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insisted. Yet that impetuous, wanting part of her that she tried to keep locked away began to unfurl and flutter within her heart.

Chapter Five
    Over the next few days, Sam worked in the McHenry garage, tearing out Sheetrock, replacing insulation and putting up a new plywood ceiling. He didn’t see Rachel until right before the school bus pulled up. She always arrived five minutes before Maxwell stepped off the bus. And she merely waved to Sam, then disappeared inside the house with her son.
    Sam had blown it with the kiss the other day, even though at the time he’d felt she’d been open to it. But she’d shut him down quickly.
    “Out of my league,” he muttered, reminding himself to keep an eye on the job and not the woman’s legs.
    “Sam!”
    “What? Ouch!” Startled by Maxwell’s shout, Sam had inadvertently grabbed a serrated board and felt a sliver enter his finger with a sharp stab.
    Maxwell stepped back at his booming shout, and Sam realized he’d freaked him. The boy retreated into the house, calling for his mother.
    “Great. Now she’ll never forgive me for scaring her kid.”
    Wincing at the inch-long sliver of wood sticking out of his thumb, Sam vacillated between going after the kid and trying to explain himself, or just leaving it be. He was already on unstable ground with Rachel.
    “What’s going on?” She swept into the garage, while her son lingered near the door, warily peering at them. “You frightened Maxwell.”
    “I didn’t mean to.” Sam stuck his hand behind his back—and forgot the boy was behind him.
    “He’s bleeding!” Maxwell yelled.
    “Let me see,” Rachel insisted.
    Sam shook his head.
    “Maxwell was worried about you. That’s why he came to get me.”
    “I’m a big boy. Get slivers all the time. It’ll be fine.”
    “Not if it’s bleeding. Come inside and let me get some alcohol. I won’t have you bleeding to death in my garage.”
    “It’s hardly a fatal wound.”
    With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, “Show me.”
    With a defeated sigh, Sam brought up his hand. Maxwell peeped and scampered back into the house.
    “My son isn’t keen on the sight of blood,” Rachel said, taking Sam’s wrist and tugging him toward the house.
    “Really? And he wants to be a brain surgeon?”
    “I’ve been informed there’s minimal blood when doing brain surgery. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re lucky. It’s suppertime. I may have to feed you to counter any wooziness from your injury.”
    Sam was about to protest that he was not at all woozy, when it hit him that she’d just invited him to stay for supper.
    Way to work the injury, Jones.
    * * *
    Dinner went well, and Rachel couldn’t get over the glances she caught Maxwell giving Sam. She’d swear they were looks of admiration. Plenty of times she’d invited a man over for a meal, but Maxwell had never offered him more than a “hello, I’ve got homework.”
    So what made Sam different? He was completely opposite Rachel’s usual type of guy. He wasn’t a businessman. He probably didn’t even own a pair of leather loafers or a snazzy tie. His hair was never styled, though she had to give Sam credit because it did looked combed tonight. His laughter was free and unguarded. And she’d counted four freckles on his nose while taking sneaky peeks at him over the crunchy garlic bread.
    So unlike her usual polite and refined dates. And so unexpectedly delightful. She wondered why it had taken her so long to find someone like him.
    It’s because you have all those silly requirements, remember? And you’re not even sure what exactly is needed to pass Go and collect the two hundred dollars and your heart .
    Right. But maybe it was time she redefined that list. Apparently Sam had already broken down part of the wall she’d erected around her heart. Would it be so difficult to let him attempt the rest?
    As she ran the sink full of water to soak the dishes, Sam joined her and grabbed a towel. “I’ll dry,”