They piled into a minivan, and like the dog, Kevin stuck his head out the window. "We're going to rock this place!"

Naomi put the coffeemaker in her bedroom on the desk, filled her cooler with soft drinks, lunch meats, some fruit. She could set her Coleman stove on the deck. She'd put meals together in much less cozy circumstances.

Monday, she gave herself the day off and joined in gutting the kitchen and adjoining bathroom. She swung a sledgehammer, wielded a pry bar, helped haul out old counters, old cabinets.

And exhausted, aching, fell dead asleep before the forest swallowed the sun.

Every morning the hammering started. She'd get coffee, a granola bar, her camera. The crew got used to her, stopped posing.

She took pictures of callused hands, hands bleeding at the knuckles. Of sweaty torsos, steel-toed work boots.

Evenings, in the blessed quiet, she ate sandwiches and worked. She cropped a study of the kitchen floor, the linoleum jagged against the exposed hardwood. She played with filtering, considered other compositions, spent time updating her site, punching up her marketing.

She chose which studies belonged on her site, which should be exclusive to the gallery, which should be put up as stock.

There were dozens of decisions to be made, and she would have sworn not as many hours in the day as there'd been a week before.

She took more time off to look at slabs of granite, and ended up spending more than an hour taking pictures-those raw edges, the graining, the dapples and colors. Tired of cold meals or soup over the Coleman, she stopped and picked up pizza in town on the way home.

She'd sit on her pretty slate blue glider, breathe in the quiet, and eat loaded pizza on her bedroom deck. Then she'd treat herself to a movie on her laptop. No more work that day. And thank God the king-size mattress she ordered would be delivered in the morning. She'd spend her last night on her air mattress.

Twilight shimmered in the west as she followed the snaking ribbon of road.

The deer leaped out of the trees. She had time to see that it was a massive buck before she cut the wheel to avoid the collision. She hit the brakes, fishtailed.

She felt more than heard her tire blow, and cursed as she tried to fight the wheel back.

She ended up thudding into the shallow ditch alongside the road with her heart pounding between her ears.

The buck merely turned his head, gave her a regal stare, and then leaped into the shadows.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it. Okay, okay. Nobody's hurt, including fricking Bambi." She shoved open the door to see the damage.

Tire shot, she noted, but she didn't think she'd damaged the wheel. She could change a stupid tire, but it was going to be tricky with the way she'd angled into the ditch. And dusk was falling fast now-with her on the curve of the switchback.

She opened the back, pulled out the emergency kit, lit a flare, set it several feet behind the truck, set another several feet in front, eased into the car, turned on her flashers.

Resigned to the annoyance, she hauled the jack out of the trunk.

She caught the headlights, worried they came too fast. But the truck-she made out the shape of a truck-slowed, then swerved gently to the shoulder between her car and the back flare.

Naomi set down the jack and took a good grip on the tire iron.

"Got some trouble?"

"Just a flat. I've got it, thanks."

But he sauntered forward, in silhouette with the headlights glaring at his back.

"Got a spare?"

Deep voice, deeply male. Tall-long legs and arms.

"Of course I have a spare."

"Good. I'll change it for you."

"I appreciate that." Her hand tightened on the tire iron. "But I've got it."

He just hunkered down to take a closer look. She could see him better now-a lot of dark, windblown hair, a sharp-boned profile under some scruff. A battered leather jacket, big hands on the knees of long legs.

"You're at a bad angle for the jack, but it's doable. I've got emergency lights in the truck."

He looked up at her now. A hard and handsome face, a tough-guy face with the scruff, with the thick, windblown hair, a firm, full, unsmiling mouth.

She couldn't see the color of his eyes, but didn't detect any mean in them. Still . . .

"I've changed a tire before."

"Hey, me, too. In fact, you can make a living. Xander Keaton. Keaton's Garage and Body Works-name's on the side of my truck. I'm a mechanic."

"I didn't call a mechanic."

"Aren't you lucky one just came along? And I'd appreciate the hell out of it if you didn't smack me with that tire iron." He goose-stepped over, picked up the jack, got to work. "Killed this tire good. You're going to need a new one. I can order one for you."

He picked up the lug wrench. "How'd it blow? It doesn't look worn."

"A deer-it jumped out in front of me. I overcompensated."

"That'll happen. Heading home? Just making conversation," he said when she remained silent. "I can smell the pizza. You're coming from town, so you're not staying in town. I haven't seen you before, and given you're a serious looker, I'd remember if I had."

"Yes, I'm going home."

"New around here-because I know everybody-heading home on this road. Killer blonde. Are you Naomi?"

She stepped back.

"Settle down." He said it calmly as he got up to get the spare. "Kevin Banner. He's rehabbing the old Parkerson place up on Point Bluff for you. Best pals, birth to earth. Well, earth's a ways off, unless you kill me with that tire iron, but we've known each other since before we could walk. You can call him, get my bona fides if it'll loosen the grip you've got on that thing."

