Читать книгу Aaron Under Construction - Marin Thomas - Страница 9

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 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.

“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 the 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.

“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?”

“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.