The Kimballs had followed their Christmas Day celebrations with a two-day trip to New York, rounding everything off with all the chaos and confusion of their sprawling family.

Now it was nearly a new year. Freddie, her sister, was back in New York with her husband, Nick, and the kids. And Brandon was heading back to L.A.

She glanced out at the tidy, quiet main street as they walked. And smiled thinly. “Road rage.”

“Hard-bodied blondes in convertibles.”

“You are so shallow.”

“Yeah.” He hooked his arm around her neck. “You love that about me. Hey, check it out. You got men with trucks.”

Still pouting, she looked down the street and saw the work trucks and laborers. Brody, she mused, didn’t waste any time.

They circled around, picked their way over rubble and hillocks of winter dry grass to the rear of the building where the activity seemed to be centered. There was noise—someone was playing country music on a portable radio. There were scents—dirt, sweat and, oddly enough, mayonnaise.

Kate walked around a wheelbarrow, stepped cautiously down a ramp and peered into her basement.

Thick orange extension cords snaked to portable work lights that hung from beams or posts. Their bare-bulb glare made her basement resemble some archeological dig, still in its nasty stages.

She spotted Brody, in filthy jeans and boots, hammering a board into place on a form. Though his breath puffed out visibly as he worked, he’d stripped off his jacket. She could see the intriguing ripple of muscle under flannel.

She’d been right, Kate noted, he looked extremely good in a tool belt.

A laborer shoveled dirt into another wheelbarrow. And Jack was plopped down, digging with a small shovel and dumping his take—or most of it—into a bucket.

The boy spotted her first. Hopped up and danced. “I’m digging out the basement! I get a dollar. I get to help pour concrete. I got a truck for Christmas. You wanna see?”

“You bet.”

She had taken another step down the ramp before Brody came over and blocked her. “You’re not dressed to muck around down here.”

She glanced down at his work boots, then her own suede sneakers. “Can’t argue with that. Can you spare a minute?”

“All right. Jack, take a break.”

Brody came up the ramp, squinting against the flash of winter sunlight, with his son scrambling behind him.

“This is my brother, Brandon. Brand, Brody O’Connell and Jack.”

“Nice to meet you.” Brody held up a grimy hand rather than offering to shake. “I’ve watched you play. It’s a pleasure.”

“Thanks. I’ve seen your work, same goes.”

“Are you the baseball player?” Eyes huge, Jack stared up at Brandon.

“That’s right.” Brandon crouched down. “You like baseball?”

“Uh-huh. I saw your mitt. I’ve got one, too. And a bat and a ball and everything.”

Knowing Brandon would keep Jack entertained, Kate moved a few steps away to give them room. “I didn’t realize you were starting so soon,” she said to Brody.