Happily Ever After

by Susan May Warren

  Joe shifted awkwardly for a moment, then slipped out, unsure if he was being rude or acting on cue. The clerk didn’t glance up as the door swung shut.

  Joe ambled to the truck and freed Rip. The dog licked him as if he’d been gone for days. As they sauntered to the donut shop, he flipped through the paper. Maybe he’d find something of value in this forgotten town.

  The antique walnut table had taken Mona’s breath away. From the minute she saw it, she knew it would shine like ebony if she could only scrape off the lacquer. She counted her blessings to have been one of the first to discover it at a local estate sale.

  Mona was leaning over it, sweat beading on her forehead, grunting and digging into the black, sticky stain, when he showed up.

  “I know a special stain remover that’ll practically melt that stuff off.” The voice drawled the words out, smug and irritating.

  Mona shot him a cool look. “You’re dripping mud in my dining room.”

  The man examined his hiking boots, obviously shocked.

  Mona straightened and wiped back a chunk of hair with her arm. She held her arms away from her and squinted at the man. He had given his boots the once-over and obviously decided they were presentable because he stood there, all six feet of him, and grinned at her like a long-lost brother.

  “Excuse me, but who are you?” Mona asked.

  A reddish grizzle layered his chin, an interesting contrast to his short, tawny brown hair. He wore a jean jacket over a blue sweatshirt, the type her father used to wear in fall, and his faded Levi’s gapped with the comfort of wear. “I’m your new handyman.”

  Mona raised an eyebrow. “You think so?” She snapped off her rubber gloves. “We’ll see.” She crooked a finger at him. “Follow me.” First stop was Hoover Dam, plugging the geyser in the kitchen sink.

  “No problem,” he said, shrugging.

  Mona narrowed her eyes. She showed him the rot under the refrigerator. He rubbed his chin, tipped the fridge back, and shrugged again. “Yep. Can do.”

  Mona’s irritation grew as she pointed out every broken hinge, splintered window, burnt socket, and cracked wall. He shrugged and nodded easily at each earth-shattering problem, and she couldn’t help but feel foolish she’d even asked for help.

  The tour ended at the black hole in the dining-room ceiling. The man inspected it, hands dug into his jeans pockets, swaying from heel to toe to unheard music. “I hope y’all ducked when this came down.”

  A muscle pinched in Mona’s neck. “Can you fix it?”

  He turned and studied her, his deep blue eyes looking right through her. She couldn’t help but notice that they twinkled with some unknown humor, and he had a kind smile that made her want to like him. Then his smile vanished, and in its place came a look of sincerity that spoke to her heart. “I can fix it, ma’am.”

  Mona scrutinized her potential handyman. He seemed eager, if a bit rumpled and way too smug. Was he a freeloader, hoping to paint a wall in order to live rent-free?Mona chewed her lip. Still, he seemed genuine in his willingness to throw himself into her repairs. And she’d had no other calls. . . . Maybe Edith could ask around for her, find out his origins. In the meantime he could get started on the kitchen geyser.

  Mona stuck out her hand. “Mona Reynolds.”

  “Joe Michaels.” He shook her hand.

  His hand was warm and somewhat calloused, perking her confidence in his handyman ability. “Great to meet you. The pay isn’t great, and it isn’t a permanent position. We need some help getting on our feet, that’s all.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” His warm grin went right to her bones.

  “You do get a room, however,” she continued, tearing her gaze away and ignoring the tingle racing up her spine. “It’s nice. Small but clean.”

  “Swell.”

  Perhaps he’d fit in just fine. Not too pushy, do what he’s told, leave when it’s done. No complications. No invasion of her privacy. Just the little help she’d asked for from God.

  “Are you from around here?” Mona noticed how his eyes stayed on her, as if transfixed, and she looked down, suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance.She must look lovely, her hair in chunks over her face, dressed to kill in her best ragged sweatshirt and painted jeans.

  He shook his head, eyes not leaving her face. “Just passing through.”

  Perfect. She liked him even more. “Not staying long then.”

  “Nope.”

