Huntington Family Series Read online

“Of all the stupid things.” She shook her head. Kerrianne would never have done something so brainless. This was one secret Amanda meant to keep. If Mitch got a sniff, he’d never stop teasing. Just thinking about that made her giggle almost uncontrollably. She had to admit that now danger had passed, it was kind of funny.

  Only a little water had escaped outside the oven, and Amanda mopped it up quickly. Then she looked inside, frowning. There was more water than she remembered throwing in. Most of it should have boiled out, right?

  Looking at the temperature gauge, she realized that though she hadn’t turned off the oven, it was quickly growing cold. She flipped the switch off, gave it fifteen minutes with the door open to cool, and then sopped up the water with paper towels. When everything was returned to order, she turned on the oven. A few minutes were long enough to tell her something was wrong. The stove top was fine, the flames leaping to life when she turned on the gas. But the oven didn’t begin to get warm. Had the pilot light gone out?

  “Should have used the fire extinguisher,” she muttered, belatedly remembering her father had bought one for under the kitchen sink. “Great. Just great.”

  How much would it cost to repair? Then again, she didn’t use the oven that much. Maybe it could wait.

  Her eyes fell on the baking dish she had been going to use for her sister’s casserole. “Oh, no,” she groaned. She couldn’t go back on her word now, not when she’d practically begged Kerrianne to let her bring dinner.

  Maybe if she explained. “It was a huge fire,” she’d say. “I have no idea how it started.” But that would be a lie.

  Maybe she could prepare the casserole and take it to Kerrianne’s to cook. But Kerrianne would instinctively know something was wrong, and Amanda wouldn’t have time to grade the test she was giving tomorrow if she spent the entire evening at her sister’s. What to do?

  She’d only bought the house at the end of the summer, and it was her first experience being responsible for appliances. This time there was no owner behind the scenes to ask for help. She ran through the possibilities in her mind. Call her dad. No good. Kerrianne would somehow find out and tell her not to worry about dinner. Call Mitch. Yeah, right. He was worse than she was about being independent. He had barely left home a month ago after two years off his mission. She could call her home teachers, but what could they do besides recommend a repairman?

  “I have to get you fixed!” In frustration Amanda kicked the oven door. All she accomplished was to hurt the big toe on her left foot.

  What would Kerrianne do?

  Amanda grimaced. Kerrianne would have paid attention to what she was putting in the oven, but if there ever was a problem, she’d probably let Adam deal with it—and Amanda didn’t have an Adam.

  I can do this myself. She reached for the phone book and turned to the repair listings, finding only one for Pleasant Grove. There, not even a choice. How easy can this be? Smiling to herself, she dialed the number, glancing at the clock on the microwave. Five minutes after five and the shop was open until six. See? It’s not that hard to be independent.

  “Doug’s Appliance and Repair, Blake speaking,” came a man’s voice, deep and rich. It was a voice that didn’t belong at a repair shop but would have seemed more at home on the radio.

  “Hi. My oven’s broken. Do you make house calls?”

  “Yes. We charge thirty-five dollars for a visit, plus parts and installation if we fix anything. What’s the problem exactly?”

  “Well, I had a fire.”

  “A fire?”

  “Yes, a small one. I accidentally put a dishcloth in with my dinner.” She shut her eyes and groaned inwardly. That was supposed to be her little secret.

  A few heartbeats passed before he replied. “Can you tell me anything else? Exactly what doesn’t work?”

  Amanda wondered if he thought she was crazy. “I think the pilot light is out or something. It looks good—there’s no fire damage—but the oven won’t get hot. I think it might not light because of the water.”

  “The water,” he repeated with a low chuckle that sent warm shivers up her spine.

  Irritated, Amanda snapped, “So are you coming or not?”

  “Sure. Let’s see . . . I can make it tomorrow about one. Would that be all right?”

  “You can’t come tonight?” Amanda hated herself for sounding so desperate.

