Page 20 of Home Town

Then, once she could see, use one of the power tools. She put the hammer in her other hand and reached for a different kind of saw, with a single less deadly looking blade.

This was going to make an unholy mess. She’d worry later about how to fix it before her parents got home.

With her tools of choice in hand, she spun to leave and came face-to-face with Corey, standing in the open doorway and blocking her exit from the garage.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What are you doing?”

Was he stalking her? Was he delusional enough to think she’d be up for a booty call all these years later?

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning the question back on her.

“That’s none of your business,” she said, hand with the hammer in it planted on her hip for effect. “Why are you watching me anyway?”

Corey let out a scoff. “I wasn’t watching you. I was taking out the trash for Mom when I heard you cussing your way to the garage and then pawing through your dad’s tools. I figured something must be wrong and you might need help. But you’re right. None of my business.”

He turned to go and she bit out one more silent cuss. She could use his help. She remembered him and his father building a tree house in the backyard. Corey actually knew how to safely use all the tools she had absolutely no experience with.

She hated to do it. Hated herself and hated him too. But she had to. She had to ask for help.

It took more strength than she knew she had but she forced out one word. “Wait.”

Corey turned back, one dark brow cocked high.

“I might…need… help,” she revealed in a stuttering admission before she changed her mind about accepting his help—and before the kittens made it any deeper into the bowels of the walls of the house.

Chapter Ten

Josie Baldwin. Corey shook his head.

She was as stubborn as they came.

That had been obvious to him for all the years they’d grown up next door to each other. He’d seen her plant her hands on her hips, lift her chin, and stand up to her big brother Quinn as if he weren’t three years older and a good foot taller.

It was more than obvious now as she glared at him while he was trying to help her. And she clearly needed help.

“What happened?” he asked, even though she looked like she’d rather do anything other than tell him. Even try to tackle the array of power tools scattered around her in the garage.

She belted the problem at him in one, long, rapid fire run-on sentence.

When she finished, she pressed her lips together and let out a huff accompanied by a frown.

Ignoring that she was still inexplicably angry at him, or herself, or perhaps just the cats she’d mentioned in her diatribe, he reviewed the situation.

From what he could decipher, it involved kittens and walls and possible death.

Although her story had been all over the place. He wasn’t sure if it was the kittens’ possibly impending death or her own when her parents got home and killed her for screwing up that had her so upset. Possibly both.

He glanced down at the reciprocating saw she held in one hand, in addition to the other tools she’d piled on the workbench, including a circular saw. He imagined its wheel of deadly sharp teeth wielded in her hands.

At least she hadn’t tried to use the chainsaw. It still sat in its place high on the shelf above them. Perhaps she just couldn’t reach it. She seemed ready to try anything.

They might actually need some of those tools later, but for now, he figured they’d start small. With some manual, less damaging, non-power tools.

“How about we put the sharp things down and look for a less destructive alternative?” he suggested.

With a huff she set down the reciprocating saw.

“Good girl,” he said, taking the hammer from her hand and picking up a crowbar from the bench.

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