"Can't what?" Kathy asked.

"I can't date the handyman." She speared her fork into a piece of roast beef on her plate and swooshed it around in the gravy. How many women had Sam slept with? Was it a Guinness World Book of Records number? Another shudder racked through her. Her one lover to Sam's X number of partners. No. She was not the fling type, and she couldn't see herself getting involved with a man who saw s.e.x solely as a recreational sport.

Felicia peered over her soda gla.s.s at Haley. "What are you afraid of, Haley?"

She bristled. "I'm not afraid. I just have an overabundance of common sense." She would have to come up with some other way to press home to her mother that her meddling was unacceptable.

"So." Felicia sipped her soda and put the gla.s.s down. "Did that cute guy you were dancing with at Ground Zero ask for your number?"

Her mouth full of food, Haley nodded.

"Has he called?"

She swallowed. "No. I told him I wasn't comfortable giving out my number, and he gave me his instead."

"Are you going to call him?" Kathy's fork stopped halfway between the plate and her mouth.

"Sure."

Her two friends exchanged a look.

"Maybe," Haley muttered.

Another look pa.s.sed between Kathy and Felicia, this one involving raised eyebrows.

Probably not. Sighing, Haley focused on her lunch.

Sam parked his van in front of Haley's house and continued to grip the steering wheel. His heart should not be racing like this. Maybe something was wrong with him. He'd better schedule an appointment for a physical come Monday. That thought only made things worse. He hated going to the doctor.

"You gonna shut off the engine, or are we gonna spend the entire morning sitting in the van?" Wyatt asked, looking a little puzzled.

"What do you think?" Sam shut off the engine and glanced at Haley's front door. He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, trying to slow his heart rate. "OK. I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Wyatt frowned. "Since when do you need to get ready to step out of the van? Is there something you haven't told me? Does Ms. Cooper have a couple of bada.s.s Rottweilers ready to attack us or something?"

"No." Without further explanation, Sam opened his door and climbed out. Wyatt followed him to the back of the van, and they gathered the tools they'd need to work on the bathroom.

"You going to tell me what's up?"

"There's nothing to tell. I'm still not fully awake is all."

"Right."

The front door opened before he and his brother reached the front steps. "Good morning," Haley said, pushing the storm door wide to let them in.

She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and she wore an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Even without makeup she was cute . . . in an altogether too wholesome way. "Ms. Cooper, this is my brother, Wyatt. He'll be doing the electrical wiring and helping with the heavy stuff. Wyatt, this is Ms. Cooper."

"Please stop calling me Ms. Cooper." Her brown eyes flashed annoyance. "I'm pleased to meet you, Wyatt. I'm Haley." She reached out to shake Wyatt's hand.

Wyatt touched her hand briefly and mumbled a greeting. Sam set the drop cloths and tools on the living room floor. "We're going to cover a path so we don't mess up your floors as we're hauling stuff out to the dumpster."

"OK. Good." Haley gestured toward the kitchen. "I made coffee. Would either of you like a cup?"

Wyatt, who had gone into silent shy mode, nodded and followed Haley to the kitchen. Shrugging out of his jacket on the way, Wyatt draped it over a dining room chair. He kept the hood of his sweatshirt up as usual. Sam followed, leaving his coat on the chair next to his brother's.

Did he want coffee? Seeing how his pulse was still elevated, caffeine would probably be a bad idea. "Water would be good," he told her as she took a couple of mugs from the still-intact cabinet. "I've already had enough coffee this morning."

"I have bottled water in the fridge," she said. "Help yourself."

Wyatt accepted a cup of coffee and scanned the kitchen. Sam grinned at his brother. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Wyatt murmured, his gaze darting to Haley. "You did this?"

A few red blotches appeared on her neck. "Yes. I did this. Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"Other than the load-bearing wall, no. You haven't done anything wrong. It's just that there are a bunch of random starts and stops," Sam said, opening the refrigerator. He reached for a bottled water. "Usually, when folks do demolition, they finish one area before moving on to the next. I figure you went at it the way you did because you lacked the know-how and the confidence to continue. You'd start, doubt yourself and stop. Am I right?"

