Aaron Under Construction

by Marin Thomas

  “Lunch, anglo.” Juan interrupted Aaron’s thoughts.

  Aaron set the hammer aside and moved to stand when Juan’s foot slid and the man tripped. From that moment on, everything happened in fast-forward.

  Juan tumbled. Aaron lunged for him but missed. Juan flipped over and Aaron snagged his ankle a second before the man would have rolled off the roof. Dangling headfirst from the two-story house, Jennifer’s second-in-command shouted for help.

  Aaron braced his work boots against the roofing underlayments he’d tacked down earlier, but his body weight and heavy shoes were no match for the slick weatherproof covering. Inch by inch, he slid toward the roof’s edge. Fire streaked up his arms; his muscles burned from exertion. Pedro shouted commands in Spanish—as if Aaron could understand a damn word.

  Seconds ticked off like hours until Pedro arrived at Aaron’s side and grabbed Juan’s calf. Together, they kept their coworker from plummeting to the ground.

  A ladder appeared next to Juan’s torso, then Jennifer’s head popped into view. She swayed precariously and Aaron’s gut twisted in fear for her safety. She shoved a shoulder under Juan’s back and pushed him up onto the roof. Aaron and Pedro let go of Juan’s leg and collapsed onto their backs.

  “From now on, use the ladder to get off the roof,” Jennifer warned. The tremor in her voice convinced Aaron that the incident had shaken her more than she intended to let on.

  As soon as her head disappeared, Aaron grinned. Juan grinned. Pedro grinned. The next thing Aaron knew, the three of them were holding their guts and belly-laughing.

  “Crap, that scared the hell out of me,” Aaron wheezed.

  “I owe you, anglo.” Juan gripped Aaron’s shoulder, his face sober.

  Now that the adrenaline rush had dissipated, the seriousness of the situation hit Aaron like a roundhouse punch to the gut. This morning he’d overheard Jennifer ask Juan about his five children. With a family that size depending on him, thank God the man had suffered only a few bruises and not a broken neck or crushed skull.

  One by one, the three men made their way down the ladder. Talking excitedly, the crew gathered around Juan. The only word Aaron understood was Dios. He suspected the men were thanking the big guy above for saving their buddy’s life.

  Ignored by the others, Aaron slipped away. He needed a good dose of caffeine to calm his frazzled nerves. As he headed for his truck, which he’d moved from the private driveway down the block after using the Porta Potti, Jennifer intercepted him at the sidewalk. Surprisingly, her presence calmed his shaky nerves.

  Eyes shimmering with emotion, she clutched his forearm. “Thank you, Aaron. If you hadn’t been there…” Her fingers bit into his skin.

  The boss lady might act tough, but she cared deeply about her crew. He suspected she cared deeply about a lot of things. Her family. This neighborhood. Aside from his brothers and his grandfather, Aaron couldn’t say for sure that he cared deeply about any one thing. The idea annoyed him.

  Unable to stop himself, he laid his hand over hers and traced the Band-Aid on her pinky finger. Her nails were short and the skin around them dry and cracked. Helping hands. The hands of a woman who worked at something meaningful in life. “I’m heading to the nearest fast-food dive. Want me to bring you back something?”

  She released his arm, her fingers leaving imprints in his skin. “You shouldn’t drive after such a close call. I’ll share my lunch.”

  Aaron wasn’t sure if he was insulted or flattered by her concern. He appreciated that she intended to fuss over him, but what man wished to appear weak in the eyes of a beautiful woman? Besides, he doubted she had enough in her paper sack to feed a mouse. But those big brown eyes… “Okay. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  He followed her to the backyard, then settled on the ground and leaned against a stack of roof shingles. Jennifer offered a banana and he devoured it in four bites, while she was a few feet away, nibbling on an orange. Their proximity made keeping his eyes off her intriguing earthiness impossible.

  Talk about gutsy—the lady was one-hundred-percent pure determination and courage. He admired how she’d disregarded her own safety to come to Juan’s rescue. No wonder the crew was devoted to her.

