"I couldn't. I'm still full from Thanksgiving." She grinned and continued on.

A few minutes later, she walked into his office. "What have you got for me?"

He handed her a sheet of paper with notes scrawled on the front. "I have some research I need you to do for me."

"When do you need it by?"

"End of the week?"

She scanned the sheet. "No problem."

"Say." He straightened the notepads on his desk. "The firm's Christmas party is coming up."

"I know. I got the same e-mail you did," she teased.

"You want to go together?"

The firm always had their party early because the senior partners took vacation time over the holiday. They also allowed their staff to bring a significant other or a date. Her heart gave a painful squeeze. This would be her first Bremmer, Stevens & Schmitt Christmas party without Michael. "Wait." Haley frowned. "I thought you were seeing someone? Josh, right? I thought he was the love of your life?"

"Yeah, well, so did I." He shrugged. "It didn't pan out like I'd hoped. We didn't want the same things."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" Haley moved to sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Not here. Maybe over drinks after work sometime."

"Plan on it," Haley said with a sympathetic smile. Like her, Brent wanted a life partner and a family, and yet they were both still single. Brent was nice looking and had so much to offer, and he was such a wonderful man. She couldn't understand why someone didn't jump at the chance to be with him. The two of them had bonded over their thwarted dreams shortly after Michael had dumped her. "Sure. Let's go to the Christmas party together. It'll give us a chance to get caught up."

"Great. I'll pick you up at seven."

"Brent, do you mind if I ask a question?" She fidgeted with the sheet of paper in her hands.

"Not at all. Fire away."

"You met Michael more than once."

"Yes?"

"Is he . . . Do you think Michael is gay?" she asked. "Did you get that vibe from him?" Sam popped into her mind. Where Michael had been slight and more brain than brawn, Sam was broad, rugged, with callused hands and a scruffy, totally masculine attractiveness. He had the kind of physique to make a woman drool. She forced him out of her head and focused on Brent.

"Oh. I don't know, Haley. My gaydar has never been all that reliable. In fact, in my case, I suspect my perceptions are more wishful thinking than anything else." Now it was his turn to give her a sympathetic smile. "All I can offer is a maybe. It makes sense though, given what happened. Sorry I can't be more certain."

"That's OK." She rose. "I have a brief to finish this morning. Once that's done, I'll start on this research."

She walked down the hall to her tiny office, her mind on anything but work. Would getting over Michael be any easier if she went with the he's gay theory? Probably not, because it would only be conjecture. Before she could move on, she needed to know why Michael bailed on her the way he had.

His parents would know how to reach him. Would they be willing to share his contact information? Of course they would. She'd been close to the entire family once upon a time. She'd gone on vacations with the Swensons and spent as much time with them as she had with her own folks.

After Michael had bolted, she'd been too emotionally wrecked to reach out to him and demand the answers she so desperately needed. Maybe it was time she did. Her heart pounded at the thought. She'd been so devastated and humiliated. Even if her life had depended upon it, she couldn't have faced Michael's parents at the time. Could she face them now? She had to. If she really wanted to move on, she had to.

Chapter Six.

The homeowner, an attractive blonde with a lush body, stood too close behind Sam. She'd been brushing against him all morning. He tried to ignore her and set his level on top of the wall rack he'd installed for her pots and pans.

"Perfect," he declared. He'd done a few other repairs for her, and the rack had been the last item on the list. He placed the level into his tool box and took the invoice from his clipboard, placing the paper on her granite-topped center island. "Anything else you need done before I leave?"

She sidled up close and waved a check between her fingers. "Absolutely. I have a few things in need of . . . attention, if you catch my drift." She traced the check down his chest to his tool belt and tucked it inside. "Stay a while?"

Whoa! His pulse kicked up, and he backed away. "Uh . . . sorry, can't. I have hockey coaching in . . ." He checked the time. Geez, he didn't have to coach for another four hours. The kids probably hadn't even had their school lunches yet. "Look, you're really attractive and all, but I can't do this kind of thing anymore. I'll lose my job."

