Pandora's Box (2 page)

She laughed, mildly dazzled. An educated woman shouldn’t take this much pleasure in chin stubble, should she? Obviously, there
was something insidious at work here, a common denominator among post-pubescent females.

The blue-collar worker fantasy. Dum-dum-dummmmm.

Cheesy and trite, but there it was. Guys stared helplessly at big boobs, both in cartoons and in real life. Similarly, a female
saw a tool belt hanging low on slender, denim-clad hips, and defined pecs stretching the material of a soft, white T-shirt
and . . . she drooled. Simple cause and effect. Add to that sufficient body heat to comfortably wear short sleeves when it
was only fifty-some degrees outside, and factor in the implications thereof. . . . Well, that was a fantasy for you. Nothing
politically correct or evolved about it.

Mina squelched her drooling and attempted professional conversation. “So you’ve made some headway, I see.” A responsible homeowner,
however temporary, should show at least mild interest when someone prepared to rip holes in her house. Teague had already
done some measuring and marking up, she could see, and apparently, had the tools available to start yanking out damaged windows
whenever.

“Yeah, we finished this morning’s job earlier than we expected and I wanted to get a jump on your project before the rain
this weekend. Since we already had the verbal agreement, I didn’t think you’d mind if we got started while you were gone.”

“Not at all. This is great.”

“Good.” He smiled and gestured behind him. “I thought we’d take care of this window first, then see how bad the water damage
is around the next one. Might have to replace some of your wallboard and maybe even the supports if the wood’s bad.”

And, given her homeowner’s luck, she could almost guarantee the rotted status of the wood. “Of course.”

“Anyway, I’m thinking we could have this done right on schedule, rain or no rain.” He smiled at her, obviously expecting modest
applause.

It was a peculiarly male phenomenon, this expectation of praise for doing the job required of him. Jackson, for example, had
always required a little ego stroke every time it occurred to him to pick his smelly socks off the floor or put his dirty
dishes in the sink. Mina wondered if Tiffy did the stroking now.

As old vibes dredged up ugly memories, Mina’s tool-belt lust cooled just a little. No, she wouldn’t immediately convict every
guy of Jackson’s crimes, but she’d be an idiot to fall for the first attractive man she met after her breakup.

Dumb, Mina. Ever heard of rebound relationships? Those never work out. Try for a little caution.

She forced herself to smile only politely. “Then I’ll just get out of your way so you can get back to work. Let me know if
you need anything.” She turned briskly and strode off, determined not to look back.

Still, she never heard the man move again until after a yell from one of his men. “Hey, Teague! Get the lead out. Thought
you wanted to . . .”

Smiling just a little—hey, a girl was allowed some vanity, wasn’t she?—Mina jogged up the front steps and kicked her toe into
something hard.

“Ouch, damn it. What—” A package lay on her front porch. She frowned and shoved at the box with the heel of her bruised foot.
A damned heavy one, too, given that it was only about the size of a shoebox. She bent to read the return address. England,
as in Wiltshire? “Already?”

Hefting the box and wrestling it onto her hip, she dug for her keys and let herself in. Silly to lock her door, considering
people were preparing to bust the window out of her back wall, but whatever. She dumped the package onto her couch and stared
at it. All this fuss over a damn rock. Okay, a rock containing what might be interesting family history, but still.

“So, open it already.” Yes, she talked to herself. Maybe she should get a roommate. Or a pet.

Pulling the package closer, she pried up a corner and yanked at the tape. Tough little thing, and reinforced with half a pound
of twine. She stood up and went in search of scissors. Instead she found a knife. “This’ll work.” She plopped herself down
on the couch and slipped the blade between packing paper and box and sawed away at it. Dull knives. Not unexpected.

Ten minutes later, she opened the box flaps and stared inside. “A lot of cushioning for a rock. Sheesh.” She dug through the
wadded up paper. Newspaper? Very old, very thick newspaper. It didn’t even appear to be newsprint. The ink was blurred to
the point of illegibility. Odd. But then, a woman who bequeathed a rock to a stranger had to be pretty darn odd herself. Gladys
was probably one of those pack rats that held on to newspapers for months, even years, before disposing of them. Maybe they’d
been stacked all over the cottage.

Then Mina pulled up a last fold of paper and there it was: just an ordinary, grayish stone, obviously chipped and ground into
a roughly rectangular block a few inches longer and wider than a standard brick. “Great. My inheritance.”

