She had observed his progress with her heart in her throat, waiting for him to ask her opinion on the size, the style, the color of paint, anything at all to suggest he intended it to be their home and not just his own. Though he had seemed to welcome her presence and her support, those words had never come.

Even so, she had been there with him when the last detail was completed, when the last brushstroke of paint had covered the walls. Though she had only spent a few incredible, unforgettable nights under that roof, she had always felt as if this was home. It was the place Sharon Lynn had been conceived.

As she neared the low, rambling white structure with its neat, bright blue trim, she thought she heard the once-familiar sound of hammering. She circled the house until she spotted Cody in the back, erecting what appeared to be a huge extension off what she knew to be the single bedroom.

The sight of that addition didn’t snag her attention, however, quite the way that Cody did. He had stripped off his shirt, despite the chill in the air. His shoulders were bare and turning golden brown in the sun. A sheen of perspiration made his muscles glisten as they were strained and tested by his exertion.

Sweet heaven, she thought, swallowing hard. He was gorgeous, even more spectacularly developed than he had been the last time she’d seen him half-naked.

“Cody,” she whispered, her voice suddenly thready with longing.

She heard the loud thwack of the hammer against wood and something softer, followed by an oath that would have blistered a sailor’s ears. The ladder he was on tilted precariously, but he managed to right it and climb down without further mishap.

His gaze riveted on her, he muttered, “Damn, Melissa, don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man when he’s halfway up a ladder?”

She knew his testiness had more to do with his injured thumb than her unexpected presence. She grinned at him. “I’ve been in plain view for the last half mile. You would have seen me if you were the least bit observant.”

“I’m concentrating on what I’m doing, not scanning the horizon for visitors.”

“Just what is it you’re doing?”

“Adding on.”

She gave him a wry look. “That much is plain. What are you adding on?”

“A room for my daughter.”

Surprise rippled through her. “Isn’t that room Harlan’s prepared good enough?”

“I want her to have her own room in my home,” he insisted, giving her a belligerent look that dared her to argue.

“Seems like a lot of work for an occasional visit.”

He climbed down from the ladder and leaned back against it, his boot heel hooked over the bottom rung behind him. His chin jutted up belligerently. It should have warned her what was coming, but it didn’t.