Callie trailed Ty behind the house. She’d purposely dressed in tennis shoes, jeans and a work shirt so she could be of some use. Even if she hadn’t picked up many tools since building sets in high school, she still knew which end of the hammer was which. Her handyman father had made sure of that.
“You’ll thank me when you can unclog your own sink and stop the toilet from running without calling a plumber,” he’d always said.
She smiled at the memory. He was right, too. She never had to call anyone for minor fixes, even though her Hollywood friends would laugh if they knew she did her own home repairs.
“Hey, Will,” Ty said. “Callie wants to help. What can she do?”
“I don’t know.” The third Behr brother barely spared her a glance. Instead, he continued aiming a steady stream of water from the hose into the fridge Ralph S. Mouse, the rodent star of her favorite childhood books, had run her off from the other day. “What can she do?”
“Whatever you need me to,” she answered quickly, stung by the rejection. “As long as it has nothing to do with rodents. They scare me.”
Ty chuckled. “Don’t worry. Jeff’s setting the mousetraps.”
Now Will stopped hosing down the refrigerator and looked at her. He, too, had bright blue eyes. But his were bracketed with crow’s feet, and his hair was graying at the temples. Clearly, he was the oldest. Did that mean he was the one in charge? Probably. Ty had said he needed to discuss it with his brothers before accepting the job.
She felt him studying her, sizing her up. She narrowed her eyes and drew herself to her full height, five feet, four inches. At times like this, when dealing with judgmental men who looked at her and saw nothing but a helpless female, she’d gladly give up stardom for six inches of height and ten pounds less hair.
Finally, Will spoke. “You know how to swing a sledgehammer?”
“I think I can manage.” It couldn’t be much harder than swinging a twenty-pound kettlebell, right? She could do that in her sleep—and sometimes did, when premiere parties ran long and interfered with her workouts at four in the morning with Gunnar Glory, personal trainer to the stars. She’d completed more than a few sweat sessions less than half awake.
He nodded. “Good. You can help Ty knock out the kitchen cabinets.”
Ty looked worried. Probably afraid she was going to clock him with the sledgehammer.
His words confirmed her suspicion. “Isn’t there something…easier she can do?”
Perhaps clocking him was a good idea. Might knock his sensibilities into the new millennium.
Will frowned, probably unused to his orders being questioned. “You said Ms. Golding wants to help. She can help you in the kitchen.”
Callie rolled her eyes and grabbed her reluctant partner by the elbow. “Let’s go, Ty. No use standing around when there’s work to be done.”
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