A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Page B

Tyler Moore Show ?” She flicks her hand at us. “Reckon not—too young.”
    â€œI’ve seen reruns.” I go with Birdie into the broad, deep closet. The floor is covered with orange and green shag carpet.
    â€œI love Mary Tyler Moore,” Skyler says.
    â€œNow, here’s your bathroom.” Birdie shoves the door open . . . and a man pops out.
    I scream and jump back. “Great day in the morning.” My heart is thumping and my knees knock.
    â€œWhat? What is it?” Skyler crashes into me. “Oh. Wow.”
    Birdie glowers at us over her shoulder. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
    The handsome man winks as he maneuvers his broad shoulders through the doorway. My face burns, and Skyler exhales hot air on the back of my neck. I shove her aside. I saw him first.
    Birdie pats his muscled arm. “This is Lee Rivers. He’s a big-time contractor and a good friend of mine. He humors me by occasionally doing an odd job or two around here.”
    â€œYou’re one of my first and best customers.” Lee puts his arm around Birdie. “The drywall behind the toilet was warped. I replaced it, but it still needs paint. I’ll send one of the men over to finish up. Or—” he peers down at me “—I might see to the job myself.”
    My knocking knees buckle at the same time Skyler falls against me. We almost topple onto him. “I need some painting done at my place,” she says.
    For crying out loud. “Skyler.” I swear she’s salivating.
    Lee grins as if Skyler’s comment tickles. “I only do jobs for Birdie. But I can give you the name of a good painter.”
    â€œSo, Robin, this is your bathroom.” Birdie sidesteps Lee. “It’s small, but sufficient.”
    I squish around Lee—dern, he smells good—and peek into the bathroom. It is small, but I don’t plan on living in there.
    By the time I come out, Skyler is in the living room making third-degree goo-goo eyes at Lee. I’m about to hip butt her out of the way when I catch sight of myself in the closet door mirror.
    My hair is sticking out from under the Auburn hat like I’m the Scarecrow’s bride. And please, is that a grease stain streaking across my right boob?
    I try to wipe the grease away, but I only smear it. Oh, geez. I look up. Lee is watching me.
    â€œGrease,” I say, pointing to the stain.
    He nods. “I see.”
    Land a-mighty. Did I just point the man to my chest?
    Skyler grabs my arm and pulls me to her. “What are you doing?”
    I whine, “I don’t know.”
    â€œStop. He’ll think you’re addled or something.”
    â€œI am addled.”
    Lee packs up his tools while Birdie talks to him about renovating her kitchen. His triceps bulge under his shirt sleeves when he picks up the heavy metal box.
    â€œSee you girls later.” Birdie stops at the door with a gander at my head. “We just met, sugar, but you best do something about your hair. Don’t want to scare anyone on Music Row.”
    Skyler throws her arm around my shoulders. “I’ll see to it, Birdie.”
    Birdie winks at Skyler. “You’re all right. Did you tell me your name?”
    â€œSkyler. Skyler Banks. Robin’s cousin and an attorney. In case you need one.”
    Birdie rolls her eyes and closes my door, leaving with Lee, who I swear lets his final gaze linger on my face for a good long second.
    Skyler is about to rave over him when Birdie pops in again. “Robin, I forgot. A friend of mine, a songwriter, Marc Lewis, runs a cleaning service. He said he could use an extra hand if you don’t mind scrubbing toilets for a living.”
    â€œNo, I don’t mind.”
    â€œHe’s got a few clients downtown and on Music Row, so you’ll enjoy that part of it. Even if the Clorox gets to you after awhile.”
    I smile. “Thanks, Birdie.”
    â€œGot his number down in