She surveyed the wall, and her forehead creased. "Probably," she conceded.

"I'm curious." Sam unscrewed the cap on the water and took a fortifying gulp. "Why didn't you buy a nice little condo or a townhouse, something new that didn't need fixing up? Your life would've been a lot simpler. Houses are a lot of work for one person to maintain on their own."

A few more red blotches appeared on her neck. "Can we just get started?" she snapped.

"Sure." Her tone only piqued his curiosity more. Haley marched out of the kitchen, leaving him and his brother to follow in her wake.

Wyatt flashed him a look. "Way to go, idiot."

"What?"

"You asked me what I thought about this mess, right?" Wyatt said, his voice barely above a whisper. He gestured toward the scattering of holes in the plaster walls, and the segment of kitchen counter that had been pulled from the wall. "Looks to me like she was one p.i.s.sed-off female when she did this. You're so dense."

"Well, at least I can talk to her."

Wyatt punched him in the shoulder as he pa.s.sed. "It might be better for all concerned if you didn't."

"Ouch." What had he done to deserve such persecution? It's not like he'd insulted Haley. He'd just voiced an opinion and asked a question. Sam followed his brother to the living room, and they draped the floors with drop cloths, forming a path to the bathroom.

Haley waited for them next to her bathroom door, a crowbar in hand. "I turned off the water from the downstairs valve into the house," she informed them, all business. "I have a half bathroom in the bas.e.m.e.nt. If you could leave the tub in here functional, I'll be OK for a few weeks."

"Will do." Sam slid by her and into the small s.p.a.ce. He caught a whiff of her clean scent, sweet, like fresh laundry and floral shampoo. The bathroom was too small for three people. He turned to survey the walls. "It's tight in here. It's going to be hard to work safely with three of us wielding sledgehammers and crowbars. I promise to let you tear out whatever you want in the kitchen, but would you mind standing outside of the bathroom? I can explain what we're doing each step of the way."

"Oh," she said with a sigh. "I see what you mean."

He nearly jumped at the sound of her voice so close. Turning around, he found her right behind him. Now they faced each other. Too close. Way too close. Her scent wafted over him, and every little breath she took, every minute movement she made affected him like he'd stuck his finger into a live electrical outlet. His mouth went dry while his heart beat double time. It took Herculean effort to keep from staring at the two inches separating her b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his chest, and he was already against the wall with no room to back up. He gripped her upper arms and physically moved her out of his personal s.p.a.ce and into the hall.

"Hey," she snapped. "We agreed. No touching."

"Hey," he snapped right back. "You were in my way. Watch and learn, but stay out of the bathroom. I don't want to be sued because you get hit by something."

Wyatt made a m.u.f.fled snorting noise, and Sam scowled at him. Haley did one of those female tongue-sucking sounds of annoyance and crossed her arms in front of her, drawing attention to her chest again.

Dammit. Was she taunting him on purpose? "After we take out the vanity, sink and toilet, we'll tear out the walls. There have been a lot of improvements over the years in the materials used in bathrooms. We'll replace the old stuff with more appropriate mold-resistant materials." He kept his eyes trained on the ugly pink and black plastic tiles covering the walls. "After we put in the plumbing for the shower, we'll install the new ceramic tile surround."

"Sounds good." She leaned against the door frame, her arms still crossed.

Sam ground his molars together. He and Wyatt had worked together for years-ever since they were old enough to follow their dad and grandfather around on jobs. Once they settled into the routine, he'd be fine, because he'd be concentrating on what he was doing.

Wyatt disa.s.sembled and capped the plumbing, and Sam unbolted the toilet from the floor. Then, he and Wyatt hauled the stuff out of the small s.p.a.ce and headed for the dumpster before starting on the walls.

