“My stepfather is a carpenter.” He glanced toward her, saw that she was studying him with big, curious brown eyes. “You spoke with him when you checked my references. But, yes, I worked as a carpenter prior to joining the Army.”

“I didn’t realize your reference was your stepfather. He never said anything to that effect.”

Dipping his brush into the paint, Bodie eyed her. “Does it matter that he was one of my references?”

“I suppose not.” She shook her head. “You told me you’d only be in Pine Hill for a few weeks because of another job. Is that a carpentry job, too?”

He chuckled. “Not hardly.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll be working for a security company.”

“That’s right. Your other reference told me you’d be working with him. Will you be a security guard?”

He supposed she could call it that, so he nodded. iSecure had a lot of different levels. On the surface, they provided security to bigwigs. That was all Sarah needed to know.

“The company will give me the opportunity to travel and do what I love.”

“Which is?”

What was it that drew him to iSecure other than Lukas? Of all the options he’d considered, iSecure was the one that had held his interest. He hadn’t really questioned why. Not until Sarah asked.

“Protecting people.” It was true. He liked to protect people. He wasn’t sure that was what had appealed most about the Army, but it was an aspect he had enjoyed.

“Hmmm,” she said, wiping her paintbrush back and forth as she helped cut the corners in.

“Hmmm, what?”

“I was thinking we’re a lot more alike than I would have guessed.”

“How’s that?” He didn’t see it. She was sugar cookies on Christmas morning, and he was coal in a stocking. Not alike at all.

“We both like taking care of and helping others. Only, I want to do that in Pine Hill, and you want to do it wherever you’re ordered to go.”

That about summed it up.

He turned to tell her so, but she’d moved close, presumably to dip her paintbrush into the paint, but instead stood waiting for him to turn.

Because the moment he faced her, she dabbed her paintbrush toward him.

His instinct was to grab her wrist and stop her, but he allowed her to proceed, and was thankful he prevented himself from hurting her at the unexpected paint smeared across his cheek.

Delight shone in her eyes at what she’d done.

Bodie touched his wet cheek. “What was that for?”

Rather than answer, she dabbed her brush toward him again.

Again, he forced himself to let her. Her tickled smile was worth it.

Staring at her dancing eyes, her challenging smile, her poised paintbrush, that melting, cracking sensation hit him again.

Looking at her, he felt young, unjaded, unscarred. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him or ever could. Her barely-contained joy served as a balm to everything raw inside him.