Whatever You Need (The Haneys Book 2) Read online

  A section of the ceiling outside her apartment had been torn down, and scorch marks spread out like fingers against the exposed wood beneath. White residue covered the blackened areas, the carpet and the debris below. The scent of burnt wood and a chemical she couldn’t identify assaulted her senses. Her door had obviously been attacked by an ax, but someone had reinstalled her dead bolt above the wrecked part. The caretaker? Doubtful. She stuck her key in the lock. “My legs just aren’t long enough,” she muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Kayla shrugged and cast him a rueful look. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re running through life, trying to stay a few strides ahead of trouble?” She arched an eyebrow. “No? Well, I do, and my legs just aren’t long enough to run that fast.”

  “Ah.” One side of his mouth turned up as he set the tubs of laundry on the floor. “I reinstalled the dead bolt for you. You’ll need a new door, but at least you can still use the lock until the insurance company settles, and you get a new one installed.”

  “You called the fire department and moved the lock for me? Where was Floyd while all this happened?” Their caretaker was pretty much useless, and this only proved the point.

  “No clue.”

  “You ought to send an invoice to the landlord.” Kayla steeled herself for what she might find and walked inside, Brady’s hand in hers. Wyatt followed, sliding her laundry tubs inside with his foot.

  “Yuck. Stinks in here,” Brady said, pinching his nose.

  “Yeah, it does.” Kayla opened the windows in the living room wider before joining Wyatt to survey the damage. The ceiling in the dining area was now a gaping hole, and her table and chairs were covered in chunks of plaster and more of that white residue. “I’ve had nothing but trouble with the light fixture in here. Bulbs make this weird zzzzt noise and blow out, like, every few days. Another one went out this morning. I told Floyd about it months ago, but of course nothing was done.”

  “Mmm. The circuit was left open.” Wyatt pointed to the light switch she’d left in the on position after the bulb had burned out. “Exposed electrical wires arcing started the fire,” Wyatt muttered, walking around the table with his eyes on the blackened ceiling.

  “So, if I’d flipped the switch off, the fire wouldn’t have happened?”

  “Not today, but eventually.”

  “At least it’s not dripping wet in here. What a mess that would’ve made, what with the plaster and soot. Would’ve ruined the wonderful oak floor.”

  Wyatt took his phone out of his back pocket. “Water and foam are dangerous in an electrical fire. They’re conduits.”

  “Oh.” She ran a finger through the residue on her table and rubbed it between her thumb and pointer. The stuff felt like talcum powder between her fingers, only smoother. “So, what do firemen use to put out fires like this?”

  “Dry chemicals, like PKP, or they use carbon dioxide.” He glanced sideways at her. “My guess is it’s going to take several weeks, maybe months before things get settled with the insurance company.” He took a picture of the ceiling. “Do you have somewhere else to stay in the meantime?”

  “No.” Kayla’s chest tightened. She had enough to deal with as it was. Having to look for a new apartment, packing and moving would definitely be more than she could handle right now. She’d already been through that nightmare once during her two-year program. The rent at her last place had gone up so high, she’d been forced to move. She leaned against the built-in oak buffet. “Why can’t I stay here?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “The circuit has been isolated, and the fire didn’t involve plastics. If you don’t mind the smell and the destruction, you could probably stay. But the fire marshal will have the final say once he investigates. No family nearby?”

  Why did that question cause him to blush again? Was he fishing for personal details about her life? He went back to his picture taking, studying the screen on his phone before taking another.

  “Nope. All of my family is in Iowa. I moved to the Twin Cities to go to school.” She could’ve gone to school in Iowa and saved herself some money by living with her folks. But the truth was, she’d been eager to get away, especially from her judgmental, controlling in-laws, and she’d always wanted to live in a big city. Besides, after all the BAMs she’d suffered in the past few years, she’d really needed a change in scenery.

