Marin Thomas - Aaron Under Construction

“One of the trusses had to be adjusted. I just now got off the roof to check on his progress.” He shook his head in disgust and mumbled something about having to repair the damage the anglo had caused.

When Jennifer entered the house, whistling sounds greeted her ears. From the snappy tune to the jig in his step, Aaron appeared to be enjoying himself. No wonder—he’d gone loco!

“Hey, boss.” He flashed a charming grin.

She scowled.

“I’m making good progress.”

Inching closer to one wall, she examined his work and shuddered. He’d used the wrong nails, and most of them had been pounded into the wallboard at odd angles. She turned slowly in a circle and surveyed the entire area, unable to prevent her mouth from dropping open.

“What’s wrong?” He joined her and together they twirled like a couple of toy tops.

“Where are the outlets? The heater vents? The air-intake vents?”

“Outlets and vents?”

“Those things you plug lamps and TVs into? The places hot air and cool air enter the room.”

He scratched his head. “Shoot. I must have covered them up.”

Unsure whether to laugh or cry at his perplexed frown, she pressed her palms to her forehead, hoping to ease the thump, thump building in intensity. “You’ll have to remove all the wallboard, cut out the electrical and vents, then nail them back in place. I doubt you’ll get that far by the end of the day, but if you do, find me.” She tapped her finger against a bent nail head. “You’re using the wrong-sized nails and they have to be pounded in straight.”

She snatched the hammer from his hand, then grabbed a nail from the pouch on her tool belt. “Do it—” with one blow, the nail went straight into the board “—like that.”

“Impressive.”

The compliment startled her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d awed a man. Oh, heck. She didn’t care what Smith thought of her. As long as he respected her authority—Then why did those clear blue eyes make her yearn to do something else to catch his attention?

Although she suspected the new employee had never worked construction until today, he intrigued her. But no good could come out of becoming better acquainted with Aaron Smith. Where men were concerned, especially anglo men, she no longer trusted her instincts. An anglo had burned her once and left her family devastated.

Troubled by the memories of her past, she cleared her throat. “Time to break for lunch.”

A few minutes later, Aaron left the house, went to his truck and removed a lunch pail. He returned to the front yard, pausing near the men sprawled across the grass. When no one in the group acknowledged his presence, he walked off and sat alone under a lemon tree.

Jennifer resisted the temptation to join Aaron. She’d survived being an outcast on more crews than she cared to remember—just because she was a woman.

By the end of the day, Aaron Smith was as good as gone.

“QUITTING TIME!” the boss lady shouted from somewhere outside the house.

Aaron rolled his shoulder, surprised at the bruised feeling in the joint. Evidently, three-times-a-week workouts at his fitness center were no match for hauling wallboard all day. Beginning at the front door, he counted the panels he’d taken down, cut out the electrical and vents and nailed back up. Eight. Crap. He had over half the room left to do.

“Smith, get out here!”

Jennifer Alvarado. Even her name sounded sexy. When he stepped outside, he noticed the rest of the crew had left the site. Except Juan, who lingered near his truck. In Aaron’s opinion, the right-hand man was a tad too overprotective of the boss.

“Here.” Jennifer shoved a piece of paper in his face.

“A personal check?”

“Why wait until next Friday to claim a day’s pay?”

“You’re really going to fire me because I didn’t finish putting up the wallboard?”

She planted her hands on her hips and glared. “You’re too slow, Smith.”

“I’ll stay and complete the job, and you won’t have to pay me overtime.”

“No. I want someone with more experience.” She gestured toward the front door. “We’re already behind schedule, and tomorrow the crew will have to waste precious time finishing your work.”

“But—”

“Smith.”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron.” The starch in her shoulders disappeared.

Interesting.

“I appreciate that you tried your best.” Her mouth twitched. “Had we met under different circumstances, I’d have pegged you for a businessman. I have a hunch you’d look right at home behind a desk.”

If you only knew, lady. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off…again.

“I have to be at another site before dark.” Halfway to her truck, she stopped and turned. “You don’t live here in Santa Angelita, do you?”

“No.”

“Can you find your way out?”

“Sure.” Her concern for his welfare irked him. Reminded him of the lack of confidence his brothers and grandfather had in him. When she made no move to get into her truck, he said, “I’ll leave the hammer and nails inside the house.”

He returned to the yard, expecting the boss lady to be long gone. Instead, he spied her truck idling at the corner. Well, hell. He’d have to leave, then sneak back when the coast was clear. He got into his Ford and pulled away from the curb, heading in the opposite direction.

By morning, the feisty señorita would discover that Aaron Smith was no quitter.

“HEY, ALVARADO, over here,” Juan called from the porch of Mrs. Benitos’s home.

Each morning Jennifer and Juan arrived a half hour ahead of the crew. They used the time to check supplies, examine the previous day’s work for mistakes and decide if anything should be redone. She tossed the blueprint she’d been studying through the open truck window, then cut across the lawn. “Let me guess. A graffiti artist christened the inside of the house.”

Chuckling, Juan shook his head.

Jennifer stepped through the doorway and gasped. The entire living-room area and entryway had been wallboarded—with the correct nails pounded in only a little crooked. Every outlet and vent was now visible, though the edges of the cuts were jagged. Juan tugged her across the foyer to the coat closet. A pair of men’s work boots, suspiciously clean boots, stuck out of the doorway. Holding her breath, she peered inside.

Sitting propped against the wall, neck tilted at an awkward angle, Aaron Smith slept like a baby. Beard stubble darkened his cheeks and the corners of his mouth curved as if he were in the throes of a pleasant dream.

Good Lord, the man must have worked into the wee morning hours to finish the room. In a world where loyalty was never part of the job description, Aaron was a breath of fresh air. A small part of her wished he’d stayed at the site not for the money, but because he’d wanted to impress her. Shaking her head, she chastised herself for the adolescent thought.

Juan nudged his foot against the oversize droplight Aaron must have used to provide enough light to work through the night. “It’s not perfect, but it’s done.”

“Let him sleep until the crew arrives.” After they left the house, she searched the street for Aaron’s truck and was surprised to find the Ford parked beneath a neighbor’s partially collapsed carport at the end of the block.

When Jennifer had left the site yesterday, Louisa from the main office had rung her cell phone. The secretary knew nothing about Aaron Smith other than that the organization’s head honcho had assigned him to Jennifer’s crew for three months and Aaron had given a P.O. box as his address.

Juan followed her gaze to Aaron’s truck. “Does he stay?”

She couldn’t explain the urge inside her to keep Aaron around awhile longer. Urge or not, how could she fire him after he’d busted his backside? “We’re short a man. What do you think?” She trusted Juan’s judgment.