Hero by Nature (Reed Sisters: Holding out for a Hero 3) - Page 1

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AUTUMN REED HOPPED nimbly out of the cab of the pickup, tugging the brim of her battered brown baseball cap low over her oversized sunglasses to shade her face from the afternoon sun. Her auburn hair was looped into a French braid, which had loosened over the course of the day so that it bobbed behind her as she strode briskly toward the front door of the impressively sized ranch-style house to which she’d been dispatched. To anyone reading body language, her movements were indicative of her personality—quick, restless, energetic, no-nonsense. She punched the doorbell with a slender, short-nailed finger, then waited impatiently for a response.

“Well, hell,” she muttered when there was no sound of a chime inside to announce her arrival. The electricity was out. What was she doing ringing the bell? She knocked loudly, imperatively.

While she waited for the door to open, she looked around. The house was gorgeous, the lawn beautifully landscaped. But then it had to be, in this Tampa, Florida neighborhood of equally gorgeous homes, equally beautiful lawns.

The door opened, bringing her shaded green eyes back around. The man in the doorway was as beautiful as his home, she thought with detached amusement. Young, probably early thirties. Coal-black hair brushed casually back from a tanned, classically handsome face. Perfectly arched black brows over deep blue eyes, perfectly straight nose, perfectly even white teeth exposed by a mouth shaped for fantasies. Smooth, dimpled cheeks, square jaw, six feet plus of body that could serve as an advertisement for a health spa. He was one of your finer examples of the human male, and Autumn was woman enough to react quite physically. Mentally she knew that there had to be more to a man than a pretty face to make him worth her interest.

“I’m with Brothers Electrical Company. You called for an electrician?” she asked in her direct, unceremonious manner.

“Well, yes, but…” He paused, looking at her with a doubtful frown.

She sighed resignedly. Damn. One of those. “I am a licensed electrician,” she assured him in a bored voice. “If you need to check me out, call the office. Of course, I charge by the hour and you’re wasting time.”

“I’m sorry,” the attractive man answered, visibly flustered. “I wasn’t questioning your competence. I was simply surprised that you’re a…” His voice trailed off again.

“Woman.” A very nice voice, Autumn thought automatically, even as she supplied the word for him. Low, rich, unapologetically Southern. Classy, too. Like someone who was intelligent and well educated but didn’t feel the need to make a big deal out of it. She had a habit of summing people up within a few minutes of making their acquaintance. She typed this guy as a successful professional with impeccable manners and a deeply ingrained woman’s-place-is-in-the-kitchen-and-bedroom mentality. Too bad. “What’s your problem?” she asked briskly.

“I beg your—Oh, you mean why did I call an electrician,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving her face, or at least that part of it visible beneath her cap and huge sunglasses. Autumn wondered if she had overestimated his intelligence. “It’s the box on the side of the house, the one by the electric meter,” he told her finally, after clearing his throat. “A limb blew down during the thunderstorm last night and knocked it almost completely off. The electric company disconnected my power but told me I’d have to call an electrician to reinstall the service.”

Autumn nodded. “No problem. I’ll get my tools, then you can show me where it is.” She whirled and headed back to the black Ford Ranger with the magnetic signs advertising the name of the company she worked for. Her belt was in the cab, and she retrieved that first. She strapped the tools around her slender waist, over her khaki jumpsuit, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the heavy tool pouch added almost fifteen pounds to her usual one hundred and ten. Then she reached into the bed of the truck for her ladder and toolbox, only to stop short when a long, tanned arm reached past hers.

“I’ll carry those for you,” the dark-haired man offered, muscles rippling as he lifted out the heavy red metal toolbox as if it weighed practically nothing.

Begrudging him his superior strength, Autumn tried to protest when he reached back in for the fiberglass ladder. “I can get it. I’m used to carrying my own tools.”

“No trouble at all,” the man assured her, already moving away, toolbox in one hand and ladder balanced over his other shoulder, giving her a very nice view of his muscular back and lean hips. “This way, Miss…?”

She exhaled impatiently and followed him. “Just call me Autumn,” she told him.