  “You need it tonight?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just that I work tomorrow, and I need my oven tomorrow night for sure.”

  “Oh, you need it tomorrow.”

  Amanda stifled a sigh at his annoying way of repeating half of what she said. “Yes, I’m taking dinner to someone.”

  “What kind of stove is it?”

  “A gas stove.”

  “I meant what brand. You already said it wouldn’t light. Has to be gas.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t know what brand. Does it really matter?” She walked over to the stove.

  “It could. Does the stove top still light?”

  “Yes. It’s fine.”

  “Good. A least you won’t starve.” He gave another of those delicious chuckles.

  His attempted joke did not amuse her. “It’s an Amana,” she said. “I just looked.”

  “How old?”

  “I have no idea. I just bought the house a few months ago. But it doesn’t look old.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Can you hold a minute?”

  “Yes.” She wondered what was so wrong about owning an Amana. Maybe he wouldn’t work on that brand.

  “You’re not supposed to be up there,” came his muffled voice. “Get down now! Watch i—” There was a loud crash of what Amanda imagined came from a box of supplies tumbling to the ground, followed by a brief, high-pitched scream. She shook her head. Was he ever going to come back? What kind of shop did he run anyway?

  After a very long time, he returned to the phone. “Hello?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  His apology did nothing to soothe her growing irritation. “So, can you come any sooner?” She was calculating the possibility of running home at lunch, or perhaps having her neighbor let him in.

  “I leave here at five-thirty. I’ll come by then. Would that work?”

  Amanda sighed. “Yes. Thanks. I’ll see you then.” She started to hang up.

  “Uh, I’ll need your name and address.”

  Amanda bit her lip. She was a complete idiot! Of course he needed her address. “Amanda Huntington,” she said.

  “Amanda with a broken Amana,” he said, obviously amused.

  She laughed politely while making a sour face. What a comedian!

  After giving him her address, she hung up the phone before she could embarrass herself further. Not that he would even understand her embarrassment. He was probably a high school dropout, whose only dream in life was to study the latest models of appliances. Amanda bet he wasn’t even aware of his incredible voice. Maybe she’d enlighten him. She would, if he was nicer to her when he came.

  During the next hour, she changed into an old pair of jeans and a worn T-shirt that said Number One Teacher, tidied her kitchen, threw in a load of laundry, and began correcting papers on the floor of her family room. She was lying stomach down on the soft beige carpet, her mind engrossed on the capitals of each state, when the doorbell rang.

  She arose, tucking her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ears. “Yes?” she asked, opening the door.

  “I’m Blake Simmons from Doug’s Appliance and Repair,” said the same voice she had heard earlier on the phone. “I’m here to look at your oven.”

  He looked like no repairman she had ever seen or imagined. He was taller than she was by several inches and broad-shouldered enough to make her feel small. Long legs were clad in snug Levi’s that crinkled at the bottom where they met black work boots, topped by a blue button-down shirt boldly reading Doug’s Appliance and Repair. A small oval patch declared Blake in red italic let
ters.

  Her eyes wandered to his face. Drop-dead gorgeous he wasn’t, but he was more ruggedly handsome than she cared to admit. His cheeks sported a day-old beard growth, and his brown hair was slightly mussed, giving him an adventurous air. He reminded her vaguely of her English professor in college—on whom she’d once had a secret crush. Her heart flopped inside her, something that hadn’t happened for a very long time.

  “My oven,” she found herself saying. Her breath made white clouds in the cold air.

  “I am at the right house, aren’t I?” Blake’s brown eyes held hers, his lips curved in a gentle smile as though perpetually amused.

  “Yes.” For a long moment, neither spoke. Amanda was intensely aware of him, of the way he steadily met her gaze. She became suddenly conscious of her jeans and worn T-shirt. Why had she chosen that outfit? Not that he was dressed up, but he’d look handsome in anything.