Haley held the door for them as they carried load after load out of the house. By noon, her bathroom was gutted and stripped to the framing, with only the tub remaining intact.

He and Wyatt cleaned up as best they could, using Haley's Shop-Vac for the bits of particle board and dust left behind. Haley surveyed what had once been her bathroom, as he used a cloth to wipe the dust out of her tub. "You sure you don't want us to put in a new toilet today?" he asked. "We can pick one up at Home Depot. They aren't that expensive."

"I have the bathroom downstairs." She moved out of his way. "The bas.e.m.e.nt is kind of semi-finished. We had planned to remodel that as well, only not until after the main floor was done."

"We?" His brow rose. Haley's lips thinned into a straight line. The inadvertent slip of the tongue only confirmed his suspicion. She'd gone through a bad breakup. Yep. Emotional involvement only leads to emotional stress. Who needs it? Still, he wanted to know what had happened.

"Sam," Wyatt called from the living room. "I have to get going. Let's get the tools and drop cloths to the van."

"OK," he called back. "We have the measurements. I'll get your materials ordered on Monday, and we'll put a rush on them, so you don't have to go too long without a bathroom."

She nodded, still tight-lipped, and he caught a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. That got to him. "Well," he muttered, gathering up his sledgehammer, stud finder and crowbar. "We'll be back on Wednesday night to start on the kitchen tear-out."

"Right." Haley followed him to the front door. "And I get to do some of the work this time."

He grinned at the determination in her voice. He liked that about her. "You bet."

"See you on Wednesday," she said.

Wyatt's head bobbed, and he mumbled his good-bye. "See you then," Sam said as he walked out into the brisk afternoon, more than a little satisfied that he'd managed to discover a small piece of the Haley Cooper puzzle.

He and his brother stowed their stuff in the back of the van and climbed in. Sam started the beast and shivered. "So, what do you think?" he asked, glancing askance at Wyatt.

"She's pretty. Nice." Wyatt shrugged. "Somebody broke her heart, that's for sure. Maybe she was married, and went through a nasty divorce. Maybe she caught her husband cheating on her."

"Could be." Sam fiddled with the temperature controls while the van warmed up. "Or maybe she lost someone in an accident." He remembered the sadness he'd glimpsed in her eyes, and his heart turned over. He knew the feeling, the utter devastation left in the wake of losing a loved one. "I didn't see any pictures anywhere of her with a man though. I'm thinking a bad breakup."

"Of course, none of it is our business," Wyatt said, sending him another pointed look. "She's a client. Period."

"Right." Sam drove the van away from the curb. His curiosity had not been satisfied-not by a long shot. He wanted to know more about Haley, but that wouldn't happen with his brother hovering close, ready to punch him in the shoulder whenever he crossed that personal boundary with her. "Let's meet at her house on Wednesday night. That way, you don't have to drive all the way to my place first."

"Works for me. Six thirty, right?"

"Right." He planned to get there early, give himself time to ask a question or two. Twenty minutes ought to suffice. Once his curiosity was satisfied, he'd be able to figure out the whole setup thing. Then he'd stop obsessing about Haley and move on with his life. "I'll place her order this afternoon. That way, the vendors will get the purchase order first thing Monday morning. I'd like to get this job done as quickly as possible."

"Can't blame you." Wyatt grunted. "What with Grandpa Joe getting on your case about your . . . er . . . extracurricular activities and all, I'm sure Haley Cooper must seem like forbidden fruit."

That bit. He had as much control as the next guy when it came to women. "Again. It was not me who started things with anyone. I'm never going to live that radio show down, am I? It's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

"Probably, but Sam . . . it's not the radio thing that needs living down. It's what you were up to." Wyatt laughed. "And living that down isn't going to stop me from busting your chops every chance I get."

