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doing her part to rebuild the area, one house, one block, one
neighborhood at a time. Six months after the life-altering
storm, things were nearly as bad as the day the storm
washed ashore, but with the influx of volunteers from all
across the country, as well as internationally, progress was
being made.
"Rather than throw them, how about I give you a hand
here?" a deep voice replied.
Simone paused, because she didn't recognize the voice. If
she had heard it before, she was sure she would have
remembered the deep sonorous sound. Footsteps vibrating
the ladder alerted her that the owner of the voice was indeed
bringing up the roofing shingles. She sat back on her
haunches to await the delivery.
The February temperature was mild, the sky sunny and
bright, just the type of day the people of the Coast needed to
clean up and rebuild their lives.
A blond head appeared just over the roof's edge. Two
plastic wrapped bags of shingles rested across his broad
shoulders. She was always awed by the display of physical
strength in the workers. One bundle of asphalt shingles could
weigh anywhere from 70 to 140 pounds. The scene was
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repeated from sun up to sun down all up and down the
coastline. She considered herself a strong woman, had proven
it to herself since returning home and getting involved in the
rebuilding process. However, carrying stacks of roofing
shingles on her shoulders and back the way these guys did
was way beyond her capacity.
"Here, let me take one of those," she said, scooting toward
the ladder and sliding one bundle off his shoulder onto the
roof. Turning again to the new arrival, who was built like the
retired football player, Howie Long, she grabbed the other
bundle and heaved it beside her. Then as she looked at him
to offer her thanks for the help, she found herself staring into
the greenest eyes the Good Lord had ever created.
Something deep inside her stirred to life as her stomach
clenched with desire and the heat of sexual awareness rushed
from her toes to the top of her head. She slid back along the
tar paper to give the big man room as he climbed from the
ladder to the roof.
He was really big, Simone thought as he sat beside her.
Wide, heavily muscled shoulders bunched underneath his
denim shirt. His forearms were equally muscled and tan from
the Mississippi sun. His hands, large and strong, effortlessly
ripped away the plastic wrap around the shingles. The
thought of those hands on her body nearly caused her to
forget where she was. Simone shook her head to clear away
the thought. The roof was not the place to be wigging out.
The stranger introduced himself, holding out his large hand
in greeting. "Hi, I'm Keithen Knight."
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"Simone Ladner." She took his hand and watched as hers
was swallowed whole.
Keithen studied the small hand within his with curiosity.
Although small and definitely feminine, there was strength in
the grasp. There was also something magnetic about it,
because it took sheer willpower to release it. As he met the
warm cocoa-colored eyes and friendly smile of the beautiful
woman returning his questioning gaze, he was sure she'd felt
something as well.
"Nice to meet you, Simone." He released her hand and sat
back looking at her. She had delicate features set in a creamy
dark chocolate face. "Where should I start?" Keithen watched,
spellbound, as she removed the baseball cap she wore. A
shoulder-length ponytail fell free, curling around her neck.
"You can take this end, I'll work over there," Simone
replied, and crawled back to where she had stopped working
the day before.
"So where are you from, Keithen?"
"I guess my accent gave me away."
Simone glanced at him and laughed. "More like the lack of
one."
"I'm a Native Californian. Born and raised in San
Francisco." He smiled at her with pride. "I live on Belvedere
Island. Ever heard of it?"
"Can't say that I have."
"It's a beautiful island across the bay with hilltop views of
the San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge."
"Sounds beautiful," she replied.
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"And you?" His green eyes watched her efficient
movements with admiration as she laid a course of shingles
and nailed them in place. He followed her actions and got to
work as well.
Laughing, Simone paused and looked over. "Don't be
deceived by the East Coast brogue. I was born and raised
right here, though I lived in New York for four years."
"The storm brought you home?" He swung the hammer.
"Yes, it did. When I arrived back in the neighborhood not
one house was standing on the block. I couldn't believe it. I
grew up here and yet I got disoriented traveling around town
because so much was gone. Landmarks I took for granted
were nowhere to be found."
"I had to come," Keithen told her. "After weeks of watching
the destruction, I knew I had to get involved."
"Well, on behalf of the people of the Coast, thank you."
Keithen nodded. He was humbled by the people he had
met. In the face of all they had lost and the daily difficulties
they continued to face, they were kind, giving, and so very
thankful for any assistance. He and Simone concentrated on
the work before them, laying shingles and nailing them down.
The rhythmic pounding filled the air like music.
On hands and knees the pair worked from one end to the
other, until their half of the roof was completely covered. The
work was exhausting and dirty, but doing it gave Simone and
Keithen a sense of pride. The team on the other side was
nearing the ridge, so while they waited, Simone climbed down
the ladder and quickly returned with water for everyone. She
tossed each man a bottle then straddled the ridge.
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Keithen unscrewed the cap to his bottle of water and took
a long, thirsty drink, his eyes looking over to where Simone
sat. She was just as dirty and sweaty as he and the other
guys on the roof, and yet he couldn't take his eyes off her.
Long thick lashes framed almond shaped eyes.
Simone felt Keithen watching her and observed him with
curiosity. "So what do you do for a living, Keithen?" She
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