When Mona sighed and climbed to her feet, Joe’s heart fell slightly. “Good night, Joe.” She trudged toward the road, leaving a stinging wind in her wake.
Joe felt as if he somehow shouldered the unnamed burden she’d carried out to the beach. The desire to ease her suffering washed over him, burning his eyes. He lifted his eyes to the winking stars. Lord, please give me another chance to be a blessing to her.
6
Can you put a new plug in the corner?” Liza asked.
Joe’s gaze followed Liza’s pointing finger as he rubbed the handle of a screwdriver between his shoulder blades. “Yeah, I reckon I can do that, but the wire will have to be external, unless you want me to open up the wall.”
“No, I just want a lamp on my desk. This corner is way too creepy. I can’t figure out why they’d put only one outlet in this room.”
“’Cause this house was built before the advent of electricity?”
Liza hit him with her paint rag. “You’re probably right.” Laughing, she added, “But you have to admit, it does have character.”
“If you call a rotting roof and a saggy porch character, then I’ll agree.”
Liza scowled. “Think positively. Close your eyes and imagine what this place can be. It’s more than an old house. It’s a dream come true.”
“How so?”
Liza bit her lip, her dark eyes running over him. “If you can keep a secret, I’ll let you in on a bit of history.”
“My lips are sealed.” He bit back a smile at her earnest expression and held up three fingers, like a Boy Scout.
Liza squinted at him a moment, then smiled conspiratorially. “Mona’s been saving for years for this place. It’s her dream, more than anything else in the entire world.And it just has to happen. If it doesn’t, I’m not sure what it will do to her.”
Joe frowned. “Why?”
Liza shook her head. “You’ll have to ask her that, Joe.Suffice it to say this dream goes back a long way.”
Joe mulled over her words while walking to the window. The front lawn shone rich jade in the sun. Across the road, the lake rolled against the shore in gentle rhythm. Seagulls waddled over the rocks, and the blue sky was smeared with wispy cirrus. Determination swept through him like a wildfire. It must have shown in his face, for when he turned, Liza gaped at him. “Then we better make sure her dreams come true, huh?”
Liza nodded.
A car door slammed. Joe glanced outside and spied Mona unlocking the hatch to a tiny blue Chevette. He’d seen the car on the street yesterday but didn’t connect the ownership dots. Now, watching her lug something from the back, revived a memory so profound, he gasped.
“What’s wrong?”
He turned to Liza, forcing a casual smile. “Nothin’.Just Mona.”
Liza raised one of her thin black eyebrows and smirked. Joe ignored her, slipped the screwdriver into his back pocket, and walked toward the front door.
Mona had pulled a stump of wood from her car and was rolling it on one edge up the front walk. Her blonde hair fell over her face, and her jaw was set.
“Need some help?” Joe hollered.
Mona looked up at him, two hands balancing the stump. “Nope, I got it.”
“Okay.” Joe stuck his hands in his front pockets, rocked back and forth on the porch, and watched her wrestle the stump toward the front steps. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from repeating the question as she let the stump rock back, sat on it, and rested her arms on her knees, slouching. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her chest rose and fell with exertion. The stump did look heavy. It was nearly a foot and a half in diameter and two feet high. A nice piece of oak, from what he could see.
“Where’d you get it?” Joe asked.
Mona gave him a sidelong gaze, and he felt a jolt ripple through him. Why did her fir green sweatshirt have to make her eyes sparkle so? He blew out an unsteady breath.
“Holland’s Sawmill. I plan on using it for an end table. What do you think?” She stood, gesturing at it like it was a prize and she was Vanna White. “With a little sanding and a coat of varnish, it could be pretty.”
“You have vision, Mona. I’ll give you that.”
She beamed. “Well, I like to be original. I ordered an overstuffed sofa in a navy-and-green plaid for the dining room. I wanted a place where folks could drop their worries for a moment, kick back, and bury themselves in a book.”
“It wouldn’t hurt if they bought the book, either.”
She chuckled. “Nope, nor a cup of cappuccino.” She motioned to the stump. “I thought it would give the store a rustic, at-home feel.”