"Thanks, Wyatt. I know who not to go to when I need a sympathetic ear." Was his younger brother on to something with the forbidden fruit thing? Was he attracted to Haley simply because he couldn't have her? He'd give that some thought. In the meantime, he'd find out more about the we part of her life. He counted the days until he'd see her again. Five days was a long time to wait. Good thing he had plenty to do 'til then.

Chapter Five.

Haley tried on one pair of jeans after another. Sam was due to arrive at six thirty-with his brother, of course. Tossing her most recent denim selection over her footboard, she huffed out a breath. Ridiculous. Who cared how she looked? They were tearing out her kitchen, for crying out loud, not going out on a date.

She snapped and zipped the jeans she had on and scowled at the evidence of her momentary lapse in sanity-several pairs of jeans piled on top of her bed. Well, if anyone-anyone being Sam-caught a glimpse of the pile on her bed, they-meaning Sam again-would likely think she was cleaning out her dresser.

Haley headed for the takeout meal she'd set on the dining room table. She had thirty minutes to relax and eat, and she'd best take advantage. Who was she kidding? Even thinking about being anywhere in Sam's proximity made relaxation impossible. Being around him gave her a bad case of the jitters.

Even worse, something about him had her itching to run her hands all over those broad shoulders, firm chest-and his b.u.t.t. Especially his b.u.t.t. Yep, Sam the handyman had great glutes, firm and nicely rounded. Michael's b.u.t.t had been pretty much nonexistent. Flat, as if someone had let out all the air from both cheeks.

"Enough already," she muttered. Haley took a seat and opened the bag containing her soup and sandwich. She'd told Sam there would be no touching. That had to be the reason why she wanted so badly to touch him. Plus, he was a very fine specimen of masculinity. All that hardness under s.e.xy worn denim, soft flannel and white cotton T-shirts didn't help matters. Did he wear boxers or briefs?

Were those muscles a result of what he did for a living, or did he work out? She could see why some women threw themselves at him. She refused to be one of them. Is that why he insisted on calling her Ms. Cooper?

A flash of irritation burned through her. He was mocking her; she was sure of it. He probably saw her as uptight and prudish, just because she'd turned down his special touch. She grabbed the magazine she'd been reading. Not that she cared what he thought, but . . . if he could see what went on inside her head, then he'd know she was no prude. She grinned. Good thing he couldn't see the show-and-tell going on in there.

She finished her sandwich and turned the page of her magazine just as someone knocked on her front door. She checked her wall clock-it was only ten after six. She moved to the front door and peeked through the small window. Sam stood beneath the light, a crowbar and a sledgehammer in hand. He smiled at her, and her stomach performed all kinds of acrobatics. She opened the door and let him in. "You're early."

"Am I?" He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "Oh. Sorry. I thought it was later than it is. The clock on the dashboard of my van broke years ago, and it gets dark so early now, what with the end of daylight saving time a couple of weeks ago and all." He gestured toward said van with his thumb. "Do you want me to wait outside for twenty minutes? Because I-"

"No. Come in. I was just having my supper."

"I don't want to disturb you." He followed her to the dining room and leaned his tools against the wall.

"Where's Wyatt?" she asked.

"He's meeting me here. Mind if I fill my water bottle before we tear out your plumbing?"

"Go ahead." While he was gone, she lifted her tomato soup and took big hurried gulps from the cardboard container. No way did she want to eat soup in front of him. She was way too self-conscious around Sam as it was, and with him watching, she'd likely dribble soup down her chin.

He returned and settled himself at the table. "Tonight you get to do a supervised tear-out. You excited about that?" His eyes lit with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Was she? "Sure." Haley lifted the plastic spoon, dipped and sipped the little bit of soup that remained.

"So . . ." Sam traced a finger along the wood grain of her table. "While we were doing the bathroom tear-out, you mentioned remodeling the semi-finished bas.e.m.e.nt, and-"

"Are you angling for more work, Sam?"

"No." He shook his head. "I was just wondering. You said we that day, as in we planned to remodel the bas.e.m.e.nt. Who is we?"