Currant Creek Valley. RaeAnne Thayne

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      She wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, she shifted the board—now growing increasingly heavy—and whipped out her cell phone. In this case, she would do whatever was necessary. Even if that meant turning to her brother. She scrolled through her address book and found Riley’s number but paused, her thumb hovering over the name.

      “You’ve got until the count of three to clear out,” she said, aware she sounded perilously close to something out of a spaghetti Western.

      He apparently agreed. “You’re going to feel really stupid if you call in the cavalry right now. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

      She sniffed. “Funny, that’s exactly what I would expect a criminal to say.”

      “I’m not a criminal.”

      “Again, I would have totally expected you to say that.”

      He gave a rough laugh that seemed to sizzle through her. Just nerves, she told herself. To fight them, she gripped the board more tightly and stared him down.

      He looked a little bit old to be doing the smash-and-grab thing, maybe her age or slightly older, but he did have a biceps tattoo dripping beneath the short sleeve of a worn T-shirt that showed off every hard muscle.

      All in all, he was really quite gorgeous, for a criminal, even if he didn’t seem in the least threatened by a woman holding a two-by-four and a cell phone.

      “Can I ask who you are and what you’re doing here?” he actually had the effrontery to say.

      She gaped at him. “None of your business! You’re the one who’s trespassing.”

      “Really? You think? Then why would I have this?”

      He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key that looked remarkably similar to the one she had used to unlock the door for her book club over an hour ago.

      “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? For all I know, that could be a key to the storage shed where you hide your victims in barrels full of acid.”

      He blinked a few times but didn’t lose his amused half smile. “Wow. Been watching a few too many horror movies, have we?”

      Okay, maybe it was a bit of an overreaction to accuse him of being a serial killer, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “My point is I don’t know who you are or why you’re breaking into my restaurant.”

      “Your restaurant? Wrong. This is Brodie Thorne’s restaurant.”

      The board slid a little in her hand and she finally set it down to rest one end on the ground, wondering uneasily if she might have made a teensy little mistake here.

      “Okay, technically, yes.” The restaurant was Brodie’s, if one considered that he was the person who took all the risks and paid all the bills. “But I’m his chef.”

      The guy’s half smile turned into a full-fledged one and her stomach fluttered at the impact of it. Oh, my.

      “We appear to have a little misunderstanding here. You must be Alexandra McKnight.”

      She squinted at him. “Maybe.”

      “Brodie told me about you, but for some reason I thought you would be older.”

      She made a face. She would be thirty-seven this year, which felt ancient sometimes. “Okay, so we’ve established who I am. Now who the hell are you?”

      “Oh, sorry.” Coming out of that rough-edged, dangerous-looking face, the charm of his friendly smile caught her off guard.

      “I’m Sam Delgado. I’m going to be finishing up your kitchen.”

      His words finally penetrated her thick skull and she wanted to throw her face in her hands. She was an idiot who shouldn’t be let out in public.

      This man was charged with building her kitchen in an insane handful of weeks and the first thing she did to welcome him aboard the project was accuse him of stealing what were probably his own tools.

      If she wanted this kitchen to provide ideal working conditions, she had to work closely with the contractor Brodie had picked. How would she be able to do that now, with this inauspicious beginning?

      She propped the board against the wall and faced him with what she hoped was an apologetic look. “Oops.”

      To her relief, he didn’t seem upset, even though a little annoyance would be completely justified. “Now aren’t you glad you didn’t call the police?”

      “It was an honest mistake. You have to admit, you’re a scary-looking dude, Sam Delgado. It must be the ink.”

      “I’m a pussycat when you get to know me.”

      “I doubt that.”

      “Just wait.”

      She knew perfectly well the words shouldn’t send this little tingle of awareness zinging through her.

      At least he was being decent about her almost beaning him with a board. She had to give him points for that. “I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend. Brodie said you couldn’t start until then.”

      “I wrapped up some other projects in Denver ahead of schedule and was able to break away a few days early. Figured I would come to town and do a little recon of the situation before my crew comes up tomorrow.”

      The way he spoke, the short haircut and what she glimpsed of his tattoo—which she could now see looked vaguely military-like—reminded her that Brodie had told her the guy was ex-army Special Forces, like Charlotte’s brother, Dylan.

      She figured it was safe to move closer to him. “Well, welcome to Hope’s Crossing, Sam Delgado. I can promise you, not everyone in town will greet you with a two-by-four.”

      He smelled good, she couldn’t help noticing. Like wind and sunshine and really sexy male. She really was an idiot to even notice.

      “I don’t blame you for being cautious. Any woman would have to be a little wary to find a stranger invading her space. No harm done.” He set the reciprocating saw down on the floor and the belt with it.

      “Brodie tells me you have definite ideas for your kitchen. I’m glad you’re here, actually, so we can go over what you want. Care to fill me in?”

      “Now?”

      He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

      She could think of several reasons, beginning with her heart rate, which still hadn’t quite settled back down to normal. “Um, sure. Come on through to where the kitchen should be and we can talk.”

      “Let me grab your plans,” he said, pointing to the back door.

      When he returned, he unrolled the blueprints and she spent the next few moments detailing what she wanted in the kitchen, and the design she and Brodie had already come up with. Much to her delight, Sam had a few suggestions that would actually improve the work flow and traffic patterns.

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