Yes, she was an ungrateful, materialistic jerk, but wouldn’t it have been great to inherit enough money to pay Jackson off
so she could keep her home? She’d love to be able to thumb her nose at Jackson
and
his agreement by waving a hefty inheritance in his selfish, betraying face. And then there was the obvious advantage of keeping
a roof over her head. A cornerstone, valuable as a keepsake though it might be, wouldn’t do much in the way of providing shelter
for a recently unemployed woman with a fast-dwindling bank account. So she was gaining a cornerstone and losing a house. Gee,
there was irony.

Still, the attorney had mentioned old family papers. What if some of these papers were valuable? She lifted the stone out
of its box. It was heavy, but not as heavy as it could have been. Hollow, obviously. She upended it and noted a sealed portion.
Sealed with mortar? Or was that metal, just corroded to a point where it looked like stone? It was hard to tell. She scratched
at the seal until a corner of it, already cracked, chipped away, leaving a tiny opening. But it wouldn’t budge any further.
She’d need something besides a paring knife to open it. A flat surface would help, too.

Hefting the stone, juggling its weight, she carted it out to the kitchen. She wondered what would be inside. She honestly
was curious. Even if the papers inside weren’t valuable—she reasoned with silent, recently rediscovered virtue—they would
still be kind of neat to read—

Boom!
And a second crash, as shattered glass and debris flew at her. Mina stumbled backward, half out of the kitchen. Tripping over
her own feet, she banged up against the doorjamb on her way to the floor, with debris and shards of glass clattering around
her. She heard masculine yells and one odd whooping sound as something hard hit her in the forehead. Then the hazy room went
dark.

CHAPTER TWO

A murmuring began low, then built to a rumbling, almost musical cadence.

Well, fine, then. You just lie down and take a little nap, why
don’t you? Like I have all day for this. You know, I have some serious
celebrating to do. Places to go, people to see, things to do.
Damn, but this feels good. I can look around and—

Oh . . . heyyy. This place is wrecked. You live in this? Sheesh.
I’d heard you Americans were spoiled, with your riches and your
toys. But I thought, given your lineage, that you’d at least have a
decent work ethic. Obviously I was wrong. I mean, sure, all hell
broke loose when I popped my top, but you can’t blame this hellhole
on me. Just look at the piles and the dirty pots and now the rest of
this mess, and—

“Oh, my god!” A different voice. “Mac, call 911!We need an ambulance.” Footsteps approached, ending in a thump as a man-sized
weight dropped to the floor next to her. “Mina.” She felt hands brushing her hair back, and gentle, unsteady pats to her cheek.
“Come on, lady. Open your eyes.”

“Where’d I put the damn phone?” A third voice was muttering, and Mina distantly registered footsteps and rummaging. “What
the hell happened? We barely even touched that window. Why’d it go down like that? And, hell, where’d the wall go?”

“Right now, the client’s wearing part of it. You got that phone going yet?” the voice—Teague’s?—barked overhead. But everything,
even Teague’s urgency, sounded muffled as though she were listening from underwater.

“Hang on. It’s around . . . Here it is.” A click. “Damn. It’s dead.”

“Find another one, damn it.”

Another voice, farther off and faint: “Looks like everything blew from over here. Maybe it was something in this cabinet.”
She heard shuffling steps and the clank of cabinet doors. “Whatever it was blew off the cabinet door and there’s nasty shit
sprayed all over. Smells like chemicals . . . turpentine, I think. Doesn’t explain why the window blew
in
, though. The window should have cracked, maybe, or even blown
out
, not . . .”

Mina felt hands plucking at her clothing and skin, as though carefully picking away bits of debris. She should try to open
her eyes. It just hurt too damn much. And the light seeping through her eyelids was already driving stakes through her forehead.

“Mac, try the land line.” The voice rumbled from close to her head, less muffled than before. “Dean, what else you got over
there? Anything volatile? Last thing we need’s a fire in here.”

“Radiator’s by the cabinet, next to the window.” The response came from across the room. “It’s a mess, like everything else.
And still hot. Maybe it had something to do with the blast?” More shuffling and rustling, but muffled as though inside a cabinet.
“Damn. There’s rags and everything under here. She’s lucky she didn’t burn the place down a long time ago.”

Oh, crap. So she was liable for
this
now? But that cabinet of rags had to be Jackson’s mess. For all his charm and book smarts, the man was dumb as dirt with his
hands—not that he’d willingly accept liability for anything. Great. Just what she needed. Another headache to go with her
throbbing temples and the financial problems. She really needed to open her eyes. To argue . . . to explain. But it was so
hard. She felt so floaty still.

A distant curse. “Land line’s out.”

