Marie Ferrarella - One Plus One Makes Marriage

“Are you out of your mind, trying to do this by yourself?”

The inspector was back, coming to her rescue despite his annoyed question. Melanie tried to suppress the smile that rose to her lips and only partially succeeded. Whoever had named him Lance knew what they were doing.

Lance had taken off his jacket as he’d made his way to the rear of the store and slung it now over the back of a forest green wing chair. With two neat moves, he’d folded up his sleeves.

All her life Melanie had been taught that while people were kinder than they liked you to believe, the best person to rely on in any given situation was herself. She took this approach even with Joy, who was the first to admit that though she was the taller of the two, she was a weakling. This wasn’t the first shipment that Melanie had wrestled with on her own.

She shrugged in reply to his reprimand. The man’s heart was in the right place, but his attitude needed some fine tuning before it could claim the same thing.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Melanie told him.

She was still holding on to the handles. Was he going to have to pry them out of her hands?

Lance looked at her expectantly as his hand covered hers. After a beat, Melanie withdrew hers, that same funny little smile he didn’t know what to make of on her lips.

“Harder-headed at any rate,” he allowed. “Move out of the way,” Lance ordered when she remained standing where she was. “This isn’t a two-man job, and even if it were, you wouldn’t be one of them.”

Obliging him, Melanie raised both hands in a sign of surrender as she stepped to the side. But she was grinning as she did it. “Is that your way of telling me I’m petite and delicate?”

Where had she gotten that interpretation from? Lance wondered. She’d twisted his words into a compliment, when he’d meant nothing of the sort. Although he had to admit, looking at her, that she was both petite looking and delicate. But noting that hadn’t been his intent.

He scowled at her. She was making him late for his next appointment. Lance sincerely missed the routine solitude of his work and hoped they’d find a replacement for Kelly soon.

“That’s my way of telling you to get out of the way.” He could feel his muscles straining as he kept the dolly level and at an angle. What the hell was she thinking of, trying to work this? “You probably hear a lot of that,” he couldn’t help adding. How had she even managed to wedge the platform under the pile of crate? Glancing at her, he decided that maybe she was stronger than she looked. “Where do you want this to go?”

“In the storeroom.” Melanie pointed to the back, then realized that he had to know where it was. “But I imagine that you’re already acquainted with where that is.”

Yeah, he was “acquainted” with her storeroom. “Violations three and four,” he muttered, struggling to turn the dolly around. What did she have in this boxes, anyway, anvils? They were a lot heavier and more unwieldy than they looked. If he wasn’t careful, the whole stack was going to collapse. Lance didn’t particularly like the prospect of getting egg on his face.

Melanie saw the way his muscles were straining as he pushed the dolly. “I really appreciate you stopping to do this for me.”

He only grunted in reply, his expression telling her that he didn’t think much of her gratitude. Melanie moved in front of him, hurrying to open the door. Holding it with her back, she watched as he pushed the first stack of crates into the room. He accomplished that a lot faster than she would have, she thought.

He looked around for a likely spot. “Where do you want this?”

Melanie left the door open, letting more air in. When he’d passed her, the room temperature had suddenly felt a great deal hotter to her. He was radiating heat, and it left her just the tiniest bit unsettled.

“Wherever I won’t get violations five and six,” she answered cheerfully, gesturing around the room.

With a dark look Lance angled the dolly out from beneath the bottom box, leaving the pile stacked in the middle of the floor.

“Isn’t this violating some code of yours?” she asked, watching him.

“There’s nothing wrong with leaving them in the middle of the storeroom,” Lance said tersely.

“I mean helping me.” Her question went unanswered as Lance returned to the showroom to get the remaining stack of crates. Rather than follow him, she waited until he returned.

He wasn’t very talkative, Melanie thought. Not like John Kelly, who enjoyed having an audience and reminiscing about his early days with the fire department.

Melanie watched, with a deep appreciation of the male body, as Lance worked the second and last stack of boxes free of the dolly. He had biceps as hard as rocks, she noted. He also had a deep, long scar running along one of them that became an angry red as he strained. It was too fresh looking to be very old.

She waited until he finished. “Now why wouldn’t you let me do that in the first place?”

He had a question of his own. Why couldn’t she just accept what he’d done without subjecting it to scrutiny? Annoyed with himself for bothering to help, Lance shoved the dolly away. Unsteady, the dolly tottered like a drunk, then finally clattered to the floor.

“Because that would be favoritism.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “I don’t believe in favoritism.”

She could accept that, she thought as she picked up the dolly and righted it. “But you do believe in being helpful.”

“Not particularly.” Without bothering to look at her, Lance took down the highest crate and set it on the floor. One at a time, they weren’t so bad. For him, he thought. She would have had a hard time of it. It didn’t occur to him to wonder what she normally did when a shipment came in. That wasn’t his concern.

Neither was this, he upbraided himself, taking down another crate and setting it beside the first.

“You came back to help me,” she pointed out. Melanie caught her breath as he swung down a crate from the second stack. “Careful, that one’s fragile.”

So was she, he thought absently. As fragile looking as the china dolls his aunt kept on display. Setting the box down gently, he realized that was what had teased his mind before. Her store. It was along the same lines of his aunt’s dining room. The same kind of furniture. The same subdued scent of vanilla and polish. Maybe that was what had prompted him to help, he thought. That sense of familiarity.

But she didn’t need to know any of that. Lance shrugged. “I saw your reflection in the glass door. You looked as if you thought you could tackle this on your own.”

It was obvious he thought she was crazy for thinking that. “I could.” She waited a beat, then added, “Given time.” For his benefit, she flexed a muscle the way weight lifters did and almost succeeded in getting the smile she was after. “I have strong peasant blood running through my veins.”

“More like running over your floor if you’re not careful. If you get these deliveries in regularly, you should hire yourself a stockboy.” He put the last box down on the floor. “Preferably a strong one.” He dusted off his hands. “There.” Now his conscience was clear, though why it shouldn’t have been in the first place still wasn’t entirely apparent to him. Lance rolled down his sleeves as he walked out of the storeroom. “See about getting the other violations corrected. And don’t be late paying the fine,” he warned her.

“Yes, sir.”

Lance was certain McCloud was mocking him as she saluted. The dimple in her cheek didn’t help his concentration any, either.

On impulse, Melanie looked around before she spied what she was after. “Perfect,” she declared, hurrying away.