Color of Loneliness by Madeleine Beckett Read Free Book Online Page B

moment before he looks back down at the clipboard. “Sounds like some faulty wiring,” he mumbles, scribbling again. “Where’s your breaker box?”
    “In the basement, I think,” she says as she walks towards the basement door and opens it.
    Myra flips on the light switch and takes in a deep breath. She grips the railing fiercely and carefully walks down the decrepit stairs, hoping she makes it to the bottom unscathed.
    “I think it’s over…” She stops speaking when complete darkness sweeps the room.
    “That’s what I was talking about,” she whispers.
    “Hang on,” Dylan mumbles. She hears keys clanging together and some kind of a clicking sound . She exhales heavily when she sees a small light focused in her direction.
    The light moves away from her as Dylan turns, leaving her in the dark as she hears his heavy boots plod loudly across the concrete floor.
    “Wait,” she calls out. “I’m afraid I’ll fall down.”
    Myra can feel his irritation and annoyance without even seeing his face. It practically fills the room. He turns back towards her and doesn’t say a word as he holds out his arm.
    With her heart pounding, she rests her hand lightly on his arm, gripping his coat, and holds onto the rail for dear life. Within seconds, they make it safely back upstairs just as the lights come back on.
    * * *
    Dylan heads back down to the basement by himself to check out the breaker box. Setting his clipboard on one of the shelves, he stretches his arms above his head. From the moment she opened the door, he knew from one glance at her startled expression what she was thinking. He constantly gets calls from women to change light bulbs, clear clogged drains that aren’t clogged, or check out mysterious wiring problems that don’t exist just so they can ogle his ass or blatantly throw themselves at him. Dylan hates the fact that women find him attractive. He just wishes he were average looking. He does not want attention from any woman period.
    His current profession and his looks are a lethal combination. He thinks back to Mrs. Marshall who called him for a clogged drain, which was a fucking lie. He turned around to find her sitting in a kitchen chair in a miniskirt with her legs spread open wearing no panties. He got the hell outta there so fast he left burnt rubber tracks on her driveway .
    Rubbing his hands across his eyes, he picks up his clipboard. He knows this customer – he frowns as he searches for her name, Myra Sommers – legitimately has a house that seems to be falling apart around her, but he still can’t help but feel she just wants to use it try to get in his pants. He tells himself that he just needs to keep his walls up high and keep them well fortified.
    After inspecting the wiring situation, he reluctantly climbs back up the stairs.
    * * *
    “I’ll work up a written estimate and get back to you in a couple of days,” Dylan says before he turns and walks swiftly out the front door before Myra even has a chance to reply.
    She frowns. “Okay. Thanks for your time,” she calls out after him as she steps up to the door and stares at his retreating figure.
    He doesn’t bother responding as he quickly gets in his truck. She watches the truck as it backs out of her driveway and disappears down the road.
    * * *
    Myra walks the short distance to Jim’s house and knocks on the door.
    “Why, hello,” he says in greeting with a wide, happy grin. “Come in, sweetheart.”
    “I made you some cookies,” she says as she grins back and holds up a plate. “A little thank you for all of the hard work you did helping me with my many boxes.”
    “Perfect. I’ll pour us some milk.”
    Moments later, they sit down at the table. “Mmmm, these are delicious,” Jim says in between bites. They sit quietly enjoying the cookies and the companionable silence.
    Myra feels Jim’s thoughtful eyes gazing at her. “What?” she asks.
    “You look so much like your mother,” Jim says with a gentle smile