  Observing her at work, witnessing how at ease she was with a hammer in her hand and nails in her pocket, brought to light the huge differences in their upbringings. Aaron admitted he’d been spoiled as a child. As an adult—he’d been handed his future…if he could prove he deserved it. He doubted Jennifer had been handed anything. Nope. She’d probably fought her way through life and clawed her way up the proverbial construction ladder to her current position as foreman. “How long have you been building homes?”

  “You’re really asking how old I am, aren’t you?” She stuck a piece of fruit in her mouth, chewed once, then swallowed. “On and off since high school. My father operates heavy equipment for the state transportation department and I have uncles in the plumbing and roofing businesses. I’ve learned a bit of everything over the years.”

  Aaron held his breath as she slid a sticky finger into her mouth and sucked the sweet juice from the orange. Oh, man. “So how old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.” She tossed him a sandwich.

  Older than he’d expected. He lifted the edge of the bread and cringed. A vegetable sandwich? The stuff was green and leafy and gross-looking. He ate a chunk, then held his breath as he chewed. “Did you dream of being a construction worker after graduating from high school?”

  A shadow flickered in her eyes. “No. I kind of fell into this job.”

  Man, can I relate. He’d kind of fallen into this construction gig, too. “What did you plan to be?”

  “A nurse.”

  Ah, the nurturing trait again. “What kept you from going to nursing school?”

  “Life got in the way.” She shoved the half-eaten orange into the sack. “What’s your story? Running from the law? Early midlife crisis?”

  “Nothing that exciting.” Jennifer was no dummy. She suspected he wasn’t a construction worker. “I was ready for a change of pace.”

  Evidently satisfied with his answer, she asked, “Does your girlfriend object to you working a job like this?”

  For a woman who’d attempted to fire his butt yesterday, she seemed mighty interested in his personal life. “No steady girlfriend at the moment.”

  “I pegged you for a playboy.”

  He slammed his fist against his chest. “I’m wounded.”

  Her smile caught him off guard—again. How this woman went from girl-next-door to sexy siren in three seconds flat fascinated him. “What about you? Married…divorced…dating?”

  The smile disappeared and her brown eyes clouded before she dropped her gaze. “None of the above.”

  He sensed her personal life was off-limits—until he got to know her better. Which he intended to do. “Who are you building the house for?”

  “An elderly woman named Mrs. Benitos. A faulty wire in a space heater caused her old house to burn down. She had no insurance, so Barrio Amigo stepped in to help.”

  Aaron considered the family business. What did McKade Import-Export do to help the community? Nothing. His office’s main concern was the quarterly financial reports and the bottom line. The more money the company made, the more money he made, the bigger the employee bonuses. And for what—bigger homes, more expensive cars and five-star-resort vacations?

  Had he lost sight of the more worthy things in life—like helping others? Better yet, had he ever thought of helping others? He suspected Jennifer could tutor him in several subjects that had nothing to do with construction.

  Again, he contemplated his grandfather’s desire to teach him responsibility. Not only did Aaron have a duty to his employees to keep the company financially sound, but he realized that a man in his position had an obligation to do more for those less fortunate. “From the looks of this area, a lot of people could use a new home. How does the organization pick and choose?”
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br />   “I wish Barrio Amigo could help everyone, but we simply don’t have the funding. Mrs. Benitos is a special case. She’s been a foster parent for nineteen years, and at fifty, she’s still taking in kids.”

  “The woman sounds like a saint.”

  “She’s as close to one as you’ll find in Santa Angelita. Even the delinquents who run the streets respect her and her property.”

  Rummaging through her lunch, Jennifer came up with a bag of chips and handed them over. “I noticed you parked your truck in the driveway of a private residence. I don’t allow the crew—”

  “I got their permission.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Salinas don’t speak English.”

  “Money is a universal language.” He grinned. “I paid them a parking fee for the night.”

  When her mouth sagged open, he leaned forward and popped a chip inside. Immediately, her jaws snapped closed, and his fingers barely escaped being bitten off. Sassy little thing. “Where do you live?”

