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the newly constructed doorway, which meant avoiding Calliope wasn’t going to be an option.
    He rang the bell at the front door. Beth the Bouncer, as he’d gotten used to calling her, opened the door and glared at him.
    “I need to get to the playroom.”
    She opened the door. “Stay on the plastic runner so you don’t spread that dust all over the floors.”
    He found himself smiling at her brusque tone. It reminded him of himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Kids were stuffed into the entryway, and stopped to gape at him.
    “Who are you?” one little boy asked. He had dark curly hair and green eyes, with glasses. If Calliope had a son he’d probably look just like that.
    He squatted down. “I’m Wyatt. I’m building a new room on to this place.”
    “You have hammers and stuff?”
    “I do.”
    A little girl came up beside him. “You’re dirty. Miss Beth will make you wash up before you come inside.”
    Wyatt lifted his gaze to Beth, who fought a smirk.
    “And you’d better clean off your shoes, too,” another little boy said.
    “Miss Calliope doesn’t care if you’re dirty. She likes dirt.”
    “She gets dirty, too. She even plays in the mud with us.”
    A lot of giggles, then they ran off, his novelty wearing off. He straightened and walked down the hall. He caught sight of Calliope in another room with a handful of kids. She was on the floor playing with blocks. She looked up, pushed her glasses up, smiled and waved at him.
    He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips or the involuntary wave back.
    Or the warmth that filled him at seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.
    So she was Cassandra’s sister. So what? She was obviously attracted to him, and God knew he wanted her in a way that defied all logic or reason.
    Then again, was it illogical or unreasonable to want to be with a woman who was positive, bubbly, friendly and obviously loved kids? Wasn’t Calliope the kind of woman he’d wanted all along, before he’d been seduced by the dazzling beauty of her sister?
    Was that what he was afraid of—that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? She didn’t seem at all like Cassandra—a one-eighty from her sister, in fact. Cassandra wouldn’t be caught dead with muddy handprints on her jeans, or chalk on her face. She wouldn’t spend five minutes of her day sitting on the floor coloring or reading a book to a bunch of three-year-olds. Getting dirty hadn’t been on Cassandra’s list of fun things to do at all.
    He’d like to get dirty with Calliope. The thought of it had him hard and sweating, despite the dropping temperatures.
    He’d let fear and failure rule him for so long he’d forgotten all the fundamentals. Like how to treat a woman. How to ask someone out on a date. How to let attraction take over and just go with it.
    Why couldn’t Calliope be a woman he’d met at random? That would make this a lot easier, because every time he looked at her, he made the connection to Cassandra, and then the big bad of his past kept rushing back to him.
    Which was all in his head and not in reality. Calliope had nothing to do with the failure of his marriage. Maybe it was time to separate the sisters, think of Calliope as an individual and give himself a freakin’ break.
    But first he had to work. He focused his attention on the sheetrock and let Calliope slide to the background for a while.
    Hours later, his crew had gone home and he was still in the center when he decided to call it quits for the night. The sheetrock had been finished. His crew had put up tarp on the outside to make sure any bad weather wouldn’t ruin the work they’d done.
    Wyatt walked into the adjoining room on his way out the door, stopping dead at the window.
    It was dark outside—and snowing like crazy. From his guess, there was a foot on the ground already. He grabbed his phone. 8:00 p.m. No wonder his stomach had been growling.
    Damn, where had his head been, and why hadn’t Calliope come to tell him she