Trevor scraped away the worst of the mud and leaned the shovel against the porch steps. Then he pulled his ladder out of his truck and climbed up on Olivia’s roof.

After all the hours he’d spent up here the night of the fire, he knew the layout by heart. But he took his time and made sure the measurements were accurate. On his first day with Paladin Construction, Greg had taught him the cardinal rule of any project—measure twice, cut once.

From up here, the forest looked even worse than from the ground. The large swaths of missing trees stretched farther than he’d realized when he’d left yesterday. Blackened earth circled her house like a funeral wreath.

He wouldn’t mention any of that to her. If the view from the ground had brought tears, this one could make her sob. He didn’t much like looking at it, either. A couple of his friends had gone into the USFS. Wildfires always hit them hard, too.

After finishing his measurements, he climbed down and stowed his ladder. He needed one more thing from her. He smiled. One more thing for the roof. Dozens of things that weren’t roof-related. Things that might never happen, but he could dream.

He tapped on her door.

She opened it immediately and her face was flushed, as if seeing him stirred her blood.

He hoped it did. “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but I need to ask about—”

“Color, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ve been looking on my computer while you tromped around up there. I don’t know what choices you’ll have, but I’d like to have forest green or the nearest thing to it if that’s possible.”

“Should be, but what’s your second choice?”

“Dark brown. The main thing I want is to have the roof blend in, not stand out.”

“I should be able to order forest green. I’d better leave now so I’ll make it to Bozeman before the roofing supply place closes. Ordering today gives us a better chance the roof panels will come in before the weekend.”

“Then I’d better let you get going.”

“I will.” He started to leave and paused. “One other thing. Are you okay with me using your horse trailer to haul the materials when they come in?”

“Absolutely. Good idea.”

“If I could drop the trailer off here on my way back instead of taking it to the ranch that would be more efficient. It’ll be sometime after supper Thursday or Friday, most likely.”

“Sure. Makes perfect sense.”

“I wouldn’t have to interrupt your evening. I could just unhitch the trailer and leave.”

“That’s silly. I’ll want to see what you got.”

“All righty, then. I’ll let you know when the order comes in.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned to go.

“Thank you, Trevor. This is huge.”

He glanced back at her. “You’re most welcome.” He liked the way she was looking at him. Gave him a sliver of hope.

The following day, he used his lunch break to order a dumpster delivered to her place. He sent her a short text letting her know. She acknowledged the message with a brief Thank you.

On Wednesday night, he found out from his mom that Olivia had made a trip to the ranch that afternoon to return the clothes she’d borrowed. His mom mentioned that Olivia had come by right after lunch and had spent some time with Bonnie and Clyde.

Maybe she hadn’t deliberately timed it so that she’d miss him. By four-thirty he was usually home, but coming later might not have fit into her schedule. He’d never asked what night she went to kickboxing. But knowing she’d been at the ranch and he hadn’t bugged him.

He waited impatiently for a confirmation that the roofing materials had arrived. The order was a no-show on Thursday, damn it. If it didn’t come Friday, then he’d…what? Dream up some bogus prep work just so he could drive over there?

No. She was smart, and even if she didn’t know diddly about construction, she’d recognize busy work when she saw it. He wanted to preserve some small part of his dignity.

The call came on his lunch break Friday. His order was in and he had until six to pick it up. He texted Olivia that he’d be dropping off the trailer at her house around seven.

He checked his phone several times during the afternoon but she hadn’t replied. Finally, after he’d picked up the trailer and before he headed to Bozeman, he looked again.

She’d texted back. Sorry I didn’t respond. Had client appointments this afternoon. I’ll listen for your truck. I want to see what color you got.

He liked that she didn’t use shortcuts for words like you. He didn’t, either. All his friends did, but he liked typing the whole thing. The other way looked like code and he’d never been a fan of deciphering messages.

But all that was extraneous to the main point. Olivia wanted to see him. Well, to be brutally honest, she wanted to see what color her roof would be. If that was the carrot he had to hold out, so be it.

When he pulled in a little after seven, sunset washed the sky with Eros pink. Light glowed in the windows of her house, taking his attention away from the blackened earth surrounding it. Coming home to a woman at the end of the day could be like this.

The concept had more appeal than it would have a year ago, maybe because now he was the only McGavin who wasn’t in a committed relationship. Except his mom, of course, and she wasn’t looking for one. He hadn’t found the right time to ask if she’d ever thought about it.

He pulled the truck near the house. The lack of landscaping made that easy. His mom and her friends in the Whine and Cheese Club had offered to help Olivia plant some frost-hardy plants before the snow came. But they’d decided to wait until he’d finished the roof before implementing that plan.

She came down the porch steps at the same moment he climbed out of the truck. His heart rate jacked up just watching her walk toward him. Was that a smile? In the fading light, he couldn’t be positive.

