He went over to the row of front windows and inspected the sills. Sliding a pocketknife from his back jeans pocket, he picked at the splintered wood with the tip of the blade. “All these window frames need to be replaced. If you go with wood again, it’s more labor intensive and therefore more expensive. Or you could go with prefab, but that still requires some carpentry. I’ll figure it both ways. How many windows in the house?”

“I’ve never had cause to count them.”

“I’ll need that number before I can give you an estimate.” He closed the knife and pushed it back into his pocket. He flipped all the light switches on the wall plate, matching them to the fixtures they controlled. “What took priority?”

“Pardon me?”

“You said you quit music lessons because other things had to be given priority. Like what?”

“Like food and shelter.”

Her curt reply brought him around to look at her. “When your dad skipped out, nobody stepped up and took you in? A relative? Foster parents?”

“No.”

“Weren’t you too young to fare for yourself?”

“I was ten, but my sister was already in her second year of college. She’d been commuting to and from Commerce, but had to drop out when she became my legal guardian.”

“Tall order for a college coed.”

“Yes.”

“She must be one tough cookie.”

Arden laughed lightly. “To say the least.”

“Always an overachiever, I guess.”

That comment took her by surprise. “You knew Lisa?”

“She was several classes ahead of me, and I was far beneath her notice, but I knew who she was. Everybody did. Hard not to know the homecoming queen.”

Arden smiled. “That was her senior year. I think everybody in town went to the parade.”

“Not me.”

“Oh?”

“No, I wasn’t into all that.”

“What about the football game when she was crowned?”

“Missed that, too.” He opened the door to the storage area beneath the stairs and poked his head inside.

“You weren’t into football, either?”

He backed out of the closet. When he went to shut the door, he tested the squealing hinges. “Love football. Playing and watching.”

“They why did you skip the homecoming game?” She shot him a teasing grin. “Couldn’t get a date?”

“Couldn’t get out of juvenile detention.”

He stopped fanning the door and turned to face her. She gaped at him and waited for a punch line that never came. “You were in jail?”

Appearing rather blasé, he raised a shoulder.

“What did you do?”

“Got caught smoking weed. Back then, it was a big no-no.”

She nodded absently. “Was that your only offense?”

Not so blasé, he said, “At the time.”

She was digging herself in deeper, but she couldn’t help but ask, “How long were you in for?”

“Long enough.” He stayed still, looking directly into her eyes, then abruptly turned away. “I notice you don’t have a security system.”

“No.”

He went over to the front door and fiddled with the lock. “This dead bolt is ancient. It wouldn’t keep out anybody who wanted in. You learn about these things in juvie.”

It disturbed her that he could refer to his criminal past so nonchalantly. Could she trust his reference? For all she knew, the man she had spoken with was a former cellmate.

As had happened yesterday when she realized that he knew who she was and where she lived, her thoughts went to the car that drove past each night. Including last night. And here this stranger, who looked like he could split a board in half without a saw, was testing the strength of her lock.

She blurted out, “I’m thinking of getting a dog.”

He crouched near a wall, ran his fingers along the cracked baseboard, scraped at its peeling paint with his thumbnail. “You don’t have an alarm system; if all your locks are like this one, they’re useless; and you live out here by yourself. Do you have a weapon?”

“Weapon?”

“A gun.”

“No.”

“Then I’d say a guard dog is a good idea.”

“I don’t want a guard dog. I want a pet to keep me company.”

He stood up slowly and started walking toward her, dusting his hands together as he came. When he got to within a couple of feet of her, he stopped. “I wouldn’t think you’d lack for company.” Then, “Let’s go upstairs.”

A sensation purled through her midsection.

But if she’d read a hidden invitation into his statement, she was mistaken. There wasn’t any guile in his eyes, nor a trace of suggestiveness in his tone when he added, “I need to see the layout of the rooms.”

“Of course.” She turned away and started up the stairs, him following. She wished she’d dressed in her baggy jeans.

But if he’d taken notice of any aspect of her appearance, he didn’t act as though he had. As she showed him from one room to the next, he was scrupulously professional and businesslike. He asked pertinent questions, pointed out problem spots, and offered suggestions on how to remedy them.

“See how the floor is buckled? You have a roof leak. Rain’s getting in and running down inside the walls.”

He frowned as he assessed the fixtures in both bathrooms. “I’d bet these look good compared to the pipes.”

“One of the other contractors I interviewed foretold of a plumbing disaster.”

“No argument from me.”

In her old bedroom, he surveyed the ceiling. “Careful. That light fixture is barely holding on.” He curved his hand around the side of her waist and moved her from beneath it.

“Thanks,” she said, trying not to sound flustered.

He removed his hand a bit more slowly than necessary to save her from potential injury. Still looking down at her, he said, “I think I’ve seen all I need to.”

When they returned to the landing, he paused and, with his hands on his hips, looked back down the long hallway. He studied it for a time, then, as though talking to himself, said, “It has possibilities.”

He pondered for a moment longer, then turned and motioned that she should precede him downstairs. When they got to the first floor, he struck off for the kitchen. Once there, he took only a cursory look around, as though the outmoded appliances and cabinetry didn’t warrant a more thorough inspection.