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trash, brows high on his head.
    “You’re an artist. What’s the most important component to your artwork?”
    He shrugged and the bag made a crunching sound. “My brushes.”
    “No.”
    “Paints, canvas, inspiration.” Gruber huffed when Ian continued to shake his head. “You’re losing me, soldier.”
    “ You are your most important component. You can have all the paints in the world but without you to give it life, there’s nothing. You are your vehicle. It needs to be kept up so you can do your best work.”
    Gruber emptied one bag of trash into another. “Hmm. I’ve never seen it that way, but perhaps you have a small point.”
    Once Ian was able to get to the water heater, he quickly discovered it needed to be replaced. Mr. Gruber kept cleaning. By the time he had the old water heater pulled out, the cabin was spotless. And Gruber looked . . . lighter. Even younger.
    Gruber folded a shirt and glanced around. “This place is roomy with all the junk picked up.”
    Ian nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    The older man scratched his ear. “Thanks.”
    “Yes, sir.” Ian muscled the water heater out the front door. He’d need to find Charlee and see about getting to town to buy another one. Dripping with sweat, he figured a shower couldn’t hurt. She might want to drive him there and he didn’t really want her to have to smell his essence of sweat and stale cabin.
    He turned to Gruber, who held the front door open for him. “If you see Charlee, could you tell her I’ll be at my cabin? We need a new water heater today. I’m gonna grab a shower.”
    Gruber saluted. “Sure thing, Soldier Boy.”
    Ian wiped the sweat from his hands onto his jeans. “See you later.”

    Anger shot from Charlee’s gut to every appendage. After her conversation with Mr. Gruber she headed straight to Ian’s cabin, burning up the ground with each step. She banged on his door. No answer.
    She should have known the innate problems associated with hiring a soldier for . . . well, anything. Already her artists’ retreat felt smaller with him there. More cramped, a bit stifled. She wished she’d listened to the inner voice that told her, Danger, danger! Soldier in need of work and a world to absorb . But he’d looked so sweet standing there at her Jeep door. So sweet and so . . . lonely. Alone in a world he’d gone away to protect. Curse her romantic notions about life and patriotism. They were going to bring her nothing but trouble.
    She knocked again, this time letting some of her fury out with the pounding of her knuckles against wood. And she kept pounding. And kept pounding until, just on the other side of the door, she heard him yelling, “Okay, okay!”
    Ian threw the door open, met her angry eyes with his own, and barked, “What? What is so important it couldn’t wait until I dried off?”
    Bare chest, tan flesh, jeans, bare feet, wet, wet, wet. Water dripped from his dark hair onto his face and trailed in rivulets down his chest. He took the towel in his hand and rubbed it over his eyes. “You want to come in?”
    “Yes.” She took a step, stopped. “No.”
    He tossed the towel over his shoulder and the muscles in his arm bunched. There was a narrow scar on his left arm and another across his wide chest.
    A flash of amusement entered his gaze. “So which is it? Yes or no?”
    “Yes,” she said, but her voice sounded shakier than she liked. She breezed past him, hoping to gain some equilibrium. “You shouldn’t answer the door half naked.”
    She hadn’t turned around, but could feel him inching closer. “You, uh, didn’t give me much choice.”
    Before her, the wall was a nice steady place to focus. No dripping wet muscles, no dark eyes. For an instant she forgot why she’d been mad.
    “Are you here about getting the water heater?”
    Oh yes, that brought it all back . She turned to face him. “Mr. Gruber said you yelled at him about his house.”
    Ian used the towel to scrub his hair then smoothed the