Fixer Upper Read Online Mink

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Novella, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)

Fixing up an old house isn’t exactly high on my bucket list. But finding a lost treasure? That lands right near the top. So, I take a job as caretaker of the Devereaux Estate, do some odd jobs here and there for its batty owner, and spend the rest of my time looking for the diadem.
Until Charlie shows up. She threatens to upend my search, but not because she’s onto me—it’s because I can’t seem to get enough of her. With curves for miles and an innocence I can’t resist, she’s quickly becoming the only treasure I’d kill to have. And that’s not far from the truth, especially when danger comes calling.

MINK’s Note: Grab your kitty and a cuppa for this tale of treasure and true love.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



“Could you get off me? I’m trying to work here.” I blow a cobweb out of my face.

Dudley ignores my request and continues to make biscuits on my back, his claws digging through my shirt. I’m lying prone and halfway inside the crawlspace of the old ice house. So far all I’ve found are bugs, some gum wrappers that probably date to the 1930s, and evidence of mice nesting in the walls.

I shine my flashlight, trying to find something, anything that would lead to a clue. But there’s nothing.

With a sigh, I wriggle backwards out of the small space until I can sit up. Dudley jumps down, then slinks around so he can sit in my lap.

“Edith sent you here to torment me, didn’t she?” I reluctantly scratch the top of his head. “She’s on to me, and you’re the proof.”

He flops over so I can rub his belly.

I give in and pet him for a short while, then get to my feet and glance around the dilapidated building once more before trudging to the door. It’s not here. I’ve searched this place so many times, but I’ve yet to find it. Maybe I should give up.

With that dark thought in my head, I walk back to the main house and grab my tool bag off the front porch.

When I stride in, Edith calls, “Rowan, that you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was coming to take a look at the sink. You said it wouldn’t drain properly?”

“That old thing is slower than Christmas.”

I hear the clunk clunk clunk of her walker as she appears from the parlor.

“Where have you been?” Her eyes narrow, the wrinkles beside them growing deeper. “You’re covered in dirt.”

“Just working on some things outside.”

She clunks past me toward the kitchen. “This old house always has something wrong with it. That’s why I’m glad you’re here.” She gives me a warm smile.

I nod as she leads me to the sink.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She sits at the kitchen table. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something.” She taps a crooked finger on her chin. “But what was it?”

I glance down the sink, then reach into the drain and pull out what looks like yarn with beads on it. “What’s this?” I keep pulling until the whole dripping thing is free of the drain.

“Oh!” She claps. “I was wondering where I put my macrame.”

I would scold her, but there’s no point. She’ll be back to doing something batty the second I turn around. That’s her way. She lives in this huge estate all alone since her husband passed, and she grows a little nuttier each day. So much so that I’ve convinced her I’m a handyman who was hired by her late husband to help out around the house. I’ve lived here for six months, and she’s never questioned why I dig up the lawn in different spots, bust up concrete in the basement, scour her attic, or explore the many outbuildings on the property.

“Now what was I going to tell you?”

“I’m sure you’ll remember.” I point to the yarn. “Is there somewhere you want me to put this?”

“No, just leave it there. I’m working on some knitting right now. I’ll get back to the macrame later.”

“Just don’t put it down the sink again, okay?”

She crosses her heart. “I won’t.”

“Constance will be here soon to make your dinner.” I flip on the water to make sure it drains. There’s no telling what else she’s stuffed down the sink.

Dudley jumps on the counter beside me, his big green eyes watching the water. I never asked for a sidekick, but that’s what he is. I can’t go anywhere without him following me around.

Once the water seems to be in order, I flip it off and head for the door.

“Wait!” She massages her temples. “I think I remember.”

I lean against the doorframe and force myself to seem interested. She’ll probably tell me that she saw a great big parrot in the yard and wants me to catch it for her or something similar. Edith, for all her misfiring brain bits, is at least entertaining.

“I wanted to tell you …”

Dudley jumps into her lap.

She strokes him absentmindedly.

“You can tell me whenever you remember.” I back up a step.

“No. Wait!” She holds up a finger. “I know. My granddaughter is coming!”

Now that makes me pause.


She looks up at me, her gray eyebrows drawing together. “What about my granddaughter?”

I stifle my irritation. “You said your granddaughter is coming.”

“Oh, yes!” She smiles. “Charlie. She’s coming. I’m leaving the house to her.”

Fuck. The last thing I need is someone of sound mind questioning what the hell I’m doing here. My timetable just moved up. I have to find the treasure, and I have to do it before some meddling granddaughter arrives.

“When’s she coming?” I ask.

A knock sounds at the door. Oh, fucking hell no.