Free Husband Under Construction by Karen Templeton Page A

say, she couldn’t imagine. Certainly she had nothing to say to him. However, since he hadn’t left a voice mail, she assumed it wasn’t urgent. Or even important. And unless and until he did, she saw no reason to answer. Ever. Maybe he no longer had the power to hurt her—a power Roxie willingly admitted she’d given him—but allowing him renewed access to her head? So not happening.
    A realization that only strengthened her resolve not to let Noah get to her, either, to not read his chivalrously moving her out of the wind, or his gracious reaction to Eden’s erroneous assumption about them, as anything more thanthe actions of a man whose mama had brought him up right. Because she’d made the mistake before, of looking at someone through cloudy lenses, convincing herself the blurred image was what she wanted it to be, rather than what it was. Maybe, in Charley’s case, that didn’t matter.
    But in hers? Yeah. It mattered.
    Big time.
    Â 
    Noah had to hand it to Roxie—the woman’s work ethic made him feel like a lazy slug.
    Every morning for the past week, she’d already been at it for hours before he and the crew arrived at eight, stripping wallpaper or prepping walls or knocking out tiles. There was also always coffee brewing—she’d borrowed the giant pot from church—and some sort of baked goodies, usually courtesy of Silas’s fiancée, Jewel, or his mother, since Roxie admitted cooking was not one of her talents. A comment which provoked a deep blush on her part, and a big grin on Noah’s, right before she skittered away to her next project like one of Cinderella’s little helpers.
    Today, however, while the window dudes were putting in the new double panes, it was time to take a sledgehammer to the gouged, grungy kitchen floor tiles—she’d been sorely disappointed to discover they’d simply remove the cabinets, not pulverize them—a task Noah’d forbidden her to tackle when he wasn’t there. He’d thought it a simple request; she, alas, saw it as his not trusting her to have at least some common sense, which in turn got his back up about her stubbornness, fueling a heated “discussion” that had left them both hot and panting, and, at least in Noah’s case, turned on.
    Yeah, the crew found that very entertaining.
    Now, considering the gusto with which she pummeled the poor tiles, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure outshe was using it as therapy. Or imagining that the cheap ceramic she was crushing into smithereens was him. Just a guess.
    â€œHey, take it easy, or you’re gonna be real sore tomorrow.”
    â€œNot an issue,” came through the dust mask. And who knew safety goggles could be so sexy? Wham! “I lift weights.” Wham! “And play tennis.”
    That explained a lot. “You lift weights?”
    â€œNot barbells or anything, but when I was in middle school?” Wham! “We were doing gymnastics and my upper body strength was so lame I couldn’t support myself on the parallel bars, so I decided to do something about it.” Wham!
    Giving him a whole new reason to be afraid of the woman, Noah thought as he raked the broken tile pieces into a pile. Gal could take him down. “You’re not one for letting things simply happen, are you?”
    Breathing heavily—God, he wished she’d stop that—she turned, swiping the back of her hand across her glistening forehead. Despite the frigid temperature, she’d removed her sweatshirt, revealing a baby blue T-shirt hugging a flat stomach, and breasts that, what they lacked in size, they made up for in charm. Especially with the heavy breathing thing.
    She pushed down the mask. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œI think it’s safe to say you were a lot more motivated than your average twelve-year-old.”
    He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile. And her butt,