  “Okay,” he drawled finally. “I guess I’ll get my toolbox from the truck.”

  “Right.” She followed him with her eyes, craning her neck to see if he was wearing a wedding ring. She couldn’t see one, but a lot of repairmen might not wear a ring for fear of getting their hands caught in a machine. Right? Or maybe he wasn’t married. The thought was unsettling.

  He had pulled a toolbox from the back of his blue pickup and was heading back over the lawn when her eyes went beyond him to the passenger side of the car. A small face peered out at her, framed with short blond hair.

  He had a child.

  That meant he was taken.

  In that instant of discovery, Amanda realized that she was profoundly disappointed.

  Chapter Two

  The repairman was back at the porch now, but Amanda gazed at him with a frown. “You can bring your son in, uh, Blake. I don’t mind.” She wanted to say more, specifically to tell him that he shouldn’t have left the child in the truck at all.

  He looked startled, as if he’d forgotten all about his son. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Setting down the large toolbox, he sprinted back to the truck and opened the door with his key. The small boy burst from the cab as though released from a prison. He was wearing a new-looking blue coat, jeans, and small black hiking boots. As Blake shut the door, Amanda caught a glimpse of a rear-facing car seat next to where the boy had been seated.

  She showed Blake into the kitchen and offered the boy some crayons and a coloring book. He refused, his bright blue eyes going to the tools Blake was laying out on the counter. Blake pulled the stove out a few inches, leaned behind to unplug it, and then heaved it out farther. Amanda was mortified at the thick layer of dust and crumbs that lay exposed.

  “Yuck,” she said. “I didn’t know that was there.”

  He grinned. “This isn’t half as bad as some I’ve seen.” With a screwdriver, he began to remove the back of the stove. “You said some water was in the oven?”

  Amanda bristled. “Well, I had to put out the fire.” She had never felt so defensive before.

  “Was it a big fire?” asked the boy hopefully.

  “Not really,” she told him.

  “Oh.” His face fell with disappointment.

  “But it was scary,” Amanda hurried to add. “Look at this.” She showed him the tips of her oven mitts, still in the sink.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Good thing you didn’t burn your fingers.”

  Blake set down his screwdriver and went to work removing the metal back plate. “Don’t you have an extinguisher?”

  “Yes.” Amanda felt herself coloring. “I—it’s under—I forgot I had it.”

  “I see.”

  Amanda opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out. What was it about this man? She had always been popular among her peers and had no trouble striking up conversations with strangers, but this man made her feel like a two-year-old playing house in her mother’s kitchen. She never felt like that. She was always the calm, cool one—even when being dumped by the man she loved.

  Blake was watching her, tools in hand, waiting for what she would say. “Never mind.” She waved her hand, dismissing him, and turned to the boy. “Hey, I have a cool book about insects, if you want to look at it.”

  He appeared interested, so she retrieved the hardbound book from her school bag and set it on the square kitchen table. Still wearing his blue coat, the child climbed onto the chair and immediately became absorbed by the larger-than-life images. Amanda returned to her papers, but she sat on the navy plaid couch to correct them instead of on the floor. Once seated, she glanced at the man in her kitchen, but all she could see was the top of his brown head poking up from behind her counter.

  Her eyes went to the boy, wondering how long the book could hold the interest of a child so young. He was a beautiful child, but the heart shape of his face, the blond color of his hair, and those blue eyes obviously hadn’t been handed down to him by his father. What was his mother like? What type of woman did this handsome repairman love?

  Who cares? Amanda forced herself back to work.

  After she had been hopelessly trying to correct papers for ten minutes, Blake came out from behind the stove and began removing pieces from inside her oven, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. She watched him surreptitiously through lowered lashes.

  Finally, he emerged with a rectangular part, holding it up for her inspection. “Here’s the problem. This actually causes the spark that lights the oven. Looks like metal, but it’s very fragile.”

  “So how did that happen? Was it the water?”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. These go out all the time. Could have been the water. Or it could have just been time to break.”

