A Hopeful Heart and A Home, A Heart, A Husband

by Lois Richer

  “How did you know that?” Keeley asked openmouthed, twirling a blond curl with one finger as she studied him.

  “Oh, I just know. Are you two here alone?” He glanced behind them searching for an adult. Surely no one would leave two small children alone at night, in the country.

  “Just for a few minutes,” Keeley told him solemnly. “Our grandmother is on her way over. Mrs. Pettigrew had to leave. Her husband was hurt on the tractor. Farm accidents take a high toll on those who make their liveli…on people who live on ’em,” she told him in a rush, clearly relieved at remembering most of the phrase. “They always say that on TV. Do you like TV, Mr…. what was your name?”

  “Grady,” he reminded her, smiling and holding out one big paw. “Grady Shawn O’Toole, at your service.”

  “Wow!” Keeley breathed in a sigh, her eyes huge. “I never thought you’d get here so fast.”

  “Pardon me?” Grady frowned. He’d been on the road for weeks, eating his own cooking and bathing whenever he’d been close to water. No one knew where he was or how to find him, let alone expected him, so just what was going on here?

  “You were expecting me?” he asked in a strangled tone.

  “It’s a miracle,” she told him solemnly. “God sure does work fast.”

  “Uh, nobody sent me,” Grady told her, flushing at the intense scrutiny of those big eyes. “Not exactly. I’m just passing through. Or I was.” He shook his head, trying to remember what had brought him to the door of this strange house. Oh, yeah.

  “There are cows blocking the road over there,” he informed her sternly, pointing to the west where his truck and camper sat waiting. “I couldn’t get through.”

  To his amazement, the two little girls merely nodded.

  “Walton’s,” the tomboy said. “They’re always having problems.” Again the girls looked at each other and shrugged, as if he should have known.

  “I’ll phone them right away,” Keeley told him. Clearly she was the one in charge. “Come on in. You don’t have to stand in the porch.”

  Grady had to admit it was nice to step inside a place where his head didn’t bang on the ceiling and he could stretch out on a chair without hitting something on the other side. The trailer was great but it wasn’t home. Of course, he didn’t have a home anymore, did he?

  He scraped his boots on the braided mat, sniffed the scent of fresh-cut lilacs mixed with furniture polish and followed them through to the kitchen.

  “Walton’s number is busy. Have a seat.”

  He sank down onto the kitchen chair with relief and took a cookie from each of the blue-eyed sprites hovering on either side of him.

  “So how long till your grandparents get here?” he asked, munching on the homemade chocolate-chip cookie. “Where do they live?”

  “In Willow Bunch,” Keeley told him, grinning. “That’s about five miles away. They used to live here when my mom was a little girl. Katy’s got Mom’s old room.”

  “Didn’t you come here on purpose then?” That was Katy, snapping her suspender to a beat he couldn’t hear. “It’s kind of far away from everything.”

  Grady smiled. No kidding, he felt like crowing. Just one short year ago this would have been the back of beyond.

  “Actually, I left my truck and camper on that road over there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Just until the cows decide to move on. Then I can get going.”

  “Going? Going where?” Keeley asked anxiously. Grady felt a twinge of discomfort as her clear-eyed glance studied him. “I thought you were looking for work?”

  His eyes opened wide and he stared at the two elfin-featured girls. He was prevented from answering by the rush of activity at the door. A tiny woman with bluish tinted hair cut in a fashionable chin-length bob swept through, her arms wide in welcome.

  “Hello, darlings! I’ve come as quickly as I could. There’s someone camping on the old Kelsey trail, did you know?” She embraced the girls in a hearty hug and then turned to face him.

  Grady shifted to his feet with alacrity, noticing the piercing quality of deep blue eyes that exactly matched those of the girls.

  “I’m Kayleen Davis,” she told him, firmly squeezing his hand with her tiny fingers. “My, you’re tall. Who are you?”

  “I’m Grady O’Toole….”