“Check the lady’s purse, then. She probably has a cell phone. Dean, take care of the rags and radiator along with anything
else flammable or compromised.” Shaky sigh, closer again. “Oh, hell.” She felt a feather-light probing. “She’s bleeding, too.
Mina? Doll, you gotta wake up.” Fingers brushed her throat, held, and she felt a long whoosh of breath. “She’s got a pulse
at least. But that’s one helluva knot. Whatever it was must have corked her good.”

Damn. I guess I underestimated the physical effects all this
would have. You weren’t supposed to get hurt. My apologies.
Mina, right?
It was an oddly hollow voice. Very close.

“Mmm.”

“Hey, she’s coming around!” Different voice, from just above her head. Then closer, murmuring in her ear. “Mina. Mina, it’s
Teague. You know, just Teague, like just Cher?” That voice was rich and soothing, and she clung to it. “Don’t move yet, doll.
But please, try to open your eyes if you can hear me.”

Oh, man. This was really gonna hurt. No sense in putting it off any longer, though. They’d think she was in a coma. With effort,
she parted her lashes just enough to see green eyes and a familiar, stubbly chin. It was Teague in all his rough working man’s
beauty. But very pale. She closed her eyes against the light. Licked her lips. “Hurts.”

“I’ll bet it does. Sorry about the flashlight. Any chance I could see your eyes again? I need to check out your pupils.”

“Mm-hmm.” She opened them, briefly, then winced and closed them again.

“Do you know who you are? Can you remember what happened?”

“Yes.” She tried to raise her head.

“Whoa. Just relax. The ambulance should be here soon.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Mac, did you put that call through yet?”
He turned back to her. “There’s glass everywhere, and I don’t know what injuries you might have—”

“No ambulance.” It would cost a fortune. No insurance.

“Don’t worry about—”

“
No ambulance
.” She took a breath, then another, then carefully tried to wedge an elbow beneath her. Gritty bits scraped against her skin
as she levered herself slightly upward.

“Wait—”

The whole freaking world started whirling. “Oh, god.” She closed her eyes against the dizziness and slumped back again. “Could
you help me up? Please? The floor’s a mess.” And she didn’t like three big men hulking around while she was flat on her back.
Stupid, but she felt at a disadvantage.

“No, you stay right where you are. You could be concussed or worse.”

“Fine.” She’d get up under her own steam. The guy was probably worried about liability. Opening her eyes, she raised her head
and carefully focused on the guy Teague had called Mac. “Do
not
call that ambulance.” The guy with the phone—
her
phone—paused, then held up a hand, obviously conceding for the moment. She closed her eyes, hoping efforts to regain her upright
position wouldn’t land her flat on her back again. She slid her arm behind her, trying to brace it to take weight.

“Christ, but you’re stubborn.” This from a disgruntled Teague. “Fine, I’ll help you over to the couch. But slowly.”

Teague sounded so harassed she might’ve even smiled if her head didn’t hurt so damned bad. Her shoulder was numb, too. “Thank
you.” She shifted more and winced.

“Hey, I said
slowly.
”

She squeaked acquiescence. Good thing he was helping because, despite her threats, she knew she was all talk. It hurt too
much to move. Alone, she’d probably just lie on the floor all day and wait for healing.

“Good. All you gotta do is be still. I’ll move you.” When she nodded just slightly, he carefully slid a hand under her knees,
then paused. “You’ll tell me if anything hurts? You can feel my arm under your legs, can’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. I hurt from the back of my head on down.” Except the shoulder. Oh, crap. Take that back. She could feel the shoulder
now and it was throbbing like a—“Could we move, please? I think part of that stupid window’s poking me in the butt right now.”

“Seriously?”

“I sure hope not.” Wouldn’t it be fun to dive right into bankruptcy just so she could pay a doctor to dig glass out of her
butt? “Never mind. Are you going to help me up or not?”

Cranky wench, aren’t you.
The words seemed to echo in her head. As if from far away and yet right there.

In her head? She rubbed one ear in a vague attempt to adjust her hearing. Was there debris inside her ear? A pressure difference?
A damaged eardrum? “Hey, you’d be cranky, too, if a couple of windows blew in on you.”

“No doubt.” Teague, who sounded normal again, slid his other hand under her shoulder. Not the sore one, thank heavens. Then
he lifted her, slowly, his attention obviously trained on any wince or out-of-joint portion of her anatomy.

At least he sounded right again. A cautious shifting of her weight, and then he lifted her, cradling her close to his big
body. His handling of her was so careful, his attention focused so intently on her every expression, that she felt safe. Almost
. . . cherished. Embarrassed by her yearnings, Mina had to object. “And where do you get off calling me a wench, anyway?”

He swung her sideways to fit through the doorway, his hold gentle but the movement a little too swift. “I didn’t—”

“Ow! Watch it, would you?” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the world spun and pain thundered between her ears.

