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as she returned.
    He returned to hitting the wall. Soon, there was a pile of drywall that needed clearing and his arms ached.
    When she reappeared with the broom, he said, “Have at it.”
    He wasn’t quite sure what she’d do with the pile. By the looks of her she’d never done a day of manual labor in her life—Elena sure hadn’t.
    But without a word, Kristen started to collect the larger pieces in her arms. He picked up an armload himself and followed her out the back. Outside, she slid the side door of the battered red Dumpster and dumped her armload of fractured drywall inside it. Her once pristine shirt was covered in white drywall powder, as were her arms. However, without complaint she headed back inside for another load.
    The two worked for the next hour, clearing out debris. When they’d removed most of the large pieces, he knocked more down. She carried more.
    By four o’clock, they’d stripped the wall to its bones. And he could see that Kristen was tired. Her face was flushed, and sweat stained the front of her shirt.
    “Let’s take a break,” he said.
    She frowned. “But we aren’t finished.”
    “The wall isn’t going anywhere and I could use some water. You got a kitchen in this place?”
    “In the back. Follow me.”
    As they moved up the center staircase of the shotgun-style row house, he noted she moved with her shoulders back, her hips swaying gently with each step. For the first time, he got a glimpse of the money and fine education Elena Benito had known.
    Maybe she was the one.
    “You move like a dancer,” he said as they entered the small kitchen. Elena Benito had loved to dance. She took him to a small apartment furnished with a bed and kitchen table.
    Her hand on the kitchen cabinet, she hesitated. “I don’t dance.”
    He heard the hesitation in her voice. “Could have fooled me.”
    Long, delicate fingers wrapped around two white mugs that read Yoga Studio. She turned on the tap, waited until the water was cool and then filled each mug. She handed him his, careful that their fingers did not brush. “We don’t have glasses, just mugs, but they are clean.”
    “Works for me.” He drank the water, amazed at how thirsty he’d become. “So what brings you to a place like this to work?” He noted the slight tension in her hands as they tightened around the mug.
    “It’s a job.” She raised the mug to her lips and started to drink.
    “Yeah, but what brought you to Lancaster Springs?”
    She shrugged. “Lots of twists and turns, Mr. Cambia.”
    “You from Virginia?”
    She lifted her gaze up to his. “You are a very curious man.”
    He grinned, mentally backing off. “You’re pretty. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get to know you better.”
    A blush added color to her cheeks. “I have a boyfriend.”
    That caught him off guard. “Does he live around here?”
    “Yes. You might meet him when he comes by to pick me up after work.”
    Kristen had become a practiced liar these last nine months. Stories tripped off her tongue and sometimes she half believed them herself. Despite her attraction to Dane, it was best to keep him at arm’s length. Romance was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
    “What’s his name?” Cambia refilled his cup at the tap.
    “Mark,” she said easily. She’d used this made-up boyfriend before.
    “Mark,” he said, testing the name. “What’s he do?”
    “He’s a fireman.” The trick was to keep the lies simple so that the details didn’t trip her up later. “Are you ready to get back to work?” In truth, she hated the idea of dragging more of that white board outside. Her shoulders ached, as did her lower back. But the work was preferable to the questions.
    Cambia stared at her over the mug’s rim as he drained the last of the water. He set the mug down in the sink next to hers. Then he seemed to change his mind, picked up the mug again and refilled it with water. “Let’s call it a night. We’ve gotten a lot done