  Amanda guessed it was the water and that he was only being nice. “How much to fix it?”

  “About seventy-five, including installation. I don’t have this exact one in stock, but I have something down at the shop that will work just as well.”

  Seventy-five dollars! With the repair visit that was a hundred and ten bucks—all because she hadn’t been paying attention to a lousy dishrag. She could forget that new set of books she wanted for her classroom. If only she could go back and cook the pizza again!

  She sighed. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “I’ll go down to the store and come right back,” he said, straightening.

  Biting her lip, Amanda wondered if that meant another thirty-five bucks for a second visit. At least it would be done today. She would pay him and forget it ever happened.

  Looking around, Blake said, “If you have any kids, you’ll want to keep them away from this while I’m gone.”

  “I’m not married,” she said. “I live here alone.” She could have kicked herself when she said it. For all she knew, he was a burglar on his days away from the shop. “My brother’s around a lot,” she added quickly. She gave a nervous laugh when he nodded and smiled, making her heart feel funny again.

  “Come on, Kevin. We need to go back to the shop.”

  The child glanced up, his blue eyes mournful. “But I’m not done.”

  “We’re coming back. You can look at it then. If that’s all right with . . . with Miss—”

  “Amanda,” she supplied as the child looked to her for confirmation. “Call me Amanda. Of course you can look at it when you come back. Or you can take it with you, if you want,” she added impulsively. “To look at in the car, I mean. But I’ll need it back.”

  The child brightened. “Thanks!” He shut the book, held it to his small chest, and propelled himself from the chair. Amanda was glad she’d made the offer.

  “Be careful with it,” Blake warned.

  “I will.”

  Since the book had already been read by hundreds of children, Amanda didn’t suppose there was much harm the boy could do to it. “I’m surprised he’s still interested,” she said with a laugh. “His attention span is longer than some of my fourth-graders’.”

  Blake grinned. “He loves books. Sometimes he brings me several dozen at a time to read.”

 
; “That’s great. How old is he?”

  “Four.”

  “I thought he was about that age. I have a niece who’s four.” As their eyes met and held, something flowed between them. Amanda discovered she didn’t want to look away. Her heart thudded in her ears.

  “So you’re a teacher?” he asked.

  “Yes. I teach the fourth grade at Grovecrest Elementary.”

  He nodded, and she wondered if he had other children who went there. He didn’t look too much older than she was, but he could have married young.

  “Are we going yet?” Kevin was already waiting by the door. “I’m bored.”

  Blake looked toward the child, and the connection between them broke. Amanda was both relieved and sorry.

  “We’ll see you in a few minutes,” Blake said.

  Amanda watched them stride across her lawn, the man carrying his toolbox and the little boy clutching her book. Again she tried to imagine a woman in the picture—and failed.

  Had she imagined the current between them?

  Turning away, she shut the door. It didn’t matter. Ring or no, he was obviously married and off limits. Besides, she wasn’t ready to become involved with anyone—especially an appliance repairman. Now if he’d been a teacher or an accountant or computer programmer, maybe she would reconsider. If she ever did get involved, it would be with someone more like herself.

  * * *

  Blake was glad when they were finally back in the truck and on their way to the shop. His heart had almost stopped when Amanda Huntington had opened the door and stared at him with intense green eyes that were quite unlike any color he had ever seen. He’d been prepared to dislike her, she’d been so vague and annoying on the phone, but seeing her had evoked a different emotion altogether. What’s more, she wasn’t married. Not that it really mattered. His duty was to Kevin and Mara.

  “I like this book,” Kevin said from the seat. “Could you buy it for me?”

  Blake groaned. “Another book? You’ll send me into bankruptcy.”

  “Bank? That’s good. You can get money at the bank.”

  Blake grinned at the solemn expression in Kevin’s eyes, eyes that mirrored his mother’s. “How about we try the library first, okay, bud?”