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Will work for food. The sign read. The young man was holding the sign as he gleamed in the hot summer sun.

She did have those steps that needed repair. Becky hit her brakes. The red convertible mustang skidded to a stop at the side of the road sending gravel flying. Glancing over her shoulder, her sunglasses slid down her nose.

The young man started towards her car in a slow easy gait that spoke of confidence.

Stopping next to her car their eyes met. "What kind of work do you do?"

He had brown colored hair and bedroom eyes. "I'm good at just about anything." He replied confidently with just a touch of a Texas draw.

I just bet you are! Becky swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She shifted in her seat, squaring her shoulders and thrusting her breast out.

The sun defined muscles that should have been illegal. "I have these steps."

"Hammerin's one of my specialties."

...

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