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“Mother of God,” she growled. Peeking out from underneath the blanket at her clock, she groaned aloud, “It is six thirty in the fucking morning.”
The engine’s buzz grew louder, and she could have sworn it was coming from outside her window. Climbing clumsily to her feet, she wobbled toward the window and lifted the curtain.
And stared dumbly out at the group of men surrounding her house.
“What the fuck?” she yelled, but none of them could hear her above the noise. Dropping the curtains, she grabbed her zombie slippers from the end of her bed. Slipping them on as she hopped out of her bedroom and into the living room, she almost collided with Daisy, who looked ready to rip someone’s head off.
“What the fuck is going on?” Daisy asked.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
Violet unlocked the front door and threw it open so hard it would have punched a hole through the wall without the doorstop. On the porch, she bumped into a young guy carrying a bucket of paint and a brush.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said.
“Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing?” Violet asked.
“Um, we’re doing community service, ma’am. Sergeant Sparks brought us to clean up your yard and house,” he said.
Why that sneaky, conniving son of a bitch.
Hadn’t she told him she was fine and she could take care of her family? She definitely didn’t need his charity.
Violet’s eyes narrowed to slits as she sought out Dean, who was standing with his back to her. She’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. A tool belt rested over his jean-clad hips, and as he turned, she noticed that he looked good in a faded New York Yankees ball cap.
Damn him. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in her dreams instead of stepping all over her reality?
“Hey, isn’t that your fuck buddy?” Daisy asked.
“Don’t call him that,” Violet barked just as the kid with the lawn mower killed the engine. All male eyes turned their way. Dean’s dark gaze slid over her from top to bottom, and her nipples hardened against the cotton of her tank top.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she ignored the quivering of her knees as he approached with another man right behind him.
“Did we wake you?” Dean asked.
“No, the sweet sound of bluebirds chirping on our windowsill did,” Daisy said.
The man behind Dean laughed then looked sheepish. “Sorry about that, but we wanted to get an early start before it got too hot.”
“What are you doing?” Violet asked.
Ignoring her question, Dean introduced the man at his side. “This is Sergeant Blake Kline. This is Violet Douglas and her sister, Daisy.”
Blake held out his hand to her, his smile a flash of white on his tan face. “Nice to meet you.”
Violet took his hand politely. It wasn’t his fault that she wanted to kill his friend with her bare hands. Blake held his hand out to Daisy, who walked back into the house with a huff.
Violet gave Blake an apologetic smile as the guy dropped his hand. “She’s not a morning person.”
“I got that,” Blake said. “I’m going to unload the lumber.”
Blake walked away before she even got out her, “What lumber?” But that was fine, as the man she wanted hadn’t moved off her steps.
Wanted to talk to, you mean.
“Of course,” she muttered to herself.
“What?” Dean asked.