"You're a Haney." She looked askance at him. "Isn't the company called Haney & Sons?" She took a step closer and walked her fingertips up his torso. "Come on, Sam. It's early."

He tensed, but not with the usual s.e.xual antic.i.p.ation. This time, it was more like . . . irritation with a pinch of alarm. What the h.e.l.l? "Nope. Sorry. Can't." He threw his things into his tool box, grabbed his coat and bolted for the door. When had he ever left a job so fast? Never.

He started his van, drove a few blocks and pulled over again to get himself together. He got out and removed his tool belt, retrieving the check to stow in his wallet. Wow. He'd turned her down, and she was a nice-looking woman-a friendly, recently divorced, uninvolved woman.

Sam climbed back into the van and ran his hands over his face. He frowned, not because he'd rejected her, but because of the way he'd reacted-the irritation, the mad dash without a backward glance, the shaking hands. Had she hired him based solely on his reputation as the handsiest handyman in the Twin Cities?

It had only been a handful of years since Haney & Sons had started offering handyman services, and in the entire history of his life, being the object of women's fantasies had been a mere blip on his timeline. Admittedly, he'd enjoyed being used. So what was different about today? The adrenaline rush, the fight-or-flight response-definitely a new and unusual response, and he'd been thrown for a loop.

There had to be a logical explanation. Of course, he had taken a lot of flak from his grandparents lately. Plus, Grandpa Joe had ordered him to cease and desist with the above-and-beyond services he'd been providing to some of his female clients. Wyatt and Josey had been teasing him relentlessly too. Especially Wyatt, whose comments were barbed more often than not. What was his brother's deal, anyway? Then there were the social media attacks on his character, not to mention the insinuations about his lack of skill as a carpenter.

Clearly he was under way more stress than he'd realized. "Yep. It's stress. That's all there is to it," he muttered, tossing his tool belt onto the pa.s.senger seat. "What else could it be?"

Eventually, everyone would forget about Loaded Question, including his family. He couldn't go back to the way things had been on the job, but that was OK. There were plenty of places to meet women who wanted the same thing he did, no strings, no involvement. And once he'd proven to a certain brunette that he wasn't lacking in carpentry skills, he'd be fine.

Thinking about that certain brunette started a slide show playing through his brain: Haley attacking her kitchen walls with her face all cute and blotched from her efforts; the way she crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him. He recalled the hurt he'd glimpsed in her eyes when she'd talked about her idiot ex, and his heart wrenched for her.

He had another job to do today. An elderly couple needed some caulking done, a shelf installed and a few things tightened around their home. He put his van into gear and headed for the office. Lunch, job and then coaching-all things he could handle, and none of them involved women.

Twenty minutes later, Sam pulled into his parking spot at Haney & Sons. Familiar surroundings and family, that's what he needed right now. He climbed out of the van and headed for the kitchen, stomping his feet against the concrete steps before entering. His grandmother was there, taking something out of the oven. He inhaled. "Mmm. Smells amazing in here, Gram. What's for lunch?"

"Turkey pot pie." She set the pan on top of the stove to cool and turned off the oven.

Jerry entered the kitchen, and Sam grinned at him. "How's my favorite cousin?"

"G-good. We coaching today?" Jerry walked to the sink and washed his hands.

"Not tonight, Jer. Practice is on Tuesday and Thursday this week. I'll pick you up here after work tomorrow." He joined his cousin at the sink. "Be ready."

His Uncle Dan, Uncle Jack and Gramps appeared deep in conversation about the Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. Sam dried his hands and waited for a break in their debate. "Grandpa Joe, all I've been doing lately is handyman work. Can you put me on a construction crew for a few months?" Sam asked. "I don't want my skills as a carpenter to get rusty."

If he worked construction, he wouldn't have to deal so directly with clients, especially the female variety. He'd have a crew with him as a buffer, too, just in case. There were drawbacks, though. His time would be way more constrained, and he'd be doing pretty much the same thing every day. On the pro side, working construction would give him time to weather the Loaded Question storm until the debris settled.

