Hometown Courtship. Diann Hunt

hear her just fine. She donned her boot-cut jeans and a royal-blue-and-white-striped T-shirt. Once her hair was dried to satisfaction, she put Chaos in his crate, then grabbed her straw bag with blue matching trim before heading out the door.

      Something strange was going on, and Callie was determined to find out what it was—even if it meant talking to a man who probably wanted nothing to do with her.

      Brad watched Callie give the board one final thump with the hammer, and then admire her handiwork. Just then, she glanced over at Brad, making him drop the box of nails he was holding, scattering them across the concrete floor.

      They both fell on their knees and started gathering the runaway nails before someone tripped on them.

      “Over here,” she said, laughing.

      All around them, people crawled around the floor in search of the nails. In a rippling effect, one-by-one, people started laughing, until the entire crew was nearly hysterical.

      Brad quickly stood, blew out a ragged breath and put his silent cell phone to his ear. Clomping his way through the rough terrain, he moved away from the job site. He needed a minute to think, to try and figure out what had gotten into him.

      He kicked a clump of dirt out of the way. He was an idiot, and a clumsy one at that. Hammer stepped away, walked behind him and ended up on his other side.

      Brad had tried to avoid her. He wanted nothing to do with her, thanks to his brother. Yet when he noticed how hard she was working, sunlight glistening in her golden hair, cheeks flushed, tongue peeking out of the side of her determined mouth with every measured swing, well, he tried to look away, but he couldn’t.

      “Hey, are you all right?” The soft touch of Callie’s hand on his arm made him whip around as though she were an enemy to be reckoned with.

      “I’m fine.” He glared at Hammer for not letting him know someone was approaching.

      “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to apologize. I wasn’t, um, laughing at you. It was just a funny situation.”

      A sliver of vulnerability shone in her eyes, pulling him in. The slight sprinkle of freckles across her nose gave her a childlike quality, though he knew from experience she had no trouble standing up for herself. Not that that was bad. She was the perfect blend of independence and softness. He liked that in a woman.

      “Brad?” She stepped closer. “Are you all right?” She touched him again, sending electrical impulses shooting straight up his arm. Her eyes probed his, lingering, searching.

      Ammunition straight from his brother’s warehouse.

      Oh, she was good, no doubt about it. He took a step backward. “I’m fine.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. He took another step backward. “Really.” Dropping his cell phone, he bent over and picked it up, shaking his head at another display of clumsiness.

      “You’re not mad at me, then?” The question in her eyes, the lift of her mouth, the way her slender finger curled around a strand of hair…

      Taking another step backward, his foot fell into a hole, and he went down with a thud. Much to his embarrassment, a groan escaped him.

      “Oh, let me help you,” she said, reaching over to help him up.

      “No, no, don’t move me.” His voice sounded three octaves too high. He cleared his throat and said with a deep, manly voice, “I’ve hurt my ankle.”

      This woman was dangerous. He’d stay away from her or die trying.

      “I’ll get some help.” Before he could respond, she was off and running. And the weird thing was his dog, who never left his side, went with her.

      The traitor.

      By the looks of his ankle, running was something he wouldn’t be doing anytime soon.

      His brother was going to live to rue the day Callie Easton stepped into his courthouse.