  She had a sudden flare of doubt. “You’re not . . . um . . .” She giggled nervously, feeling like an idiot. “. . .running from the law or anything, are you?”

  He actually blushed. Fear leaped through Mona, and she wanted to cringe. Sure, he was just aching to confess he’d murdered three women in the last town. She gave another small, hideous giggle. . . .

  His smile made her laugh die in her throat. “No, Mona. I’m safe. I promise.”

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

  He held up a hand. “No, I understand. You can’t be too safe, even in Deep Haven.”

  No, Deep Haven is the one place where I finally am safe. “I think you’ll do fine here,” Mona said.

  “Great.” He circled the room. “What are you building here?”

  “A bookstore. Well, at least this half is. The other half is a pottery shop.”

  Was it her imagination or did the color wash from his face? “A bookstore?” He looked as if reading was an approved method of torture. He probably hadn’t read anything but a vehicle fix-it manual since high school.

  “It’s been a dream my entire life.” Why did she tell him that? Now his horrified look had turned to confusion. “Let me show you the apartment, okay?”

  “Right.” He nodded, and she noticed how he swallowed, apparently relieved not to have to comment on how she’d taken out her heart and pinned it on her sleeve.

  She followed as he led the way to the street and a rusty, tortoise green pickup. From the bed of the truck, he retrieved a bulging army duffel . . . and a dog. Mona guessed a Labrador. Chocolate eyes considered Mona for a moment; then the animal kissed her, juicy and full on the face.

  “Whoa, Rip! Take it easy on the first date, bud!” Joe grabbed the dog by a frayed collar and pulled him away from Mona. She scowled, wiping her face on her already grimy sweatshirt.

  “The ad didn’t say ‘no pets,’ so I figured it’d be okay.” Joe raised his eyebrows hopefully.

  Mona reached out and rubbed Rip tentatively behind the ear. The dog groaned and leaned into her hand.

  “He likes you.” Joe said it in a singsong way, and Mona couldn’t help but smile.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Her new handyman flung the duffel easily over his shoulder and followed Mona to the backyard and up the stairs to the apartment over the unattached garage. She had devoted half an afternoon to cleaning it, windows included. When she opened the door, the sharp smell of ammonia seeped out in greeting.

  Joe whistled low. “Swanky.”

  Mona rolled her eyes.

  Joe dropped the duffel on the floor and sat on it.

  “Guess I’ll need to invest in a davenport.”

  Mona tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. We don’t have much next door either.”

  Joe grinned. “No problem. Rip and I can sleep anywhere.” He grabbed the dog and wrestled him to the floor, then held him down as he rubbed Rip’s belly.

  I can imagine. “We’ll see what we can scrounge up for you, Mr. Michaels.” Mona turned for the door.

  “It’s Joe, Mona.” Something in his tone—the way her name seemed to sound almost like a melody when he said it—made her stop. She turned back, frowning.

  Joe was playing with his dog—she, obviously, already a wisp of memory. He didn’t even glance in her direction as she backed out of the room.

  “Is she gone, Rip?” Joe croaked.

  He’d felt like a fool, answering her questions in monosyllables, but it was the
best he could manage after she fixed him with that startled, doe-eyed gaze. She’d been so intent on her table, she hadn’t heard his knock or sensed his presence as he watched her scrub. Disarmingly gorgeous in a pair of faded jeans and a University of Minnesota sweatshirt, she touched his heart with her linebacker grunts and bulldog determination. He’d had to fight an urge to push back the golden lock of hair falling over her face. It was her eyes, however, that had sent his heartbeat into overdrive—deep, luminescent, and the rich color of emeralds.

  He blew out a breath. Stop it. He let Rip up and walked to the little round window, overlooking the front yard. The grass looked like a forest, the front porch peeled in layers, and the roof appeared as watertight as a sieve. Inside, Mona’s repairs had nightmare proportions. He felt swamped, but the challenge strummed a chord in his masculine heart. Desperation had been written on her face, and it called to him. She needed him, although he had a gut feeling she’d die before admitting it.

  Joe scraped a hand through his cropped hair. Focus.

