LITMIR.BIZ

      “Looks like we won’t need you to do the rough-in until the end of next week.” As Steve talked to the electrician on his cell phone, he paced back and forth across the floor of the future kitchen. He barely heard the steady thunk of Carlos’s nail gun overhead or the whine of George’s saw.

      “I’ll get back to you on Monday,” Steve promised the electrician as he noticed Wade’s truck coming slowly down the drive. “Thanks.”

      After Steve had ended the call and stuffed the phone into his shirt pocket, he jotted a reminder to himself on his clipboard. The next two items on his punch list, calls to the cable outfit and the roofing supplier, could wait until after he took a break.

      Steve flipped up the page and added another item to the second list he was writing: plan bachelor party. He didn’t see Wade as the type who wanted a stripper, so he figured that something including bars and booze would work.

      As soon as he saw the boy get out of Wade’s truck with the sun shining down on his blond hair like some kind of spotlight, Steve froze. He knew instantly who the kid must be, so what the hell was Wade thinking to bring him here? Didn’t Steve have enough to deal with?

      Wade rested one hand on the boy’s shoulder as they approached and gestured with the folder in his other hand at a red-tailed hawk making lazy circles overhead as it hunted for field mice in the tall grass.

      As the boy made some comment, Steve studied him reluctantly. Lily’s child. Except for the hair, sun-streaked like Steve’s own, he looked like any other kid. He was a boy-man with gangly limbs and a self-conscious gait, stumbling awkwardly over a tuft of grass. His grin was destined to send pre-adolescent girls into fits of giggles. He was still too far away for Steve to be able to tell his eye color, but the resemblance to his mother was unmistakable.

      Steve’s chest ached as he watched the living reminder of his old fantasy, raising a family with Lily. From what he’d heard, she hadn’t succeeded in finding the stardom she’d craved. Instead, she had ended up working as some kind of bookkeeper. Not very glamorous for someone with her talent and her dreams.

      Not for the first time, he wondered just how she had managed, alone and pregnant at eighteen in such a tough town, no city for angels who were sweet and naive as she. Her beauty had been dazzling even then, so had she found an angel of her own to watch over her? To share her bed and pave her way?

      The image of her as arm candy for some old fart made Steve’s stomach pitch. Deliberately he blocked out the silent questions. She had made her choice—and forced it on him, as well. Except for the boy who gazed up at him now, the whole sad story was ancient history.

      “Hey, amigo,” Carlos called down to Wade from his perch on the roof truss.

      “Howdy, slackers.” Wade’s reply included George in his greeting. “Brought you some papers,” he told Steve, holding out the folder.

      “Oh?” Steve had no idea what it was about, unless it had something to do with Wade’s wedding. Surely Steve wouldn’t be expected to help with any decisions. He knew nothing about flowers or hymns. Reluctantly he stepped down to the ground and took the folder.

      “This is my buddy, Jordan,” Wade added in a breezy tone. “Lily’s boy,” he tacked on unnecessarily, if Steve was too dumb to see the resemblance—especially when he looked into eyes of the same blue that he saw in the mirror each morning.

      Jordan’s face turned pink. “Pleased to meet you,” he mumbled, sticking out his hand despite his obvious embarrassment.

      Steve pulled off his work glove and did the same. “Uh, you, too.” He felt as awkward as a hooker in church as Jordan stuck his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts and looked around.

      “We’re on our way to shoot some hoops,” Wade drawled, breaking the silence. “Jordan wanted to see what a half-finished house looks like.”

      “Is that so?” Steve’s doubt must have been evident, because Jordan’s gaze darted from him to Wade.

      Hell, none of this was the boy’s fault. The least Steve could do was be civil.

      “Well, come on, then,” he said, ignoring Wade and the churning in his own gut. “I might as well give you the ten-cent tour. Ever use a nail gun?”