Aaron Under Construction

“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 the 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.

Grumbling, Juan insisted, “Let’s go, anglo.”

“Jennifer, I—”

She raised her hand. “Not a word, Smith. Not a word.”

Smith? The way she said his name made him sound like a chump. Hardly the image he aspired to. “What’s up with Juan?”

“He’s never in a good mood on Saturdays.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Why’s that?”

“His kids play in a soccer league and he hates missing their games.”

Aaron and his brothers had played Little League baseball for a few years, but his grandfather had never attended a game. Nothing unusual about that—Pop had been a busy man. As an adult reflecting on his childhood, Aaron decided he would have enjoyed waving to his grandfather in the stands after a base hit or a home run. “Tell Juan to go to his kids’ game. I’ll work late today.”

“You don’t have plans?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, I’ll let Juan know you’ll take over for him.” She slipped out the door, the herbal smell of her shampoo lingering in her wake.

Once Aaron had his body under control, he followed her outside. She spoke with Juan near the big tree, gesturing with her hands. The constant aura of energy that surrounded her tugged at Aaron, making him yearn to spend more time with her alone—just the two of them.