  “He’s the new handyman, Gran. And he’s not camping there. He had to stop because the cows were out again.” Keeley kept her hand folded in her grandmother’s, as if she expected the older woman to flit away somewhere at any moment.

  Mrs. Davis waved them back to their seats and dropped into one herself. “Those Waltons,” she muttered, picking up a cookie from the plate and dunking it in the huge glass of milk Katy poured for her. “Thirty years I lived here and never a week went by that somebody didn’t have to round up those cows.”

  “Uh, I’m not really…” Grady gave up trying to break into the fast-paced conversation between the children and their grandparent.

  “Mom’s gone with Brian, Gran. Again. Keeley says they’re gonna get married and then we’ll have to sell the farm,” Katy accused, tears rolling down her cheeks as she clung to her grandmother’s blue-veined hand.

  “Well, they are,” Keeley began self-righteously. “Mom’s working herself to death out here. I heard Mrs. Enns say so at church last Sunday. And Mom’s always tired. Mrs. Enns said if we moved to the city, our mother would have all the pretty clothes and fun times that other young women have.” Grady hid a smile. She was clearly quoting the conversation verbatim. Grady watched as Mrs. Davis tenderly brushed the tomboy’s disheveled curls off her tear-stained face and patted Keeley’s rigid shoulder comfortingly.

  “Your mother does work hard,” she murmured. “Very hard. And she does need a little fun in her life. Now that Grady is here, perhaps she’ll have more time to spend with you two.” She smiled a warm, endearing smile that stopped Katy’s weeping. “Now, then, Mr. O’Toole.”

  The miniature whirl of energy turned that electric blue gaze on him and Grady straightened self-consciously from his slouching position.

  “We rise early around here, but I’m sure you’re well used to that being a handyman and all. If you want to drive your rig over by that weeping birch, you can park there and we’ll run a cord out to it. Maggie, my daughter, will fill you in on the particulars in the morning.” She waved her arm and the children pushed away from the table obediently, brushing her cheek with a kiss.

  “Right now, however, my granddaughters need to get their sleep. I know Maggie has a list of chores planned out for them tomorrow. Away you go, girls.”

  And they did, Grady noticed in surprise. In about twenty seconds, they had pressed smothering kisses on their grandmother’s porcelain skin and flown up the stairs.

  “Mrs. Davis, I really don’t think…”

  “No, young man.” She smiled. “You probably don’t. I’ve noticed that about a lot of young men these days. But there is no point discussing this any further tonight. It’s almost time for the news and I always watch that at ten.” She waved her tiny birdlike hands toward the door.

  “Away with you now. I’ll try the Waltons’ again. We’ll have those cows moved in a jiffy. Get your rig into position and get yourself bedded down for the night. Maggie will deal with you in the morning.”

  Shrugging, Grady did exactly as he was told, amused at the way everyone assumed he was here looking for work. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to camp here for one night, although he couldn’t help thinking that Maggie would probably be less than interested in taking on a hired hand after her evening on the town. He doubted she’d be much of a boss anyway. Too interested in having fun, no doubt.

  Which was a good thing, he decided later, lying in his trailer and staring out into the barely dark sky. He wasn’t looking for a job anyway. Not now. What he really wanted to do was get back to Calgary and find out what was happening with his company. But of course, that was impossible. He was going to have to do as old Reverend Holden had
advised him and wait on God to show him the next step.

  “Stand on the promises of God, son,” the older gent had advised, his hand firm on Grady’s shoulder. “You’ve had a tough time of it but there is a reason behind it all. You’ve got to steer a steady course now and concentrate on letting go of the stress. Worry never produces anything but fear.”

  The advice was sound and Grady had been glad of the past few months and the income that had let him travel where and when he wanted. How many times had he sat beside an isolated brook or mountain stream and reveled in the wonder of God’s creation? But lately he’d chafed at the long hours of being alone. Maybe God wanted to use him in this little backwater. Who knew? He’d just have to trust that, sooner or later, the plan would become clear.

  “It would sure be nice if it was sooner,” he muttered, grinning to himself. He needed to set his mind on something, to get involved in a project. Was this it?

