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When I turned out to be the wrong sex, they decided to use it, anyway. I like it. It’s different, and so am I.”
    “You enjoy being different, don’t you?”
    “Yes. I enjoy myself as a woman and as a person. How about you?” she stabbed back in the same teasing manner.
    “I don’t find much to like about people in general or about myself,” he muttered, brusquely dismissing her attempt at friendliness. “Most people don’t like me, and I prefer to keep it that way.”
    She remained silent, thinking over what he had said. In the coming weeks she would learn why he disliked himself and the world so much, she told herself. Perhaps if she could share some of her world with him, he would walk away richer for the experience.

Chapter Three
    Mackenna awoke feeling groggy. She hadn’t gone to bed until four-thirty and now, eyeing her wristwatch, she saw it was six o’clock. Time for a quick shower and a bite to eat before she drove to the road site. She hummed softly as she dressed in a mint-green T-shirt and jeans and ran a comb through her short hair. Today she felt happier than she had in a long while. It was due, she admitted, to the presence of Brock Hampton. And yet, she was puzzled over her response. Why was she so determined to break through those barriers he had erected? Was it compassion on her part? Simply the challenge? Or something else…. Shaking her head, she rubbed lip balm on her mouth, scooped up her freshly scrubbed hard hat, opened the door and walked quickly down the hall to the spacious veranda.
    Herr Jan Vermeer, the plantation owner, rose from the table and greeted her warmly. Mackenna squeezed his parchment-like hand as she said good morning. She was aware of Brock’s gaze following her every move as she joined them at the table.
    “Good morning, Brock,” she murmured.
    “Good morning, Mackenna,” he returned, his voice a velvet vibration.
    Jan looked at them, a satisfied gleam in his gray eyes. “I knew you would hit it off,” he congratulated himself.
    Smiling, Mackenna quickly pared the skin from her ripe papaya. “Of course. Were there any doubts?” And she grinned wickedly at Brock across the table.
    The old gentleman tugged absently at his white goatee. “Yesterday, I wasn’t so sure. Mr. Hampton seemed quite put out that you hadn’t arrived when expected….”
    Mackenna shrugged. “We got it straightened out, Herr Vermeer. Don’t worry. You know how construction people are. Long on tempers and short on patience.” She laughed.
    Brock had calmly resumed eating a huge bowl of oatmeal. Wisely, he said nothing. When he had finished, he pulled out a prescription bottle and dropped a white tablet into his hand, swallowing it with a gulp of orange juice. Then he asked mildly, “Taken your malaria pill today?”
    Mackenna nodded. “Religiously.” She couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice. She stared down at the ripe papaya, suddenly losing her appetite.
    Jan Vermeer clucked sympathetically. “Mackenna, you must eat, my girl. You’re far too thin. Really, Mr. Hampton, do you wear all your employees to the bone this way?” he asked gently.
    Brock shook his head. “I told her the same thing, Herr Vermeer. Finish the fruit, Mackenna. We have a heavy schedule in front of us today.” His tone was patronizing.
    Malaria. The very word made her ill. She pushed the plate away, standing. “I`m just not hungry.” She glanced down at Herr Vermeer, noting his disapproving expression. “I promise I’ll eat tonight.” She patted his hand and picked up her hard hat. “Brock, I’ll meet you out at the truck in ten minutes.”
    It was mid-August, and the sun was barely edging past the massive groves of coconut trees that embraced the plantation. Mackenna swallowed against the lump forming in her throat, throwing the hat on as soon as she let herself out the front door. All of a sudden, the day was turning sour, spewing up old, hurtful memories, and she struggled against the wall of