  “I have less than six months to go before I graduate as a dental hygienist. My life will be more manageable if I stay here despite the smell and the hole in the ceiling.” Now that she got a good look, this mess didn’t really qualify as a BAM—more like a bam. The landlord’s insurance would take care of the damage, and she could live with a torn-up ceiling for a while. She’d be done with her program in December. Then she’d look for a really good job. Dental hygienists were in demand, and she’d done well in the program, which would earn her great references from her instructors.

  Besides, she liked living in this building with all its Old World charm. She loved that she had a friend living right across the hall who was willing to watch Brady. In fact, all of her neighbors were great. Her apartment was close to a nice playground, the river parkway with walking and biking paths, and good schools. A good school was important because her baby would be starting kindergarten next fall.

  She studied the chunks of ceiling all over her floor, but then her gaze snagged on Wyatt’s long legs and traveled up his tall form as he took pictures from every angle. All serious like this, a man on a mission, he looked way too studly, entirely too appealingly masculine. He studied the ceiling, a determined set to his angled jaw. She studied him. Sexy. Definitely sexy. How nice would it be to wrap herself around him, and . . . Down, hormones. Sit. Stay.

  He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “All right if I see where you still have power and where you don’t? Since you want to stay, we might have to rig a few things so you can use your kitchen.”

  We? He didn’t know her at all, and she didn’t know him. Should she be worried about having him roam around her apartment? What motivated him to help a perfect stranger? Well, not perfect by a long shot, but she was a stranger. He seemed nice, and he had put her dead bolt back on her door, which showed genuine concern. During the months she’d lived here, no police officers had ever come looking for him. Her gut told her he was safe. Surely the fact that he kept to himself had more to do with shyness than felonious tendencies.

  “Be my guest.” She followed him as he checked the fridge and flipped switches.

  “Kitchen power’s out. Do you have any extension cords?”

  “I think so. Two maybe.” Wyatt continued to check the rest of her place. Thank heavens she’d changed the sheets and made the beds this morning. She didn’t want him to know what a total slob she was when it came to that stuff, but making their beds every day had never made sense to her. Why bother when you were just going to unmake them again that night? The only time she made the beds was when she changed the sheets or when she was expecting company.

  Someone knocked on her door, and she left Wyatt to the task of turning lights on and off. Maybe their caretaker finally decided to make an appearance.

  Brady got to the door before she did. “Who’s there?” he called like she’d taught him.

  “It’s Mariah, and I brought pizza.”

  Kayla opened the door. “You are the best neighbor ever.” She and Mariah were both single moms, and they’d become friends from the first day she and Brady had moved in. “Thanks for bringing pizza. I don’t have any power in my kitchen. I guess I missed all the excitement this afternoon, huh?” She moved the tubs of laundry out of Mariah’s way, stacking them by the wall.

  “You’re welcome, and yes. You missed the thrilling evacuation of our building and the sight of hunky firemen in action.” Mariah set the pizza on the living room coffee table. “I also brought beer. I figured you might want one after coming home to find a mess,” she said, lifting the six-pack.

  “Where’s Rosie?” Brady as
ked. “Can she play with me?”

  “Rosie is with her daddy on the weekends.” Mariah tousled Brady’s mop of blond hair. “Remember? She’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, though, and the two of you can play then.”

  Brady nodded and went back to his superhero action figures, his favorite toys.

  “You have electricity everywhere except in the kitchen and bathroom.” Wyatt strolled into the living room. “Where do you keep the extension cords?”

  “Oh. Look who’s here—our hooded hero.” Mariah grinned. “Join us for pizza and beer?”

  “Uh . . .” He glanced at the door leading to the hallway, looking as if he might bolt.

  “Please stay, Wyatt. I’ll get the extension cords.” Kayla headed for the walk-in closet by the front door. The huge closet was another reason she loved her apartment, that and the elegant woodwork and the great neighborhood. She rummaged through a cardboard box of stuff and pulled out her two extension cords.

