Nancy Warren - Final Score

“You had a concussion. You don’t come back until I say you do. And I say you’re on leave until further notice.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Cross. Take some time. Figure out why you disobeyed my orders and how you’d feel if the two guys who went in to haul your ass out of there were in the morgue right now.” He put up a hand before Dylan could protest. “Could have ended that way and you know it.”

“But what the hell am I supposed to do for two months?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Take up yoga, basket weaving, something quiet that won’t get you killed. But stay out of trouble.”

“But—”

“I swear, I hear one sniff about you doing some crazy-ass stunt and risking your life and you’re off my team.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Out.”

* * *

CASSIE PRICE WAS in way over her head. Way, way, way over, she realized ruefully as she walked through the empty rooms of her new home.

Between them, her financial advisor, her parents and her real-estate agent had convinced her that buying a house in Hunter, Washington, was a great investment. The houses in her price range varied from tiny, boring new builds to older fixer-uppers with good bones. She’d bought the latter, although now, as she walked over brown shag carpet and peered at the harvest-gold appliances in the kitchen, she wondered about those bones, and if she hadn’t in fact bought herself a hopeless dump.

The neighborhood was old and established and the homes in it were solidly built, she’d been told. And she could read decorating magazines and watch home-improvement shows like everybody else and see the potential in the hardwood floors hidden under the awful rugs, and sure, the kitchen would be fantastic with new appliances, cabinets, flooring and lighting.

Even the main bathroom would be a showpiece once she replaced the turquoise bathtub and sink and the vinyl flooring.

Her trouble was that she wasn’t one of those handy types who could whip an old home into a showplace in a half-hour show, with plenty of time to spare for commercial breaks. She was a busy professional with zero skills and a limited budget. She couldn’t afford a fancy home renovator.

As she walked from room to room, her distress grew.

Buyer’s remorse? There had to be a stronger term for what she was suffering. Buyer’s panic might be closer.

What had she done?

“What have I done?” She echoed the words when she joined her good friend and positive-thinking guru, Serena Long, and Serena’s fiancé, Adam Shawnigan, for dinner at a local Greek restaurant, after touring the pair around her new-to-her house.

She speared a chunk of feta cheese and a tomato wedge from her salad.

Serena was a well-known performance coach. She and Cassie had first met a couple of years ago when Serena gave a workshop at the aquarium where Cassie worked as director of community outreach. Cassie had facilitated the workshop and they’d become friends almost immediately. Now Serena smiled that radiant smile of hers and said, “You bought a house. When it’s renovated it will be a wonderful home. And a good investment.”

“It’s getting from here to renovated that seems to be the issue,” Cassie said, shoving the food in her mouth and crunching down fiercely. “I need a miracle.”

Adam chuckled. “You don’t need a miracle. All you need is a decent handyman. A lot of the work in your home is cosmetic and grunt labor. You get a professional plumber and electrician for the tricky stuff, and then somebody like me who is handy and likes renovation projects can do the rest.”

“Are you available?” she asked Adam sweetly.

Even though she’d said the words sarcastically, she knew he’d have helped her if he could. Adam was renovating his own house, the old cottage that he and Serena planned to live in when they got married in a few weeks.

“You know I would if I had the time,” he said. Then she watched as he paused in the act of raising his water glass to his mouth. He put the glass back down and said, “But I think I know somebody who might be available.”

She knew Adam was a perfectionist. He wouldn’t recommend anyone who didn’t meet his own rigorous standards, so a feeling of hope began to bloom. “Are you serious? Who?”

Serena turned to Adam. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I usually am.”

Cassie had found that this happened a lot with Serena and Adam. They had the whole married-speak thing going and they weren’t even married yet. She waited, knowing they’d fill her in when they’d finished telepathically communing with each other.

Sure enough, Serena sat for a moment and then nodded. “I agree. It’s a very good idea. Solves both their problems.”

Adam turned back to Cassie. “I happen to know a very handy guy who suddenly has a couple of months of free time and really, really needs a project. Let me tell you about my good friend Dylan Cross.”

She listened as Adam described his firefighter friend Dylan, who’d apparently dragged the operator of an illegal grow op from a burning house, almost getting himself killed in the process, and then was put on suspension for ignoring his captain’s orders. She could see how it might be aggravating to have a heroic deed like that go unappreciated. She could also see that he might be a problem.

“This Dylan Cross is in trouble because he ignored his boss’s orders.” She looked from Adam to Serena. “How do I know he won’t ignore my orders when he’s working on my house?”

“It’s simple,” Adam said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “We need Dylan at the upcoming championship hockey game for Badges on Ice. If he loses his job, we lose a valuable right wing. So if you have any problem with Dylan, even the tiniest hint of trouble, you will call me, and I and our teammate Max will be all over him.” She’d met Max Varo a couple of times and the billionaire entrepreneur always intimidated her a little.

Cassie leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “So basically what you’re saying is you want me to babysit a guy who has problems with impulse control?”

“He’s a good guy, honestly. Dylan, Max and me, we go way back. Our moms were all friends and we played together as little kids, went through school, joined all the same teams. I know Dylan Cross through and through. Yes, he’s a little rash, but if I was in any kind of trouble I’d want him to have my back.”

She knew Adam wouldn’t use words like that lightly. An outstanding police officer himself, Adam mostly associated with law-and-order types. People of integrity. If he vouched for this Dylan Cross, then she was willing to take a chance.

Besides, she did really, really need a handyman.

But she wasn’t going to be a pushover, either. She gave Adam the steely-eyed gaze that she used if a school kid wasn’t behaving during a visit to the aquarium. “I’ll make a deal with you. I will babysit your boy. But you are personally in charge of making sure he does an excellent job, and that he sticks to a tight budget.”

Adam grinned at her. “You two are going to get on like a house on fire. So to speak.”

She smacked his hand. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

It was Serena who spoke. “One thing that might be good to know.” She sent Cassie a woman-to-woman look. “He’s Mr. June. In the charity firefighter calendar.” She waved a hand in front of her face as though she were perspiring. “You have to check him out.”

2

SATURDAY MORNINGS USED to be Cassie’s favorite time of the entire week. Ahh, those lazy Saturday mornings when she could take a cup of tea back to bed with her, download something new on her e-reader or pick an old favorite from her crowded bookshelves. Then she’d settle back against the pillows and read. She’d get up when she felt like it and then worry about organizing her day.