Husband For Hire Read online

  Husband For Hire

  Copyright ©2001 by Michele R. Bardsley

  * * *

  To my grandmother, Virginia LaVerna Smith. I love you!

  To Ruth Kerce, Teri Heyer, and Nancy McLane. Your friendships mean the world to me.

  And, as always, for Dean, Katie, and Reid. Without you all, writing has no meaning.

  Michele R. Bardsley

  * * *

  Prologue

  Strong man needed to do household chores.Victoria Simms peered at the copy of her hand-written ad. Posting it in the grocery store had been pure genius. Guilt niggled her, but she squashed the feeling. That stubborn granddaughter of hers had avoided men since the Wedding Incident and enough was enough. Maggie needed love, deserved love...and a grandmotherly shove in the right direction.

  The doorbell rang. Victoria hurried to the front door and opened it. A young man stood before her--tall, broad-chested, lean, good-looking. He was dressed in a denim shirt, jeans, and work boots.

  Most folks thought being eighty years old was the same as being dead. Hah! Certainly wouldn’t hurt her eyes to look at a stud muffin all day. His name was...Alex Ross. Yes, that’s what he’d said on the phone this morning.

  She led him into the parlor of the two-story Victorian house and they sat on the comfortable brown sofa. A spring breeze filtered through the open windows, ruffling the lace curtains and Alex Ross’s brown hair. Victoria frowned. Maggie preferred blonde-haired men. Brown would have to do, though. She cataloged his other features. Straight nose--not too big. Kind smile. Blue eyes. Victoria liked blue eyes.

  "Do you have a high school diploma?" she asked.

  "I have a GED."

  "Education’s important. So is physical fitness." Victoria poked his stomach. "You don’t have a beer belly, do you?"

  Surprise registered in his nice blue eyes. She flashed him an oh-dear-I’m-just-an-eccentric-old-lady smile. He rubbed his stomach. "I work out when I can," he said.

  "Excellent. You mentioned on the phone that you were single. How do you feel about animals, children, and wives?"

  "I feel--"

  "Do you want a family? Nice house? A dog?"

  "Um...does this concern the job?"

  Victoria crossed her arms. "Of course it does. I wouldn’t ask irrelevant questions, would I?"

  "No, ma’am."

  "You’re a bright boy."And perfect for Maggie. Victoria told him how much she’d pay per week, then added, "as well as room and board."

  "I wasn’t expecting...that is, it’s a generous offer." He smiled. Victoria felt walloped. Wait till Maggie saw that smile!

  "What does the job involve, Mrs. Simms?"

  "Handyman-type stuff," she answered. Heck, she’d find something for him to do.

  She studied him as his thoughtful gaze examined the parlor. Her left knee ached.Left knee ache meant true love. Everybody in Tulsa knew her aches and pains never lied. She knew Alex Ross wasn’t anything like Maggie’s ex-fiancé. He wasn’t the kind of man to lie or steal. She felt it to the marrow of her bones.

  Victoria extended her hand. "You’re hired."

  * * *

  Chapter One

  The large muddy hole waited for her.Maggie Conrad stared at the watery muck because she had always faced reality head-on...and, well, she had no other choice. She’d rather stare at the ground, anyway, because the other option was to stare at her breasts as gravity slowly squeezed them out of her pink bikini top.

  At least hanging upside down from the seven foot Ladder of Death had certain advantages. Since all the blood had rushed to her head, she no longer felt the pain in her rope-entangled feet.

  Painting her grandmother’s shutters "Gingerbread Pink" should have been easy. When she tied the ropes around the paint cans and looped them over the ladder’s tray, she raised and lowered the heavy cans several times. Then she climbed up, putting her weight on the step with the printed warning "Do Not Stand On This." The ladder wiggled. She wiggled. She fell backwards. The ropes wrapped around her ankles, suspending her above a mud-filled hole.

  Attempts to reach up and disentangle herself had been useless. Her throat hurt from shouting for help. Unfortunately, she and Gran lived in a neighborhood of elderly people who loved bingo and naps. How long had Gran been gone to the store? Aeons. Hours.Twenty minutes.

  Maggie sighed, then closed her eyes, unable to look at her muddy destiny.

  "Is that a new way to do Yoga?"

  The deep, masculine voice startled Maggie. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at a jean-clad crotch. She closed her eyes, and opened them. The bulge was still there. It was rather large, she noticed. What was she thinking? She tried to wriggle away, but swayed forward, bumping intoit. The man jumped back, missing the water-filled hole by scant inches. Mortification scorched her cheeks. Suddenly, the puddle looked heavenly. With her face covered in mud she wouldn’t see the man who owned the crotch.

  "Hold still." The jeans moved forward. Her gaze riveted to the steel buttons glinting in the morning sunshine. Irrational panic consumed her.

  The crotch was returning.

  Maggie screamed. The man retreated. He hunkered down, his expression one of concern. At least that’s what it looked like from her funhouse view.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

  She swallowed her embarrassment, feeling foolish. He’d done nothing threatening. It wasn’t his fault, his, er, bulge was eye level to her. Pretending she wasn’t upside down and in pain, she said, "I’m fine. I’m just working out an act. I plan to join the circus."