  “Pizza and a beer sound great,” Wyatt said from the closet door. He glanced at the cords in her hands. “Those aren’t going to work. Too short, but they’ll be good to use for your toaster and coffee maker. I have something you can use until you can get a cord of your own. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks.” He was out the door before she even finished speaking.

  “Can I have pop with my pizza, Mommy?” Brady had his Superman and Spiderman action figures clutched to his chest.

  “You can have milk.”

  He shrugged, his expression one of abject disappointment. “Chocolate milk,” she compromised, and Brady graced her with a cherubic smile.

  “It took a fire to bring Hoodie Guy out of his shell.” Mariah grabbed a pile of napkins from the kitchen counter. “After he called 911, he herded us all out of the building. He had a fire extinguisher in his hands, and he was the last one out the door.”

  “Oh?” Kayla found paper plates in the back of a cabinet. She pulled them out, along with a plastic cup, and set them on the counter. She grabbed milk and chocolate syrup from the fridge. “I wouldn’t say he’s out of his shell. The poor guy turns scarlet if you even look at him.” She mixed Brady’s chocolate milk and put the ingredients back in the dark interior of her fridge. “I’m grateful he was home to call the fire department. He also moved my dead bolt.”

  “I know,” Mariah said. “I helped by handing him tools and offering an extra set of hands while he worked. I tried to chat him up, but he hardly spoke three or four words. That one’s not much of a talker, but he sure is hot.”

  Her husband had been a good-looking guy too, and built. Her gaze touched upon the shadow box on the living room wall, the one holding the folded flag from her husband’s casket, along with his formal military picture with name and rank underneath. Regret and sadness gripped her. They’d been so young, still in their teens, and neither of them had wanted to marry. They’d been way too immature to raise a child together. BAM.

  Hot or not, she’d never felt drawn to shy silent types. “Yeah, Wyatt’s definitely hot.”

  “I’m hot too,” Brady piped in. “Can we turn on the window air?”

  Kayla shared a grin with Mariah, mentally thanking her little boy for once again turning her away from her dark thoughts. “Not now. Only when it’s eighty-five or above.”

  The window air conditioner blew fuses if any other electrical appliances were on, even the vacuum cleaner. Wyatt was right. This place was an electrical disaster. Even she knew there should be circuit breakers instead of fuse boxes. She’d spent a fortune keeping herself in fuses and lightbulbs. Thanks to her downstairs neighbor, only the dining area had burned today. Things could have been a whole lot worse.

  “It’s obvious Wyatt is painfully shy, and it’s clear he’s self-conscious about the burn scars on his neck,” Kayla said. Had he been in the military too, like her husband? Maybe he’d been close to an exploding IED, and that’s how he got the scars. She and Mariah carried everything to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

  “You should flirt with Wyatt,” Mariah said, taking a seat. “If I weren’t already seeing someone, I’d be after our hot neighbor myself.”

  “What’s flirt mean?” Brady asked.

  “It means being friendly with someone,” Kayla said, sharing another grin with Mariah.

  She set a place for Brady and lifted him onto the couch. “We don’t know that Wyatt isn’t already involved, and I’m not interested. Being a single parent and trying to get through school are enough.” Not to mention she’d missed so much by getting married at eighteen and becoming a mother by nineteen. She needed time to figure out what she wanted in a relationship before seeking one.

  “It’s been two years since you lost your husband, Kayla. Going out on a date now and then would do you a world of good. I’ll even . . .”

  Wyatt walked back into her apartment before Mariah could finish. He had a long coil of bright orange industrial-sized extension cord looped over his shoulder. Mariah had stopped midsentence. Even Brady had stilled. All eyes turned to the hot guy in the hoodie. Had he heard any part of their conversation?

  “What?” he muttered, his face once again turning crimson.

  “Pizza and beer, that’s what. We’ve been waiting for you. My fridge can wait a few minutes. Let’s eat while the food is still hot.” Kayla scooted over to make room for him.

  Maybe if she made an effort to be his friend, she could help him get over his shyness a little bit. Stop. She didn’t know anything about him, and he wasn’t her pet project. Who did she think she was, anyway?