  “Right here,” she mumbled. “The barrio has been my family home for four generations. My great-grandparents emigrated from Mexico right after they got married.”

  He’d conjured up an image of his brothers, Nelson in Chicago and Ryan in New York City, and his grandfather in Massachusetts. Spread out across the country, they kept in touch by phone and a yearly meeting. Theirs was a life Jennifer probably couldn’t imagine. “Have you ever wished to leave this place and explore the world?”

  “Are you kidding? I used to dream about escaping the barrio all the time.” She crumpled the lunch sack violently, then scrambled off the ground.

  “What’s keeping you here?”

  “Responsibility,” she grumbled, and walked away.

  That crappy word again.

  Chapter Three

  Saturday.

  Aaron McKade—Smith, that is—had managed to hold on to his construction job for an entire week. Not a big deal for most men, but he was downright proud of himself. He’d accomplished more good this week than he had the past year at his office. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up before the alarm buzzed.

  Admittedly, Jennifer Alvarado played a large role in his eagerness to get to work each morning. In the past he’d gravitated toward women who didn’t ask probing questions or try to evaluate a man. Which suited him fine, because he endured enough psychoanalyzing from his brothers and grandfather. So why all of a sudden did he wish Jennifer would ask personal questions?

  In honor of managing not to lose his job, he’d stopped by Doughnut Dave’s, a bakery near his apartment in downtown L.A. After purchasing six-dozen pastries, he arrived at the construction site ahead of the crew. The shrill bark of a dog greeted him when he got out of the truck. A small mutt sat behind a chain-link fence across the street. The dirty lump of fur looked suspiciously like the animal at the bottom of the pull cart towed by the old woman he’d almost run down.

  Shifting his attention to the house, he spotted a head peeking around a lace curtain in the front window. From this distance he couldn’t be sure, but he swore the wrinkled face belonged to the old biddy with the twitchy middle finger. He reached through the open truck window, grabbed the pastry boxes, then balanced the load against his hip and waved. The gray head bobbed out of sight and the curtain fluttered closed.

  Unsociable granny. He maneuvered through the construction materials strewn across Mrs. Benitos’s yard and set the boxes on a stack of wood that had been delivered the day before. He grabbed two chocolate-covered doughnuts, then took a seat at the end of the makeshift bench. The dog continued to bark and he considered yelling at the animal, when he saw the window curtain move again. His attention alternated between his breakfast and the Peeping Tom granny. During the past week, he hadn’t noticed the woman leave the house or anyone stop by to visit—not that he’d had time to pay attention to what went on in the neighborhood. A twinge of sympathy caught him off guard. Aside from being nosy, the woman appeared lonely.

  Breakfast in hand, he headed across the street, hoping the doughnuts would serve as an apology for almost running her over at the beginning of the week.

  He paused when the dog growled, displaying rotted fangs. Although the animal was such a twerp, Aaron suspected the needle-sharp incisors could puncture a car tire let alone a human artery. The dumb beast raced along the fence line until Aaron got dizzy watching.

  Maybe if he waited long enough, the mutt would drop dead from exhaustion and he could enter the property unmolested. Estimating the distance between the gate and the front door, he figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of making the porch steps before being mauled. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the lady hadn’t moved from the window—no doubt eager to see if he arrived at the front door in one piece or a bloody mess.

  After taking a deep breath, he lifted the gate latch and entered the yard. The poodle slammed on the brakes, tumbling head over paws like a child’s toy ball. The “ball” rolled to a stop a few feet away. Assuming the animal was too discombobulated to attack, Aaron hurried toward the porch.

  Big mistake.

  The mutt sprang off the ground and latched on to Aaron’s jean-clad ankle—the dirty white fur reminded him of a huge piece of dryer lint stuck to his pant leg. Slowly, he dragged the lint wad up the sidewalk. The porch steps proved a bit trickier. He lifted his dog-foot high in the air to ensure he didn’t bang the animal’s head against the edge of the stair and damage its pea-size brain. Finally, he arrived at the door and rang the bell.

