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to? A bad marriage? More?
    She remembered her own unhappy background all too well. Her mother had raised the four of them on a tiny income. Mackenna had done the housework after school every night, then made sure that her younger brothers and sister were fed and that they did their homework.
    She glanced down at her hands, remembering. Her fingers were work-worn from the variety of tasks she had undertaken to earn money to put bread on the table. Her nails had always been short. Years ago they had been kept trim by the rigors of her newspaper route, or from scrounging through the ditches alongside the roads in search of soda bottles and aluminum cans to exchange for money. Now her work on the construction site kept them short. The small calluses that dotted her palms were testimony to her love of physical exercise. Well, it was something she and Brock had in common: they both worked themselves to the bone.
    “I suppose your family encouraged your romantic outlook?” he probed darkly.
    Mackenna lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “On the contrary. My father died when I was seven and my mother refused any charity. She worked twelve hours a day and I ran the household. And held down part-time jobs on the side.” She forced a confident smile.
    “I come from a very poor family, Mr. Hampton. We scraped for every mouthful of food we ate. I learned about life—real life—at a very early age. But I also learned to enjoy its positive aspects. If I had to deliver papers at five o’clock, I could enjoy the sunrise. Later, walking home, I might discover a particularly beautiful flower by the roadside, or meet up with a startled groundhog.”
    He leaned back, nodding in silence. His shadowed face grew more animated. “A workhorse? Is that why you went into engineering after high school? You’d worked for so long it was the only thing you knew?”
    “Partly,” she admitted, finding his voice pleasant when the harshness was gone. She was keenly aware that what she said now would determine whether or not she kept her job. She felt as if she were treading a delicate silken tightrope. She was sure that Brock Hampton was responding to her in a way very different from that in which he responded to most women. Well, she didn’t fit the mold and therefore had to sell herself on her own merits. And that’s just what she would do. It didn’t bother her. She was proud of her background. “I’ve always had a talent for fixing things,” she continued. “Maybe it started because Mom wasn’t home to repair an iron or a dripping faucet. I took the opportunity to pry and poke. I found I had a mind that drank in mechanics, math and chemistry. I majored in soils analysis at the College of Engineering at Ohio State University, and I graduated at the top of my class.”
    He looked down at her open file. “And then?”
    “Then I traveled. All over the world for Benson Construction Corporation. I found I liked the Far East best. I’ve kicked around this area for the last seven years.”
    “You’ve built some pretty impressive roads and bridges,” he admitted gravely and then glanced up at her. “And you always brought them in ahead of schedule.” He sighed, getting up and dropping the folder on the coffee table. “That doesn’t explain why you let this road fall so far behind.”
    Mackenna bridled at his implication that the delay was her fault. Compressing her full lips, she got up, suddenly wanting to pace off the excessive energy that flowed around them. She halted suddenly, remembering that she was wearing only a very provocative nightgown. Heat swept across her neck and up into her cheeks as she perceived his obvious attention to this fact.
    “I’m going to get my robe,” she said abruptly. “We’ll discuss the reasons for the road problem when I return.”
    Mackenna thought she caught a glint of amusement in his azure eyes as she returned to the room a few minutes later with the belt of her robe snugly wrapped about her