An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love. Kimberly Van Meter

and there and a vibrant handmade afghan draped across the top of the faded sofa, the duplex maintained a stale atmosphere that spoke of the countless inhabitants before her who hadn’t cared as much as she did for their living conditions. Apparently, upkeep wasn’t the landlord’s top priority. Peering out the window, he realized it didn’t have a screen. Drawing away, his mouth formed a tight line as his blood pressure rose. Window screens were required in residential rentals. He wondered who owned the property and how hard it might be to find out. His cell phone was in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Seconds before he got more involved than he wanted to be, he came to his senses and snapped the phone shut. He glanced at Honey with a light smile. “Let’s get your seat in the truck, kiddo. We can wait for your mom there.”

      It was only a few minutes later that Annabelle appeared at the front door, locking it before making her way to the truck gingerly on spindly heels, wearing another of her short skirts that showed off a lean pair of smooth pale legs. Dean groaned and looked away. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep his mind in neutral when she kept shoving it into overdrive. She had to know that she was driving him crazy with those flashes of cleavage peeking out from behind that flimsy V-necked blouse and those impossibly short skirts that rode up her legs.

      Dean swallowed with difficulty but managed to keep his attention on the road with ruthless determination.

      “You need screens on those windows,” he said, startling her with his gruff tone. “It’s dangerous with a baby in the house.”

      “I know. That’s why I keep the windows closed on that side.”

      “That’s no solution. Who’s your landlord?”

      Annabelle sighed. “I don’t know. I go through a property management company, Grafton Realty. Besides, I’ve called the manager and he told me that the owner isn’t interested in replacing the screens because the tenants keep ripping them out. He said if I want screens I have to buy them.”

      Dean balked. “That’s bullshit.”

      She shrugged as if she was used to this sort of thing. “It’s not that big a deal. We just work around it.”

      “Honey could fall. This isn’t something that can be ignored, Annabelle.” He earned a sharp look, but he didn’t care. He already hated the idea of Honey and Annabelle living in that place because of the neighbors on the other side. They looked a little rough.

      “It’s not your concern. Thank you, anyway,” Annabelle replied curtly, sending him the clear message that she didn’t like to be treated like a pet project. “Besides, with the weather turning soon, I won’t have much need for open windows anyway.”

      “There are liability issues,” he argued. “It’s not as simple as you just choosing not to open your windows. And then there’s also the issue of the landlord refusing to provide the basics of his responsibilities to his tenant. My dad used to own plenty of rental properties. Trust me, I know all the work that goes into owning them. When I was growing up, my brothers and I spent many of our weekends helping Dad do repairs. Your landlord is a bad one,” he finished.

      “Be that as it may, I don’t need you poking your nose into my business. Bad landlords have a tendency to kick out their troublemaker tenants, if you catch my drift.”

      “That would be a blessing,” Dean muttered.

      “Not for Honey and me. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shortage of rentals in Emmett’s Mill. We were lucky to find this place.”

      Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue some more just for the sake of keeping his mind occupied, but she had a valid point. He thought of his expansive home and the two spare bedrooms gathering dust, but before he could continue in that direction, he shook himself loose of that particular brand of crazy. Annabelle and Honey could not move in with him and Brandon. For one, Brandon would declare a mutiny and two, it was just plain stupid.

      Focus on what you can fix, Dean told himself. Like window screens and broken cars.

      Yeah, Halvorsen…stick to those.

      CHAPTER NINE

      “SUGAR?” Annabelle exclaimed, staring in dismay at Jonas, the head mechanic at Mountain Motors as he wiped the grease and motor oil from his fingers. “How does sugar get into the gas tank? Is that something that happens naturally?” she asked, knowing she was teetering on the edge of desperate with her questioning. Deep down she knew the answer but she was praying she was wrong.

      She wasn’t.

      “Uh, no.” Jonas shook the dirty mop he called a head of hair regretfully. “Someone put it there. Screwed up your fuel intake valve, too. Possibly even your fuel pump.”

      Annabelle groaned but didn’t have time to cry. Her lunch was only an hour and she had to get back to the office. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Two questions. What’s this going to cost me and how long will it take to fix it?”

      Jonas sucked his front teeth as he mentally counted the beans in his head and answered, “About $800, give or take a few.”

      “A few what?”

      “Hunnerd.”

      It might as well be a million. She didn’t have it. “Right.” She drew a deep breath, her brain whirring fast. If it weren’t for bad luck she wouldn’t have any. “I don’t have that kind of cash right now,” she said, going straight to the point. “But, uh, we could work out a deal, like trade for something?”

      Jonas’s eyes widened and he shook his head in alarm. “You’re pretty and all but I’m a married man. I don’t reckon my wife would take too kindly to any sort of arrangement, Miss Annabelle. I’m sorry.”

      Annabelle’s cheeks burned as she grasped what Jonas thought she was offering. “God, no, Jonas. I didn’t mean that. I just meant if you had some office work you needed some help with, computer work, or, hell, I don’t know, maybe someone to clean up a bit, then I could help out in that way in exchange for the repair.”

      Jonas relaxed but he shook his head again. “Sorry, no computer. We do everything by hand, and, well, we already have a cleaning lady who comes once a month to scrub the toilets and such. We aren’t that picky and she does a good enough job. I’m right sorry, Miss Annabelle.” He paused, then added with a grin that showed off the gap in his front teeth, “I won’t charge you for the diagnostic or the tow. It’s on the house. I’ll even take it back to your place for you. I heard you don’t live too far out of town.”

      She swallowed around the lump in her throat even as she fought to keep her voice strong and bright. “Don’t be silly. You performed a service. You should be paid for it. You’re not running a charity, Jonas. It’s a business. How much do I owe you?”

      Jonas sighed heavily as if he hated to tell her. “Seventy-five.”

      She winced privately but grabbed her checkbook. “Check okay?”

      “Of course. I know you’re good for it. Dean Halvorsen wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were good folk.” She smiled tightly and handed him the check. He gave it a cursory glance before saying, “Listen, when you get the money, you bring the car back and I’ll give you the newcomer ten percent discount off the total repair. It’s the least I can do.”

      “Thank you, Jonas. Just leave the keys in the car when you drop it off.”

      “Sure thing, Miss Annabelle. Take care.”

      DEAN WAS packing up the last of his work tools when Sammy walked over to him, his expression puzzled. “You know anything about what went wrong with Annabelle’s car?”

      Dean shook his head. “No. Why?”

      “Dana just told me that Annabelle said someone put sugar in her gas tank.”

      Dean stopped to stare at his brother. “Sugar?”

      “Yeah.