Сьюзен Мэллери - One In A Million

“No. They’re all—” He broke off and laughed. “Wait. I forgot. One of them is a rebel. He’s a firefighter.”

Which wasn’t the same as being a cop, but it was close. Kevin was a U.S. Marshal, Gage a sheriff. Nash worked for the FBI and Quinn, well, Quinn walked his own road.

“It’s in the blood,” he said.

Kevin nodded. “That’s what they’re telling me. Earl Haynes was sheriff of this town for years. He has a bunch of brothers and they’re all in law enforcement. Maybe we’re following our destiny.”

Destiny? Nash didn’t believe in that kind of crap. He’d gone to work for the FBI because he’d been recruited out of college. Of all the offers he’d received, it was the one that had appealed the most.

“I’ve seen Gage,” Kevin said. “We’ve known him and Quinn all our lives, played together, fought, made up. I’m having trouble getting that we were always brothers.”

“We acted like brothers,” Nash said. “Still, I’m with you. I figured we were good friends, nothing more.”

Did the new knowledge change anything? He wasn’t sure.

“The dinner tomorrow night is going to be a zoo,” Kevin said. “The guys, their wives and kids. If I can pull together lunch with just a few of the brothers are you interested?”

“Sure.” Nash didn’t like crowds.

Kevin jerked his head toward the ceiling. “There are a few empty rooms. Want to come stay here?”

“I’m okay where I am.”

“You sure?”

He knew Kevin thought he was avoiding contact with the world, but that wasn’t it at all. If his brother pressed him he would say that packing and unpacking was a pain, which was a lie, but would get him off the hook. The truth was something else. For the first time in two years, he’d actually felt a glimmer of interest in something other than work. He knew his sexual stirrings and physical hunger didn’t mean anything, but he was intrigued enough to want to stick around and see what happened next.

Nash hung out with Kevin and Haley until early afternoon, then headed back to Serenity House. When he entered the high-ceilinged foyer, he hesitated, not sure what to do with the rest of his day. As much as he wanted to check in with the office, he knew it was too soon. Calling now would simply prove his boss’s point.

He walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. The tidy room was empty. He strolled into the hallway and listened. There was only silence. A quick check of the garage told him what he’d suspected. He was alone.

The knowledge should have relieved him. He didn’t like a lot of company, preferring solitude to vapid chatter. He liked the quiet. Only not today. Right now he felt restless and out of place. It was as if his skin had suddenly gotten too small.

He turned toward the stairs and took three steps, then stopped. He didn’t want to read or watch TV. He considered another long drive, but that didn’t appeal to him. Finally, in desperation for a distraction, he moved into the back of the house.

In the utility room he found the washer still in pieces. He opened the lid and stared at the tub full of clothes and water, then studied the dial. After skimming the manual, he figured out the washer had stopped right before the spin cycle. He pushed aside the parts and tools, then settled on the floor. There was a schematic of the interior of the machine, along with a parts list. Nash laid the diagram flat on the floor and began sorting through tools and parts.

Over an hour later, Nash had found the problem and, he hoped, fixed it. He’d just started on reassembling the machine when he heard a door slam in the house. The wrench he’d been holding dropped to the floor.

He swore good-naturedly as he picked it up. If he was dropping tools in anticipation of seeing Stephanie, he was in even more trouble than he’d first thought. Finding her sexy was one thing, but actual nerves weren’t allowed.

He turned as the footsteps approached, but instead of the petite blonde he’d been expecting, a boy stepped into the room.

Nash remembered the other two kids had been younger and identical twins. So this one would be Stephanie’s oldest. He offered a smile.

“Hi, there.”

The boy didn’t smile back. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes as he studied Nash. “You’re not the repair guy.”

“You’re right. I’m Nash Harmon. I’m a guest here.”

Nash wiped his hand on a paper towel and held it out. The boy hesitated, then slowly offered his own hand.

“Brett Wynne.”

They shook slowly. Nash had the feeling he was being given the once-over and judging from Brett’s expression, he wasn’t measuring up.

“Why are you messing with our washer?” Brett asked. “Guests aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing. If you break it worse, Mom’s gonna be real mad. Plus it’ll cost more to fix.”

The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve. Tall and skinny, with light blond hair and blue eyes like his mother. Of course his father could have had blue eyes, too.

He looked hostile, protective and painfully young. No kid that age should have to feel as if he was all that stood between his family and a hostile world.

Nash carefully set the wrench on the ground. Brett’s fierce scowl and hostile words brought back memories from a long time ago. Back when Nash had felt he was the one responsible for making sure his mom and brother were safe. The accompanying feelings weren’t comfortable.

“You have a point,” he said quietly. “I am a guest here. The thing is, this morning the battery was dead on my rental car, so your mom gave me a jump. I wanted to pay her back for that. She’d been working on the washer when I found her and asked her to help me. She’s a real classy lady, so I knew she wouldn’t let me pay her. That’s when I thought of the washer.”

Brett’s expression softened a little, but he didn’t look a whole lot more welcoming. “What if you break it worse?”

“Then I’ll pay for the repairs. The point of doing someone a favor is to make her life easier, not more difficult.” He casually cleared some space on the vinyl floor covering. “I’m pretty sure I figured out what was wrong with the machine.”

“Yeah?” Brett sounded skeptical. “Show me.”

Nash scooted back to give the kid a clear view of the machine. “That part back there came loose, which meant this section moved forward. These two pieces got in the way, and this one ended up a little bent.”

Brett crouched down and stared as Nash pointed to the problem areas. He explained what he’d done so far and how he was now putting the machine back together.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he said.

Brett sank onto the floor. His blue eyes widened in surprise. “You mean if I say not to do any more you won’t?”

“That’s right.”

Brett glanced from the washer to Nash and back. “I guess it would be okay for you to finish up. Maybe you haven’t made it worse.”

High praise, Nash thought, holding in a grin. “Want to help me?”

“Yeah.” Brett sounded eager. Then he gave a shrug. “I mean I’m not doing anything else right now.”

Nash handed him the wrench and showed him where to tighten the edge of the casing. “Turn that there.”

Fifteen minutes later, the washer was nearly back in one piece. Brett had given up being distant and sullen and now bombarded Nash with questions.

“How’d you figure out what had happened? You ever take a washer apart before?”

“When I was a teenager,” Nash told him. “With computer chips and electronics a lot of home appliances are getting pretty complicated, but this washer’s older. That made it easier to see what was wrong. Your mom had already taken it apart. I just poked around.”