  He was here because of Gabe. He didn’t really want to be embroiled in an endless pit of projects. Nor did he have room in his life for a woman. He depended on his freedom to allow Gabe to live the life he needed. Putting down roots would only mean courting trouble for himself, not to mention Gabe. And letting a woman in his life would complicate things, maybe unravel everything he’d spent the years struggling to create. At the least, it would mean setting himself up for the heartache he’d been trying to dodge most of his life.

  God, what have You gotten me into this time? When he’d prayed over the want ads, this one had jumped out at him like heavenly neon. He expected a grandmother to open the door, however, not a lady who could throw his pulse into turbo with a sheepish smile.

  He tightened his jaw. It would do him well to remember it was a temporary assignment. His new boss had made it clear that he had six weeks to finish the job and clear out. Hopefully, he’d be long gone before then. And with some careful sleuthing, he’d have just what he needed to keep his future from crumbling. Meanwhile, he would maintain a safe distance from her and her magical green eyes.

  Joe turned from the window, unsure whether to unpack or throw the duffel in the truck and make for the hills. He knew only one thing for certain: he’d have to tread in stockinged feet or his haphazardly constructed plan would crash down on his head like Mona’s cracked dining-room ceiling.

  3

  Liza bounced into the house just as Mona finished scraping off a second layer of stain remover. The smug look on her friend’s face alerted Mona to mischief a second before a handsome stranger strolled in at Liza’s heels.

  “Mona, I’d like you to meet Brian Whitney. He’s in charge of zoning down at city hall.”

  Mona wondered what other information Liza had gleaned about the man with wavy ebony hair, stunning green eyes, and a muscled body unsuccessfully hidden in a charcoal gray suit.

  Mona cringed, feeling like a bedraggled schoolgirl in her ripped Levi’s and stained sweatshirt. An unsightly hair drifted over her face, and she blew at it.

  “Glad to meet you, Mona,” Brian said in a honeyed voice and offered his hand.

  Mona ripped off her gloves. His hands were clammy, but his grip strong as he crunched her hand. “Let’s go outside.” She nodded feebly toward the front door, hoping to escape the dining room where the fumes—and his overwhelming presence—were making her head cloud.

  “Liza tells me you are having parking problems,”

  ;Brian said as they stepped out onto the verandah.

  The cool wind cleared her head, but it reaped the fragrance of Brian’s spicy cologne. Mona gathered up her disobedient hair and snapped a rubber band around it, feeling even more like a vagrant. “Yep, I got a ticket.”

  Brian had his gaze on Liza, who busily twirled her long ebony hair between two fingers. Mona recognized his appreciative look toward her leggy roommate.

  “We’ll see what we can do about getting this area approved for a parking lot,” he said, breaking his stare and turning back to Mona.

  Mona smiled gratefully, and he shot her a flawless white smile to go with the rest of his perfection. Spying Liza’s enthusiastic grin, Mona’s jaw grew tight. Mona had found Joe, a rumpled drifter. Liza had dug up Brian, the local jewel.

  “Would you two like to catch a bite to eat?” Brian asked. “I know this great place up the shore that serves fresh lake trout that will melt in your mouth.”

  She suddenly realized how long it had been since she’d last eaten. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll wait while you change.”

  Mona looked down at her sloppy attire, and her appetite died. “No, on second thought, you and Liza go.

  I have to finish my table.”

  Brian flared his brows, as if shocked at someone turning him down. “You sure?”

  Mona nodded, but a tiny knot clenched in her chest as the two drove off together in his sleek, two-door black Honda that seemed out of character for Deep Haven. Well, so was Liza. They were a matched set.

  Mona returned to her table, wiping away the last bits of lacquer. The walnut grain gleamed. With a coat of varnish, the table would be perfect for displaying muffins.

  She heard steps down the walk, the truck door slam, and the growl of an old motor. Her new handyman roared off down the street. It seemed everyone had a social life but her. Mona polished furiously.

