Following an afternoon of painting eaves, Damon Harrison was looking forward to a long shower and a cold beer. Southern California's current heat wave would make working at his foster parents' ranch in Sheridan, Wyoming, next week a treat. He peeled off his T-shirt as he walked into the master bedroom on his way to the shower.

This was the room he'd used almost exclusively while living in the house he was renovating. He kept the furnishings minimal—a queen bed on a metal rolling frame, collapsible shelving for his clothes, one floor lamp, a small TV and a computer desk on wheels so he could sit on the edge of the bed to type. He unfolded a TV table for meals.

When he began a renovation, he brought basic furniture, linens and kitchen supplies. All of it fit in his construction trailer once he was finished. Then he'd haul it to the next house and start all over again.

Damon loved flipping houses. He'd always gravitated toward construction work, and turning a trashed house into a showplace was immensely satisfying. The moment when he handed over the keys to the new owner gave him a rush of accomplishment that he hadn't found in anything else.

Passing the desk, he refreshed his laptop screen out of habit. Sure enough, there was an email from Phil Turner. Phil was a Sheridan carpenter who'd agreed to help him build a log cabin at Thunder Mountain Ranch over Fourth of July weekend.

Ordinarily, he preferred to work alone, but he could only spare a week to build the cabin, which wasn't enough time to do it right without help. His foster mother, Rosie, had recommended Phil, and Damon had exchanged emails with him for a couple of weeks. Phil was giving them a head start by ordering the materials and preparing the site.

After all their communications, Damon was confident they'd be on the same page and ready to go when he arrived in Wyoming. Working solo meant he hardly ever talked shop with anyone. Until now he hadn't realized he liked doing that.

He and Phil had discussed the project in depth. They'd settled on a concrete foundation, which would be poured today so it would be cured by the time he got there on July second. Phil seemed to have exacting standards, which made sense. After all, Rosie had recommended him.

When Damon arrived, the building permits would be approved and the electric box installed. All the materials would be on site, along with a rented forklift and a compressor. Phil had been good about sending pictures, so he'd probably emailed one of the concrete foundation.

Damon opened the email and downloaded the attached picture. The foundation looked perfect, exactly as he would have wanted it, with sill logs laid in squared-off precision around the perimeter to anchor the walls. The cabin wouldn't have any plumbing, the same as three others that had been built on Thunder Mountain Ranch years ago. No plumbing made construction a whole lot easier and cheaper.

Damon had been fifteen when he'd moved into the first cabin along with Cade Gallagher and Finn O'Roarke. About a year after Rosie and Herb Padgett had started a foster program at the ranch, they'd realized that their five-bedroom house would soon be bursting at the seams. Damon, Cade and Finn were the oldest boys and the ones who'd been at the ranch the longest, so they'd had the privilege of occupying the first cabin.

Remembering move-in day still gave him a charge. The three of them had been so excited, even though they'd had to trek out to a bathhouse instead of going down the hall like they'd been used to. The taste of freedom was far more important than indoor plumbing.

A couple of years before that, they'd sneaked into the woods at midnight and enacted a blood brother ceremony around a little campfire. They'd called themselves the Thunder Mountain Brotherhood—still did, in fact—and on that first night in the cabin they'd carved their TMB logo on a beam over the doorway. Good times.

But now Rosie and Herb had financial problems that could force them to sell the ranch. The Brotherhood, along with Cade's girlfriend, Lexi, had proposed launching Thunder Mountain Academy, a coed residential program for kids sixteen to eighteen who were considering a career involving horses. The seed money was being raised through Kickstarter, a crowdfunding program.

They'd decided a fourth cabin would allow them more housing flexibility when they began accepting students. Damon was the obvious person to build another one, and he was glad to do it. Initially, he'd budgeted two weeks, but the wrong tile had arrived for his current project and screwed up his schedule.

Good thing Phil had been available to supervise the critical first stages of construction. Damon studied the picture again. That must be Phil's shadow stretched across the troweled concrete. Damon wondered if Phil had long hair. Either that or he'd draped a bandanna over his head before putting on his hat to shield his neck from the sun.

