by Marin Thomas
“The language barrier won’t be a problem.” Hell, when it came to building homes, Aaron was clueless in any language.
“Sorry. You’re fired.”
Now what?
Although the crew appeared to be working, each man was keeping a watchful eye on the boss lady, convincing him that this forewoman had more than earned the group’s respect and loyalty.
Time to pull out the big guns. “If you fire me, I’ll sue your organization for discrimination.”
“¡Está loco!”
“You called me crazy, didn’t you?” When her expressive brown eyes widened, he grinned. “I understand more than you think.”
“If you need this job as badly as you claim, then I doubt you have the means to pay for a lawyer.”
“There are plenty of free legal clinics in the city.”
“You’re bluffing, Mr. Smith.”
Lowering his voice, he asked, “Are you willing to put your job on the line to find out, Ms. Alvarado?”
She settled her hand over the hammer dangling from her tool belt. He suspected she’d like to pound his head with it. The boss lady was one-hundred-percent miffed female.
“How about a second chance?” He pressed his lips together to keep from chuckling at the dark flush stealing across her cheekbones.
“On one condition.”
Conditions, again? His grandfather. Now her. “What?”
“Finish installing the wallboard in the living room and entryway by the end of the day.”
“Or else…?”
“Or else you’re unemployed.”
Chapter Two
Jennifer strolled past the corner of the house, then collapsed on a stack of roofing shingles. She breathed deeply, hoping to settle her rising frustration—if she could call the jittery feeling in her stomach frustration.
The new crew member, Mr. Smith, hadn’t fooled her. A construction worker…yeah, right. And she was a runway model. If his brand-new jeans, sparkling-clean work boots and the absence of a tool belt and hard hat hadn’t given him away, his hands would have. Clean, well-manicured nails and slight calluses—the kind a person gets from working out at the gym. The guy was a fraud. A heck of a handsome one, but a fraud nonetheless.
Barrio Amigo usually employed only local Latino men. Why would her boss send her someone who—she’d bet her best Bosch drill on this—had never even driven through Santa Angelita before today? And why hadn’t Louisa, Barrio Amigo’s secretary, notified her that the new replacement would be starting this morning?
She’d been hoping for a man with more experience, one who could do the work of two men each day. Due to the unusually rainy weather, the crew had fallen two weeks behind schedule on Mrs. Benitos’s home. Jennifer had promised the older woman she could move in by the end of May and today was April first.
April Fool’s Day. She smacked her open palm against her forehead. Louisa had sent Aaron Smith as an April Fool’s Day joke. I wish. Louisa was too flighty and self-absorbed to carry out such a scheme.
“Who’s the new anglo?” Juan, Jennifer’s second-in-command, shimmied down the ladder propped against the back of the house. He spoke fairly good English—when he wished to—and supervised the crew if she had to leave the site.
“His name is Aaron Smith. Ricardo’s replacement.” Ricardo had slipped a disc in his lower back a week ago and had gone out on medical leave.
“Doesn’t look like a construction worker.”
“I doubt he’ll last the day.” She peered around the corner just in time to witness the new employee stagger under a thirty-five-pound sheet of wall-board. Returning her attention to Juan, she asked, “Will you keep an eye on this guy while I run to the office?”
“Sí.” Juan climbed back up the ladder and disappeared from sight.
Five minutes later, Jennifer hopped in her truck and headed to the nonprofit organization’s headquarters. Traffic north on Wilshire Boulevard had slowed to a crawl, but at least vehicles were moving. She should have waited until Louisa entered the office at noon to hear the scoop on Aaron Smith, but Jennifer wanted to know more about the new guy ASAP.
The headquarters for Barrio Amigo sat in a strip mall that had seen better days. A Closed sign hung in the window, so Jennifer let herself in with her own key and went straight to the metal filing cabinet against the far wall. She skimmed the employee records but found none marked with Aaron’s name. Next she rifled through the secretary’s In basket but again, nothing. Did Aaron Smith even exist? She scribbled a note, asking Louisa to call her cell phone later, then locked the door and left. By the time she’d returned to the site, the crew was breaking for lunch.
“Don’t go in there,” Juan warned, blocking the front door of the house.
Her stomach clenched. “I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”
“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 wallboa
rd 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.
“The anglo deserves another chance. And we’re behind on the roof.”
“He’ll require a lot of supervision.”
“Pedro can help me keep track of the guy.”