  "I see."

  Her body protested its unnatural position. Her arms had lost sensation, and her breasts were about to introduce themselves to this stranger. "Please help me...without sticking your jeans in my face."

  He frowned. No, smiled. Maggie bent her neck, getting a sideways view of his face instead of an upside-down one. He was too young to be a neighbor and too handsome to be a comfort.

  "I don’t see how else I’m supposed to untie the ropes. I have to reach up there," he said.

  "Go to the other side."

  He shook his head. "Not enough room. How did you manage to get the ladder between the holly bushes,--" he pointed to the puddle "--this swamp and the house?"

  "I’m very talented," she grumbled. "Do what you have to, but do it quickly because I can’t feel my feet anymore."

  "Okay, I’m going to--" he cleared his throat"--press forward and untie your ankles. Wrap your arms around me and hang on so you won’t fall when I get you loose. I’ll hold onto your legs and lower you to the ground."

  Humiliation flooded her as the man stood and reached for her feet. Her breasts pressed against his flat stomach as she tucked her face between his legs. She hugged his muscular thighs and tried not think about the man’s anatomy, in particular, the part located under her chin.

  Maggie felt his grip around her knees as he tugged on the ropes. Then she felt a warm palm sliding between her thighs.

  "Hey!" she hollered, kicking her legs. "What kind of pervert are you?"

  The ropes loosened, and her knees connected with his shoulders as her feet were freed. She kept kicking. Considering the luck she’d had recently, the man was probably a serial killer. The panic she’d felt earlier returned a hundredfold.

  "Hey, what the--"

  He tilted, his sneakered feet scrambling for purchase on the wet grass. His grip on her legs tightened and Maggie had no choice but to hold on for dear life as they both tumbled into the puddle.

  Maggie spluttered as gritty water showered her face and filled her mouth. Since she’d landed on top, she had the advantage. She quickly turned around and plunked herself squarely on the man’s chest with enough force to expel wha
tever air he had left in his lungs--which couldn’t be much considering how hard he’d smacked into the ground. Mud and grass covered his face and hair and most of his clothes. A pair of blue eyes blinked at her as he tried to draw in a breath.

  Maggie put her hand against his throat, pressing against his windpipe. "Don’t move,

  buster, I know karate." He didn’t need to know she’d learned it from watchingKung Fu reruns. One thing Gran had taught her was when you didn’t know what to do, improvise.

  "I surrender," he gasped out, holding up his hands.

  "Who are you?"

  "Alex Ross."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Rescuing a crazy woman."

  Maggie knew she was overreacting. It wasn’t like the man had actually touched her in an inappropriate place--but maybe he hadn’t gotten the chance. On the other hand, he had rescued her. On the otherother hand, she’d never been so embarrassed in her life--not even when Harrison had ditched her at the altar.

  She leaned forward. "I appreciate you helping me out, but copping a feel was rude."

  "Copping a feel? I was trying to adjust your shorts over the view."

  What view? Oh heavens. Maggie realized her loose shorts--the biggest pair she owned and had chosen for comfort--must have fallen down and revealed her underwear. Her thong underwear. She looked down at her so-called rescuer. Oh yeah. He had been concerned about her indecent exposure when her face had been a mere inch from his--. "You shouldn’t have looked," she accused.

  His brows rose as if to say, "How could I not?" Then he grinned, his teeth flashing white through his muddied features. His stomach muscles flexed under her rear end and Maggie realized she hadn’t fooled him with her karate routine. He was allowing her to sit on his chest and bully him.

  The realization came too late. Before Maggie could scramble off, he grabbed her wrists and flipped her onto her back. She should be scared. Terrified. Yelling murder or help or fire or something.

  His eyes held a teasing glint, and his body was relaxed, not rigid with tension or intent to harm. What an odd thing to realize about a serial killer, she thought dazedly. She probably had a concussion.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  Maggie didn’t answer, instead she considered her options. She could knee him, she supposed. She flexed her fingers, noting that his hands lightly held her wrists.

  For a long moment they stared at each other, and Maggie wished a fissure would open beneath her. A woodsy scent--his cologne--filtered into her senses. She heard the buzz of bees around the honeysuckle bushes, the start of a lawnmower, the rapid beating of her own heart.

  "Maybe you’re a cat burglar." His grin widened. "A bungling cat burglar. I need to hold you for questioning until Mrs. Simms gets home."

  Mrs. Simms? Her grandmother! Relief coasted through her. If he knew Gran, then maybe he was a neighbor’s grandson or gardener or—

  "Maggie!" Gran’s voice trilled. "I see you’ve met Alex."

  The man rolled off Maggie. She balanced on her elbows and stared at her grandmother.

  Gran smiled down as if Maggie andAlex weren’t covered in mud. She acted as though she caught this Alex person hovering over her only granddaughter all the time.

  "Alex, er, Mr. Ross is my new handyman. He’s going to help us out around the house."

  "What?"