Didn't really matter. Damon didn't care if a man had long hair or short if he could do the job. Judging from their email discussions, Phil was competent and thorough.

Clicking the reply tab, Damon crouched down and typed out a response.

Looks great. Never thought to ask. Can you work on the Fourth or do you have plans?

He doubted Phil was waiting for a reply. He'd put in a long day.

But as Damon started to leave, a click alerted him to an incoming email. Phil was probably catching up on email after work the way Damon usually did. With the hour time difference, Phil might have polished off his first beer already.

Assuming he was a beer drinker was a safe bet. Many construction guys were, and Phil seemed to fit the profile. Damon pulled the computer table over to the edge of the bed and sat down to read his reply.

I can work on the Fourth, but Rosie's planned a big barbecue for that night, so we might need to wrap things up by four or so.

Damon typed an answer.

Suits me. But I'll be watching my alcohol intake so I'll be bright and bushy-tailed on the fifth.

The reply was almost instantaneous.

Understood. He who drinks a fifth on the Fourth will not go forth on the fifth.

Damon chuckled.

LOL.

Then he added a more personal note because he was feeling so good about this collaboration.

It'll be great to finally meet you.

Same here. Well, I'm off to watch my favorite cop show. Talk soon.

Damon sent the response and turned off the computer. Now that he'd heard from Phil, he didn't need to leave it on. This time crunch had played hell with his social life, and he currently had zero women expecting him to call, text or email. Just as well. Time to take that shower, sip that beer and watch his favorite cop show.

Philomena Turner smiled as she shut down her email program and walked into her cozy kitchen to take the tuna casserole out of the oven. Rosie had given her the recipe last year and now she made it at least once a week. Rosie was getting such a kick out of this plan to show Damon Harrison that girls could be professional carpenters, too.

Phil had helped trowel a slab of concrete today with as much expertise as any of the men out there. Then she'd operated the forklift when it was time to lay the sill logs. But after a shower, she'd dressed in a floral silk caftan for an evening at home. If Damon could see the person he'd been emailing for two weeks, his jaw would drop.

She agreed that the shock on his face when they met would be fun to watch, but she wasn't surprised by his assumption that she was a man. As the only child of her widowed construction-worker dad, she'd spent all her life around guys like Damon. His attitude was typical, and Phil's choice of profession was not.

In some ways she felt a little sorry for him, but not too sorry. According to Rosie he'd leaped to the conclusion that the local carpenter was a man even before hearing her name. She forgave people who made that mistake when they called Phil's Home Repair and thought she was the receptionist.

But to give the devil his due, Damon's idea of exchanging emails prior to his arrival had been brilliant. Not only did they have the preliminary work on the project finished, they'd also developed a mutual respect as professionals. Whatever blind spots he might have about the role of women in construction, he obviously knew his trade. Judging from his comments, he knew that she did, too. That would help erase any potential prejudices about women wielding power tools.

She dished out some casserole and poured the wine before taking both into the living room. Last year she'd refinished a coffee table that could be raised to dining table height. She refused to eat on a fold-up TV tray.

When she'd bought this cabin in the woods on the outskirts of Sheridan five years ago, the place had been a disaster both inside and out. It had sat empty for more than a year while varmints and weather had taken their toll. Now she could look around and feel pride in everything she saw.

The log walls had been recaulked. Because they were a foot thick, they didn't require insulation, but she'd replaced the single-pane windows and had hung a new door, a hand-carved beauty she'd found at an auction. New appliances, new bathroom fixtures and a bright blue galvanized metal roof had been pricey but worth it.

The rock fireplace had only needed to be cleaned out and capped to prevent critters from getting in. In winter she used it all the time, but in the summer she arranged dried flowers and pinecones on the grate to keep it from looking lonesome. Little touches like that made a house a home, and she'd loved feathering this nest, the first she'd ever owned.

The furniture was secondhand but sturdy. She'd re-finished the wood and taught herself to reupholster anything that had a cushion. Because she'd worked so hard on each piece, they felt more hers than if she'd bought them new.

