Читать книгу Aaron Under Construction - Marin Thomas - Страница 11

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.

Juan disappeared with Pedro to the backyard and Jennifer strode toward Aaron. “Juan appreciates that you volunteered to cover for him.”

“No problem.”

Smiling, she tossed a pair of men’s work gloves at him. “Wear these at all times when you handle the gutters.”

“Thanks.”

“The boss asked me to drive into the office this morning.” She worried her lower lip and Aaron hoped something bad hadn’t happened. “I should be back by noon.” She walked a few steps away, then stopped and faced him. “Be careful. No injuries today.”

Feeling like a five-year-old who’d been warned to stop climbing the school flagpole, he watched Jennifer hop into her truck and drive off. In regards to construction work, he might be inexperienced, but he did other things well. If he wanted to prove he was no little boy, he should take Jennifer to bed.

Now, there was a place he’d never been accused of being inexperienced.

AT NOON Jennifer drove up to Mrs. Benitos’s house, then sat in the truck and observed the crew. Pedro walked around the corner of the porch, conversing with two buddies. Aaron followed a few steps behind—still the odd man out. To the casual observer, he appeared unaffected by his second-class status. But she understood better. His shoulders were a bit too stiff, his chin a bit too high. And he never made eye contact with any of the men.

A twinge of sympathy gripped her. Clearly, Aaron wished for his coworkers’ acceptance. But why? Why would the respect of a group of Latino men he’d never come in contact with again after this job matter to him?

Not that it was her concern anymore. After spending the morning hours with her boss, she was having a difficult time coming to grips with the sudden turn of events. As of this moment, the entire crew, including her, was unemployed.

The possibility of never working with Aaron again bothered Jennifer more than she cared to admit. After a week, he still remained a mystery—except for his character. Any doubts about his goodness had been laid to rest earlier in the morning when he’d subjected his ankles to Mrs. Padrón’s poodle in order to deliver a doughnut to her.

Aaron captivated Jennifer. It had been a long time—nine years—since any man had made her feel again. He almost convinced her to stop paying penance for a mistake she’d committed long ago and reach for the happiness she didn’t deserve.

Startled, she gasped when the man of her musings poked his head through the open truck window and grinned. “You planning on sitting in there all day?”

His face was mere inches from her own, and if she leaned forward…She flattened her shoulders against the seatback and breathed deeply. The combination of manly sweat and designer cologne wafted under her nose, the scent surprisingly arousing. Aaron was the first man she’d worked with who bothered to splash on cologne before pounding nails all day. He opened her door and she stepped out.

The guy had it all. Smelled great. Handsome. Even-tempered, kindhearted and mannerly. Aaron Smith—a genetic defect of the male species.

“How’s the gutter work progressing?” Like it matters at this point?

“Juan left a few minutes ago after we finished the back of the house. Pedro and I should be able to handle the front by ourselves.” He escorted her up the walk. “Might even finish today.”

She stopped near the porch. “Would you mind breaking for a few minutes while I speak with the crew?” If he sensed anything amiss, he kept it to himself as he walked to his cooler under the lemon tree. She entered the house and asked the men to join her outside on the lawn.

Although painful, she made eye contact with each worker as she explained the situation. When the last man drove off, she joined Aaron under the tree.

“Bearer of bad news?”

“You could say that.” She waited while he rummaged through the cooler, pulled out a water bottle, then offered her the drink. “Thank you.”

“What’s going on?”

With the tip of her finger, she traced a gouge in the tree bark near his right shoulder. “I had to let the crew go.”

“You fired everyone?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“Barrio Amigo lost the funding for Mrs. Benitos’s home. The project is on hold indefinitely.”

“You mean the organization began building without enough money in the bank to finish the house?”

“No. There’s evidence that someone in the organization embezzled from the company.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Money was transferred out of the company bank accounts last week. My boss found out about the missing cash yesterday when one of the company checks bounced.”

“Has he contacted the police?”

She nodded. “That’s why I was called in this morning. The FBI interviewed me.”

“They think you stole the money?” The outrage in Aaron’s voice warmed her heart.

“No, they asked questions about my crew.”

“You don’t think one of your men stole the money, do you?”

“I hope not.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Aaron’s concern appeared genuine.

