“What’s wrong?”

Amiee read her like a McDonald’s menu. “See that truck,” she said, and gestured toward Steve’s truck.

“How could I miss it when it’s parked right in front of us?”

“I don’t get along with the man who owns it.”

“How come?”

Cassie wasn’t sure herself and didn’t know how best to explain the tension between the two of them. “All I know is that we seem to clash. Whatever you do this afternoon, stay out of Steve Brody’s way. Got it?”

Amiee nodded. She’d heard a similar warning often enough when they’d lived with Duke. Even as young as two and three, Amiee had learned the wisdom of staying away from her father when he was in a foul mood.

“Is he like Dad?” she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“No,” Cassie said, regretting her choice of words now. “He’s just grumpy.”

“How come?”

Again Cassie was at a loss to explain what she had yet to understand herself. “The lady at Habitat said his wife died.”

“Then he’s sad.”

“Yes, and that makes him grumpy,” Cassie added. “Come and I’ll introduce you to Shelly and George. This house is going to be their home. We’re almost finished.”

Amiee’s eyes widened with absolute wonder as she stared at the four-bedroom house. “You mean to say this whole house will be theirs?”

Cassie struggled to hold back a smile. “Yes, the whole house.”

Amiee couldn’t take her eyes off the structure. “Will our home be this big?”

“Almost, only we’ll have one less bedroom.”

Her daughter regarded her with what could only be described as wide-eyed wonder. “Cool.”

“In the good sense, right?” After being updated earlier by her daughter, she wanted to be sure this was a positive reaction.

“Right.”

Cassie climbed out of the car and Amiee followed her, sticking close to her side. She wasn’t more than two feet onto the property when Steve stopped her. “That your daughter?” he asked, directing the question to Cassie.

“Yes, this is Amiee. Amiee, this is Steve.”

He nodded once in Amiee’s direction, then asked Cassie, “How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

“She can’t be here. No one under the age of sixteen is allowed to be on the construction site.’

“I … was going to stay out of the way,” Amiee assured him.

Steve sighed. “Sorry. It’s the rules. No one under sixteen can be here.”

Shelly stood in the background, and being in close proximity, she couldn’t help but overhear. “Amiee, I have a daughter around your age. I could take you over to our place and the two of you could hang. Would you like that?”

Amiee glanced at Steve and nodded.

“Thank you,” Cassie told the other woman. This was by far preferable to having her daughter alone in the house or sitting in the car for the next several hours.

Cassie tagged along with Shelly to where the family was currently housed. Once she was assured Amiee was at ease with Shelly’s daughter, the two women returned to the job site. “I wonder if Steve will let me do more than pick up trash today,” Cassie muttered.

“He’ll have to,” Shelly said. “There’d be nothing for you to collect, seeing what a great job you did yesterday.”

Shelly was right. When they returned, Steve met them with a gallon bucket of paint in each hand. “You’re both going to paint today.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me on garbage detail?” Cassie asked ever-so-sweetly.

Steve responded by handing her a paint can. Cassie took it from him and was surprised by how heavy it was.

“Cassie, you’re cutting out around the windows and archway in the living room,” he said, and then looked to Shelly. “You can start in the dining room with the roller.”

Cassie waited until he was out of the room before she snapped her heels together and saluted him, as if he were a member of the Third Reich.

Shelly broke into giggles. “What is with you two?” Shelly asked, as she slowly shook her head.

Cassie shrugged. “For whatever reason, he doesn’t like me.” She couldn’t imagine what she’d said or done to get on his bad side, but she was solidly placed there now. It wasn’t a big deal. His dislike wasn’t a concern. He didn’t have to like her and she didn’t need to like him, either. Cassie was determined that no matter what he said, she wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her. She had faced off with the master of intimidation and survived. Compared to Duke, Steve was an amateur.

Shelly had a radio, which she placed on the floor between the living room and the dining room and put it on a Top 40 station. The two women started work, singing to the music. Soon they were dancing, too, paintbrushes in hand, enjoying themselves and making the most of the song.

“Hey, you two,” George said, coming inside the house and heading toward the Styrofoam cooler. “You’re having way too much fun in here.”

“That’s because we’re singing along with Uncle Kracker and you’re stuck with Mr. Potato Head,” Cassie said.

Shelly’s eyes widened as she slid her finger sideways across her throat, telling Cassie to cut it. That was when she realized Steve had come inside with George and stood directly behind her.

Well, she hadn’t said anything he didn’t deserve.

“Here,” George said, breaking the tension. He handed Steve a bottle of water as if nothing had happened. Then he looked toward Shelly and Cassie. “You two need water?”

“I don’t,” Shelly said.

“Me, neither.”

The two men drank their water. Determined to prove her worth, Cassie returned to painting, using the paintbrush to cut in around the windows just like Steve had instructed. Another song came on the radio, and while Shelly didn’t sing, Cassie’s feet refused to hold still. At first she simply tapped her foot as she continued to paint. But all too soon her legs and hips started to sway, as it was impossible to stand still. At one point she whirled around in a complete circle and discovered Steve. He stood no more than a few feet behind her. His dark, disapproving look stopped her cold.

“Did you need something?” she asked, refusing to flinch.

“You’re not using the right brush,” he said, his words devoid of emotion.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The paintbrush,” he reiterated, pointing to the one in her hand. “It’s the wrong size. It will take you twice as much time to cover the same area with that smaller brush. Use the other one, the bigger brush, but be sure and give that one a thorough cleaning first.”

Did he seriously think she’d just leave it thick with paint? Cassie’s back was as straight as a telephone pole. “I happen to like this smaller brush. It fits perfectly in my hand and applies the paint smoothly and evenly.”

Steve stared her down, but Cassie refused to blink. The truth was she really didn’t have a preference, but she refused to let him think he had the upper hand.

“Have it your way, then.”

“I will,” she said, making her voice as sweet and accommodating as humanly possible. She held the same ramrod-straight pose until Steve left and returned to the roof with George.

As soon as he vacated the house, Shelly came over to Cassie. “He really doesn’t like you,” she whispered, as if she was afraid he would hear her.

“I told you.”

“Calling him a Mr. Potato Head probably didn’t help.”

Cassie disagreed. “He was being a jerk, just the way Amiee said.” Her daughter had the electrical contractor pegged after less than five minutes.

“He isn’t always like this. Deep down, I think he must like you.”

That was so far from the truth it was almost funny. “If so, he has an odd way of showing it.”

“I’m serious. Try being nice to him,” Shelly advised, “and see what happens.”

“The thing you’re forgetting,” Cassie said, as she reached for the paint bucket, “is that I really don’t care if Steve likes me or not.”