At Home in His Heart
Glynna Kaye
“I took down the wasp’s nest from the porch this morning,” Bryce said.
“You did?” Pleasure lit Sandi’s face. Her smile sparkled genuine appreciation.
Oh, man, she was looking up at him like he was the king of the world. No wonder her late husband, Keith, hadn’t stood a chance. When she wasn’t busy bossing you around, she was pumping up your ego until your shirt buttons popped off.
Bryce grinned down at her, openly basking in the moment—just as he secretly had last night when she’d come mighty close to flirting with him a time or two. Told him he was a handy man to have around. But why was he lapping up her praise like some kind of parched desert critter?
“Now you need to let me know if those wasps come back. They often try to rebuild a few times.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Promise?”
She nodded again.
They stood looking at each other, just like
last night, her face lightly flushed.
Only, this time she wasn’t mad at him.
At Home in His Heart
Glynna Kaye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up;
do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the
desert and streams in the wasteland.
—Isaiah 43:18–19
To my Aunt Betty, my “second mom,”
who is always in my corner and cheering me on—
and whose creativity, sense of humor, faith and
perseverance continue to inspire me.
Chapter One
Oh, man. Just his luck.
Sandi Bradshaw.
Keith’s widow.
Bryce Harding stared down at the dainty blonde with shiny, blunt-cut hair, her long-lashed gaze leveled on him. Dark blue eyes reflected the same dismay that slugged him in the stomach when she’d turned toward him. She recovered faster than he did, though. Planting fists on her curvaceous, jeans-clad hips, she gave him a wary-eyed once-over, taking in his T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops.
“How may I help you—Sergeant?”
He forced cheerful warmth into his words. “I didn’t know you worked here, Sandi.”
Had he known, he’d have steered clear of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse tonight. He liked to patronize locally owned businesses in his mountain-country hometown of Canyon Springs, Arizona. But a big-box store would have fit the bill just as well.
“I work here part-time when I’m not teaching school.” She folded her arms, expression still guarded. “May I help you find something?”
“I—” Why was he scrambling for words just like he did last winter when he approached her? He’d voiced his sympathy concerning her loss. That seemed appropriate considering he and Keith had been buddies since second grade. But it had been an awkward meeting. She’d pretty much looked at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. Kind of how she was doing now. She’d murmured ill-at-ease words of thanks and that was that.
He’d tried to convince himself at the time it was because he’d caught her off-guard. Maybe she hadn’t heard he’d gotten out of the army, had returned to town. But more likely, judging from the look on her face both then and now, her too-candid husband had spilled the beans. Told her about his best friend’s campaign to keep him from marrying the cute little fox he’d fallen combat helmet over steel-toed boots for.
Sometimes, Bradshaw…
“I—” He cleared his throat and scrubbed the knuckles of one hand along the jawline of his beard. “I’m looking for one of those patch kits. You know, that putty you fix walls with.”
“I’m afraid we don’t carry anything like that.” She sounded a little too pleased to share the news of a gap in the Warehouse’s extensive inventory. “You’ll need to go to the hardware store down the street.”
“Already did. He’s out of stock.”
A perky eyebrow lifted. “If you’ve exhausted the local merchants, I’d say you’re in for a drive to Pinetop-Lakeside’s Home Depot.”
She tilted her head, dipped her chin slightly and looked up at him—a mannerism that made his breath catch. A subtle bit of appealing body language that the way-too-smitten Keith had described to him in detail. More than once. Funny how he’d articulated it so well it seemed almost familiar now, not the mannerism of a stranger.
Pulling himself back to the conversation, he cleared his throat again. “Think I’ll try the discount store first.”
“You do that.”
“I intend to.”
He didn’t need her approval to go to the discount store. To drive to Home Depot. To do anything. It appeared she’d changed little in the nine years since she’d first caught Keith’s eye with that “Dear Soldier” letter of hers. Or since he himself had issued his buddy a disregarded warning. Keith laughed him off, but she was still a bit too pushy for his own tastes.
