Home to Montana. Charlotte Carter

a college degree.”

      “He’s a jock, Mama. He talks about fullbacks and tailbacks and running the end around something. He spends his spare time watching reruns of college games. That hardly makes for an intellectual conversation.”

      “So you say. But it may be that Nick Carbini is different than other men you have met. Maybe there’s a reason God brought him back home.”

      “Don’t count on it. Besides, drifters don’t have a home.” Without saying another word, Alisa marched out of the kitchen. What a ridiculous thing for her mother to say. That she was afraid of men? Not for a moment. She could do anything a man could do. Chop wood. Plow snow from their parking lot. She could probably fix the porch steps if she were so inclined.

      It was just that Nick made her...nervous.

      She’d strayed from God’s path once, which left her with a heartache and a child born out of wedlock. Although she would never regret having Greg, she had no intention of making that mistake again.

      Which was precisely why Nick made her so nervous. If she weakened even a little, she might not be able to stop from making another serious error in judgment. A woman didn’t fall into a man’s arms simply because she was attracted to his dark good looks and the hint of loneliness in his eyes. That would only lead to heartache.

      * * *

      Wood rot was the problem on the bottom two steps. Not simply the bolts that held the step in place loosening.

      Nick had found some wood that matched the existing steps and cut it to length. There had even been a jar full of the bolts in the shed that he needed. Now he was drilling holes for the new bolts.

      “Hey, mister.”

      Silencing the drill, Nick looked up. “Hey, Greg. You can call me Nick, if you want.”

      “’Kay.”

      “How was school?”

      “Same ol’. What’re you doing?”

      Nick sat back on his haunches. “Fixing these steps. They were wobbly.”

      The boy eyed the new wood. “Can I help?”

      Nick gave some thought to whether Alisa would approve or not. “Maybe when I put the sealer on the new wood you could help.” A boy needed to feel useful, not ignored.

      The youngster shifted from one foot to the other, then eased over to Rags, who was tied up a few feet away. “Maybe I could play with Rags while I’m waiting.”

      Nick’s lips twitched into a smile. “I think Rags would like that a lot.”

      “Great.” He tossed his backpack aside and dropped to his knees, roughing up Rags’s coat and scratching him behind his ears. Eager to return the greeting, Rags licked Greg’s face, which resulted in high-pitched giggles. Unhooking the leash, Greg said, “Come on, boy. Let’s find a stick.”

      Smiling, Nick watched the two of them race off, Rags in the lead, happy at last to be able to run free.

      He’d never had a dog as a kid. The closest he’d come to having a pet was a goldfish he’d won at a school carnival. The poor fish—he’d named him Oscar—hadn’t lasted long. One morning Nick had found him on the floor. Oscar had apparently jumped out of his bowl during the night. Nick had wanted to bury him in the backyard, but his dad made him flush the fish down the toilet.

      It didn’t matter. Either way, Oscar was dead. Nick wasn’t allowed to cry.

      He wrestled the new steps into place and tightened down the bolts. The newly cut wood smelled clean and fresh. He could understand why a man would want to work with his hands building things. Things that lasted.

      Alisa stepped out onto the porch and hesitated a moment checking out Nick’s work. Then she let her gaze travel to Greg and Rags who were romping through the high grass.

      “Greg! Time to come in.”

      The boy circled around before racing Rags back to the diner. He slid to a stop, breathing hard. Rags dropped to the ground panting. Both boy and dog had worn themselves out. At least momentarily.

      “I was worried about you,” Alisa said. “You were late getting home.”

      “I was playing with Rags.”

      “So I gather. Come on in. You can have a snack before you do your homework.”

      “It’s Friday, Mom. I don’t have any homework.”

      “Well, come in anyway, honey. I’ll find you—”

      “I can’t, Mom. Nick said I could help him put sealer on the step.”

      Her gaze dropped pointedly to Nick, who was squatting on the bottom step. “He did?”

      He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “The bare wood has to be sealed or it will absorb rain and snow. You’d have to replace the steps all over again in a couple of years.”

      “I know that.”

      Nick grinned. “Of course you do.”

      She glowered at him. Nick figured she didn’t like to be teased, but it was kind of fun anyway, seeing her get all flustered. Her cheeks turned pink with a blush.

      “If he’s going to help,” Nick said, “might be good if he changed into old jeans and a shirt. Sealer can get pretty messy.”

      Greg snatched up his backpack. “Can I, Mom? Can I?”

      She sighed in defeat. “I suppose.”

      “Thanks, Mom.” The boy leaped up the steps and burst in through the door.

      Resting her hand on the railing, she shook her head and frowned. “It’s all right if he helps you some, but I don’t want my son to get...attached to you.”

      A sharp pain of regret stabbed Nick in the chest. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t be around that long.”

      Her gaze skittered away from Nick. “I know. That’s exactly why I don’t want him to get too friendly with you.”

      “Guess your husband would object, too.”

      Her gaze snapped back to him. She bristled. “I don’t have a husband.”

      “I wondered about that.” It didn’t seem right that such a good-looking woman didn’t have a husband. A father for her son. “Guess the guys around here are all blind and half-stupid for not latching on to a good thing when it’s right in front of their noses.”

      She brought herself up to all of her five-feet-five height and lifted her chin. “Mr. Carbini, I’ll have you know I am not the kind of woman who latches on to any man who just happens to be handy. Nor do they latch onto me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see that Greg changes into something appropriate for painting the porch steps.” Doing an abrupt about-face, she marched into the diner.

      Thoughtfully, Nick tilted his head. She was one proud lady. Chances were good all that pride was hiding one giant hurt that hadn’t ever healed.

      If Nick knew for sure who had done the hurting, he’d be happy to take the fellow into the woodshed and do a little attitude correcting on Alisa’s behalf.

      Except chances were also good that she wouldn’t appreciate him being the one standing up for her. Not if she knew about his past.

      Nick got back to work, and it wasn’t long before Greg reappeared at the back porch.

      “I’m ready!” He wore jeans with a tear in them, a faded blue T-shirt and an eager smile.

      “Okay, Greg. Let’s see if your mom has a can of sealer and some paintbrushes in the equipment shed.”

      Nick hadn’t put Rags back on his leash after Greg went inside to change. Now the dog trotted beside the boy, probably in the hope a suitable fetch stick