“Joe, what would be harder for you? Forgiving your father, or staying and learning to forgive yourself?”
13
Joe ran until his lungs burned. Sweat dripped off his chin, and he bent over to gulp in the cool air.
But the physical pain pushed back the invasive echo of Ruby’s voice: Forgive yourself . . . stay. The crazy woman thought since she looked after his brother she had the right to dissect his life as well. She couldn’t be further from the truth. He had nothing to forgive himself for. He hadn’t run away from Gabe or his responsibilities. He’d been the one who had stayed to pick up the pieces.
Joe straightened, clasped both hands behind his back, and walked slowly down the gravel road. In the woods across the drainage ditch, he could hear Rip joyfully tramping after some wildlife creature. The wind hissed through the birch, rustled the balsam, and scented the air evergreen. Joe glanced behind him at the sinking sun. It bled orange and red as it dissolved into the horizon. He sighed, knowing he was no closer to peace than when he’d arrived home, changed into his athletic pants and running shoes, and raced off down Main Street.
He whistled. Rip answered from the folds of the forest. Joe began to stroll the three miles back toward town.
Sweat dripped down his back, his heart pounded through his chest, and his legs trembled from exhaustion, but the physical exertion helped clear the fog from his mind, helped him focus. Wherever he ended up on the globe, running elevated him beyond the plane of the obvious, let him see the big picture and talk to his maker. His sneakers were worn to a nub from miles of conversations with God.
“God, You’re making this trip a bit too personal. I want to help Mona with her bookstore dream, but why did You have to bring my father into the picture?”
Forgiveness. The word burned into his heart like coal.“Forgiveness, Lord?” Joe spoke into the wind and shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
“ God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” Romans 5:8 thundered in his head.
Joe scowled and started into a shallow jog. The voice followed him like a Sunday school teacher in a Bible drill, crying out Colossians 3:13: “The Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others.”
Joe increased his pace, focused on his feet grinding against gravel.
“ Why worry about a speck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own?” Joe skidded to a halt.“That’s not fair. I didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who left. He needs forgiveness, not me!”
The wind stirred the trees, but no voice replied. Joe clenched his fists and marched into town.
The clouds were streaked red as if painted across a gray palette. For a Monday night, the town rumbled with activity, belying the three weeks left until opening day of tourist season—Memorial Day. Pickups rolled by, tenting gear and fishing poles poking out of their beds. A string of gleaming Airstream motor homes blew exhaust at the only stoplight in town, drenching the fresh lake air with diesel fumes.
Joe had left Mona working like a machine, scrubbing old varnish off a bowling alley bar she’d picked up at Bowl-O-Rama just north of town. He’d also noticed the smell of fresh lacquer paint wafting from Liza’s workshop as he’d descended his attic stairs. The ladies were waging a war against time, and as he counted the pickups loaded with bait and coolers, Joe wasn’t so sure his employers were going to win. He hated to see them fail. It was hard enough to face his own defeat.
From a block away, Mona’s bedroom light flickered like a beacon in an otherwise dark and gloomy Footstep of Heaven. An ominous shadow obscured the backyard and Liza’s deserted workshop. Joe made a mental note to pick up some yard lights on his next hardware run.
He whistled for Rip, who had taken a side trip toward Pierre’s Pizza. The dog bounded toward him, a prize in his mug. Joe scowled in disgust. “You have dog food, you know.” The Labrador sat, raised his brows, and gave Joe a look that resembled something Mona would have produced if he’d offered her instant coffee.
“Right.” Joe chuckled and laid his hand on Rip’s head. To his surprise, the dog dropped the pizza and growled.
Stunned, Joe snapped back his hand.
“You should muzzle your mutt in city limits, Michaels.”
“Brian,” Joe said stiffly. No wonder Rip had growled.Joe gave him points for taste.
Brian was casually dressed for a man who loved to show off his threads, wearing a pair of faded Levi’s and a bulky windbreaker that seemed many sizes too large.
“Going camping?” Joe eyed the backpack slung over Brian’s shoulder.