“Is there anything else you need?”
Obviously she wanted to get rid of him, but he wasn’t going to let her shoo him out the door. Free country and all that.
“My grandma could use some…aspirin.”
Though she had a medicine cabinet full of it.
Sandi’s resolute expression transformed to one of concern. “Mae isn’t feeling well?”
That’s right, she knew his Grandma Harding. Grandma Mae he called her. “Arthritis is acting up.”
She took an unexpected step forward, but his body blocked her and she pinned him with a pointed look. Guess she wanted him to get out of her way. After a moment’s hesitation, he obediently stepped aside, the wooden floor creaking under his weight, but he caught the sweet scent of her as she maneuvered around him. Vanilla. Like Grandma Mae used in her chocolate chip cookies.
She motioned for him to accompany her as she headed down a store aisle. Past the souvenir items, sweatshirts and backpacks he followed along, determined not to let the alluring sway of her hips distract him.
After all, he was New Bryce now.
She was Keith’s wife.
And not his type by a long shot.
She halted in front of a shelf and bent to snag an aspirin box. Placed it in his open palm. “This is what you want. Easier on the stomach, apparently.”
He stared down at the box, then back at her. “You a nurse now or something?”
“No, but Sharon Dixon, who owns this store, is on an aspirin regimen for her heart. I’ve heard her talk about the benefits of this type.” She pointed at the pain remedy. “Try this one.”
“Does it come in a larger size?”
She took the box from his hand, her soft, slight one brushing his own, igniting his palm with a sensitivity he didn’t know it possessed. Involuntarily his hand fisted, but a moment later she pried open his fingers to fill it with a supersize variety of the same aspirin brand.
“Anything else Mae could use? A heating pad, maybe? I’ve heard that sometimes helps.”
He studied the cardboard container, then looked at her again. She sounded sincere enough. Helpful. Concerned about his grandma. Maybe this was the side of her she’d let Keith glimpse. Softening her—how should he put it?—uncompromising inclinations.
“I think this will do. Thanks.”
“Very good.” Her tone reverted to the impersonal, as if she’d again realized to whom she’d been talking—chatting with the man who’d done his best to save his buddy from a lifetime of regret. She headed back down the aisle. “I can check you out up at the front.”
He followed her to the polished wooden counter and set the box down, then fished in a back pocket for his wallet. Pulled out a twenty, then broached a touchy subject. “I guess the museum will be open Memorial Day?”
With Sandi being the president of the local historical society, he’d had to call her several weeks ago. Had to notify her of upcoming changes to the agreement on the space his grandma leased to the Canyon Springs Historical Museum. It hadn’t gone over well.
She gave him a probing glance as she rang up his purchase. “Is there a problem with the museum being open?”
“No. Just wondering what to expect.”
“If you hadn’t moved into the apartment above it with your grandma, you wouldn’t be bothered by the historical society’s comings and goings.”
Grandma said Sandi had devoted herself to the museum since Keith’s death, but who was she to judge if he should or shouldn’t move in with his grandma? Grandma Mae was his first and only concern, and if her ability to remain relatively independent depended on having him close by, well so be it.
“Didn’t say I was bothered. Just need to know what the plans are so I can keep my grandmother informed. After all, it is her home.”
“I haven’t forgotten that.” Sandi’s gaze sharpened as she handed him his change. His heart rate ramped up a notch, anticipating her fingers would again brush his, but she carefully placed the bills and coins into his palm without contact. “But it may have slipped your mind, Sergeant, that while you were dashing around the world on yet another tour of duty, the rest of us were right here making sure her needs were met.”
No, maybe he hadn’t been here, but nobody else managed to keep Grandma from falling down the back stairs, either. Or keep her from breaking her ankle, a wrist and a few ribs. He counted slowly to ten, determined not to let Keith’s wife push his buttons. Grandma Mae always said the unspoken words you are master of, the spoken words are master of you.
