Dylan Walker parked his truck and peered through the windshield at the mobile trailer that had been set up. Beyond that sat the Texas wilderness with trees, wild grasses, and beautiful flowers. A sour sensation coated his stomach. He couldn’t believe the City Council had approved this development. Hundred-year-old trees would be lost. More of Three Rivers to enjoy, sure, but less of nature. And that didn’t sit right in Dylan’s gut.

Once he got out of the truck and made it a few steps, the highway that led out to Three Rivers Ranch glistened in the morning light. It had rained earlier, and the scent of dust and water mingled in the air.

Dylan took a deep breath and said a silent prayer. Please let us get this bid. He’d been working on the electrician bid for this new housing development for a solid month. The city desperately needed the contract, and he wanted to be the one to bring it to them.

With the project taking over two years, with four stages as new homes, twin homes, and condos went in, Dylan wanted to be in every residence, wiring every light and every surround sound system.

He shouldn’t care so much. He’d get paid no matter what. But he and his boss had developed a plan to increase the public perception of the Three Rivers Electric Company, and if they won this bid, it would go a long way in proving to the citizens that the Electric Company was dedicated to providing excellent electrical customer service to all residents.

Dylan squared his shoulders, climbed the steps to the door, and entered the trailer. How the door had kept so much chaos concealed was a mystery. Dylan’s head swiveled left and right as he took in the mob before him.

He recognized a dark-haired man, who’d come from Amarillo to bid on the electrical work for the build. Dylan had seen him—and lost a bid to him—at an office building last year. His mood darkened when he caught sight of yet another competitor, this one approaching him.

“Hiya, Dylan,” the man said. Darrel maybe? Dallin?

“Hey,” Dylan said, going with a more masculine greeting and bypassing the man’s name completely. It wasn’t like they were friends.

“You got your bid?” Darrel-or-Dallin nodded toward the folder Dylan held.

He clutched it tighter, a blip of annoyance coasting through him. “Yeah.” Everyone here had a bid. Saddleback Homes had announced six weeks ago that they’d be taking bids for one day only. Eight hours. They’d look at all of them by the following day, when all the contractors, plumbers, electricians, and tradesmen had to be present in order to accept the bid.

Dylan had never seen anything like their process. He supposed it would make things go faster, and he’d cleared his schedule for tomorrow, his hopes high.

He’d arrived at the build site fifteen minutes early, thinking he might be the only one in the trailer for a few minutes, hoping to have a chance to speak with the manager of the project for a moment.

That wasn’t going to happen. Dylan moved away from the door when someone opened it behind him. Thankfully, the other electrician got lost in the crowd. Dylan glanced around, his claustrophobic tendencies rearing themselves against the back of his throat. His pulse accelerated, and the sea of people and noise and activity before him started to blend into one giant wall of color.

He made a beeline for the door, glad for the cooler air outside of that room. It couldn’t be bigger than a railcar, yet it held at least two dozen people. Dylan leaned against the railing and sucked in lungful after lungful of oxygen.

“Dylan Walker,” a woman said, and he blinked.

His blurred vision took several moments to refocus, and when it did, he soaked in the form of Camila Cruz standing on the second step from the top. Golden-brown eyes he could swim in if she’d let him. Waves of nearly black, wavy hair. Yards of dark skin. Fiery Latina temper, he reminded himself as she did not look pleased to see him, which somehow made her more attractive.

“Cami.” Dylan had entertained thoughts of dating Camila a few years ago, but she had one massive chip on her shoulder during a project they’d completed together. She was headstrong, and stubborn, and bossy. Beautiful, absolutely. And Dylan didn’t mind a strong, take-charge kind of woman. But Camila put off a vibe that said she definitely wasn’t interested in him, so he’d kept his thoughts to himself.

Cami worked for the only plumber in town, a mom and pop joint that relied on the residents of Three Rivers to stay afloat. A winning bid for a project this size would allow Abraham and Dana Rogers to retire. Maybe that was why Cami looked like she’d swallowed poison and was about to throw up.

“Why are you out here?” she asked.

“Lots of people in there,” he said, adding a shrug to the sentence so it would seem more casual. “I figure I have eight hours to put in my bid. I don’t need to stand in line or practice my pitch.”

She nodded and finished climbing the steps. Though she wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, Dylan still noticed her curves as she passed him and opened the door. The noise coming from inside nearly convinced him to leave and come back later, but he couldn’t go back to the office without turning in the bid. His boss would fillet him with a single look.

So he followed Cami into the trailer, noticing how rigid she stood. “Told ya,” he said.

“There are at least four other plumbers here,” she said, her gaze swinging around the way his had.

“It’s a big project.”

“As if I didn’t know.” She rolled her eyes and hipped her way through the crowd to the far end of the trailer, where a table had been set up. Dylan watched her, almost intoxicated by the leftover whiff of perfume she’d left behind and the capable way she found what she was looking for.

He finally tore his gaze from her when she glanced over her shoulder to where he stood, as if she could somehow feel him watching her. He took a deep breath and looked around the trailer. He realized that hardly anyone held a folder the way he did. They were mingling and talking and looking at huge posters that had been put on the walls, detailing the phases of the build.

He moved through the press of bodies until he got to the end of the trailer too. A single man stood behind the table, which bore trays labeled Plumbing, Electricity, Floors, Painting, General Contractors, and several more titles.

He put his folder in the appropriate tray, ready to leave. These other men—and Cami—might not have anything to do for the rest of the day, but Dylan did. He turned to go, nearly mowing Cami to the ground in the process. Why was she standing so close?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sidestepping her and getting out of that trailer.

That evening found him at home, without Boone’s pets to take care of. Without anything to eat, as his mom hardly cooked at all anymore. But when she did, Dylan ate like a king for days. Boone too. And Boone’s dogs.

Dylan could put together scrambled eggs and toast, so he did that. He sometimes went over to his best friend’s house to watch a baseball game, but there wasn’t a game he cared about tonight. And now that Boone and Nicole were dating, Dylan wasn’t always welcome in the evenings.

With summer in full swing and the holidays on the horizon, Dylan only had loneliness to look forward to. He’d attend Labor Day barbeques, Halloween parties, and Thanksgiving dinner at his parent’s house on the other side of town with all three of his sisters, their husbands, and all of their kids.

Two of them still lived here in Three Rivers, and the other lived in Amarillo, only a half an hour away. Every Sunday was like Thanksgiving, and the thought of attending another family get-together by himself—even if he did love playing with his nieces and nephews—made him grumpy.

The TV blared in front of him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. He mentally ran through the female prospects in his life. He needed someone to take to the next family event, if only so he wouldn’t have to go alone.

He’d dated several women in town, and since he’d grown up right here in Three Rivers, some girls were off the table. He may have dated them in high school, or they knew too much about him, or he them.

Round and round he went, and the only name he could come up with was Camila.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself as he took his empty plate into the kitchen. He left it in the sink, along with the rest of his dishes from that week. He’d get to them on Sunday morning, the way he always did.

“Cami will chew you up and spit you out.” Dylan stood in his kitchen, the rest of the house silent, empty, sad. Maybe he needed someone to challenge him. Maybe—he scoffed and returned to the couch. He wanted the Saddleback project, and he wanted someone to talk to at night. Didn’t mean that person was Camila Cruz, and he found himself hoping that she didn’t win the plumbing bid.

Guilt threaded through him, but he managed to calm it enough to fall asleep. His dreams featured a honey-eyed woman, whose waves of dark hair flew behind her as she walked toward him. She wore a plumbing tool belt, and she was still the most beautiful thing Dream-Dylan had ever seen.