Brian chuckled, but his dark eyes flashed and held no humor. “Where’ve you been?”
Joe shrugged. “Here and there.”
Brian’s eyes pinched, and the pause between the two men grew pregnant with distaste. “Where do you run off to all the time? What’s your business in my town?”Brian demanded.
Joe clenched his jaw. “Same as you, Whitney. Trying to eke out a living.”
“No. I live here. You’re a drifter, just passing through. For all I know, you’re a parolee, searching for your next big heist, or—” he smiled wickedly—“maybe you’re a serial killer waiting to prey on two innocent women.”
Joe battled the image of sinking his fist into Brian’s smug face and greased on a fake smile. “There’s only one person in this town I’d murder, Brian.”
Brian’s smile dimmed.
“And that’s the person who stands in the way of Mona’s dreams.”
Brian didn’t even bother to disguise his glare. “Accord ing to Mona, that’s you, Joe. Something about a hose left on, flooding the basement?”
All the fury that had been gathering inside him since he’d seen Brian knock Mona into the Kettle River, aided and abetted by Ruby’s merciless comment, sent Joe into a full boil. He balled his fists, shaking. His voice was tight, his words clipped. “We both know who did that.”
Brian acted surprised, but Joe plowed ahead. “I don’t know if it was a mistake or on purpose. But I meant what I said. Don’t try and sabotage Mona’s dreams.”
“Why would I do that?” Brian held out his hands, and Joe nearly slapped them away.
The question lingered between them until Joe had to acknowledge it. Why would Brian want to sabotage the Footstep? Confusion tangled his voice in his throat. He glared at Brian, wanting to strangle the arrogant smile from his tanned, chiseled face. The intensity of the feeling unnerved him.
“C’mon, Rip,” Joe muttered, eyes still on Brian.
Brian chuckled as Joe strode past him. It rankled Joe, but he refused to turn back. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he strode toward the dark house.
The sky had bled out and only metal gray remained on the horizon. The wind sliced through his sweatshirt and raised gooseflesh on his skin. A faint, sour odor assaulted him as he turned up the front walk of the Footstep. It was most likely the aftereffect of his acrid meeting with Brian.
His resolve solidified as he stalked around the house and up his stairs. If he stuck around, it wouldn’t be to forgive himself for leaving Gabe. It would be so he wouldn’t have to fight the guilt of abandoning Mona.
14
No. Oh my. No. No!”
Early the next morning Mona’s scream woke Joe from a sound and dreamless sleep with the effectiveness of a cold shower. He sputtered into consciousness. No, she wasn’t standing in the room, but she sounded as if she were, her cry bouncing off his rafters.
Joe rolled, fell off the sofa onto the bare floor, scrambled to his feet, and tripped over to the window. He couldn’t see her, but gazing past the house toward the front yard, he spied the reason for her horror—her lawn was splotched in yellow and white patches.
Joe raked a hand through his hair. What now?
Yanking on a pair of rumpled jeans, he grabbed a sweatshirt and leaped down the stairs. He ran barefoot to the front yard and saw a distraught Mona and an equally white-faced Liza on the front porch.
>
Mona didn’t even bother to greet him. “Look at the lawn! It has the measles!”
He didn’t know whether to surrender to defeated laughter or sob with her. Her assessment rang with truth. The lawn appeared to have come down with the worst case of German measles this side of the Atlantic. Big spots melded with small ones and the entire surface smelled tart, as if it had been baked in lemon juice.
“What happened?” Joe kept his face stoic. He walked to a large spot, crouched on his hands and knees, and sniffed the stain as if he were Rip. The odor assaulted his nose.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t like this last night.”
Joe sat back on his haunches. “It smells like weed killer.”
“Weed killer?”
Joe’s chest tightened. He stood up and angled a sorry look at Mona. “Someone is trying to kill your grass.”
Mona’s jaw slowly fell open, and her face began to crumple.
“Why would someone do that?” Liza’s voice shrilled in disbelief.
