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“You’ve got the wrong man, there. Volunteer and do-gooder weren’t listed on my application, nor are they in my vocabulary. You’ll have to find someone else for the job.”
    Was that how he spent his life? Jessica wondered. Moving from job to job, no family, no one to care about him? She couldn’t help the tug she felt in her heart for him.
    Dylan Grant was becoming more dangerous by the minute, she decided. The thicker the wall he built between them, the more tempted she was to break through it. Hadn’t she learned the hard way to keep away from his type? Volunteer and do-gooder weren’t the only words missing in Dylan’s vocabulary. So were commitment and love and family. And at twenty-seven, she was ready for all three.
    But first, she resolved, she had a town to rebuild.
    She turned and moved down the sidewalk, pointing out her intentions for each building. The old hotel would be a functioning hotel for tourists and guests. The bank would be the business and accounting office, the tailor shop an arts-and-crafts room. The barbershop would train hairstylists, and the telegraph office would become a computer center.
    As Dylan listened to Jessica describe her future town, he was hard put not to catch some of her enthusiasm. It was an impressive undertaking, and he had to admit he admired her dedication. Before he’d come here to Stone Creek and to Makeshift, every job he’d ever worked on had been much the same as the next. Other than the reason that had brought him here, he’d had no cause to think this job would be any different.
    But now, as he followed Jessica to the far end of the town, he had the strangest feeling that this job was different. Very different. There was something about Makeshift he couldn’t put his finger on, something exciting. An energy in the air, in the buildings themselves, that made him feel as if he could do anything.
    Except stay of course. That idea was ridiculous. Impossible. He’d tried to settle down once and it had been a disaster. He had no intention of repeating that mistake.
    Jessica stopped in front of a small burned-out church at the far end of town. The faded paint had once been white, and half of the steeple was broken off. Mesquite and weeds choked the doors and steps, and a loose shutter rattled in the late-morning breeze. Of all the buildings in Makeshift, the church appeared to have fared the worst.
    â€œI’m not sure where to start here,” she said, folding her arms as she stared at the dilapidated building.
    â€œA bulldozer would be my suggestion,” Dylan said. “Tear it down and start from scratch.”
    The light breeze suddenly turned into a cold wind. Dust and leaves flew everywhere. “What the hell...?” Dylan squinted, turning his face from the dirt and debris as he moved up the front steps of the church and struggled to pry loose one of the boards covering the front door. It wouldn’t give.
    Jessica touched his arm and pulled him away. “The church stays,” she said over the noise of the wind and Hannibal’s insistent barking. “In fact, it’s the first building I want renovated.”
    When she’d dragged him several yards from the church, the wind calmed to a breeze again. Weird, Dylan thought as he slapped at the dust covering his jeans and shirt. “It will cost a lot more to renovate than rebuild,” he said. “What difference does it make?”
    Her fingers tightened on his arm. “We aren’t tearing it down, Dylan.”
    Jessica’s statement went beyond an opinion or recommendation. It was an absolute, emphatic mandate. He looked down at the slender fingers gripping his arm and couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of her skin was as smooth and soft. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.
    â€œPromise me you won’t replace even one nail unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she said earnestly.
    The way she