“Like bringing the wilderness inside.”
“Yup.” Mona squatted, wrapped her arms around the log, and strained.
“You aren’t serious, are you?” Joe leaped all five porch steps and landed at her side. “Let me help you.”
“Back off,” Mona growled through gritted teeth.
Joe recoiled. “Calm down, Mona. I don’t want you to spend the next month in the chiropractor’s office, that’s all. Let me give you a hand.”
“No!” Mona dropped the stump and pounced to her feet, her face red. “I don’t want your help. I can do this.”
Joe eyed the stump. Fifty pounds, at least. “Mona.Don’t be silly. That thing is heavy.”
Mona swiped her hands together. Sawdust and chips of wood broke free. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have barked at you.” Her tone softened. “I don’t want to get used to your help. I have to be able to do this on my own.”
“I’m not offering to marry you. I just want to help you lift the stump.”
Mona flinched. “You may not agree, but if I start depending on you, you’ll begin to think you’re indispensable.” Joe squinted at her. “And what’s so bad about that?”
Mona pressed her lips together as if holding back a reply, one he all at once dearly wanted to hear. Sighing, she squatted and wrapped her arms around the stump again. Joe watched, shaking his head as she rocked it 68 into her embrace then began to mount the stairs with it. Her legs quivered. He tiptoed behind her, ready for a swift catch. She made it to the third step, groaned, then finally plunked the stump onto the porch. Slapping her hands together, she sprinted to the landing and whirled, beaming. “See?”
He’d never had to war with the idea of pulling someone into his arms to silence a victory dance. But, as Mona grinned at him, her hands clamped on her hips, wood shavings layering her sweatshirt, and hair flopping over her face, that was exactly what happened. Perhaps it was relief, frustration, or admiration, but suddenly he fought a barrage of furious impulses.
“Were you born stubborn?” he demanded. As her mouth opened in shock, he stalked past her into the house.
Mona hummed as she sanded the top of her oak stump. She heard Joe, tucked under the kitchen sink, attacking the drippy faucet. Liza had mentioned something about painting the inside of her newly emptied potter’s shed. Mona blew on the dust, scattering it into the wood-tinged air, and admired her stump. The wood grain wound in thick, brown circles. Alton Holland had already set aside another stump for her, one with the remnants of root still stretching from the base like thick fingers. They would be beautiful. Mona felt hope surge through her. What had Joe said? You have vision. Perhaps. But mostly she had dreams.
Mona stood up and stretched, surveying the two rooms that would be her bookstore and coffee shop. The ceiling had yet to be patched, the floors sanded and varnished, the windowsills painted, and the walls papered. But she had four and a half weeks, and it was doable. Finally, nothing stood in her way. The late-afternoon sun lit a path of orange along the wood floor, swirls of dust waltzing in the tangible rays. Mona inhaled, feeling peace enter like a fragrance.
“Arrgh!” Joe’s cry from the kitchen shattered her serene moment.
“What is it?” Mona raced to the kitchen. The scene that greeted her scattered the lingering aroma floating about her heart with the effectiveness of a
stink bomb. Roaches, as thick and deep as a moving carpet, scrambled over her lemon-colored counters, seeking refuge from Joe’s shoe. Mona stood paralyzed, watching roaches climb out of the depths of her house and envisioning one of the monsters tiptoeing over a coffee mug. Worse yet, perhaps it would nestle into someone’s shirt collar and she could invite the entire health department over to finish off the muffins as they shut her down.
“W-where’d they come from?” she stammered.
Joe shot her a sorry look and pointed to a gaping hole under the sink. Rotting drywall littered the floor around the open cabinet doors. “You have a slight plumbing problem.”
Mona’s heart sank. She gripped the counter, crouched, and surveyed the black hole at the base of the pipes.
“How bad is it?”
