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chubby, dark-haired man with a few days’ growth on his face pointed to the paper in June’s mouth. “You servin’ hours?” He was a dead ringer for John Belushi, and she half expected him to don a toga and start a food fight. Flashing a wide, brilliant smile, he strolled forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, the sour, smoky tang of marijuana practically emanating from his pores.
    June stiffened and gave him a quick pat-pat-pat on the back before wriggling free. “Yeah.”
    “Me too!” he said with way, way too much excitement. “Give your sheet to the boss-man. What’s your name, mamacita ?”
    “June.” She took a step back and leaned against her car, but the stoner didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. He eyed her up and down like she was a warm slice of cherry pie, or in his case, like she was an oversized bong with boobs. Then he placed one meaty hand on the car’s purple roof and leaned in close.
    “ Giiiirl. ” He shook his head. “You’re finer than a frog’s hair split three ways.”
    “Huh?”
    “Karl!” Luke’s voice boomed out, and June flinched in shock, clocking the stoner in the nose with the top of her head. She tugged off her hat and rubbed her throbbing scalp.
    The stoner—Karl, she guessed—cupped both hands over his nose and hopped in place. He hollered at Luke, pulling his red-stained hands away. “I think it’s broken!” Almost instantly, his nose had swollen to the size of a plum, a current of blood streaming over his lips and chin.
    “I’m sorry!” June cringed and shielded her eyes. She could handle the sight of all bodily fluids, with the exception of blood. And mucus, she didn’t like that either. Or vomit. Heck, to be honest, she wasn’t a fan of most bodily fluids.
    “Jimmy,” Luke’s voice called from nearby, but June kept her eyes covered and couldn’t see him. “Take Karl to Sultry Memorial. He busted his nose again.”
    June heard the slap of boots running on the dirt path and Karl’s retreating cries. Then a vehicle started and drove away, flinging gravel in its wake. From somewhere behind the house, the shrill buzz of a saw pierced the air, and she realized the drama was over. Everyone had already gone back to work.
    Slowly, she peered out from between her fingers at Luke’s moss-green eyes, which gleamed with amusement despite the firm set of his lips. From there, her gaze lowered to the hard curves of his bare chest and those broad shoulders. Sweet mother of Stevie Ray. June chewed the inside of her cheek and let her eyes wander to the trail of russet hair that encircled his navel and dipped below the waist of his jeans, which hung low—really low—on his lean hips. Off limits!
    “Hey,” he said, pointing to his face. “I’m up here.” He folded his muscled arms across his chest and smirked. “Nice job, Calamity June. In your first five minutes, you managed to send one of my men to the hospital.”
    “Wanna make it two? I’d be happy to push you off a ladder or something.” June smiled sweetly and held up her time sheet. “Who’s in charge?”
    “That’d be me.” He moved closer, bending near enough for June to feel the heat from his bare skin through her thin T-shirt. He smelled like warm leather and sawdust, and June’s heart thumped against her ribs. She closed her eyes and held her breath when Luke’s lips found her earlobe. “And if you’re not nice,” he whispered slowly, “I’ll send you to work for the Baptists.” His mouth caressed the helix of her ear as he breathed, “Junebug.”
    June stumbled back against her car and tried to forget the tingle of his hot breath in her ear. “You run Helping Hands?”
    “No. Trey runs it for me. I founded it.” Luke pulled off his faded blue baseball cap and raked a hand through his hair. “I come around twice a week to check on everyone and do paperwork.”
    “You?” June felt her eyebrows rise. “The same Luke Gallagher who used to climb out his