She'd chosen shades of green and blue because those were her favorite colors. Besides, a blue-eyed redhead looked good against a backdrop of those colors, so why decorate her home with something that clashed? She'd considered every aspect of this house carefully, from the area rugs on the wooden floor to the framed photos of the Big Horn Mountains on the walls.

After much inner debate, she'd bought a king bed. Ironically, she'd never shared it with a guy. She'd had two semiserious boyfriends since moving here, and in both cases she'd always ended up at the guy's apartment whenever they spent the night together.

Each had come up with a different excuse. One had insisted his bed was the best in the universe, and the other one had thought his shower was a great place for sex. She had a different theory, though.

Her construction abilities might be intimidating to some men, and her expertise was very much on display in this house. That insight had come after her last boyfriend had tried to talk her into selling her cabin and moving in with him. No, and hell no.

She'd begun to think of the cabin as a test to find out whether a man could accept who she was. So far she'd had no likely candidate to substantiate her theory. Damon certainly wouldn't qualify even though she had the distinct impression that Rosie was matchmaking.

Otherwise, why show Phil a bunch of pictures of the guy, who was surfer-boy gorgeous with his sun-bleached hair and laughing gray eyes? Phil appreciated nice abs and a great smile as much as the next woman. But according to Rosie, Damon avoided getting attached to anyone or anything, a trait Rosie had called a damned shame.

Phil loved Rosie, but not enough to tackle her fixer-upper of a foster son. House renovations were one thing. People renovations were a whole other issue, and Phil had no talent for it. Either a guy was right or he wasn't, and from all indications, Damon fell into Category B.

Waiting for Cade on the sidewalk outside the Sheridan airport felt like déjà vu, but at least the circumstances were better this time. Cade had picked Damon up less than a month ago when they'd all thought Rosie had suffered a heart attack. Fortunately, she'd had something not nearly so critical, a condition called broken-heart syndrome.

Apparently, the thought of losing Thunder Mountain Ranch had created symptoms very similar to a heart attack. Even though the diagnosis had been less dire, everyone who loved Rosie had vowed to do what they could to save the ranch. Consequently, Damon was flying to Sheridan for the second time this summer.

Cade pulled up in his trusty black truck, the same one he'd been driving for at least ten years.

Damon hopped in, dropped his duffel at his feet and grinned at his foster brother. "Are you and Lexi engaged yet, bro?" A month ago Cade had been reunited with Lexi, his high school sweetheart, but there were issues.

"Don't start with me." But Cade grinned back and offered his hand for the ritual Thunder Mountain Brotherhood handshake.

Damon closed the passenger door and buckled up. "I have your wedding present all picked out. I'm just waiting for Lexi to pop the question."

"Don't hold your breath." Cade tugged on the brim of his battered Stetson and put the truck in gear. "I had no idea what it was like waiting for someone to propose. Every guy should have to go through this, because let me tell you, it's hell."

"I'll bet. She still likes you, though, right?"

"Most of the time. But there's a lot I don't understand about women."

"I'm sure we could all say that." Damon knew for a fact that Cade and Lexi loved each other, but five years ago Cade had left town after telling Lexi marriage wasn't for him. Now he was back and ready to tie the knot but Lexi wanted to hold off.

"She might be waiting until after the Kickstarter deadline," Cade said, "to make sure Thunder Mountain Academy is a go before we make any plans. But September first seems like forever. I almost regret saying the decision was up to her. But I said it, so now I have to stick by it."

"Maybe you should take her to a fancy hotel in Jackson Hole, drink a bunch of champagne and talk her into it."

"That's either manipulation or coercion or both. Not doing it."

"So maybe I should talk to her and put the bug in her ear."

"Don't, bro. This has to be her idea. If you start making suggestions, you could mess things up."

Damon sighed and leaned back against the seat. "Then I'm out of ideas. I know how to get them into bed, but I've never tried to get them to the altar. I only have one piece of advice. Plenty of orgasms."

Cade laughed. "Got that covered."

"Then you're doing all a man can do."

"In fact, I spend most of my nights at her place, FYI."