"If you want." Grandpa Joe's bushy brows rose slightly. "Smells delicious in here, honey," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Gramps kissed Gram on the cheek and took a seat before turning back to Sam. "Next Monday I'll put you on the crew with Josey. We're doing the interior finishing work on a custom house we're hoping to complete by Christmas. Can't guarantee I can keep you busy all winter without handyman jobs, but I'll do my best."

"Great. Thanks." The tightness in his neck and shoulders eased. Sam grabbed the caddy holding utensils and napkins from the counter and set it on the table, just as Wyatt, Josey and two of his cousins stomped in through the kitchen door, and lunch commenced in earnest. Sam relaxed into the welcome, familiar routine, exactly what he needed after this morning's fiasco.

The chatter went on around him, and his mind drifted to Haley again. He really ought to stop that, but . . . what would his grandparents think of her enthusiasm as a destroyer of walls and cabinets? He conjured a mental picture, Haley in a skimpy superhero costume, swinging her magical sledgehammer and shouting out battle cries at her plaster and sheetrock enemies. He chuckled.

"What's f-funny, Sam?" Jerry said around a mouthful of Gram's pot pie.

"Just thinking about something I saw a few days ago that made me laugh." He grinned. "It's stuck in my head."

Wyatt peered down the table at him. "Care to share?"

"Nope. It's one of those you-had-to-be-there things." Sam turned his full attention to the flaky crust and steaming turkey and vegetables before him. Wyatt had been there. His brother would really give him a hard time if he knew how often Haley popped into his mind. Forbidden fruit?

What would Ms. Cooper think about being viewed as forbidden fruit? What would she be? A peach? A ripe plum? He conjured another image of Haley in some kind of fruit costume, like those old Fruit of the Loom ads. He could see her as a juicy peach, and he definitely wanted to take a bite. He almost chuckled again, but checked himself.

Haley was interesting, likeable, and she made him laugh. That's all. No reason why he couldn't enjoy her company while on the job. Their personal boundaries were well drawn and intact. Sure, he was attracted to her, but he had control, and the job would be done soon enough.

Haley watched the muscles of Sam's forearms as he positioned the two four-by-six wooden beams in the entry between her kitchen and dining room. He'd pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. How could she not ogle his flexing muscles? And his hands. He had great hands. She stood close enough to catch a whiff of him. Was that Irish Spring soap? Mixed with a hint of aftershave or body spray and his own unique smell, the mixture went straight to her head. Mmm. "Where's Wyatt tonight?"

"A few Monday nights a month he plays basketball with a bunch of friends. We don't need him for this anyway," he said, tapping the beams into place with a mallet. "See how I made a V with these two joists to support the load-bearing crossbeam?" He pointed to the exposed horizontal beam above their heads. "Now we can safely widen the opening without fear that the second floor will come crashing down on us."

"Ahh, I see," she muttered, because he looked at her as if he expected some kind of response. She leaned against the exposed wood and continued to watch.

"We're going to use a bit more finesse than . . ." He straightened, his expression serious and-was that condescension? "See, we don't widen entryways by attacking them with sledgehammers, Haley. The first thing we need to do is make sure there aren't any water pipes, gas lines or electrical wires behind the drywall we plan to take out." He placed his hand on the wall in question.

"As much as you love to wield that thing, no more sledgehammers for you, Ms. Cooper. We're going to use a drywall saw"-he held up a tiny hand saw with a blade only about five inches long-"to carefully cut out a beveled rectangle so we can check what's behind the plaster before we start."

"Why beveled?"

"So if you change your mind, or we find an obstruction behind the wall, the piece we cut out will fit back into the hole without falling through." He used a straight edge to draw a rectangle and started cutting. "See how I have the blade positioned to create the beveled edge?"

She nodded. He was so dang earnest, so serious about teaching her how to go about carpentry the right way. Adorable. Her poor heart melted into a glob of marshmallow cream. She placed her hand on the exposed mess she'd made of the entryway and pushed off to get a closer look. Her palm slid down the wood. "Ouch! Cheese and crackers." She shook her hand.

"What'd you do?" Sam put his saw on top of the stove and grabbed her hand.

"Sliver." Haley bit her lip. A huge splinter, at least an inch long, had embedded itself into the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb.

