He wasn’t as disreputable as she’d originally assumed. He was well-spoken and easy to talk to. A little over-sexed, perhaps, but not weird or dangerous. And she knew from the past two hours that his anger was short-lived. He was not a man that held a grudge or nursed a wound-and the memory of him locking her hand in a death grip while his cast was being applied sent spasms of laughter choking in her throat. Her hilarity ceased when she opened the door and came face-to-snout with the Rottweiler. There was a tug at Chris’s vest collar and warm breath skimmed along her neck.

“I can hardly wait for fourth gear,” Ken murmured into her ear.

“You weren’t so crazy about fourth gear when we pulled in here.”

“I was worried about being driven to the police station.”

“And you’re not worried anymore?”

“I’ve decided to take my chances.”

Chris wrinkled her nose at him. “Well you needn’t be concerned. It’s light out. I can see what I’m doing, now. Your honor is perfectly safe.” He was a nice man, but she was going to be extra careful about first gear. She didn’t have the time or desire to complicate her life with a man. She slid behind the wheel and, after Ken was settled, turned to him. “I suppose I should drive you somewhere. Home? Or to work? Where were you going this morning?”

“I was starting a new job. I wanted to get in early and take a look around before anyone else showed up.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned, “first day on the job, and I broke your arm.” She looked at the jeans and scuffed boots. He had removed his sweatshirt in deference to the cast, leaving him in a yellow short-sleeved T-shirt, which said CONSTRUCTION WORKERS USE THEIR TOOLS. The shirt clung to a flat stomach and broad, muscled chest, the sleeves spanning well-defined biceps. His forearm was corded, the back covered with a silk mat of black hair. There was no doubt in Chris’ mind that he could crack a walnut as easily as an egg. Her eyes glazed over in silent admiration.