“Sorry.”

“I swear, it’s a wonder you have any clients, what with the smart mouth and exploding windows. Not to mention crappy bedside
manner.”

“Now, wait just a minute. I didn’t explode any damned window. That window was stable until whatever you had in your cabinet
blew everything to smithereens.” He sighed. “Hell, I don’t have a clue what really happened. Even with the cabinet and all,
that window shouldn’t have fallen like that.” He set her carefully on the couch, then glanced briefly through the doorway
at the wrecked window. “At least it’s not raining yet. We’d have a hell of a mess otherwise. The clouds looked heavy and green
for a bit there. Guess it blew over.”

“Great. Thanks for the weather report. Any chance you guys could clean up this stuff? You know,
before
the rain comes?”

He scowled at her, but raised his voice slightly. “Guys, could you clear out some of the debris? Lady’s been hurt and needs
medical attention.”

“Hey, sure. No problem.”

“Hope she’s okay.”

Once she heard footsteps retreating, Mina spoke through her teeth. “I said I don’t need medical attention.”

“What, do you have a phobia or something?”

“Yes. It’s called fear of bankruptcy. I don’t have health insurance.” Dumb. Stupid. Tell her contractor she has money troubles
right after he knocks down her wall.

He lowered his voice. “Look, you need to see someone. Most of these scrapes look okay–I could even clean them out for you
if you want. But something slugged you damn hard. You were out cold. You might even need stitches there at your temple, and
there’s no telling what kind of internal damage you’ve got.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Look, I get the insurance problem. A visit to the emergency room could be pricey. But I can’t just leave you like this. What
if . . .” His eyes, which had gone stormy with worried impatience, suddenly cleared. “Hey, I got it. It’s perfect. My neighbor’s
a doctor. Let me just call her and ask what I should do for you. If she says you need to see someone we can—”

“I don’t want charity.”

“You’re not getting charity.” He raised his eyebrows, his smile grim. “I’m covering my butt. Get it? This is purely self-interest.
Does that work for you?”

She studied him through squinted eyes, not quite buying the self-interest argument. The guy’s first instinct had been charitable,
which could only raise the hackles of an otherwise responsible, proud-of-her-independence single female. Especially when it
was so tempting to play damsel to his rough-edged white knight. Remember caution, Mina?

“Hey, I’m a small business owner. Legal liability is something I have to take seriously for me and my employees. And no money’s
gonna change hands, if that’s what’s bugging you. We’re just bartering. My neighbor owes me, seeing as I fixed her door last
weekend.”

Mina didn’t respond.

“You could consider her like a subcontractor, already included in that bid I made you. Sound reasonable?”
He
certainly sounded pleased with this interpretation.

Well, it was pretty ingenious of him, she had to admit. “Yeah, fine. Whatever.” She closed her eyes again. It wasn’t like
she really had a choice at this point anyway; Teague fully intended to call his neighbor and was arguing now just to appease
Mina’s dignity.

So much for gratitude.
A snide rumble of a voice. Hollow again.

Which irritated her. “Look, I’ll be grateful later, okay? My head hurts.”

A pause. “Sure, okay.” Teague sounded doubtful and very alert. “Let me call the doc now and see if I can put some ice on that
head.”

She closed her eyes, vaguely registering a muffled click and conversation.

Whine much lately?

“What?” She opened her eyes and saw that Teague was attending solely to his cell phone. She blinked, then glanced over his
shoulder to see two men on the far side of her kitchen, busily sweeping up debris in front of her cabinets. They seemed to
be razzing each other in between instructions. Neither was even glancing in Mina’s direction, much less talking to her.

From what I’ve heard, you people have been whining for three
hundred years and counting. Still, you used to be a hardier bunch.
Old Gladbags wasn’t such a whiner. She didn’t have much, but she
worked her tail off and she was an ex-pat. So it must be the soft living,
then.

“Oh, god.” Her uncertainty mounting, Mina glanced from corner to shadow to window, from person to person to person. Nothing.
What the hell? She worked her elbows under her with a groan and tried to—

“Damn it, I told you not to move. Hold on, Nell.” Teague set his phone down and stalked over to her. “You. Lie back down.
Or I’m hauling your ass to the emergency room.”

“But, I heard—”

“Yeah, she’s coming over. The woman’s married to her Hippocratic Oath. Whaddya want? You’d think people would appreciate that
in this day and age. Janelle just cares about people and she takes her job seriously. So lie still, damn it.” He raised his
eyebrows.

With a baffled grunt, Mina carefully slid low on her elbows and let her head sink back into the couch pillow. Honestly, it
felt a whole lot better when she didn’t move, but what
was
that?