  The table glistened with sticky varnish by the time Liza returned. Showered, with a peanut butter sandwich hardening in the pit of her stomach, Mona lay in bed and let exhaustion sweep over her in gentle waves. The slam of a car door and Liza’s infectious laughter jolted her into consciousness. She flipped on her light and groped for a book as Brian’s sultry tenor floated up from the porch.

  When she heard the Honda drive away, she fixed her eyes on the book, trying to absorb the words. She was rereading the first sentence for the third time when Liza poked her head into Mona’s room.

  “You really should have gone. The fish was fabulous, and you know how I hate fish.” Liza padded inside, uninvited. Mona’s brass bed squeaked as she sat on it.

  Mona turned her book face down over her blanketed knees, folded her hands on top, and stared at Liza.

  “You’re mad,” Liza stated.

  “I’m not mad. I didn’t want to go.”

  Liza shot Mona a dubious look. “You did want to go. I know. So why not?”

  Because I don’t have time to run after a perfect smile just so he can take over my life and tell me, sooner or later, that I am not perfect for him. Besides, he had eyes for only one woman on the porch. “I was tired.”

  Liza arched her plucked brows. “Not too tired to finish the table. It looks fabulous.”

  Mona managed a half grin.

  Liza touched Mona’s hands. “Next time, go.”

  “We have six weeks before opening day. I don’t have time to go.”

  Liza leaned close and peered at her. “You’re just afraid he might get under your skin, and you’ll like him.”

  The only person that had gotten under her skin lately was Mr. Smug-is-my-middle-name Michaels, her new handyman, and that felt more like a case of the hives

  .Mona chewed her lower lip, debating Liza’s words, then gave in to her wacky expression and smiled. “Did you have a good time?”

  Liza swung her legs up onto the bed. “Marvelous. But he’s not for me.”

  “What do you mean, ‘marvelous but he’s not for me’

  ?You’re nuts.”

  Liza shrugged. “He’s real nice and funny. But he doesn’t make me go all tingly inside.”

  Mona rolled her eyes. “If you’re waiting for tingly, you ought to get one of those new neck massagers we saw in the mall.”

  Liza grinned. “All I know is the tingly thing is what made my mama’s marriage go thirty years. She told me early on not to settle for humdrum.”

  Mona shook her head. “I’d settle for a nervous ripple.”

&nb
sp; The two laughed until the bed squealed in protest.

  “Okay, Miss Picky, tell me who your dream man is. If it isn’t Brian Whitney, who is it?” Liza asked.

  Mona grew serious. “There isn’t any such man. At least in the flesh.”

  Liza gave her a dubious look.

  “Okay, my list is long and detailed, but here’s the shorthand. He has to be patient, hardworking, willing to put others before himself, a Christian of course, kind, and able to be vulnerable. He has to be intelligent, a reader, must love coffee, and his favorite pizza can only be Canadian bacon with mushrooms and green peppers.” Her tone lost its teasing quality. “Most of all, he must be able to commit to this place and living here.” She held out her hands, palms up. “See, my dream man doesn’t exist.”

  “I didn’t know you were holding out for Jonah.”

  “Jonah?”

  “Sure, Reese Clark’s Jonah, as in Siberian Runaway.” Liza reached over and tapped the cover of Mona’s book. Mona gave her a sheepish look. “With the exception of the pizza toppings, I think you have Jonah nailed.”

  “What about commitment to place?” Mona stabbed a finger into the air. “Jonah hardly spends a month in one location.”

  Liza waggled a finger at her in return. “He would stick around if he found the right girl.”

  Mona wrinkled her nose.

  Liza licked her finger and drew an imaginary line in the air. “One point for me. Don’t tell me I don’t know my best friend.” She leaned close. “At least it gives me some guidelines to pray for.”

  Mona shot her a fake glare. “Don’t hold your breath

  .I’m not looking.”

  Liza nodded, her dark eyes swimming with mischief.

  “Right.”

  Mona sat on the window seat, watching the moon splice the lake in one silver stream. She sighed and hugged her legs to her chest. Her conversation with Liza an hour ago replayed like a scratched record in her head. Unfortunately, her friend was right—she was picky and scared. For those reasons she had been avoiding anything close and personal with a fella for years