Not that he’d always listened.
“That’s something I’m well aware of, thank you, and for which I’m grateful.”
“Then please make an effort to remember that—” her words came softly enough, but he didn’t miss the underlying edge “—the next time you think about raising the rent on the historical museum and send us scrambling to make up the difference. That’s why we’re keeping it open on a holiday.”
It was clear she thought the increase was nothing more than fun money for him. No doubt her husband had filled her in on the off-duty lifestyle of Old Bryce. Probably didn’t know there was a New Bryce now. He hadn’t exactly announced it to the town. She didn’t know, either, that his volunteer work and part-time jobs were just biding time until the hiring freeze ended and that promised firefighter position opened up. Well, he wasn’t going to explain his reasoning for the rent increase to her. It was nobody’s business but his and Grandma Mae’s.
Sandi tilted her head, her expressive eyes questioning, still waiting for a response to her pointed remark. But this time that cute little mannerism didn’t stir him. Much. He shifted the gear of his tone into neutral and held up the aspirin box. “I’ll keep your recommendation in mind. And thanks for your help.”
He turned away and headed to the door, conscious of her annoyed stare piercing into his back.
A shame such a pretty little gal had a mile-wide unyielding streak. Nobody would ever guess looking at her—at the full, soft mouth, eyes the color of a twilight sky, the winsome little mannerisms.
A mighty big shame.
And he could see right now this museum business was going to put him in front of the firing line of her prickly disposition. Especially when she found out the museum’s days were numbered.
But he’d keep that to himself for now.
“I have no intention of getting married again. Ever. And certainly not to him. So you can get that notion right out of your head, Devon.” Sandi Bradshaw laughed at the look of dismay her words elicited from her pretty, matchmaking sister-in-law.
But at the mention of Bryce Harding’s name her mind’s eye had flashed to the big, dark-haired man with a neatly clipped beard and mustache who’d stood before her at the Warehouse last night. Twinkling brown eyes. Broad-shouldered and built like a bulldozer. If it weren’t for the baggy cargo shorts, flip-flops and untucked black T-shirt emblazoned with No Regrets, she’d have thought he’d just stepped off the playing field of a Scottish highlands festival game.
But in the same instant she’d turned to him, his dark eyes had sobered with recognition and her own erratically pounding heart confirmed him as the man who’d come way too close to convincing her husband not to marry her.
“See?” Sandi’s mother-in-law, LeAnne Bradshaw, shook back her stylishly cut, salt-and-pepper hair. She cast a knowing look at her daughter, Devon, across the glass-topped table of a Canyon Springs outdoor café—one of the many eateries and business establishments open only from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day. “I told you Sandi and I are two of a kind. Each of us blessed beyond measure to have married the man of our dreams and no one else could ever replace either of them.”
“I’m not saying anyone could replace Keith.” Her expression still troubled as she eyed Sandi, Devon sliced off a bite of homemade apple pie. “But don’t you remember, Sandi, how the two of you always laughed about wanting a house full of kids? Gina’s already six years old. Don’t you want any more children? Don’t you ever get lonely?”
Remorse bayoneted Sandi’s heart, her memory flashing to the last words she’d spoken to her husband. But she nevertheless rallied the same bright smile she determinedly affixed each morning. Tucking a strand of her chin-length hair behind an ear, she managed another little laugh. “I guess—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Devon, stop nagging the poor girl.” LeAnne shot a withering look at her daughter. “When would she have time to get lonely? Teaching at the high school nine months out of the year. Church activities. And have you seen that ‘to do’ list of hers? Then there’s Gina. She’s more than a full-time handful.”
“Well, all I can say—” Devon fixed Sandi with a playful look “—is if she’s not fast on her feet, Sergeant First Class Bryce Harding will be off the market in no time. I haven’t been in town but a few hours and I’m already hearing he’s the hottest item on this summer’s menu.”
