Free Color of Loneliness by Madeleine Beckett Page A

through her mind: visions of dusty cowboy boots and spurs, gun-slinging, and a tall, lean man with angry eyes, peeping out from underneath a dark cowboy hat. She frowns because for some reason, the cowboy in her imagination looks vaguely like her contractor.
    After getting some thoughts down about her story, she makes her way into the kitchen and grabs a couple of water bottles to start some coffee. Stepping into the bathroom, she starts to sit on the toilet when she remembers that she doesn’t have a working toilet right now. Slamming the bathroom door shut and stomping into the living room, she throws her coat back on and makes her way back over to Jim’s house. Quietly letting herself in, she uses his restroom and starts counting down the minutes for the contractor’s arrival.
    * * *
    When Myra hears his truck pull in the driveway, she excitedly jumps off the couch and opens the door before Dylan even gets out of his truck. She watches as he hefts a bucket of tools from the back and carries it with him.
    She patiently holds the door open for him. “Hi,” she says with a warm smile. She feels confident that she can tolerate his hateful self as long as he gets her house fixed up as quickly as possible. Desperation does things to a person.
    Dylan simply nods, his eyes flashing to hers for a moment before he steps inside.
    “I need to take a look at the pipes. I’ll track down the water issue then I’ll re-do the estimate,” he says in an unfriendly voice.
    “Sure. Do whatever you need to do,” she says, smiling as she waves him into the kitchen.
    * * *
    When Dylan drops his tool bucket on the kitchen floor, it makes a loud clanging sound. He can’t believe this woman has more shit to add to the list of shit that she needs done to her shitty house. And he especially doesn’t like the fact that she seemed so happy to see him this morning, opening the door like she did and looking so damn excited.
    Shrugging out of his coat, he tosses it on one of the kitchen chairs. Bending his tall body down into a squatting position, he looks under the sink and scowls because he can’t get a good look at the pipes. Huffing, he lies on his back and scoots himself backwards into the cabinet. His awkward angle and large shoulders barely fit, causing his shoulder blades to ache in the small space. Once he gets a good look at everything, he slides his long torso back out.
    Standing up, he groans and stretches out his sore back before jotting down some notes on his clipboard. Grabbing his coat, he steps out the back door and takes a look at the water line and finds a busted pipe. Lucky for her, it looks like something he can fix without calling in a plumber. Back in the kitchen, he sets the clipboard on the kitchen counter, leaning his elbow against it, and quickly writes up the additional costs for the extra work.
    Dylan steps back into the living room and hands Myra the paperwork. “Here’s the amended estimate,” he says. She quickly reads it, signs and hands it back to him.
    “Do you think you can get my water working today?” she asks.
    “Don’t know.” He wants to roll his eyes at her because he hasn’t even started on the job yet.
    “Okay,” she mumbles, staring down at the floor.
    * * *
    Myra watches out the window as Dylan drags tools out of the back of his truck. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.
    “Hey.”
    “Is he there yet?” Susie asks.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Myra hisses into the phone.
    “So he is. Is he wearing a wedding ring?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Yes, you do. I know you looked. Now tell me.”
    Myra’s face scrunches up because she does not want to admit that she knows the answer to that question. “No,” she finally says.
    Susie squeals in her ear. “Okay, now here’s the deal. I want you to go take a picture of him with your phone and send it to me. Hurry.”
    “Have you lost your mind?”
    “You have two choices here. You can either tell me what the guy looks like – which