He seemed eager to leave.

A silly surge of disappointment swept over her. How ridiculous was that? The man had already gone above and beyond on his day off, and he doubtless had personal obligations to attend to today.

Heck, for all she knew he was married.

She flicked another quick glance at his ring finger to confirm what she’d noted earlier on the parking lot. Yep. Empty.

But he could be married. Not all men wore rings. Or he might be involved with someone. Most guys who’d passed thirty had a significant other—and there was no question the county sheriff fell into the thirtysomething group, given the maturity, levelheadedness, and confidence he projected.

If he did happen to be available, though, he clearly wasn’t interested in getting acquainted.

Fine.

While the pickings were slim in her circle, and her last date had been months ago, she wasn’t desperate enough to chase after a man who appeared to be immune to whatever charms she possessed.

No matter how hot he was.

She summoned up a smile. “If there is another incident, you’ll hear from me. Now it’s paperwork for me and fun, I hope, for you.”

“Depends how you define fun. I happen to enjoy rehabbing, but that’s not everyone’s idea of recreation.”

“It is for my sister Eve. Give her a saw and a screwdriver and she’s in heaven. What are you rehabbing?”

“The house I bought a year ago. It has great bones, but it’ll be a work in progress for the foreseeable future. Especially since it’s a one-man show.”

One-man show?

Hmm.

That must mean he was unattached. Unless he had a wife or girlfriend who didn’t enjoy climbing ladders or wielding paintbrushes.

If that was the case, she could relate. Why Eve got such a kick out of refinishing floors and tearing out walls was beyond her.

Grace leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. Careful how you phrase this. You don’t want him to think you’re being nosey—even if you are. “Can’t you recruit anyone to help you?”

“Not many people are willing to give up their free time to inhale drywall dust on someone else’s behalf if they have no vested interest in the outcome.”

More proof he was single and available, right?

“You could always try the Tom Sawyer fence-painting trick.”

An appealing dimple dented his cheek. “I’d have to have the gift of gab for that—and serious salesmanship skills. I was shortchanged on both when those attributes were being handed out.”

“Why do I think you’re selling yourself short?”

“No. I’m being honest.” His grin broadened, and a twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Could I convince you to help me?”

At the subtle hint of flirtiness in his voice, she blinked. “Um . . .”

“No answer expected.” His lips flattened as he lifted his hand palm forward, a slight ruddiness tinting his cheeks. “I was just trying to make a point.” He retreated a step, and his tone morphed back to businesslike. “I’ll let you get to your report. Try to fit in a little fun later.”