Sandi’s mind again rushed to the man who, prior to that first encounter last winter, she’d seen only in photographs. A man who’d had the nerve on that snowy day to stop her on the street, introduce himself and express his long-overdue condolences. She’d no idea he’d come back to town. Was so shocked at his unexpected introduction that she hadn’t handled their meeting well.
At all.
Hadn’t done so hot last night, either.
It had been no easy feat avoiding him since that first ill-fated encounter months ago. Not only did he escort his grandma to church on Sundays—looking as uncomfortable there as might be expected, given his lifestyle—but now he lived above the Canyon Springs Historical Museum. Right above her home away from home since Keith’s untimely death five years ago.
With considerable effort, she directed a wink at her husband’s little sister. “Help yourself to him, Dev. You’ll have no competition from me.”
No chance of that. Not in a million years.
With a sassy grin, Devon brushed a hand through her dark, shoulder-length hair and struck an alluring pose. “Maybe I will.”
“Don’t even think it.” LeAnne tapped a well-manicured fingernail on the tabletop, a habit that set Sandi’s teeth on edge. Click. Click. Click. “You girls know how I feel about that man. Not someone I’d want either of you getting involved with. I don’t care if he was Keith’s friend.”
Devon made a face. “Oh, Mom.”
“He was obstinate and uncooperative as a kid and I doubt that’s changed. A bad influence on Keith from the beginning. And his questionable reputation continues to precede him.” LeAnne glanced around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Besides, it’s no secret his mother never married his father.”
Sandi’s sister-in-law smirked. “Like that’s his fault?”
“He’s too old for you, Devon.” Click. Click. Click.
“He’s Keith’s age.”
“Thirty-three to your twenty-three.”
“I can do the math, Mom.”
LeAnne turned to Sandi, putting a halt to her daughter’s impertinence. “I suppose you’ll be working the holiday weekend. But is it a good idea for Gina to spend so much time with that Diaz boy? All that tree climbing and rough-housing and—”
“Come on, Mom,” her daughter cut in. “Now look who’s nagging.”
“I’m not nagging. I’m concerned.”
“About what?” Devon wadded her napkin and tossed it on the table. “That the kid might be having fun?”
Sandi glanced at her watch and rose. Time to make her exit before these two got into it full-scale as they’d been known to do. She forced a lighthearted lilt into her voice. “Thank you for treating me to a birthday dinner. And on one of the nicest days weather-wise we’ve had this year. It’s been fun.”
She loved them both to pieces, but there was only so much Bradshaw fun she could take at a time.
“You’re leaving already?” Devon wouldn’t relish lingering alone with her mother.
As she’d done most of her married life, the now-widowed elder Bradshaw retreated to the family’s mountain home each year to escape the ovenlike temps of Phoenix—the Valley of the Sun. Devon, on the other hand, popped in on occasional weekends and only for as long as she and her mother could tolerate each other. It looked as if this might be an ultrashort weekend.
Sandi pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’m filling in at the Warehouse a few hours this week. Kara Dixon’s juggling the family business, working part-time with an affordable housing group and helping her fiancé at his High Country Equine Center. Grand opening’s Memorial Day. Since Gina went to swimming lessons with a friend last evening and is at a sleepover tonight, I don’t mind.”
LeAnne sighed. “Is it necessary that you work at all in the summer, Sandi? Keith’s daughter is at an age where she’ll need a firm, guiding hand when school lets out next week.”
Keith’s daughter. She always threw that in there when she wanted to emphasize her daughter-in-law’s mothering inadequacies.
She gave LeAnne a smile intended to reassure, not challenge, but explaining about the necessity for the job would ruin the surprise. Besides, it was already her intention to spend more time with Gina in the coming months. “I’ll only be working part-time—afternoons several days a week—and Meg Diaz is as good of a mother stand-in as I could ever hope to find. Her stepson, Davy, is a wonderful little playmate for Gina, too.”
