Chapter Four

      McGee’s truck reappeared while the crew grabbed coffee from Jim’s wife. He braked quick, scattering stone, then climbed out, strode their way and met Matt’s gaze head-on, his expression taut. “You living here, Cavanaugh?”

       Matt’s face showed surprise, not a good thing, but Hank’s quick reaction spared a clash. “Of course he is, Finch. Wouldn’t make sense to travel back and forth to Nunda while daylight hours are scarce, winter’s closing in and every penny he’s got is invested in Cobbled Creek.”

       “You don’t have a C of O,” Finch barked, his typical attitude more evident this afternoon. “There’s reasons we’ve got regulations, Cavanaugh, although you were never real good at following rules, were you?”

       Matt’s flinch surprised Callie, but then Hank sighed and frowned as if wondering what the clamor was about. “Finch, I don’t know any rule that says Matt can’t live with us while he gets the model done and inspected. It makes good sense, all in all.” Hank kept his voice easy and his surprise genuine, as if taken aback by Finch’s intrusion.

       Callie swallowed a lump in her throat the size of a small two-by-four. Live with them? Was her father kidding?

       “He’s staying at your place?” Finch swept Callie a look, then drew his gaze back to the two men.

       Hank shrugged, sidestepping the truth. “We have extra room. Matt needs to be on site. It works out for everyone.”

       Everyone but me, Callie wanted to shout. She was having a hard enough time keeping her distance from Matt in the short time they’d been working together, but to have him staying at their place?

       “A perfect solution,” Matt added, as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory. “And just so you know, I’m ordering us a fresh turkey for Thanksgiving.”

       Finch scowled.

       Hank grinned.

       Tom covered a laugh with a cough.

       Callie decided more coffee would only tax her already-twining gut and headed back to the roof, trying to untwist the coiled emotions inside.

       Yes, she was attracted.

       No, she shouldn’t be.

       And having him under their roof, sharing their home, their food?

       Way too much proximity and she had too much to lose, but Hank had extended the invitation and Hank Marek carved his word in stone. He kept a General Patton quote framed on his dresser: “No good decision was ever made from a swivel chair.”

       Great. Just great.

       Finch would be annoyed, which meant he’d annoy others. She’d have Matt underfoot which would entail having her guard up 24/7. And the guys were clearly delighted with the prospect of having Matt around, his friendly grin and storytelling a welcome addition to their circle, a perfect match.

       But she’d found out the hard way there were no perfect matches. Not for women who strike a different path, a career that includes tool belts weighted with claw hammers and tape measures. Nails and utility knives. Unfeminine suspenders to distribute the tool weight appropriately.

       Some lessons a girl never forgot.

       Matt’s footsteps followed her. He crouched by her side, pretending to work, his gaze down. “Hey, if it bothers you that much, I’ll just get a place in town. Or stay at my brother’s house in Wellsville. That way I’m not breaking the rules and McGee won’t have anything to complain about.”

       Finch would dog Matt’s steps, Callie knew. He wasn’t above pestering contractors he didn’t like, and he’d had his eye on Callie for the last several months. She’d kept it cool and friendly at the diner, but Finch added another component in an already-complex puzzle. She didn’t want Matt targeted by the zealous building inspector, but she didn’t want him living with them either.

       Nevertheless, the invitation had been extended, and Hank wasn’t a man to go back on his word, a quality she shared.

       She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. “It’s fine. It just came as a surprise.”

       “I’ll do my own laundry.”

       His earnest words almost made her smile. “You bet you will.”

       “And I can cook.”

       “Excellent.”

       “How big a turkey shall I get?”

       “You weren’t kidding about that?” She turned to face him and felt the draw of those deep, brown eyes, tiny hints of gold sparking warmth and laughter. “I got a couple of frozen turkeys at Tops while they were on sale. That’s a lot of good eating at a bargain price. Fresh birds are expensive.”

       “Have you ever tasted one?”

       She brushed that off and turned back to the task at hand. “Turkey’s turkey.”

       He grinned and moved a step away. “It’s not, but I’ll let you discover that next week. And now—” he shifted his attention back to the nail gun “—we need to get back to work. Can you help your dad and Buck get started on number twenty-three?”

       Across the street and two houses up. Just enough distance to calm things down. Smooth them over.

       “Sure.”

       “And Callie?”

       She turned at the ladder and arched a brow, waiting for him to say more.

       He eyed her a moment and shifted his jaw. “You do good work.”

       His awkwardness told her he meant to add something else but thought better of it. Just as well. Too much fun and teasing could be misconstrued. She headed down to ground level, crossed the street, moved up the block and joined her father on the elongated roof covering the well-designed ranch house. Hank noted her presence with a welcome smile and nod.

       “Ready?”

       Ready for roofing?

       Yes.

       For having Matt’s teasing smile, his easy manner, his firm jaw around every day?

       No way.

       But Callie had withstood basic training and a deployment in Iraq. She could handle this.

       She adopted a noncommittal look and started handing her father shingles, pushing thoughts of Matt aside, but with the steady pop of his nail gun keeping time with his whistling, she was mostly unsuccessful. Luckily no one knew that but her.

       He’d be moving in tomorrow.

       Ignoring Matt’s light proved impossible as Callie helped Jake recognize consonant–vowel patterns for his language arts class. Her chair faced the front window, overlooking Cobbled Creek and the unshaded reminder