  A little after one-thirty, Grady’s wide-open eyes riveted on the expensive gray car as it rolled into the yard. A man got out and moved out around to the other side to escort a slim, light-haired woman in a fitted blue dress to the door. In the yellow glow of the yard light, Grady watched unashamedly as the man tugged the woman into his arms.

  She seemed to teeter for a few seconds on ridiculously high heels before falling forward. Grady could see the man’s large hands slide down the woman’s back and stop at her waist.

  Grady grimaced as he watched her press her hands against the man’s chest and pull back from the embrace. The guy really must be a creep if he could stand there, in front of the kids’ windows, acting like some lovesick teenager.

  And what kind of a woman would allow a man to touch her in view of her children? So what if they were asleep? They might wake up. Where was the woman’s discretion? He turned on his side in disgust and ignored the pair. It reminded him too much of a past he only wanted to forget and of the woman who had taken everything he had to give and left him with nothing.

  This might be a good place to camp out after all. He could check on things in Calgary. There was no point in showing up too soon and tipping his hand. Not when he was this close to getting back what Fiona had so nearly destroyed.

  Okay, maybe he’d wait it out and play the part of farmhand. For now.

  Chapter Two

  “Remember, kiddo? It’s supposed to be heavenly sunshine,” Maggie McCarthy muttered softly to herself as she forced her eyes open in the bright sunlight. She made her bed, hung up her one and only good dress and tiptoed into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it dripped she popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and got out the cream.

  Her eyes fell on the note her mother had left taped to the cupboard, and she grimaced as she reread the word accident. Kayleen was even now in the spare room upstairs and Maggie rolled her eyes as she envisioned the grilling ahead of her.

  Snatching up her toast and coffee, Maggie headed out to sit on the porch and enjoy the cool breeze of the morning. Her favorite willow chair was there, right where it had been ever since her father had given it to her almost eleven years ago on her wedding day.

  “What could be better than sipping your coffee on a sunny spring morning with the birds singing in the bushes?” she asked herself, drawing a breath of fresh spring air into her lungs.

  A thousand answers popped into her mind, but she ignored them all. She wasn’t going to think about seed bills or broken machinery right now. She sure wasn’t going to think about the bank and mortgage payments that were due and past due, let alone dwell on her hope for a bumper crop. She wasn’t even going to think about Brian’s proposal last night. She was just going to enjoy this brand-new day and concentrate on God’s promise from Psalms.

  “I will bless her with abundant provisions; her poor will I satisfy with food.” Maggie closed her eyes, allowing the words to sink in to her brain.

  “Good morning.”

  “Aaagh.” Maggie swallowed the burning hot liquid and felt the stinging tears fill her eyes, obscuring the design of gray snakeskin boots standing on the porch in front of her. She let her eyes slide up blue-jean-clad calves and thighs to a wide leather belt. Then, more slowly now, over the wrinkled chambray shirt to the lean craggy good looks of a perfect stranger who stood leaning against her peeling white balustrade.

  “Good morning,” she croaked, staring.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share some of that coffee?” he asked, tilting one eyebrow questioningly. “I forgot to buy some fresh beans yesterday and I’m all out.”

  “I…I suppose.” For the life of her, Maggie couldn’t think of a word to say. She watched his dark brown head tilt to one side as he grinned at her mockingly.

  “Not a morning person, huh? That’s okay. Of course, it might be easier if you quit partying all night and got to bed a little earlier, Mrs. McCarthy.”

  She sat openmouthed as he breezed into her kitchen, poured himself a coffee and returned, carrying it in her very favorite black whale mug. Nobody used that mug but her, and then only on special occasions. When he folded himself onto the porch swing, Maggie could restrain herself no longer.

  “Who are you?” she demanded furiously, glaring at him as he swung his feet up on the railing. Her railing. “And what are you doing on my land?”

  “I’m the new handyman. Hired on last night.” His warm brown eyes would have melted butter. “I can start anytime now, ma’am. I’ve been up since five.”

