Tangled Sheets, Tangled Lies. Julie Hogan

and the muscles in his forearm and bicep bunched and flexed as he tested its strength. Oh, my, she thought, this guy really did have a body that went on for days, maybe even weeks. And for her that was saying something. In her former business she’d seen a lot of beautiful male bodies—not to mention some inflated, appalling male egos to match.

      She slowed their steps further and worked to reclaim her composure as she took in the unfamiliar, battered truck with Washington State plates parked alongside the house. Whoever he was, she was sure it would be a mistake to bound up the steps with her face far too flushed for the cool morning temperatures, looking like a cheerleader stalking the captain of the football team.

      Jem pulled on her hand. “Mom, do you think it’s him?” he said in a childish, hissing stage whisper.

      And apparently it was loud enough for the man to hear because he turned around and smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth and lagoon-blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his wind-and sun-bronzed skin. Lauren’s breath hitched, then released in one long rush.

      She tightened her hold on her son’s hand as the stranger reached behind him and pulled a newspaper out of the back pocket of his just-snug-enough Levi’s. Don’t worry, she told herself soothingly, he’s probably new in town and looking for directions. Just because he had the classifieds didn’t mean he was answering their ad. Please don’t be answering our ad. You’re far too distracting to be our handyman.

      “Can I help you?” she asked as she and Jem walked up the steps, carefully avoiding the two broken ones near the bottom.

      The man looked at Jem with a certain bewilderment, like someone looks at a person they’re sure they’ve met but can’t quite place. Then he turned and fixed his gaze on her. Their eyes locked and held, pulling her into a strange, thrilling vortex that made her feel as if she was still strapped into the Tilt-O-Whirl Jem had made her ride at the county fair last weekend.

      “Maybe you can,” he said finally, and the spell was broken. “But I’m sure I can help you.”

      “You are the man!” Jem exclaimed.

      The stranger cocked his head to the side and the corners of his firm, sensual mouth tipped into the beginnings of a smile.

      “He means—” Lauren began.

      But the man just smiled at Jem and said, “I think I know what he means,” with a hint of laughter in his voice. Then he unfolded the newspaper and as he did, she saw their ad circled in red ink. “I’m here for the job you advertised.”

      Wasn’t that just her luck? She’d been expecting a nice, graying old man with dentures, not some godlike creature who, with a simple smile, was stirring up something inside her that was better left undisturbed. Something that felt like it might be putting her yearlong hiatus from men in peril.

      She sighed inwardly and told herself she’d just have to keep that commitment at the top of her To Do list. She was convinced that in just one hundred and forty-four more days, her instinct for men would be refreshed—not that her instinct had ever been all that finely honed to start with, but that wasn’t the point. For now, she’d simply have to get rid of this stranger who had been dropped on her porch by fate to tempt her.

      The man in question waved the newspaper with a flick of his wrist. “Unless the position’s already been filled.”

      She thought about lying for a half a second, but there was a light in his blue eyes that made it impossible for her to manufacture a fib on the fly. “No, it hasn’t. But—”

      “That’s great.” His voice was calm, his gaze steady, his smile sure. “Because I can start immediately.”

      Not on your life, she thought, certain that the hordes of very safe and very unattractive grandpa types would be descending on her house any minute. “Actually,” she said, seizing what she hoped would be a successful thanks-but-no-thanks tactic, “I’m really looking for someone local.” She glanced pointedly toward the side yard and his truck. “And I can see you’re from out of state.”

      “Yes, ma’am. Seattle area.” His gaze never strayed from hers. “That’s where I’ve been most recently anyway. Did some good work up there.”

      “Then I’d be happy to take your resume. But like I said, I’m giving the first crack at the job to someone local.” Sounds good, sounds reasonable, she thought as she watched the giant oak tree that swayed gently in her front yard cast captivating shadows on his handsome, confident face.

      “I’ve got to warn you,” he said as he leaned against the post. He crossed his powerful arms in a way that let her know he had no intention of just tucking his tail and slinking away. “You’re not going to find anyone better than me.”

      Any red-blooded woman with a good pair of eyes could see that, but Lauren wasn’t the type to acquiesce so quickly. “I guess I won’t really know for sure until I see the rest of the applicants. But I’ll be happy to review your resume and call you for an interview if you’d like.”

      The stranger’s smile widened, softening his features and giving the impression that he could be trusted with the contents of Fort Knox. Then he pushed away from the post and walked toward her and Jem with animal grace. “Don’t have a resume.” He leaned on the final word, like a resume was an item required only by mere mortal men. “Or a phone number, either. I’m really just passing through, looking for a few months’ honest work before I get on my way.”

      Oh, passing through, Lauren thought. That meant she wasn’t going to be bumping into his charming grin—and all the other troubling attributes that were attached to that grin—around town. She breathed a little sigh of relief. Or was it regret? No, no, no, she chastised herself. It was relief.

      As she tried to figure out what it was going to take to get this magnetic man on his way to the next town, Jem, clearly thinking he’d been silent long enough, piped up with, “Can you fix houses?”

      The man hunkered down in front of her son, straining the denim that was stretched tight across his legs, and stared into her son’s eager eyes. “What’s your name?”

      Jem smiled at the man in the guileless way that only children have the luxury of and said, “I’m Jem Simpson.”

      “It’s nice to meet you, Jem. I’m Cole Travis, and the fact is, I can fix anything.” His voice was deep and filled with the promise of his words—and something else that had Lauren reaching over instinctively to put her hand on Jem’s slim shoulder. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time a man had tried to get to her through kindness to her son.

      The man glanced up at her then, his eyes darkening as he quite openly studied her, but not in the way men usually did when they recognized her as one of the models in the Boudoir Lingerie catalog. No, Cole Travis was looking deeper than that, and it made her feel restless and excited—and a little bit annoyed.

      Cole looked back at Jem and jerked his head in her direction. “Is this your mother, Jem?”

      The boy nodded and smiled wider. “Her name’s Lauren.” But he pronounced it as he always did which made it sound like “Woe-when.”

      “Lauren,” she said. “Lauren Simpson.” She hesitated a moment, then reached out her hand.

      Cole Travis straightened, then took her hand in his own. His fingers felt like sandpaper as they slid roughly against hers. Lauren stared down at their intertwined hands and felt her control slipping a tiny notch. Warm, rough and electric, his gentle grip seemed to pour pure energy into her body.

      It must be all that coffee she’d had at breakfast, she thought suddenly as she pulled her hand away and took one involuntary step back. “It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Travis,” she said, shoving her tingling hand into the pocket of her jeans and forcing a wobbly smile to her lips. “But as I said, I’ll have to interview some local tradesmen before I decide.”

      He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I promise you, you won’t find anyone better.”

      “Can