Aaron Under Construction. Marin Thomas

Amigo lost the funding for Mrs. Benitos’s home. The project is on hold indefinitely.”

      “You mean the organization began building without enough money in the bank to finish the house?”

      “No. There’s evidence that someone in the organization embezzled from the company.”

      “What kind of evidence?”

      “Money was transferred out of the company bank accounts last week. My boss found out about the missing cash yesterday when one of the company checks bounced.”

      “Has he contacted the police?”

      She nodded. “That’s why I was called in this morning. The FBI interviewed me.”

      “They think you stole the money?” The outrage in Aaron’s voice warmed her heart.

      “No, they asked questions about my crew.”

      “You don’t think one of your men stole the money, do you?”

      “I hope not.”

      “Has anything like this ever happened before?” Aaron’s concern appeared genuine.

      “Never. Barrio Amigo began when several local businessmen agreed to donate money to improve the community. In the beginning we were a group of volunteers. We cleaned up graffiti, repaired vandalized streetlights and stop signs, then we began building small neighborhood parks. After a while the organization drew positive press and received local government funding, which enabled it to accept bigger projects like building homes for the needy. At that time the volunteers became paid employees. Taking money from the company would be like stealing from family.”

      “Do they have any idea how the person gained access to the money?”

      “Hacked into the bank’s computer system, transferred the money to a different account, then withdrew it.”

      “Was Barrio Amigo the only company hit?”

      “The FBI didn’t say. I asked my boss if he believed the bank would loan Barrio Amigo the money to finish the house, but he’d already checked into the possibility and the bank had refused.”

      Aaron snagged her hand, then sank to the ground, tugging her with him. “Is the bank aware that Mrs. Benitos is a foster parent?”

      “Yes, they’re aware of that. And no, it didn’t change their mind.”

      “That’s not right.” The intensity in his voice surprised her.

      “Maybe, but I understand. There are too many people in crisis in this community that if word got out the bank helped finish Mrs. Benitos’s home, others would demand similar favors. The bank can’t help everyone.”

      “What happens to Mrs. Benitos?”

      He really cares. Not one member of the crew had asked about the woman. Yet Aaron, who’d been on the job only six days, appeared more concerned about an old lady than his own paycheck. “For now she has a place to stay. If her situation changes, she can live with my family.”

      Frustration built inside Jennifer until she thought she’d explode. There had been other stumbling blocks over the years and Barrio Amigo had managed to survive. Why had this setback caused her to react so strongly?

      “Will the crew get reassigned to a different project?”

      “I’m afraid not.” Juan had several children. Pedro had a wife battling breast cancer and the medical bills were astronomical. Her crew consisted of family men who worked hard to provide for their loved ones. And then there was Aaron. Although she sensed he didn’t need the job the way the others did, she wasn’t ready for him to walk out of her life—not yet.

      “What about a community fund-raiser?”

      “The people here could never raise the amount of money required to complete construction on the house.”

      “Have you considered petitioning local businesses?”

      “That’s a possibility. I’ll talk to my boss. Mrs. Benitos doesn’t deserve to live in someone’s basement for an entire year while she waits for a new house.” Helplessness and anger filled her—emotions she hadn’t felt this deeply since her mother and brother had died nine years ago. She ached to cry, an act she rarely indulged in. Hard work, not tears, made a difference in the barrio.

      An uncharacteristic tightness gripped Aaron’s chest when Jennifer’s eyes welled with tears. He’d grown up in an all-male household and didn’t have the faintest idea how to deal with a weepy female. After the deaths of his parents, the only tears he and his brothers had ever cried had been from physical pain, never anything sentimental. On occasion, he’d witnessed one of his female employees cry over the death of a loved one or a family member’s illness. But there had always been other coworkers to offer comfort and kind words. He didn’t know what to say or do to help Jennifer feel better.

      “I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her shoulder and tucked her against his side.

      Rubbing her eyes, she grumbled, “Damn allergies.”

      “What should we do with the construction materials lying around?”

      “I’ll handle everything. You can pick up your final paycheck at the main office next Thursday.”

      “I’m not leaving you with this mess.” He tilted her face, relieved at the gratitude shimmering in her brown eyes.

      They spent the next two hours hauling supplies into the house and loading Jennifer’s truck bed with expensive tools. She wasn’t in a talkative mood, which allowed Aaron plenty of time to dwell over the phone call he’d have to make to his grandfather later.

      Appearing as if she’d lost her best friend, Jennifer got into her truck. “Thanks for your help.”

      “Anytime.” An urge to be her knight in shining armor startled him. Rescuing her sounded an awful lot like that word that gave him the willies—responsibility.

      “I’ll be forever grateful to you for saving Juan’s neck.”

      “I guess I’m better at saving people than I am at pounding in nails straight.”

      Throaty laughter floated through the open window and Aaron wished he could capture the sound and store the seductive musical notes in his pocket. Tonight, alone in his bedroom he’d remove them and let them lull him to sleep.

      “All the best to you, Aaron.” She released the parking brake and drove off.

      You haven’t seen the last of me yet, Jennifer Alvarado.