  "Dear, don’t you think you ought to get changed?" Gran’s gaze transferred from Maggie’s mud-spattered clothes to the ladder. "What were you doing?"

  "Painting the shutters," answered Maggie. She glanced at Alex, who had stripped off his white t-shirt, turned it inside out, and used it to wipe his face. The curly brown hair on his chest narrowed down his washboard stomach, the silky line of hair disappearing into the jeans. Tan, muscled, and good-looking. She looked at her grandmother and frowned. Suspicion crept through Maggie like a cautious spider. What was going on?

  "Why do you need a handyman?"

  Gran waved airily. "To do...things. You know."

  "No, I don’t know. Besides, I live here now so I can help you."

  "You’ll be bored senseless doing manual labor, Maggie dear. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be looking for a job?"

  The reminder about her joblessness led to another reminder about her newly-acquired single status which led to the yucky, achy, crappy feelings she’d been fighting for the last six weeks. She wanted to dive back into the puddle and stay there. Instead, she stood and wiped away the mud on her arms and stomach.

  Gran tsked tsked, then made shooing motions at Maggie. "Go take a shower, Maggie Lynn Conrad. Alex, you need one, too. Go on, now, both of you!"

  "Mrs. Simms, are you suggesting I shower with this woman?"

  "Alex, you devil!" Gran slapped her thigh and hooted.

  Maggie whirled around.

  Alex’s mouth quirked up at the corners, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. He shrugged. "If it means keeping my job, I’ll suffer through it," he said sadly.

  Maggie fumed at the pitiful look he sent her. It was laced with just enough lasciviousness to make her want to poke out his eyes.

  "Of course, you won’t be shower-sharing with my granddaughter. It’s not proper." Gran winked at Maggie. "Fun, but definitely not proper."

  Maggie escaped to the back of the house. She trudged up the three steps and opened the screen door. She plopped down on the floor of the enclosed porch and began to take off her dirty socks and shoes.

  Something about Alex Ross bothered her. He was too...handsome, she decided. And he had an irritating dimple near the right corner of his mouth.

  Until recently, Maggie believed people had good intentions. She believed in giving everyone the benefit of a doubt and third chances, but after Harrison's double betrayal, she’d seriously re-evaluated those beliefs.

  The problem with her, she’d realized, was she had "doormat" written in invisible ink on her forehead. No more! Alex Ross set off all kinds of internal alarms. She’d keep an eye on him. If he displayed one evil tendency she would call the police or mace him or something.

  The door screeched and Maggie looked up. Alex entered, his muscled torso gleaming with sweat and dirt. She tore her gaze from the view and concentrated on the knot in the tennis shoe strings.

  "Need help?"

  Startled, Maggie dropped the strings. "No thanks."

  He tilted his head. "I’m sorry I saw your underwear."

  "If you don’t mind," she said, again gripping her slimy shoe strings, "I don’t want to discuss my underwear."

  "Red’s my favorite color."

  Maggie pretended not to hear him.

  "Give me a second chance. After all, you had a bird’s eye view of my--"

  "Don’t say another word," she cried, yanking off the shoe. She stood and pointed the no longer white Ked at him. "I wasn’t anywhere nearit. "

  "It?" His brows rose, his blue eyes bright with merriment.

  Obviously, he liked teasing, no, tormenting her. Maggie sucked in a breath. She knew this was a losing battle and decided to withdraw. She dropped the shoe and it thunked to the porch. "I appreciate your rescue. Really."

  "Ms. Conrad?"

  At the question in his voice, she dared another look into his eyes. Sincerity had replaced the amusement. "I’m sorry about trying to fix your shorts. I shouldn’t have touched you like that."

  Surprise fluttered through her. The man appeared to be an endless contradiction. A man who relished teasing her with innuendos one moment, only to repent the next.

  "Apology accepted." She turned to go into the house, but stopped, clenching the door’s metal handle. No more Ms. Nice Girl. Just because he had a cute dimple and big blue eyes didn’t mean Alex Ross was a good guy. Harrison had been a good guy; too, right up to the moment he’d stolen her job and her dream of a husband and family. She looked at Alex over her shoulder. "Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Ross, you won’t be around for long."

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  The next a
fternoon, Maggie cornered Gran in the kitchen. Leaning against the blue-tiled counter, she watched her grandmother stir soy sauce on the sizzling contents in the wok.

  "How can you afford a handyman?" she asked.

  "I’m rich. Besides, you’ve been piddling around here instead of getting on with your life. You need to forget about Hairyman."

  "Harrison," corrected Maggie. Had it only been six weeks since he’d eloped with Sheila of the Tight Leopard-print Pants while Maggie waited in a suffocating white lace wedding dress with 600 people she didn’t know? At least his desertion meant giving back the ugly family heirloom engagement ring. She didn’t mind the three-karat diamond--just the gold "spinners" attached, each with one tiny gold letter, which spelled "Dimmons." Maggie shuddered. As heir to Dimmons and Sons Toy Company, Harrison had passed on the one-of-a-kind betrothal ring his great-grandfather had created in a fit of romantic whimsy. After she returned the ring, she received a pink slip for her trouble.