The sensation of movement scuttling across her hand eclipsed his answer. Mona leaped to her feet in time to spy a confused roach heading toward her shirt cuff. Screaming and shaking her hand, she danced into the center of the room, all her feminine instincts boiling over. Then she spotted Joe grinning so widely, it seemed his cheeks would pop. She glowered at him. Great, just what she needed after her triumphant performance with the tree stump. Now he’d conjure up all sorts of maiden-in-distress images. Mona sucked a calming breath, peeled off a shoe, and began to whack at the odious insects, feeling a strange satisfaction as she squashed them.
The screen door whined open, and Liza popped her head in. “What’s all the ruckus about in here?”
They didn’t need to answer. Liza screamed and beat a trail through the kitchen. Her boots crashed up the stairs. Mona caught Joe’s bemused expression and flattened another bug with a satisfying smack! Then, to her amazement, Joe leaned over, took off his boot, gripped it with his right hand, and began to parry and thrust, whacking the roaches like a fencer. Mona flicked an eyebrow. Did he think this was funny?
To add injury to her horror, his filthy dog, Rip, scrambled into the kitchen through the open screen door, dragging the forest with him, and went wild. He barked and growled at the intruders, hair spiking along the back of his neck. Mona groaned. These two jokers were a pair of overkill soldiers invading her poor kitchen. It was a wonder they hadn’t attracted the entire neighborhood.
Liza dashed into the kitchen, armed with a can of Raid and the yellow pages. “I’m calling the exterminator,” she declared, as if it were a novel idea.
Mona escaped into the front room, sat down on the walnut table, and stared at the hole in her ceiling. Just what a kitchen needed, a mafioso family of roaches, extended relatives included. As exterminator charges totaled in her mind, despair gripped her in a neck spasm.
Then Joe moseyed out of the kitchen, gripping the can of Raid like a six-gun. “I’m gonna git those varmints yet,” he drawled. He had tied a blue bandana over his mouth, bandit-style, and his eyes twinkled under a masked grin. He seemed so hopeful, so eager to help that she couldn’t help it—she laughed.
Joe lay on the sofa, his hands behind his head, watching shadows of the front-yard birch trees chase each other across the ceiling, and letting the echo of Mona’s laughter fill his heart with delight. It was so unexpected, so hard earned, everything he’d hoped it would be and more. Her laughter and the warm acquiescing smile that followed had seeded an unfamiliar longing deep in his heart, and now he lay cultivating healthy sprouts of tenderness toward his new boss.
Despite Mona’s almost antagonistic response to his help, the need buried in her jeweled eyes called to him. She was afraid. He could sense it in the way she burrowed into projects and focused like a sniper on her goals. It looked like determination, but it could also be escape.
Was Mona running from something? She had all but admitted it last night on the beach. Forgiveness is the hardest thing in the world to accept. What horrific, unforgivable load was she carrying?
Joe sighed and laid a hand on Rip, who was breathing in rich slumber on the floor next to the sofa. Lord, what can I do to help her?
Make her bookstore come to life.
The yearning was so profound, he knew it was his answer. Mona’s dreams would come true if he had anything to do with it. He just hoped it wouldn’t cost him the one thing he needed to bail his way out of trouble.
7
Okay, Mona, you’re on jack duty. Make sure it doesn’t slip, and if it starts to move, you holler.”
Mona nodded and wrapped both gloved hands around the jack handle. “Will this work?”
“Yep,” Joe said, without glancing at her.
She watched him retrieve two cinder blocks from the pile on her walk. He was different this morning. Somehow, after yesterday’s horrible roach party, he seemed more serious, even driven. Although he couldn’t seem to quell his quips and spurts of craziness, she had to give him credit—he was a hard worker. She’d spied him in the backyard late last night, painting Liza’s workshop by the glow of an electric light. She’d lingered, watching him from her bedroom window, grinning when he wrestled Rip to the grass for a paint rag. The mutt wasn’t so bad. He did have the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. And yesterday, when she’d claimed a quiet place on the porch to sort out her frustration, Rip had flopped down next to her, resting his muzzle on her foot, as if he understood and wanted to comfort her.
This morning, she’d glimpsed her handyman driving away in a fog of exhaust, and when he returned, he had a bed full of cinder blocks, exterior paint, and roofing materials. She scowled, spotting the price on the cans of paint, but she supposed the higher price would guarantee she wouldn’t have to repaint soon. “I’ll tack the amount on to your pay if you’ll give me the receipt,” she said, after bounding up to him, arms outstretched to help carry supplies.
