. Your mother did."

"I certainly can fire you. This is my house." She jutted out her chin. "You can't be any good at what you do if you have to offer s.e.x on the side to get jobs." She strode to the front door and threw it open. Cold air washed over her, but it did nothing to cool her anger . . . or her embarra.s.sment.

"Whatever. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You can untwist your knickers, Ms. Cooper. I'm leaving."

Haley shut and locked the door after him, too dazed to move. She leaned back against the door. How should she deal with her mother? Her first impulse was to call her up and read her the riot act, but she knew better. When dealing with Trudy Cooper, it was always best to cool down first. Think rationally, even when the situation was anything but rational.

Her mom meant well, she just had no boundaries where her children were concerned. In her mother's mind, Haley was still a little girl whose life needed to be managed. "Argh! I can't believe my own mother tried to set me up with Sam the Handyman." Even worse, she couldn't believe how attractive she found him. Embarra.s.sing, really. She really did need this night out with her friends.

Chapter Three.

Sam made it all the way to his van before the implications of what had just occurred fully registered. You can't be any good at what you do if you have to offer s.e.x on the side to get jobs.

"Ms. Cooper has no idea what she's talking about. I'm d.a.m.n good at what I do," he grumbled. He opened his pa.s.senger side door and tossed his tape measure and clipboard onto the seat. He stared into the interior of the van-not moving, just thinking.

Why, oh why had he made a pa.s.s at Ms. Cooper? Maybe it was a rebellious reaction to all the abuse he'd suffered from his family about Loaded Question. He'd taken so much heat since the radio show. Had he simply wanted a bit of comfort from the curvy brunette he believed had asked for his attentions up front? Besides, she'd changed into s.e.xier clothes while he was writing up her estimate. He thought about it . . . and shook his head. Idiot. This was Sat.u.r.day. She was getting ready to go out, not trying to entice him.

Whatever prompted him to reach for her, it didn't explain the letdown at her rejection he couldn't shake. Haley Cooper was the cutest little brunette he'd ever laid eyes on. Pet.i.te, with a sweet figure, silky brown hair and a wholesome girl-next-door appeal. A man could get lost in those large brown eyes of hers. Whoa. Probably a good thing she'd fired him.

Still . . .

You can't be any good . . . Her words bounced around inside his head and churned in his gut. If Grandpa Joe got word of this . . . Oh, man, his rear end was going to be in the wringer for sure.

He scrubbed the lower half of his face with his hand and stared back at Haley's bungalow. The woman had exposed electrical wires in her kitchen. If they connected, arced, the place would go up in smoke. The house was a disaster waiting to happen. He shut the pa.s.senger door, circled around to the back of his van and fished out a few electrical wire caps from his tool box.

She'd dissed his skills as a carpenter. He couldn't let that fly. Then there was the mystery of why such an attractive woman's mother would feel the need to set her daughter up the way she had. He wanted answers. His feet started him back up the path leading to the front door.

He rapped his knuckles against the door and took a step back. The door swung wide, and Haley gaped at him in surprise. She was probably expecting some suit-and-tie guy come to take her out. Of course. She looked like a suit-and-tie kind of woman, not his type at all-not that he had a type. "Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"You think?" She arched a single brow and managed to look down her nose at him, even though she was a good six inches shorter. "Don't worry about it," she said with plenty of att.i.tude. "I'm not going to complain about you to your HR department."

Haney & Sons didn't have an HR department. Far worse. They had Grandpa Joe and Grandma Maggie. Ms. Cooper's smugness annoyed him. "Obviously you have mother issues, and-"

"I don't have mother issues." A blotch of red blossomed on her collarbone.

Another red blotch appeared on her neck, and another on her cheek. Interesting. Ms. Cooper was not a woman who blushed. She blotched. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Why hadn't he noticed that before? Oh, right. Probably because he was too busy trying to come up to speed on the whole mother-called-pretending-to-be-daughter thing and all. "OK, your mother has issues."

"I'll concede the point." Haley crossed her arms in front of her, lifting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s slightly.

Do not stare. Do not even glance in that direction. "I'm just as much a victim here as you are."

She snorted, and the smugness returned to her expression.

"Hey," he said, giving her his most charming smile. "I'm very good at what I do. Give me a chance to prove it to you."

Her brow rose, and one side of her mouth twitched up a millimeter. "I'm sure you're very good at what you do, Mr. Haney, but I'm still not going to have s.e.x with you. Still not interested in your special touch." She made quote marks in the air, bracketing her words.

Well, that stung. Doggone it, not only had she insulted him, but now she wanted to rub salt into the wound? "I'm not talking about my skills in the bedroom, Ms. Cooper. I'm a skilled carpenter. The best." He straightened and crossed his arms in front of him, mimicking her stance.

"My brother is an excellent electrician," he informed her, "and my uncle is a plumber with years of experience. Haney & Sons can provide you with the very best tradesmen the Twin Cities has to offer." She seemed to be thinking about it. A good sign. "All I'm asking is that you give me the chance to prove to you that I . . ." Don't need to offer s.e.x on the side to get jobs? Why did he feel the need to prove anything to this uptight little paralegal? "Look. Your mother already hired me to put your house back together. She's footing the bill, right? Let me do the job I was hired to do."

Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the electrical caps. "In the meantime, you have exposed live wires in your kitchen. At least let me cap them. I wouldn't want your house to catch on fire." She studied him, her expression wary. "Free of charge," he muttered, "no strings or hands attached."

"That's very considerate of you." She opened the storm door wider to let him in.

Relief washed through him. "I'm a very considerate guy."

"You're a hound dog," she huffed.

"That's horndog." Another insult, and not even true. The worst anyone could say about his exploits was that he wasn't a man to let an opportunity pa.s.s him by. Why had he marched back up to her door again? "Haney & Sons is a highly rated company, and I'm a full partner in the business. If you want, I can give you a list of references to call, and we're on Angie's List. You can check out our ratings on that site."

"Whatever." She led him to her kitchen, her spine stiff. "If I let you do the work, there are a few ground rules that I must insist you follow."

"Of course." He put the caps on the exposed wires. "I'm guessing number one is to keep it strictly professional, which is unnecessary. I've never been the one to initiate first contact." Until today, that is.