“Never. Barrio Amigo began when several local businessmen agreed to donate money to improve the community. In the beginning we were a group of volunteers. We cleaned up graffiti, repaired vandalized streetlights and stop signs, then we began building small neighborhood parks. After a while the organization drew positive press and received local government funding, which enabled it to accept bigger projects like building homes for the needy. At that time the volunteers became paid employees. Taking money from the company would be like stealing from family.”

“Do they have any idea how the person gained access to the money?”

“Hacked into the bank’s computer system, transferred the money to a different account, then withdrew it.”

“Was Barrio Amigo the only company hit?”

“The FBI didn’t say. I asked my boss if he believed the bank would loan Barrio Amigo the money to finish the house, but he’d already checked into the possibility and the bank had refused.”

Aaron snagged her hand, then sank to the ground, tugging her with him. “Is the bank aware that Mrs. Benitos is a foster parent?”

“Yes, they’re aware of that. And no, it didn’t change their mind.”

“That’s not right.” The intensity in his voice surprised her.

“Maybe, but I understand. There are too many people in crisis in this community that if word got out the bank helped finish Mrs. Benitos’s home, others would demand similar favors. The bank can’t help everyone.”

“What happens to Mrs. Benitos?”

He really cares. Not one member of the crew had asked about the woman. Yet Aaron, who’d been on the job only six days, appeared more concerned about an old lady than his own paycheck. “For now she has a place to stay. If her situation changes, she can live with my family.”

Frustration built inside Jennifer until she thought she’d explode. There had been other stumbling blocks over the years and Barrio Amigo had managed to survive. Why had this setback caused her to react so strongly?

“Will the crew get reassigned to a different project?”

“I’m afraid not.” Juan had several children. Pedro had a wife battling breast cancer and the medical bills were astronomical. Her crew consisted of family men who worked hard to provide for their loved ones. And then there was Aaron. Although she sensed he didn’t need the job the way the others did, she wasn’t ready for him to walk out of her life—not yet.

“What about a community fund-raiser?”

“The people here could never raise the amount of money required to complete construction on the house.”

“Have you considered petitioning local businesses?”

“That’s a possibility. I’ll talk to my boss. Mrs. Benitos doesn’t deserve to live in someone’s basement for an entire year while she waits for a new house.” Helplessness and anger filled her—emotions she hadn’t felt this deeply since her mother and brother had died nine years ago. She ached to cry, an act she rarely indulged in. Hard work, not tears, made a difference in the barrio.

An uncharacteristic tightness gripped Aaron’s chest when Jennifer’s eyes welled with tears. He’d grown up in an all-male household and didn’t have the faintest idea how to deal with a weepy female. After the deaths of his parents, the only tears he and his brothers had ever cried had been from physical pain, never anything sentimental. On occasion, he’d witnessed one of his female employees cry over the death of a loved one or a family member’s illness. But there had always been other coworkers to offer comfort and kind words. He didn’t know what to say or do to help Jennifer feel better.

“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her shoulder and tucked her against his side.

Rubbing her eyes, she grumbled, “Damn allergies.”

“What should we do with the construction materials lying around?”

“I’ll handle everything. You can pick up your final paycheck at the main office next Thursday.”

“I’m not leaving you with this mess.” He tilted her face, relieved at the gratitude shimmering in her brown eyes.

They spent the next two hours hauling supplies into the house and loading Jennifer’s truck bed with expensive tools. She wasn’t in a talkative mood, which allowed Aaron plenty of time to dwell over the phone call he’d have to make to his grandfather later.

Appearing as if she’d lost her best friend, Jennifer got into her truck. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” An urge to be her knight in shining armor startled him. Rescuing her sounded an awful lot like that word that gave him the willies—responsibility.

“I’ll be forever grateful to you for saving Juan’s neck.”

“I guess I’m better at saving people than I am at pounding in nails straight.”

Throaty laughter floated through the open window and Aaron wished he could capture the sound and store the seductive musical notes in his pocket. Tonight, alone in his bedroom he’d remove them and let them lull him to sleep.

“All the best to you, Aaron.” She released the parking brake and drove off.

You haven’t seen the last of me yet, Jennifer Alvarado.