He chuckled. "Cheese and crackers?"

"My mom says that instead of cursing or taking the big guy's name in vain." She shrugged. "I guess I picked it up over the years."

"Well, come on. Let's get you patched up." He kept hold of her hand and tugged her toward the bathroom. "Where's your first aid kit?"

"It's in the linen closet."

"Here you go." He flipped on her brand-new light fixture and guided her to the edge of the bathtub. "Sit."

While Sam went after the first aid kit, Haley forced her attention to something other than the stinging sliver. She admired her new shower with its ceramic tile surround, the fresh walls, already primed and ready for paint, and the new light fixture she'd picked up on sale months ago.

Her sink, vanity and mirrored medicine cabinet, along with the toilet, were going to be delivered and installed this coming Wednesday. She'd have a fully functioning up-to-date bathroom by next weekend. Could she afford to have Sam help her remodel the half story upstairs? An office, or a nice guest bedroom with a bathroom would be perfect.

Sam returned, first aid kit in hand. He sat beside her on the edge of the tub, opened the kit and set it on his lap. "How are you holding up?"

She rolled her eyes. "It stings, but I'm pretty sure I'll live."

"I'm going to take out the sliver, then we're going to wash your hand and apply some of this"-he held up a tube of antibacterial cream-"generic brand stuff."

"You're still in instructor mode." Haley grinned. "This is what I'm going to do, because it's the correct way to remove splinters," she said, mimicking him in a deep voice.

"Is that how I sound?" He took the tweezers from the plastic box and clamped onto the end of the piece of wood stuck under her skin. "I'm going to remove the sliver now. This might hurt a bit, so I want you to brace yourself."

She giggled. "See?"

"Mm-mm." He bent over her palm, concentrating on his task.

"Ouch," she whispered as the piece of wood came out.

Sam dropped the sliver into a plastic bucket filled with construction debris, put the tweezers away and set the medicine kit on the edge of the tub next to him. He leaned close and reached for the tub faucets. She turned her face up to thank him just as he tipped his head down, and . . . somehow, their lips met in the middle. Whoa. How'd that happen?

He kissed her, or . . . did she kiss him? A pleasurable shock wave washed through her. His touch was so achingly tender, so sweet, and his lips were perfectly warm and soft, she scarcely dared to breathe. His arm came around her, and he drew her closer. Surrounded by his heat, scent and hardness, she sizzled. Where had she put her fire extinguisher, because she was about to go up in flames.

Hadn't they agreed to no touching? Did she care?

He pulled back, his breathing labored. "I . . . uh . . . I didn't mean to-"

"A sympathy kiss?" She slid away and turned toward the faucets. Her hands shook as she washed them.

"Right. You were hurt, and I . . ." He cleared his throat and picked up the first aid kit. "Here's the antibacterial cream."

"I won't fire you this time, Sam, since the kiss had more to do with compa.s.sion than pa.s.sion." Ha! What a crock. Especially since she may have been the one who kissed first, though she'd never admit that to him. Worse, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck, straddle his lap and demand more.

"You can't fire me, Haley. I thought we already established this."

"Yes I can. It's my house." She dried her hands on her jeans and applied the cream.

"No you can't. You didn't hire me, and you're not paying me." He arched an eyebrow and his eyes filled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You'd have to get Trudy to fire me. Do you want to have your mother do that for you? What would you give her for a reason?"

"I'm not going to have you fired, then," she conceded. "You do good work, Sam."

"I do my best." He stood up, a Band-Aid at the ready in his hands.

Haley rose and lifted her palm, expecting a quick application. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed away the sting. Could hearts sigh? Because that's what hers did the moment his lips touched her skin.

He applied the Band-Aid and grinned sheepishly. "It's a Haney tradition to kiss the hurt away."

"Yeah?" What else could she say? Hey, there's a spot right between my shoulder blades that hurts, or . . . remember when I hit my funny bone against the wall? She could easily come up with a long list of hurts for Sam the Handyman to kiss. Not good. Not good at all. Remember all the other women those lips have pressed against?

"Thanks, Sam. Let's get back to work."