He didn’t answer. Instead he walked through the grass, kicking through especially pale splotches. A seagull cried overhead. The waves lapped the shore in rhythm. The rich blue sky was nearly cloudless. It would have been a perfect day except for the bitter smell that hovered like the specter of death over the Footstep. Joe whirled and stalked toward the porch. Mona had sunk down on the top step, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“I don’t know why,” Joe finally answered, forcing himself not to take Mona into his arms. He’d have to find a different way to comfort her.
Mona hid her face in her arms. “Is it ruined?”
“We’ll see.”
Mona’s head popped up. He met her eyes. They were red-rimmed and tortured. Don’t give up, Mona.
“I’ll be right back.” Joe hopped off the step and dashed for the side of the house. The hose, curled like a snake, glistened slick and muddy from its adventure two nights before. Joe snared it and cranked open the squeaky faucet. Water spit from the rusty hose end. He turned it to full blast, then dragged the hose back to the front yard.
Mona met him at the corner, hands on her hips, eyes wide. “You planning to swamp the place?”
“Yep,” Joe said, grinning. Mona’s brow knit.
“You already tried that tactic, Joe,” Liza called from the porch. “The insurance company won’t buy it a second time.”
Joe sent her a mock glare. “If you two skeptics would hold your tongues, I might be able to save your precious lawn. Drowning this stuff is exactly what I have in mind.” He marched to the front edge of the lawn and stuck his thumb over the end of the hose. The water sprayed out at odd angles. He aimed it toward the grass. “Maybe I can wash it away before it settles into the soil.”
The odor rose in a humid cloud around him, but he noticed the powder pool and foam and finally move in a mini-wave toward the curb. “I think it might work!” He turned and winked at Mona. The hopeful look she gave him made him want to dance.
“I’ll make coffee.” Mona headed toward the house.Liza was one step behind her, waggling her eyebrows at Joe.
“Hardworking, check.” Liza sidled up to Mona, who stood at the parlor window, cradling an after-lunch cup of coffee. She leaned close and whispered in Mona’s ear.“Patient, check.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m simply pointing out the obvious. Joe’s been showering the lawn for roughly four hours. The ground is saturated, his bare feet have to be ice cubes, and he’s out there singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ If that doesn’t fit your description of the perfect male, nothing will.” Liza leaned against the window frame, looking smug.
“No, Liza,” Mona countered. “You forgot, ‘committed to family.’ Joe’s not committed to anything but his hobo lifestyle. It would take him all of twenty minutes to clear out of here. And he will. I can tell. He takes off every chance he gets. Where does he go, anyway?”
Liza shrugged.
Mona turned back to the sight of Joe cleansing her dusted yard. “He’s hardworking, I’ll give him that.”
“And cute. That five-o’clock shadow only adds to his rugged appeal.”
Mona rolled her eyes. But she couldn’t deny the truth of Liza’s assessment. Joe had flown to her aid so quickly this morning, he hadn’t had the chance to shave. Since then, he’d been watering her lawn. She watched him aim the spray at her baby poplar. He was certainly thorough. And she had never been more thankful for his quick thinking. Except, of course, when he dove into the Kettle River after her. She had yet to contemplate, let alone accept, her profound relief when she found herself rescued, safely nestled inside his strong arms. She had successfully refuted all memory of that moment, as well as the kiss he’d given her on the stairs. The horror of the flood, and now the damaged yard, had bowled her over, and she felt it was easier to drown in worry than surrender to the feelings that threatened to tug her under.
But those feelings were becoming harder to fight.God, I am so weak—why couldn’t You have sent a retiree to help me fix up the place? Someone married, with a passel of grandchildren and a sour disposition? Yet God had sent Joe, and his presence at the Footstep buoyed her spirit. Despite her cold shoulder, he’d been warm and kind to her. She didn’t deserve his accepting friendship. The acrid flavor of regret lined her thoughts. What if Liza was right? What if he was the perfect man and she was driving him away? But wasn’t he the one who was leaving? She was only protecting her heart from the inevitable. God, please make me strong. Help me not to lose my heart to a rootless drifter and forget everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’ve made You a promise—help me keep it!
