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“I’ll find a good place for it. One of those magnetic key boxes would be a good idea. I’ll get to it today.”
    Roche folded the stepladder. “Where does this go?”
    â€œUnder the gallery,” she said.
    â€œUh-huh—really difficult to find, hmm?”
    â€œYes, but it’s easier than having to carry it from the garage.”
    He whistled softly, wiped his free hand on his jeans. His big shoulders rose and stayed there. She felt a little sick. Roche thought she was idiotic. She was sometimes, but she didn’t want him to think so.
    What do I want from him?
    â€œI’ll put this back in the carport for now. An intruder might be afraid of making too much noise getting it off its hooks. There are hanging hooks?”
    â€œOf course.” She prayed there were.
    â€œThat’s not a whole lot of reassurance, but it’s some.”
    Carrying the ladder over his shoulder, he walked away.
    Bleu opened the back door and all but fell through it, she was in such a hurry to be in her own place. She hurried through the kitchen and living room that covered most of the ground floor and, after a peek through lowered blinds, she opened her front door.
    Roche was emerging from the carport, slapping dirt from his hands.
    He looked up at her, smiled, and Bleu panicked.
    â€œThank you,” she said, as loudly as she could. “See you later. Bye.”
    Standing inside the closed door, listening for the sound of Roche’s engine, Bleu hated what she had become.

Chapter 7
    S tay or leave? Roche took about sixty seconds to make up his mind.
    He walked toward the steps and let out one of his best, piercing whistles. When he and Max had been kids, they’d worked hard on their whistles and the result was impressive.
    â€œBleu!” He shouted her name full force, which was also impressive. “The door blew shut!”
    Frozen a few feet from the window where she could see Roche below, his thumbs in his pockets, Bleu couldn’t believe what he was doing. Despite feeling a bit like a butterfly pinned to a board, she shivered with excitement at his audacity.
    This man wasn’t like any other she’d known. Her husband had ruled her with threats, pain and humiliation. He had used fear. Roche wanted his own way. He pushed ahead with wicked charm, when most people would back off. But she didn’t want him to quit.
    Suddenly he threw his arms wide and yelled,“Stellaaa!” and then looked around like a kid who just broke someone’s window.
    Bleu slapped a hand over her mouth. Either she was making the best decision she’d ever made, or she was about to do something she would forever regret.
    She opened the door again.
    â€œHey, thanks,” he said, and climbed steps toward her. “First, I need to wash my hands, then I’m going to proposition you.” He grinned.
    She had to smile back. And she relaxed. He was no threat.
    She stood aside and he blew past into the hall where heat had already built up.
    As soon as he was inside, he said, “You don’t have air-conditioning?”
    â€œOh, yes, but it’s not on unless I’m here.”
    He walked ahead toward the kitchen, turned on the faucets and lathered his hands. “You’re here now. You shouldn’t have to come into an overheated house when you’re tired. I don’t just mean now. Any day when you’ve finished work, heat like this will only stress you out.”
    She saw him as the man he was—privileged, or at least unfamiliar with the need to watch how much you spent. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “But it’s wasteful to cool an empty house for hours. When I can get a dog, I’ll have to use it then.”
    He held his hands out in front of him and looked around. A towel hung over the oven handle but apparently he didn’t see it. He was used to other people anticipating his needs. Bleu had known another, if