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challenge.
    “Vance . . .” After a moment’s hesitation, Shane decided to take a chance. “I could make it six dollars an hour, throw in your lunches and all the coffee you can drink. The people who come in here will see the quality of your work. It could lead to bigger jobs.”
    He surprised her by grinning. Her heart leaped into her throat. More than the tempestuous kiss, the quick boyish grin drew her to him.
    “All right, Shane,” Vance agreed on impulse. “You’ve got a deal.”

Chapter 3
    Pleased with herself and Vance’s abrupt good humor, Shane decided to show him the second floor. Taking his hand, she led him up the straight, steep stairway. Though she had no notion of what had prompted the amused gleam or sudden grin, Shane wanted to keep him with her while his mood lasted.
    Against his work-hardened hand, her palm was baby soft. It made Vance wonder how the rest of her would feel—the slope of her shoulder, the length of her thigh, the underside of her breast. She wasn’t his type, he reminded himself, and glanced at the hairline crack in the wall to his left.
    “There are three bedrooms,” Shane told him as they came to the top landing. “I want to keep my own room, and turn the master into a sitting room and the third into my kitchen. I can handle the painting and papering after the initial work is done.” With her hand on the knob of the master bedroom door, she turned to him. “Do you know anything about drywall?”
    “A bit.” Without thinking, Vance lifted a finger and ran it down her nose. Their eyes met in mutual surprise. “You’ve dust on your face,” he mumbled.
    “Oh.” Laughing, Shane brushed at it herself.
    “Here.” Vance traced the rough skin of his thumb down her cheekbone. Her skin felt as it looked: soft, creamy. It would taste the same, he mused, allowing his thumb to linger. “And here,” he said, caught up in his own imagination. Lightly he ran a fingertip along her jawline. He felt her slight tremor as his gaze swept over her lips.
    Her eyes were wide and fixed unblinkingly on his. Abruptly, Vance dropped his hand, shattering the mood but not the tension. Clearing her throat, Shane pushed open the door.
    “This—umm . . .” Frantically, Shane gathered her scattered thoughts. “This is the master,” she continued, combing nervous fingers through her hair. “I know the floor’s in bad shape, and I’d like to skin whoever painted that oak trim.” She let out a long breath as her pulse began to level. “I’m going to see if it can be refinished.” Idly, she touched a section of peeling wallpaper. “My grandmother didn’t like changes. This room hasn’t altered one bit in thirty years. That’s when her husband died,” she added softly. “The windows stick, the roof leaks, the fireplace smokes. Basically, the house, except for the dining room, is in a general state of disrepair. She never had the inclination to do more than a patch job here and there.”
    “When did she die?”
    “Three months ago.” Shane lifted a corner of the patchwork coverlet, then let it fall. “She just didn’t wake up one morning. I was committed to teaching a summer course and couldn’t move back permanently until last week.”
    Clearly, he heard the sting of guilt in her words. “Could you have changed anything if you had?” he asked.
    “No.” Shane wandered to a window. “But she wouldn’t have died alone.”
    Vance opened his mouth, then closed it again. It wasn’t wise to offer personal advice to strangers. Framed against the window, she looked very small and defenseless.
    “What about the walls in here?” he asked.
    “What?” Years and miles away, Shane turned back to him.
    “The walls,” he repeated. “Do you want any of them taken down?”
    For a moment, she stared blankly at the faded roses on the wallpaper. “No . . . No,” she repeated more firmly. “I’d thought to take out the door and enlarge the entrance.” Vance nodded, noting