Mona examined her coffee. “He’s leaving, Liza.There’s no use in my getting involved with him. He’s been more places than I can even dream of.”
“Maybe he would stay if you asked him to,” Liza said softly.
Mona bit her lower lip, shaking her head. “There’s too much at stake. I have to get the Footstep up and running before I even think about a man. This isn’t the right time. And he’s not the right man.”
“Still waiting for Jonah?”
Mona bristled. “Jonah doesn’t exist. He’s a character in a book, a fairy tale. Just like my dream man.” She smiled wryly at Liza.
“I’m starved!” Joe’s voice announced his entrance and Mona jumped. Her handyman slopped into the room, damp and disheveled. His jean cuffs were wet and his short brown whiskers glistened. He’d pushed up his sweatshirt sleeves over tanned forearms and his cap, worn backward on his head, had done a miserable job of shielding his handsome face from the kiss of the sun. He looked positively . . . heartbreakingly handsome. Her words replayed in her head like a taunt: He’s not the right man.
He shivered slightly. “Coffee! Oh, sustenance to a starving soul.” His blue eyes twinkled, and Mona heard the echo of her words die in the face of his warm smile. His presence seemed to turn her brain to honey.
Liza leaned close to Mona. “Coffee lover, check,” she whispered. Then she turned to Joe. “Cup of coffee coming right up for our local hero.” She headed for the kitchen.
Joe turned to Mona, his eyes bright. “I think the grass will live. The sun’s out, the sky is clear, and the swamp in your front yard will evaporate in no time. Maybe in a few days we can put fertilizer down, but I’ll have to see. We don’t want to burn it.”
“Were you a landscaper in an earlier life?” Mona, painfully aware of her racing pulse, fought to make sure it didn’t infect her voice.
Joe laughed. “No. I’ve tended a few gardens in my life, but no landscaping jobs. Just old-fashioned fix-it projects, a few stints as a ranch hand and reindeer herder.”
“Reindeer?”
She thought she saw Joe color. His eyes lost their twinkle, and in a heartbeat his smile vanished, as if a door had slammed shut on his sunny disposition.“Forget I mentioned it.” His cold tone hit her like a slap. Maybe she’d been mistaken about his warming presence.
“You brought it up.” She s
tudied her coffee, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him wince.
“Sorry. My mistake.” He abruptly whirled and headed for the kitchen, nearly breaking the sound barrier.
Mona stood, reeling from his frosty exit. Well, vulnerable was certainly not on his list of attributes!
Joe’s neck ached and his arm muscles screamed. He never knew plastering a ceiling could be so painful. Or perhaps the hurt came from the confused, even angry, glances Mona kept spiking his way from the next room. She scrubbed at the stain on the coffee bar with unequaled passion, the steam from her demeanor nearly peeling off the dark tar. Joe gritted his teeth and focused on smoothing the ceiling. Just when she was starting to warm to him again, he had to summon his defenses and stomp all over their tender friendship. He regretted his impulsive words.
“It’s as smooth as frosting on a wedding cake.”
Liza’s voice startled him. He lost his balance, dancing as the step stool wiggled, then toppled over. He landed with a thump on the floor.
“Oh! Sorry, Joe! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Joe waved his forgiveness as he climbed to his feet .Mona had stopped her scouring, and he caught her concerned expression. He returned a half smile, and she instantly hid her worry under a guise of vigorous scrubbing.
“Anyway, nice ceiling. Can’t even tell it tried to kill me.” Liza grinned widely.
“Who’s trying to kill you, beautiful?”
Joe scowled, recognizing Brian’s syrupy voice and abrasive cologne.
Liza whirled and delight lit her face. “Brian! We haven’t seen you since Saturday! Where have you been?”She nearly skipped over to greet him.
Joe turned, glimpsed Mona’s welcoming smile as she approached, and something inside him burned.
Brian hugged Liza with one arm and caught Mona in the other. Joe was glad to see Mona didn’t relax into the embrace like Liza did.
Happily Ever After Page 14