A vision of Aaron’s happy feet dancing off an edge of the house flashed before her eyes and she winced. The last thing Barrio Amigo desired was another Workmans Comp case. But Juan had a point. They had to complete the roof as soon as possible. If the supplier hadn’t delivered the wrong shingles two weeks ago, the roof would have been on by now. Still…Aaron might be more harm than help.
Reading her mind, Juan assured her, “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to your hombre.”
My man? Good grief, was her interest in Aaron that apparent?
Before she had time to ponder Juan’s comment, the rest of the crew arrived and Jennifer assigned duties for the day. After the group split apart, she walked into the house to wake Aaron.
She stood over his sprawled body, listening to the quiet snores escaping his slightly parted lips. What was it about this man that drew her?
Her fiancé had played her for a fool, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Unbeknownst to her, he’d coaxed her brother to join in his illegal activities. Soon after, her brother had angered her fiancé and he’d retaliated by shattering her family’s life.
Never again would she allow a man to get close enough to hurt her or her family. Which made her attraction to Aaron, the mystery man, confusing and frustrating.
Aaron was a man of secrets. Secrets ruined lives and hurt people. What did she care? In three months he’d be gone for good.
But he has the nicest smile….
Keeping her distance was one thing; convincing herself to not like him was another. Just because he wore a borrowed tool belt and figured out how to pound in a nail semistraight didn’t make him Mr. Construction. Buried beneath the hard-hat image, she sensed a sophisticated, educated man used to working with his brain, not his hands. Definitely not your average Joe from the barrio.
Jennifer belonged in the barrio. Aaron didn’t.
She prodded his boot, then braced herself in the event he scrambled to his feet and knocked her flat on her butt.
Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes and stared straight at her. He smiled—a sleepy, half-awake grin, that made her insides quiver and jump.
“Buenos días.”
“You’re not a dream?”
What a flirt. “I’m no dream, buddy. I’m your worst nightmare.”
His grin widened. “You can darken my doorway anytime.”
Flustered by his sexual banter, she snapped, “I thought I fired you yesterday.”
A tinge of red crawled up his neck as he scrubbed his hands across his face. “Let me explain.” He shifted position, then grimaced.
“You’re lucky you survived the night in one piece.”
“My jacket kept me plenty warm.”
Was he that naive? “Hypothermia aside, count your blessings you weren’t robbed, beaten or worse. In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t Beverly Hills.”
“I noticed.” He climbed to his feet. “Good morning, Jennifer.”
Ignoring the way her heart pitter-pattered at the quiet greeting, she wondered if t
he man woke up every day in such a congenial mood. His eyes, puffy from lack of sleep, glowed with warmth. His brown, slightly wavy hair stuck up in back as if he’d styled it with gel to stay that messy. Adorable. The big, handsome hunk was flat-out adorable.
“I noticed you finished the living room and entryway.”
“Does the work pass inspection?” Aaron’s face went from bedroom sexy to lost puppy in seconds flat. How did a woman keep up her defenses around a guy like this?
“Barely.” She cringed when her answer came out sounding like a sigh.
“Does that mean I stay on your crew?”
“You’ll be working on the roof today. Juan will explain what to do.”
“Yesterday you said no one else spoke English.”
“I should have said I’m the only one willing to converse with you in English.”
“As soon as I visit the little green Johnny outside, I’ll get to work.”
After ten years on construction crews, Jennifer had heard her share of crude talk. But for some reason, she blushed when Aaron mentioned using the Porta Potti. “Hustle up. This is the second day in a row you’ve been late for work.”
STOMACH RUMBLING like a badly tuned diesel engine, Aaron checked his watch for the hundredth time. Last night, he’d stopped at a mom-and-pop grocery around the corner and purchased a burrito and a Dr Pepper for supper. With the aid of a battery-powered droplight, he’d worked until 4:00 a.m., when he’d crawled into the closet and collapsed. He hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes of uninterrupted sleep before the boss lady had awakened him at the crack of dawn.
Speaking of the boss lady…Jennifer had been conspicuously out of sight all morning. In his case, out of sight did not mean out of mind. He assumed she’d been the one to set the sports drink next to his jacket during an earlier break. He’d hoped to thank her, but the one instance he’d spotted her, she’d been headed in the opposite direction—not that he’d minded the view of her backside.
At first glance, Jennifer came across as a tomboy. But the more he studied her with the crew, the more he sensed that underneath the tough exterior was a gentle, kindhearted, nurturing woman who put others before herself. The ladies he’d dated in the past tended to be self-involved, with no inclination to care about anyone but themselves. And that had been fine with him. Aside from witnessing his brother Ryan’s marriage fall apart a few years ago, he considered himself too young to worry about spending the rest of his life with one woman.