She’d created a new style for her hair. Instead of holding it back with a clip, she’d wound it on top of her head. Sexy as hell, too.

“Your hair’s different.”

She flushed. “I’ve been scrubbing the house. Even with the windows closed, ash got in. I’m taking it one room at a time.”

“I like it.” Piling her hair on top of her head emphasized the graceful curve of her neck.

“Thanks.” She gestured toward the trailer as if eager to change the subject. “What color did you get?”

“Forest green.”

“Great! Can I see?”

“Sure.” He walked to the back of the horse trailer and opened it so they could get to the cartons of roofing. When he’d picked up the order in Bozeman, he’d cut out a small section of one carton with his pocket knife to confirm the order was correct.

Leaning in, she peeled back the cardboard a little more. “Sure looks like the right color.”

“It’s hard to see, though. I’ll get my flashlight.” He jogged to his truck and grabbed the one he kept in the cab. When he got back, she’d pulled away more of the cardboard. He directed the flashlight beam on the exposed metal.

“Thanks. That helps.” She ran her fingers over it. “I’m glad it’s a matte finish. I was afraid it would be shiny, and matte looks so much richer. This will be beautiful.”

“Hope so.”

“It will be, Trevor. I can’t wait to see how it looks when it’s finished. Thank you.”

He was so close to kissing her right now it wasn’t funny. “You’re welcome. Glad they had the color you wanted.”

“Me, too.”

“I should probably unhook the trailer and be on my way, then.” He switched off the flashlight.

“Have you had dinner, yet?”

“I figured I’d eat when I got home.”

“I’ve made spaghetti sauce but I haven’t cooked the pasta. I have enough if you’d like to stay.”

Take it easy, McGavin. “Probably shouldn’t.” Had she held off on dinner because she’d planned to invite him? Things were looking up if that was the case. But he needed clarification.

“Is Kendra expecting you?”

“It’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“I guess I need to know why you’re inviting me to dinner.”

Her gaze was direct. “You’re going to be working here all weekend, correct?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then I want to invite you to dinner as a thank-you.”

He was willing to go with that. “Then I accept.”

* * *

Olivia hadn’t examined all her reasons for inviting Trevor to dinner. She’d known she would when she chose to make an extra-large batch of spaghetti sauce. But why do it?

On the surface, it was a nice gesture if she’d made it out of gratitude, which was the reason she’d given. But that wasn’t her only motivation. She liked being with him. Life was more fun when he was around.

She helped by holding the flashlight while he unhitched the trailer and then she walked with him to the house. “Do you want wine or beer with your meal?”

He opened the screen door for her. “Neither, thanks. I’m on call. But you go ahead.”

“I’m fine with water.” Might be better. Alcohol would lower her inhibitions and she certainly didn’t need that.

He followed her into the house. “Is that your diffuser or chocolate chip cookies I smell?”

“Cookies. I gave the diffuser a rest today and baked cookies, instead. I needed to replace the ones I made the night of the fire. They tasted like smoke. Do you like cookies?”

“Yep. And chocolate chip is my favorite.”

“Good. Then we’ll have them for dessert.” Taking a calming breath, she walked into the kitchen. “Would you be willing to make the salad?”

“Absolutely. But I need to wash up, first.” Walking over to the sink, he unsnapped his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves.

It was a perfectly ordinary task. It shouldn’t get her hot. But as he pumped liquid soap into his palm, the muscles in his tanned forearm flexed. When he lathered up, she got lathered up, too.

Turning away, she pulled the salad fixings from the fridge and set them on the counter. “There you go.”

He cupped the tomato in his hand. “Sliced, diced or wedges?” The way he gently cradled it shouldn’t be sexy, either.

But it was. “Wedges.” Her nipples tightened.

“Good.” He ran the tomato under the faucet. “My choice, too.” Then he rinsed the lettuce and patted it dry with a paper towel.

Tension curled in her stomach. There was no reason for it. He was making salad, for God’s sake. But a broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboy standing at her counter expertly tearing up leafy greens inspired X-rated ideas.

She had to stop watching him. Surely there was something she was supposed to be doing if she could just remember what it—oh, yeah, start the water for the pasta. Grabbing a pot, she filled it, put it on a burner and turned the heat on.

If she set the table that would get her out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Except he was standing in front of the silverware drawer. Okay, she’d put out the pasta bowls and napkins.

Her dining table was oval, also dark wood, Edward’s choice. She hadn’t minded for the dining table, though. It wasn’t like she would sleep on it.

Her pulse was going way too fast as she arranged the napkins with one on the end and one on the side the way she and Edward used to eat here. Then she switched the one on the end to the opposite side so there’d be no knee touching.