  “Five? As in a.m.?” She groaned, sinking her head into her hands and letting the heavy curtain of hair obscure her face. “Don’t tell me about it. Seven-thirty is quite early enough.”

  Wait a minute! Handyman, she asked herself, frowning. What handyman? “Who hired you?” she demanded, wishing she could go back to the night before and refuse that last cup of cappuccino Brian had ordered for her. What imp of perversity had made her drink even more coffee?

  Of course, she hadn’t been able to sleep after that, which made getting up more difficult than it usually was, and let’s face it, morning was not her finest hour. Maybe her mind would clear a little faster with a plain old regular-type coffee fix, she reasoned, swallowing another mouthful and wincing as it burned down her throat.

  “Three little ladies who figured you were too busy partying to spend much time running this place.” He tapped at a loose spindle with one foot as if for emphasis. “Appears to me they were right.”

  “Partying?” Maggie gave a derisive hoot of laughter at his description of the previous evening, and then grabbed her aching head as pain shafted through it. “I hardly think you can call the opera ‘partying.’” She straightened and took another sip of coffee with the faint hope that it would help her withstand the scrutiny from his melting chocolate eyes.

  “Opera? Yeah, right.” He sounded like her father, pandering to her irrationality, Maggie fumed.

  “Yes,” she retorted. “The opera. A Verdi one. I can’t remember which. I do remember that it was long. And it was loud. Very, very loud.”

  “Not an aficionado, then, I take it.” His tone was openly mocking.

  “I really don’t care if you take it or leave it,” she muttered angrily.

  “But you would like to leave the opera behind?” he questioned. His husky voice was rich with laughter as she shook her head slightly to clear it.

  “That and the cappuccinos I drank when I knew I’d already had enough of them,” she grated. “My head feels like little lead bullets are pounding into it.” She rubbed her thumbs against her forehead. “I can’t afford to be sick,” she whispered in despair. “There’s too much to do.”

  “Like what?” he asked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

  Maggie really wished he hadn’t done that. For one thing, he was too close. For another, those crinkling brown eyes were right in front of her face and she could see the tiny lines radiating from his eyes and mouth. It wasn’t exactly a handsome face, more like rugged looking. Full of personality. His eyes stared b
ack at her with discernment. As if he, too, had seen the rough sides of life, Maggie decided.

  Maggie jerked her head back and straightened the slipping line of her housecoat. “Who, exactly, are you?” she demanded huskily, and wished her foolish voice would act its age. “Why are you here looking for work?”

  “Why not?” He smiled lazily, sipping his coffee. “This is a pretty place. You certainly need a handyman. I need a job.”

  “Sure you do,” Maggie agreed, glancing across the yard at the shiny black truck and fairly new-looking trailer. “I can see that you haven’t got a dime. Must have blown it all on the club cab over there. Or maybe the trailer. Those things don’t come cheap. Self-contained, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, brown eyes narrowing assessingly. “I saved up for a long time for that rig. And I’ve toured it around the southern states for the past few months. It’s been a good investment.”

  Maggie stood up. There was no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth. If he wanted to work, she’d work him. He’d probably leave after the first hour. But that was okay, wasn’t it? Then maybe she could get some peace and quiet to decide about Brian, the farm, the twins and her future. Or the lack of it!

  “Fine,” she told him abruptly, tightening her belt. “You can start with the horses. They need to be let out and their stalls cleaned.” She filled him in on the going rate, days off and his job description. “If that’s agreeable to you, you can start right away.”

  He nodded. “It’s fine. There’s just one thing. I need to take next Friday off. Personal reasons. I’ll work Sunday if you want.”

  Personal reasons, she mused, staring at his implacable face once more. He was hiding something, something important. But what?

  “I suppose that’s okay, but we don’t work Sundays. That’s the Lord’s day, and we go to church in the morning. The rest of the day is your own. If you need more time, just let me know.” Maggie studied his lean body with a frown. “There’s a lot to do around here, you know. It won’t be easy work.” As she turned to move into the house, Maggie barely caught the softly breathed words.