  Mariah nudged her with her elbow and whispered, “I’d even babysit for free.”

  “Like either of us would ever charge the other,” she whispered back, shaking her head slightly. “Not going to happen,” she mouthed. Nope. She had her hands full. She had a plan, and no matter how hot Wyatt might be, she was not interested in dating or fixing him. Didn’t mean she couldn’t be friendly, though, and she owed him. Kayla smiled and patted the spot beside her on her ratty old, smoke-scented couch. “Join us.”

  Chapter Two

  Judging by the way Kayla and Mariah went silent the instant Wyatt walked through the door, and by the way they were communicating with nudges, pointed looks and whispers, they’d been talking about him. Yay. Pits and palms sweating, mouth dry and his heart flopping around like a fish out of water, he seriously considered fleeing the scene.

  He imagined what they’d been saying. He’s got to know the hood doesn’t hide the scars, right? Yep. He knew. He had mirrors. He’s kind of a loner and a social misfit. No kidding. But then Kayla smiled at him, and the jolt nearly knocked him off his feet. Whatever they’d been saying about him no longer mattered.

  Today would go down in history. He’d talked to the Mysterious Ms. M—about exposed electrical wires and the fire, anyway. Nothing personal other than she was from Iowa. Kayla patted the spot beside her, inviting him to sit. Could he do it? Could he walk right over there, take that seat next to her and eat pizza as if his internal organs weren’t in total chaos?

  He glanced at the door to the hallway. He wanted so badly to stay, but he needed a minute, or thirty, to pull himself together. “Go ahead and start without me,” he mumbled. “This will only take a minute.” He reached into his pocket for the socket adapter he’d brought with him and plugged the extension cord into the nearest living room outlet.

  Sucking in a long calming breath, he uncoiled the cord on his way to the kitchen. Focusing on the task before him might help him pull himself together. The avocado-green appliances in this building had to be thirty-five years old. Not efficient at all, but hey, they still worked. He slid the fridge away from the wall far enough that he could reach the cord and the outlet.

  “Need help?” Kayla came into the tiny kitchen, two beers in hand.

  And . . . there went his heart and his ability to breathe again, just when he’d begun to bring himself under control too. “Nah. I got it.” He plugged in the fridge, a whi
rring sound starting up immediately, and then he pushed the appliance back into place. “All set. You have refrigeration at least, and another outlet to use.” He pointed to the end outlet of the extension cord where it sat on the counter. “If you have a lamp, you could set it on the counter. That would give you enough light to use your kitchen.”

  “I’ll figure the kitchen out later, and I’m not even thinking about cleaning up this mess right now either. Beer?” she asked, handing him a bottle.

  “Thanks.” Their fingers touched as he took it from her hand. His breath caught, and yeah—heat surged up his neck to fill his face. Again. Damn. Turning away, he tugged his hood forward and studied the kitchen. He’d had years of practice talking to clients about their jobs. At least he could communicate about impersonal practical stuff. “You can still use the stove, but you’ll have to light the burners with a match. The ignition is electric.”

  “I’ve always had to light the burners with a match.” Kayla snorted. “The oven too, and yes, I informed the caretaker months ago. Come have pizza, Wyatt.”

  “OK.” Times like this, he wished he were Elec Tric, the alter-ego superhero of his imagination. If he were, he’d be able to talk to Kayla, ask her important personal questions about her life. Like, where was Brady’s dad? Was she seeing anyone? If not, would she like to go out with him? Job stuff was about all he could handle, the same way he did with clients. Even then he had to force himself. He would sit beside her, dammit. He followed her to the couch, mouth dust-dry and pulse racing.

  She wore denim shorts, which gave him a nice view of her long shapely legs. Taller than average, Kayla had curves. Real curves. He’d never been attracted to skinny model types. He preferred a woman with flesh on her bones, someone with plenty of snuggle potential—not that he’d ever come close to having the opportunity.