Arizona Homecoming. Pamela Tracy

pulled-pork sandwich with homemade chips.” It was what he’d had last time he ate here. The aroma had lured him the moment he stepped out of his truck.

      “No one can afford to buy all the land that needs to be preserved in this area,” Emily protested, “and no one should have to. It should be made into a state park, part of the Superstition land trust.”

      “We didn’t find Native American remains,” Donovan said, claiming the only vacant chair, which happened to be next to Emily.

      “You could have. He wasn’t buried very deep. Decades of wind could have covered him up. And just because he’s not more than a century old doesn’t mean he’s not Native American, and—”

      “Emily,” the sister at the table said gently.

      While Emily continued talking, ignoring her big sister, Donovan studied the other female, a taller, more slender version of Emily. When Emily finally stopped her impassioned tirade with a harrumph, the woman held out her hand and said, “Since no one is going to introduce me, I’ll do it myself. I’m Elise.”

      “Donovan Russell. I met your fiancé Cooper a few days ago. I stopped by his outfitters store. He told me all about gold panning.”

      She looked at her little sister with an indulgent expression, and then back at Donovan. “And my little sister has told me all about you.”

      “All good?” he joked.

      “I like to judge for myself. I’ve been keeping up with what the house you’re building looked like. So far, I’m not sure.”

      Donovan doubted she’d be impressed, considering where Elise lived. The Lost Dutchman Ranch blended in with its surroundings, making a visitor take in the whole package: house, land, mountains. George Baer definitely wanted visitors to notice only his house.

      No, not the house, but his money.

      “Then, I went to your website,” Elise continued. “You’ve done some impressive homes.”

      “Back in Omaha? Or the last three years?” he asked.

      “Definitely back in the Omaha area.”

      Made sense. There he’d not been building true luxury homes. He thought back to the first house he’d worked on with Tate Luxury Homes in Springfield, Illinois. It had been a fourteen-thousand-square-foot split-level mansion with marble floors and two elevators. The master bedroom had a fireplace and a waterfall! Two of the bedrooms were for little girls and had castles with stairs and a tower, jutting from one wall.

      For show.

      There’d also been a two-tiered Jacuzzi with a flat-screen television and its own bar.

      “And you build tree houses.” A young boy spoke right in Donovan’s ear before pulling a chair over to sit next to him. Excitement emphasized each word.

      “My nephew, Timmy. Eva’s stepson,” Emily introduced.

      Here was the type of future homeowner Donovan wanted to build for. The boy promptly set some Legos on the table and started creating as he spoke. “Emily found some pictures of your tree houses. Grandpa saw them, too, and he wants you to build us Tinytown.”

      Tinytown?

      Emily had looked at his personal website?

      “Timmy, I hadn’t had a chance to get around to discussing business with Mr. Russell,” Jacob chided without sounding the least bit perturbed.

      “You searched for me on the internet?” Donovan asked Emily.

      “Elise did,” Emily said. “But my motto’s always been Know Your Friends but Know Your Enemies More.”

      “What?” Donovan couldn’t help but laugh. He had a few proverbs he’d like to spout, too.

      Emily didn’t seem to appreciate his mirth.

      “I’m not your enemy. I’m a custom-home builder hired to do a job. As I told you the first day you introduced yourself, the property is paid for, the permits are up to date and the inspections are either finished or arranged for.”

      She didn’t appear to have a response.

      “Never a dull day in the Hubrecht clan.” Elise stood and started gathering plates and glasses from the table. She gave Emily a look that clearly said, You plan to help? but Emily shook her head and frowned at Donovan.

      “So,” Jacob interjected, “about the tree houses we saw on your website. Your blog said that a typical tree house takes a week and that you do small jobs between big projects?”

      “Sometimes,” Donovan allowed.

      Jacob’s eyes lit up.

      “I didn’t see any trees around here big enough for a tree house,” Donovan remarked.

      “Don’t want a tree house, exactly,” Jacob said. “Timmy and I were talking, and we want a child-size village, you know, with houses the size of small sheds, perfect for our guests in the age range of three to maybe twelve. Not just houses, mind you. We’d want a child-size fire station, a store, a movie theater, a school and a hospital. It could be a little bigger. Not only could Timmy and his soon-to-be little brother use it, but many of our guests bring children—”

      “Whoa.” Donovan appreciated the man’s enthusiasm, but the picture he was painting would take a lot of time. Time Donovan didn’t have. “I’m not sure you’ve thought about the real time and cost of such a project. I’m booked solid for the next two years. And if I do it when I have a free week, you’ll be getting a new building once every six months, plus paying travel.”

      Donovan was now a week late on the Baer house, which was okay because he always calculated in extra time, but come the beginning of August, he was heading for California and his next job. Building a child-size village wasn’t on the schedule. “Plus, you’re a builder, too. You built this place.”

      “I was a lot younger then. And, I never did the detail you put into some of those houses. Timmy was quite impressed. I don’t figure the cost would be much different than the tree house you made over in Colorado last year,” Jacob said.

      Donovan knew the exact one Jacob spoke of. It was connected to two trees, had two porches—front and back—and was made of cedar. Much bigger than a shed.

      “I figure you’ll charge me a little less, as it’s easier to build on the ground rather than in a tree.”

      “You’re still talking about five or six buildings,” Donovan responded.

      “Give me a ballpark figure, thinking maybe six structures?”

      Donovan shook his head. “The tree houses are a passion of mine and I love building them. Unfortunately, I don’t...”

      Timmy’s lips pursed, making him resemble his aunt from a few minutes ago.

      “No.” Jacob only said one word and Timmy stopped pouting.

      Donovan figured this would be a good time to head for the buffet and fill his plate. When he returned, he quickly took a bite so he wouldn’t have to say anything else right away. He thought about the offer. The tree houses weren’t exactly what Donovan would call small jobs. They were intricate and had personality, and he wished he could build them full-time. Their owners, usually between the ages of six and sixteen, appreciated them in a way a wealthy seventy-something, like Baer, couldn’t.

      Jacob waited until Donovan’s plate was almost empty before suggesting, “Could you maybe work in just two small houses between the end of this job and your next one? Emily is handy with a hammer. She’s responsible for the good condition of our fencing and the remodels in the barn and bunkhouse. If she helped you, she might be able to finish the job.”

      “No.” Emily sounded a lot like her dad.

      No way did Donovan have time. But working with Emily...might prove very interesting. Maybe, just maybe,