  No answer. He knocked. No answer. He waited. Waited. And waited some more.

  Even the dog got tired of waiting. Refusing to loosen its hold on the pant leg, the animal sprawled across Aaron’s work boot and rested.

  Five minutes must have passed. He didn’t have to check to see if the granny continued to watch from the window. He could feel her stare. He contemplated accepting defeat, when the door opened and half of a wrinkled face peered up at him.

  Not knowing how to say “Want a doughnut for breakfast?” in Spanish, he offered “Buenos días, señora.” Lifting the napkin-wrapped pastries, he offered his best I’m-harmless smile. Her suspicious glare shifted between the food and his face.

  Understanding that his presence frightened her, he searched for a place to set the sweets, when an arm snaked through the crack in the door and snatched the doughnuts from his hand. He turned his head just in time to watch the door slam in his face.

  “That went well,” he told the animal.

  The dog’s upper lip curled in a snarl. Deciding the barking machine could use a drink before it went into cardiac arrest, he reached for the empty water bowl on the top step. A threatening growl followed his move.

  “Knock it off.” Startled by the reprimand, the mutt released its hold on Aaron’s jeans. “Not such a tough guy when you’re thirsty, huh?” He used the hose, curled on the ground by the side of the house, to fill the bowl with fresh water, then waited while the dog refueled.

  Figuring the waterlogged nuisance had exhausted itself, Aaron strutted down the sidewalk. He’d almost made it to the gate, when the suddenly revived demon poodle raced after him. “Don’t count on me to do you another favor,” he muttered, as the tiny jaws locked around his ankle again. He raised his foot and gently shook his leg. A few shakes, and the dog’s jaws gave out and it plopped to the ground. Tail wagging, the animal whined for Aaron to stay and play longer.

  Probably a female.

  He checked twice to make sure the gate latch had caught, then returned to Mrs. Benitos’s house. He didn’t notice the crew gawking at him until he stepped onto the curb. Feeling self-conscious, he gestured toward the pastry boxes. “I brought doughnuts.”

  No one moved. Aaron wondered what the heck he was going to do with seventy-two—he glanced over his shoulder—make that seventy doughnuts. Then he spotted Jennifer digging through one of the boxes. She smiled and called, “Gracias.”

  Following the boss lady’s lead, Juan and the others headed for t
he pastries. Aaron hung back until the crew had helped themselves, then he lifted the lid of the first box—empty. The next box—wiped clean. And the next…and the next…and the next! Well, hell. Disgusted, he glared at the house across the street, hoping the old ninny had enjoyed his breakfast.

  Time to check in with the boss. As soon as he entered the house, Jennifer flashed him a wide, beautiful smile. “That was sweet of you to take Mrs. Padrón a doughnut.”

  Sweet? No man wanted a woman, especially a beautiful woman, to think of him as sweet. “No biggie.”

  She grasped his forearm and a shiver raced along his skin. “It is a big deal. Mrs. Padrón is lonely. Her husband died several years ago and she never had any children. Giving her that doughnut was the nicest thing anyone’s done for her in a long while.”

  Somehow he doubted that. He suspected that Jennifer checked up on the old lady often. Once again, he admired her compassion and the way she cared deeply for the people in the barrio.

  “I’m sorry to hear Mrs. Padrón is all alone.” And he really meant it. Before today, he hadn’t thought much about old people, except his grandfather, of course. The idea of a granny alone in the world didn’t seem right.

  As Jennifer discussed the day’s schedule, he lost track of the conversation. He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. The barest hint of strawberry-colored gloss covered her lips, making them wet and full.

  “Hey, boss,” Juan shouted from the doorway.

  Both he and Jennifer jumped at the interruption. He wondered if Juan had noticed the way Aaron had been devouring Jennifer with his eyes.

  “Smith will help you and Pedro install the gutters today.” Jennifer’s breathy voice convinced Aaron that she, too, had felt the zip of attraction that had passed between them a moment ago.