“Autumn,” he repeated solemnly, smiling around at her. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks,” she answered briskly, uncomfortable with the compliment.

“I’m Jeff Bradford. And here’s the reason I called you.”

Autumn raised one dark eyebrow at the sight he indicated. He hadn’t exaggerated. His service entrance was almost completely torn off the house, though fortunately it hadn’t been badly damaged. That would save her a trip after a new box. She pulled a screwdriver out of her pouch. “This is going to take a couple of hours,” she informed him. “I’ll try to have your electricity back on by late afternoon.”

“I’d appreciate it,” he responded with a charming smile.

Autumn swallowed and turned to her ladder. Lord, but he was attractive! Distracting, as well. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished,” she told him in what she hoped was a dismissive tone.

“I think I’ll watch, if you don’t mind,” he replied diffidently. “It’s, uh, it’s dark in the house, and I’ve nothing better to do.”

She shrugged, determined not to show him that his magnificent presence was in any way disconcerting. “Suit yourself.” She tossed out the words and set to work with grim concentration.

Jeff shoved his fingertips into the pockets of his gray denim jeans and leaned one shoulder against the side of his house as he watched her climb three rungs of the ladder. The siding was rough through his thin cotton knit shirt, but he spared the sensation little thought as he mentally castigated himself. He was acting like a tongue-tied idiot, he told himself with disgust. What on earth had gotten into him? Fifteen minutes earlier he’d been a fairly bright, reasonably urbane kind of guy, and then he’d opened his door to this woman and lost whatever intelligence he may have possessed. He hadn’t said anything worth listening to since she’d first spoken to him in that low, husky voice.

And the hell of it was, he wasn’t even sure if he found her all that attractive. Her hair was a pretty color, kind of a dark red as best he could tell from the functional bra

id. Her face was almost completely hidden by that beat-up baseball cap and those ridiculous sunglasses. What he could see was very nice. Small nose, squarish cheeks, soft, sensually shaped mouth that did not owe its rosy color to cosmetic aid. She was small, the top of her head coming just to his chin—about five, five he guessed. As for her figure, it might be good, but who could tell with that loose-fitting jumpsuit and bulky tool pouch? And even if a woman like this would deign to enter a beauty pageant, she certainly wouldn’t win the prize for Miss Congeniality. So why had he suddenly developed a tendency to stutter?

He reached up automatically to take the metal box she’d just disconnected, noting the slight twist of her mouth as he did so. She wasn’t overly pleased about him helping her. One of those rabid feminists who entered a vocation normally filled by men, then found it necessary to continually justify her choice, he decided. Well, he was sure she was a fine electrician and he couldn’t care less if she chose to spend her time twisting wires, though he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do so. Personally, he preferred women who were softer, more feminine, whatever their chosen careers. Less antagonistic.

Then she tugged off her sunglasses and shoved them into the breast pocket of her jumpsuit, glancing down at him as she did so. Jeff froze, staring at her like the tongue-tied idiot he’d just accused himself of being.

He’d always heard that one could tell a sorceress by her eyes.

Green. The truest green he’d ever seen, with deep, hot flames, carefully banked, in their depths. Evidence of a fiery temper, he was sure. He found himself wondering if her passion was as volatile. He would be willing to bet it was. Her long eyelashes and boldly shaped eyebrows were unusually dark in combination with her auburn hair.

She was beautiful. He’d suspected that she was attractive, but he hadn’t guessed that there was a rare, earthy beauty hidden behind those god-awful dark glasses. And he was standing there like a tourist gazing in awe at the Statue of Liberty.

Make conversation. “How long have you been an electrician?” he asked abruptly. Oh, terrific line. Straight out of How to Win Friends and Influence People, he thought with a mental groan.

Autumn glanced down from her work, intending to let him know that if he was going to stand there, she would appreciate it if he’d be quiet and let her work. Instead, she found herself staring at a generous, warm smile that only a coldhearted puppy hater could ignore. “Almost five years,” she answered, her voice more friendly than she’d originally intended. She looked back at the mess of wires in front of her, trying to concentrate on what she was doing.

Tags: Gina Wilkins Reed Sisters: Holding out for a Hero Romance
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