He gave her a look that made her shrivel. “Nothing doing. Consider it a gift.”
Mona’s fury rose like a flood. “I don’t need your help.Haven’t we been through this?”
“Yep.” He loaded her arms with a bag of cement.“Just put it by the porch.” Mona gaped, but Joe didn’t spare her a glance as he crossed to the tailgate. Opening it, he hauled out two cinder blocks. “Hurry up. We have a big day ahead of us.”
Mona clamped her mouth shut, muscled the bag up the front walk, and dropped it down in front of the porch. Joe sprinted as he unloaded the truck, and Mona helped in mute amazement. All right, Lord, I asked him to be a good worker, but this is too much! Nevertheless, she had warmed to his exuberance as the morning grew long.
“Okay, Mona,” Joe said, his voice alerting her to the job at hand. “I’m going to slide the blocks in. Then you ease up on the jack ever so slightly, and we’ll see how they settle.”
He layered the blocks on top of one another in a smoothed spot. At his nod, Mona pressed the jack handle. The porch moaned, the blocks scraped, and the corner of her porch leveled out.
Joe beamed in triumph. “Now let’s jack her back up and I’ll cement it in.” He stood and gripped the handle, laying his hands next to hers. His presence was close, and he smelled unnervingly masculine—sweat and flannel and wood chips.
“I got it,” he whispered.
She looked up and was captured by his magnetic blue eyes. They entranced her, holding her in some sort of magical grip. Mona felt an unfamiliar tingle ripple up her spine. She jumped back, but his eyes stayed on hers, penetrating, peeling away her toughened layers until she felt as if he could see into her soul. Frowning, she turned away. She heard him grunt as he jacked up the porch.
What was different about him? Mona chewed her lip. He acted as if the house were his and he was taking ownership of her dreams.
“Can you hold the jack again?”
Mona turned and gripped the jack, noticing he withdrew his hands the instant hers took over. He walked to the bucket and began mixing and stirring the cement.
Mona shivered in her flannel shirt. The cool air didn’t seem to bother Joe, however. He’d stripped off his blue sweatshirt, and his wide chest and thick arms stretched over a gray army T-shirt. Fit and strong, he ca
rried himself like a man used to manual labor. Joe straightened, snared the bucket, and turned to face her.
His blue eyes shimmered deep indigo against the navy bandana he’d tied on his head, and the brightness of them caught her like a gust of wind. Her mouth went dry, and she realized he had eyes like her father’s. Rich, discerning, pensive. And, at times, laughing. Mona struggled to collect her composure.
She numbly watched him trowel cement over the blocks. Then he eased them into place again. “Okay, let her down.”
Mona lowered the jack. The cinder blocks held.
“Well, now the muffins won’t tumble off the plates,” she commented, forcing a carefree tone into her voice.
Joe grinned. “Poor Rip. He was counting on the extra tidbits.”
Mona laughed and rolled her eyes but couldn’t ignore the implication that he might be staying. What was worse, for the first time the idea seemed oddly pleasing.
Joe gripped the steering wheel, felt the warmth of Rip’s head on his lap, and watched the forest envelop him. The lush undergrowth along the dirt road to the Garden effectively blotted out the sun, yet the creamy birch trees gleamed white like bones.
With the wind singing through the trees and the pine scenting the truck cab, Joe knew it had been wise to obey Mona and take the day off. He’d fought the impulse for a moment, as he stood beside his truck and watched her attack her newly leveled porch with white paint. It was a daunting task. Still, she seemed so content, happily humming, and it balmed the shard of guilt piercing his heart. He finally surrendered to the urge that burned in his chest—to go see Gabe.
The Garden lodge seemed deserted, the handful of wicker rocking chairs on the porch empty and unmoving. As Joe climbed out of the truck, Rip squeezed past him and, with a jubilant bark, took off after a pair of startled squirrels.
Happily Ever After Page 7
