Aaron Under Construction. Marin Thomas

Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу Aaron Under Construction - Marin Thomas страница 3

Aaron Under Construction - Marin Thomas Mills & Boon American Romance

Скачать книгу

morning,” Aaron greeted the clerk at the checkout counter, who squinted through one-inch-thick glasses. “Can you tell me how to get to Riker Avenue?”

      “No habla inglés.”

      And I don’t habla español. Aaron motioned out the store window and repeated, “Riker Avenue?”

      Pointing to the back of the store, the clerk answered, “Sí, señor. Riker.”

      “Thank you…I mean, gracias.”

      “No problema.” The proprietor grinned, showing off wide gaps between his few remaining teeth.

      Back in the truck, Aaron turned right at the next corner and drove east. He’d gone less than a mile when he noticed several older-model pickups and clunker cars parked in a cluster. As he drew nearer, a work crew came into view. He squeezed the truck in between two others, then headed across the street.

      Pausing at the curb, he surveyed the home under construction. Plywood had been laid down on the roof, and stacks of shingles sat in the front yard. Several men were busy wrapping the house with weather-resistant Tyvek paper, while others unloaded a delivery of wallboard.

      “Excuse, me,” Aaron hollered at the man who came out of the house. “Is the foreman here?”

      “¿Quién?”

      “Habla English?” Aaron asked.

      The worker shook his head.

      Aaron swept a hand out in front of him. “Barrio Amigo?”

      “Sí.”

      Bingo!

      Just then a husky feminine voice hollered in Spanish from somewhere above him. Aaron glanced heavenward. Tool belt slung across curvy hips and a hammer in hand, a woman balanced on the edge of the roof. The hard hat blocked his view of her eyes but not her strong jaw. She wore a white T-shirt with the words Barrio Amigo stamped across the front in bold red letters.

      He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Where can I find the foreman?”

      “Who wants to know?” she snapped in perfect English.

      “Aaron Mc—Aaron Smith!” When she didn’t budge from her spot, he added, “I’ve been assigned to this crew!”

      “You’re the new replacement?” The disbelief in her voice carried all the way down to the sidewalk where Aaron stood.

      Hiding his self-consciousness behind a smile, he admitted, “Yeah, I’m him.”

      “Be right there.” She scrambled up the roof and disappeared over the peak.

      His lips stiffened as the crew’s guarded stares burned holes through his T-shirt. What did they think he was going to do—walk off with a load of shingles?

      The woman rounded the corner of the house and fired off a barrage of commands that sent the men scurrying back to their jobs, which only confirmed Aaron’s earlier suspicion; the little dynamo headed in his direction was the forewoman.

      Stopping a few feet away, she sized him up. He grimaced when her mouth puckered. Obviously, she found him less than acceptable—something he didn’t often encounter with the opposite sex.

      “Aaron Smith reporting for duty.” He held out a hand.

      Her eyes widened as she stared at their entwined fingers. Then she flung her head back and laughed. The throaty sound surprised him; he’d expected a squeaky noise from such a petite body. “What’s so funny?”

      “Jennifer Alvarado, the site foreman,” she said, introducing herself, then quickly added, “and I specifically remember requesting someone with experience.”

      “I have experience.” That is, if constructing Lego buildings as a tyke counted as experience.

      She removed her hard hat, and a long, inky ponytail fell down her back, stopping a good three inches below her shoulders. She had almond-shaped brown eyes framed by sooty lashes, and a wide generous mouth that showed off bright white teeth. Bold, black brows arched above her eyes, hinting at arrogance. Without a trace of makeup, the lady was more stunning than any female he’d ever dated. And Aaron had to admit that the tool belt around her well-rounded hips made for an intriguing fashion accessory—one every woman ought to add to her wardrobe.

      One haughty eyebrow arched higher than the other. “You’ve worked on a construction crew before?”

      Sweat popped out across his brow. “Yes,” he lied. He doubted he and his brothers qualified as a crew, but the three had assembled several play forts at their grandfather’s home in Edgartown, Massachusetts, on the island of Martha’s Vineyard. One weekend they’d attempted a whaling boat. At the time it had seemed appropriate, since their grandfather’s house was a fully restored whaling captain’s residence dating back to 1790. The finished craft had resembled a misshapen box and had sunk on its first voyage in the water.

      “Doesn’t matter.” She curved her thumbs around her tool belt. “You’re fired.”

      “Fired?” Pop’s face flashed before Aaron’s eyes as panic sent his heart banging against his rib cage. “You can’t fire me.”

      She checked her watch. “It’s eight o’clock. We start at seven sharp.”

      “I got lost. Ask the man at the grocery mart a few blocks from here. He’ll tell you that I stopped for directions.” When her eyes narrowed to mocha-colored slits, he pointed to the corner, where the street name had been torn off the top of the signpost. “This isn’t an easy place to locate.”

      “You’re not from around here and—”

      “Ma’am, I want this job. Give me a chance to prove myself.” To Aaron’s way of thinking, he’d need a heck of a lot of chances to survive three months on this woman’s crew. Determined to make this work, to prove once and for all that he didn’t need anyone to rescue him, Aaron held steady under the forewoman’s assessing glare.

      She thrust her chin forward, no doubt hoping to add another inch to her height. “No.”

      He admired the way she kept eye contact with him—not a simple task when the top of her head barely met his shoulder. At six-one, he towered over her.

      “First, I’m the only person who speaks fluent English. Second, I’m not always at the site the entire day.” She counted off on her fingers—fingers unadorned with rings or acrylic nails and polish. “And third, I can’t afford any mess-ups because of miscommunication.”

      “The language barrier won’t be a problem.” Hell, when it came to building homes, Aaron was clueless in any language.

      “Sorry. You’re fired.”

      Now what?

      Although the crew appeared to be working, each man was keeping a watchful eye on the boss lady, convincing him that this forewoman had more than earned the group’s respect and loyalty.

      Time to pull out the big guns. “If you fire me, I’ll sue your organization

Скачать книгу