Because she worked in a field that most men considered exclusively theirs, she'd been called a libber and every other nasty name you could think of. She'd heard it all and learned to ignore it. She'd had whole crews refuse to work with her. She'd had architects turn down her contractor because she was on his crew.

It was a wonder she hadn't lost her quirky sense of humor, but she hadn't. It was, at times, the only thing that sustained her.

So why didn't she find a job where she didn't get so much grief?

She could have moved on to something else after she had learned all she needed to know about construction. But she was good at it, and she had yet to find anything she was as capable at that paid as well, and that was the bottom line for her when she had such an expensive goal. And one of the nice things about her profession was that she could quit for a few months, even years, and then get back into it and not feel that she'd missed anything, because it was what she would be doing when she quit to build her home. Not much changed in construction. Better tools were made, union reps came and went, dues were raised, benefits got better, but houses were still basically built the same.

Her delay in answering him brought the remark, "I am told you are defensive about your job. Why is that?"

Since that voice on the other end of the earphone couldn't possibly have guessed that just from her prolonged silence, she was beginning to think that his "I am told" was just his way of stating his own opinion, rather than something Martha was telling him. Besides, her hot cheeks had probably been a dead giveaway, and only he was seeing that. Martha might be able to hear them, but that was all she could do.

"I used to be," she admitted. "Hard not to be, when you get so much flak about an occupation from all sides. But I'm stubborn. I have a goal, to build my own home with my own hands. My grandfather did it, and the concept always fascinated me, which probably had a lot to do with finally making the decision myself. So everything I do now is done with that goal in mind, which includes my choice of work, so I could learn about all aspects of house construction from the ground up. Basically I'm a carpenter, though I can roof, lay drywall, and paint with the best of them."

"It is difficult here, the building of one's home?" he asked.

"Well, no, not if you have a well-paying job to afford it, or in my case, know how to build it yourself. I'm probably making it harder than necessary by wanting to have all the money up front first. I thought about taking out a home loan instead, but I really hate the idea of going that deep into debt. I know everyone does it, but that didn't mean I had to. And besides, I'm going to save tons of money by doing it myself, since it won't cost anywhere near what it would cost if I just went out and bought a house already built."

"You will build your home here in this town?"

"Yes, I've already bought the land. I could get started on it already, but that would be building it piecemeal in my spare time, which would take years. I prefer to have enough money to spare for all the materials and extra help I'll need when more than two hands are required, enough so I can quit both my jobs until it's done. And doing it myself, I'll make sure it's done right."

"I find it admirable that you know how to create a house from nothing.

She blushed profusely. That had to be the first time a man had ever complimented her about her job choice.

But then he spoiled it by adding, "And do not view it as a punishment."

"I think we need another time-out," she said. "Either things are done really weird in your country, or you've been given the wrong definition for punishment. The only work around here that can be considered punishment is forced labor in prisons. Now some folks might not like their Jobs, some might even hate them, but doing them anyway isn't punishment, it's more a necessity until something better comes along. Punishment, on the other hand, is pretty much universally reserved for disciplinary measures. No one around here is going to punish someone by forcing them to build a house for them. Do you see the difference?"

He smiled at her in answer, but also added, "I see that you have a good understanding for what must be done when one breaks rules. And I am told 'chore' would have been a more appropriate word to express my thoughts in the matter of how you view your job."

She chuckled. "No, I don't see it as a chore; I actually like building things, whether it's cabinets, tables, or an entire house. I work mostly for Arbor Construction here. I like their foremen, get along really well with their crews due to long association, and they know I do good work, so I don't have to constantly prove myself like I did in San Francisco when I lived there."

"Prove yourself how? In challenge?"

She blinked, then grinned at him. "Another of those misdefined words? No, occasionally there'd be no work in the city, so I'd have to go to the union to get work, and those jobs were usually with small crews that I didn't know and I'd have to go through the whole proving process again each time, because not once did they ever accept me as one of them. So when Arbor relocated here and offered me a chance to move with them, I jumped at it. It meant steady work with the same crews, instead of being sent who-knew-where by the union. And I love it here. I come from a small town and prefer them small, where you actually get to know your neighbors and develop a real sense of community."

Something she had said surprised him, which he mentioned right off. "You have lived elsewhere than in this town? Marriage brought you here?"

"Good heavens, no, I've never been married," she replied, amused at how easily he'd gotten that information out of her without actually asking if she were married. His two questions combined, though, led her to guess, "I take it your countrymen tend to stay where they're born?"

"Indeed, only would marriage separate a woman from the place of her protection." And then he sighed. "I am reminded that our cultures are very much different, that women here even live alone.

She matched his sigh with the conclusions that remark drew. "Just how antiquated is your country?"

He grinned. "Barbaric, you would call it."

The grin suggested that he was joking. She hoped he was joking. She decided to accept that conclusion and forget about getting it clarified. Unfortunately, a picture of men riding around on camels and locking their women up in tents was hard to shake. She tried shaking it by continuing the job discussion.

"I've tried other jobs, but haven't found any that give me as much satisfaction."

"What other jobs?" he asked with interest.

She started to just tell him when she realized that those other jobs were in that same "for men only" classification, or might as well be when so many people still viewed them that way. So a little explanation was required first, if she didn't want to start blushing again.

"I have three older brothers. With no sisters, I tended to follow along in their footsteps, and did in fact enjoy the same pursuits they did growing up, you know, fishing, hunting, sports. You could say tomboy was my middle name."

"Is it?"

She chuckled, because that had been a serious question, but rather than explain what a tomboy was, she just said, "No," and continued. "We lived on a farm. My oldest brother, York, was the tractor-fixer in the family, so it wasn't surprising that he became a master mechanic who now owns his own gas station back home. Learning what I did helping him on weekends, it wasn't surprising I became a mechanic's helper myself for a few years. I could have gotten certified, but I knew that wasn't a job that I wanted to stay with when getting the grease out from under my nails became a never-ending source of annoyance."