She placed a pasta bowl next to each napkin. Why did that look so strange? Because you dish the spaghetti in the kitchen, doofus. Take the bowls back.

“Your water’s boiling! Want me to do anything?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and choked back a laugh. The water wasn’t the only thing boiling. As for what he could do about it….

“Olivia? You okay in there?”

She cleared her throat. “Fine! Just getting the—” What the hell was she getting in here? She glanced around. “The napkin rings! Found them! Pesky little devils.” She carried the pasta bowls back into the kitchen and hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was bringing back the very dishes she’d carried into the dining room.

He glanced at her. “I turned down the heat and added the pasta. It may look like I made a lot but I’m hungry. It won’t go to waste, I promise.”

“Thanks for doing that. You obviously know your way around a kitchen.”

“Mom started us young. She wanted us to be totally self-sufficient. I think it was partly because we were down to one parent and she didn’t want us to be helpless if something happened to her.”

“I can see why she’d think that way.” He hadn’t lost one sliver of sex appeal while she’d been having a tiny meltdown in the dining room. If anything, he’d added some by taking charge of the pasta.

This was a man who’d bring her breakfast in bed and then make love to her after she ate it.

“Is this enough salad?” He tipped the bowl so she could see.

“You tell me. I can handle about a third of that.”

“And I can take the rest. Are we ready, then?”

“I do believe we are.”

He helped her dish up the meal and carry it to the table. Then he held her chair before walking around to take his seat. While she was a hot mess, he appeared completely at ease. He complimented her on the sauce and expertly twirled the noodles on his fork.

She, on the other hand, was so hyperaware of him that she couldn’t manage the noodles without slurping and barely tasted the food. Maybe if she mirrored his body language, her brain would get the message to relax.

For the next few minutes, whenever he leaned forward, so did she. When he settled back in his chair, she did the same. The strategy helped. Adopting his rhythm settled her, and concentrating on it kept her from focusing on how great he looked sitting across the table.

She could almost ignore the slight bristle on his chin that transformed him into a dashing rogue. Or the gentle rise and fall of his chest that made her want to lay her palm over his beating heart. Or the fullness of his lower lip as he pressed it against the rim of his water glass.

He glanced across the table. “You said you were in math club. Is that why you decided to be an accountant? You like math?”

“I do, but mostly I like helping others understand it. Everyone in our club tutored kids having trouble. Now I help my clients understand taxes, which is kind of the same as tutoring.” She laughed. “Although now they pay me for it.”

“Why didn’t you become a math teacher?”

“Thought about it. But most school teachers work for someone else, someone who sets your hours and determines your paycheck.”

He nodded. “I get that. I’ve considered going out on my own for that very reason.”

She copied his nod. “I love being my own boss. But there’s no guarantee of success, no guaranteed salary.”

“Did you worry about failing?”

“Honestly? No.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re focused and you know your strengths.” He leaned forward.

And my weaknesses. She leaned forward at the same angle. “Hope so.”

He studied her for several seconds. “Tell me, if I reached over and stroked your arm right now, would you reach over and stroke mine?”

Busted. Her cheeks warmed. “Uh, no.”

“How long have you been copying every move I made?”

“A while.”

“How come?”

“You’re so mellow about hanging out with me. I thought if I did whatever you did, I might get more mellow, too.”

“Has it worked?”

“Sort of.” She gestured to her empty pasta bowl and a few pieces of lettuce clinging to her salad plate. “I made it through dinner without jumping your bones and demanding multiple orgasms.”

His startled laughter was loud in the quiet dining room.

She stared at him, shocked at herself. “I did not say that. Some alien took over my body and made those words come out of my mouth.”

“Or maybe you’ve tuned into my impulsive behavior.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“Who knows? It might.” He studied her, clearly amused. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you doing the mirroring trick.”

“It’s subtle.”

“Not that subtle.” Heat flickered in his gaze. “Then again, my package demanded a lot of my attention. It’s not easy making polite conversation while I’m calculating the weight-bearing capabilities of this table.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Just trying to decide if it would hold us both.”

“Trevor!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks.

“You didn’t think of it?”

“No.”

“Not even once?”

“Of course not! I’ve never—” She stopped herself, but it was too late.

His expression softened. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“You must think I’m boring.”

“You must think I’m deranged.”

Heart pounding, she held his gaze. “No, I think you’re unbelievably exciting. And I’d appreciate it very much if you’d walk out the door and get in your truck. I’ll…save the cookies for tomorrow.”

“What about the dishes?”

“I’ll do them.”

He hesitated for one electric moment.

Her resistance was gone. If he made a move, she was toast.

Instead he sighed and pushed away from the table. “Okay.” His smile was tinged with regret. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Thanks for a great dinner.” He left without a backward glance.