Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

She looks appropriately embarrassed. That’s something at least. Later I can deal with the fact that she seems to think that she has some kind of claim on this house, but first, I need to put some ice on my leg and have a fucking drink.

Now that she isn’t shouting at me, I take her in for the first time. And she is … beautiful. Long dark hair that sweeps over her shoulders and sharp green eyes. Under any kind of normal circumstances, I would be asking her out for a drink. But considering the fact that she just nearly crippled me, I think I’ll pass.

Still, I can’t ignore that she’s gorgeous.

I take a step and hiss at the pain. Fuck. This is going to lay me up for a while. Her embarrassment turns deeper, and she swallows. “Do you need some help into the house?”

Well, even if it is her fault that I’m in this mess, getting closer to the pretty brunette is appealing. “Sure.”

I hold out my arm and she ducks under it, helping to support my weight as we walk toward the house. In spite of myself, I like the feel of her under my hands. Keep it together, Caleb. This woman is the only reason you’re limping. Get control of your dick, okay?

But my dick very much disagrees with that logic. Once it’s interested in something, it likes to see it through as far as it can go.

Once we start walking, the pain is more intense than I thought it would be. I still don’t think that anything is broken, but this is probably a little more serious than just ice and whiskey. Maybe. We’ll see when I can actually take a look at it.

“Come around this way,” I say through gritted teeth. “Until I rebuild those steps, I’m using the side door.” She helps me hobble into the house and leads me to the living room. I have some furniture, though it’s sparse for now. I didn’t want to have a truck full of furniture delivered before I got a good portion of the renovation under my belt. Better to work in a house that’s bare bones. Better for the workflow and for the furniture. Anyway, I have enough in the house so that I’m comfortable.

But honestly, the interior is in really good shape. Better shape than I realized when I bought it. I think I’ll have the rest of the furniture delivered soon so I can actually settle in. The restoration in here will be minor repairs and having the furniture in here won’t be a hassle. Shining up older wood and touching up paint and wallpaper. Replacing a few floorboards here and there. Easy stuff.

The exterior work is more significant. There’s a section of roof that needs to be fixed, if not entirely replaced. And the porch will take a while. I have to demolish the entire thing, rebuild it, and then reinstall the railing precisely how it had been when I bought the place. I also want to shore up the foundation. There aren’t any cracks, but in this humid environment near the river, I really don’t want to take any chances with that.

She helps me sit on the couch before darting away toward the kitchen. I hope she’s getting ice. “What’s your name?” I call after her.

“Allison Hollis,” she calls back from the kitchen. “Ally. And I’m sorry for assuming that you were going to tear down the house, but in my defense, it really looked like that’s what you were doing.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” I mutter as I unbuckle my jeans. I need to get them off if I’m going to treat this properly and get a good look.

“Listen,” she shouts from the kitchen, “I came here with a purpose. I’m not some random stranger who loves porches and old houses. You see, I’ve been saving to buy this house for years and I missed it by a week because you swooped in and decided to buy it. I mean, it’s been on the market for years. I mean, this is just horrendous timing. It’s not entirely your fault, but this just sucks for me, so forgive me if I’m not exactly sane right now.

“And I don’t know if it would matter at all, but I can tell you how hard I worked and thought about the day I would have enough money for a down payment. And if it made a difference, I’d tell you about all the years that my grandfather put into this house. He’s the reason it’s restored at all. It was dilapidated when he bought it decades ago.”

I’m only half listening to her as I ease my jeans off, trying my best not to brush the belt or the denim across the growing welt. When I glance at the kitchen, I see Ally moving around with a confidence that tells me she definitely has been inside this house before. There’s a dishtowel in her hand, and she’s already filling it with ice from the freezer.