"He never mentioned you." But her grip did loosen, a little.

"Now that hurts. He was my wingman, I was his best man. I'm Tyler's godfather. His cousin Mark's doing your plumbing, and Macie Addams-who I was madly in love with for about six weeks in junior year-is one of your carpenters. Does that clear me?"

"I'll know when I ask Kevin tomorrow."

"That's a cynical and suspicious nature you've got. I have to like it." He tightened the lug nuts on the spare, gave it a testing spin. "That'll do."

As he lowered the jack, he looked up at her again. "How tall are you?"

"Five-ten. And a half."

"You know how to wear it." He rose, fitted the jack and the tools back in their compartments.

"Do you want me to take the tire with me, order you another?"

"I . . . Yes, actually, that would be great. Thanks."

"No problem. Hold on a minute." He took the tire to his truck, got out a bucket of sand, picked up the flare. "Wanna get the other one?"

"You're prepared."

"Part of the job." He doused the flares in the sand, shook his head as Naomi dug in her pockets. "You want to pay me? Give me a slice of that pizza."

"What? Seriously?"

"That's Rinaldo's pizza. I've got a weakness."

"You want a slice of pizza?"

"It doesn't seem like much to ask after I risked a concussion and possible brain damage to change your tire."

She opened the door, opened the box. "I don't have anything to put it on."

Xander held out a hand. "How about this?"

With a shrug, Naomi set the slice of pizza on his wide palm.

"Thanks for the assist."

"Thanks for the pizza. You drive safe now."

She got in, strapped in, watched him saunter away-that was what he did. Saunter. She eased out of the ditch, bumped back onto the road.

He gave his horn a friendly honk as she drove away.

He sat a moment, getting in a couple bites of pizza so he could drive one-handed. He found it, as always, delicious.

But it didn't hold a candle to the leggy blonde with suspicious eyes.

Seven.

She'd come for peace, quiet, solitude. And ended up with a houseful of people and noise. There were days when even the view didn't balance it out.

When she asked herself why she hadn't settled for just the basics-like reliable plumbing and a decent refrigerator-she couldn't quite remember the answer.

The house was torn to pieces, full of dust-with the biggest Dumpster known to man sitting in her front yard. After three solid days of rain that made heading out with her camera unappealing, Naomi was ready to throw her things in the car and run.

She bought paint instead.

On the first day of rain, she cleaned and primed the master bedroom walls. On the first night of rain, she studied paint chips, created palettes and schemes with her computer. On the second day, she convinced herself it was just paint, and if she didn't like it on the wall, she'd just paint it again.

She bought the amount of color Kevin recommended, and semigloss white for the trim-along with rollers, brushes, pans. She forgot a stepladder-next time-so again she borrowed one from the crew.

Dressed in the sweatshirt, jeans, and Yankees fielder's cap already speckled with primer, she got to work cutting in. Since she couldn't block out the Skilsaw buzzing, the nail guns thwacking, and the headbanger rock pounding from the first floor, she plugged in her earbuds and painted to her own playlist.

- Xander drove up thinking the old house looked like it was made to loom on the bluff on rain-washed days. The day sloshed along gloomily, so the lights glinting against some of the windows added to the atmosphere. Maybe the giant Dumpster out front took some of that away, but he imagined Kevin and his crew were having a hell of a good time filling it.

He got out, hunched against the wet, strolled up to the house.

Inside the noise was amazing, but you'd have that on job sites. He smelled sawdust, coffee, wet dog-which meant Molly'd been out running around. Drop cloths and cardboard paths covered the floor.

The interior, as far as he could see, just looked sad. Dim, dingy, neglected. Maybe the high ceilings gave it some class, the natural stone fireplace some character, but he saw a lot of space to fix and fill.

He thought of the long, tall blonde with the sexy pixie hair and the don't-make-me-kick-your-ass attitude. He couldn't see the connection. She said city to him. Big city.

It made her and her choice of living arrangements all the more interesting.

He made his way back, following the noise. He saw stacks of lumber, tools, cords, wheels of wiring.

He wondered what people did with all these rooms. What the sexy blonde meant to do with them.

When he reached the kitchen, he had a partial answer. Here, at least, she meant to start from scratch.

They'd gutted the place, taken it right down to the studs, were now putting up new ones. A blue tarp shuddered from the windy rain over a big hole in the back wall. He knew enough about plumbing to read the rough-ins, get a sense of where things would go. Just as he could read that at one time there'd been a john in the far left corner.

"Hey, Kev, you planning on putting both kids through college on this place?"

Kevin, hunkered down with the plumber, glanced back. "It's going to help," he called over the noise.

He pushed up, crossed the tarped floor. "What brings you out here?"

"New tire for that FourRunner."

"Right. I'd've picked it up for her, saved you a trip."

"No problem. I wanted to see the place anyway."

Satisfaction covering his face, Kevin looked around. "It's coming along."

Shoulder to shoulder, Xander looked around the same space. "To what?"