“I’m not being critical, darling, it’s just that—”
“Mom.” Devon’s voice again sliced into the conversation and the pair sat glaring at each other.
Definitely time to go.
Sandi bent to give each a speedy hug. They said their goodbyes with promises to get together soon, and with a sense of relief she headed down the street, drinking in the signature scent of Canyon Springs’s ponderosa pine.
Although she and Keith’s mother had settled into a fairly comfortable peace after his death, it was no secret her mother-in-law hadn’t started out as her greatest fan. From the day Corporal Keith Bradshaw brought his bride home to meet the family, she hadn’t pretended approval of the match.
After all, Sandi not only didn’t hail from the country-club crowd, but had put herself through a less-than-prestigious Midwestern college on scholarships, student loans and minimum-wage jobs. To add to her unsuitable pedigree, her “introduction” to Keith came via a letter written in support of the troops while he was stationed in Iraq.
Not at all what Mommy envisioned for her youngest son.
As much as Sandi disliked the association, she and Bryce Harding had one thing in common: LeAnne Bradshaw’s disdain of their dubious influence on her beloved baby boy. But in Bryce’s case, her mother-in-law’s perceptions were right on target.
A niggling unease swam up through the murky darkness of Sandi’s subconscious. The same apprehension that assaulted her when she’d run into Bryce last winter. And again last night.
How much had her husband shared with him about their relationship? About her? About the quarrel that had haunted her for too many long, lonely nights in the wake of Keith’s death?
And did she really want to know?
Chapter Two
“You’re not real talkative tonight.” Grandma Mae, her silver-gray hair tightly wrapped in pink plastic curlers, sat at the kitchen table across from him peeling potatoes into a pan nestled on her lap. Gnarled fingers clasped the handheld peeler Bryce had bought for her so she’d be less likely to cut herself with a knife. She wouldn’t let him help with the chore. Said she had to keep her arthritic hands as limber as she could for as long as she could, and working with them was better than any medication she’d yet found.
She gave him a knowing look. “In fact, you’re even less talkative than usual.”
Bryce grunted as he turned to gaze out the window over the sink where the last dregs of sunlight filtered through the pine branches. God had been poking at him since yesterday. About Keith’s wife. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Saying he was being too hard on her. Needed to tell her about his plans for the museum, too. He’d seldom had to deal with that kind of prodding much B.J. Before Jesus. Keith would have said that was because he’d been like a kid with his eyes closed and his hands over his ears yelling la la la la la.
Sure was a lot of stuff he wished he could talk to Keith about now. Spiritual stuff. Women.
But it was too late.
He turned back to the woman who’d raised him, who knew him better than anybody else did. “Nothing much to say, I guess.”
She fixed him with a scrutinizing eye. “Are you regretting coming back here?”
“No.”
“Awfully small town for such a big man.” She set the pan on the table, pushed both it and a cutting board toward him to indicate he could do the slicing. Then she grasped the arm of the chair as she attempted to pull herself to her feet. Bryce was halfway out of his own chair to assist her, but she waved him off and accomplished it on her own. Shuffled to the sink, still favoring that ankle she’d broken late last fall. “Not a whole lot exciting going on around here for someone who’s lived off an adrenaline rush for fifteen years.”
“Overrated.” He placed a potato on the cutting board and reached for a wooden-handled knife. He’d had enough of that kind of excitement to last him a good long while. Iraq. Afghanistan. Bad enough he dreamed about it. Woke up in a cold sweat.
In comparison, firefighting in a tiny town would seem like child’s play. Not that he’d mention that to the fire chief who’d promised to back his application. But nobody in Canyon Springs—you’d hope anyway—would be waiting in ambush when you raced in to put out a fire.
Grandma turned on the faucet. “Don’t imagine there’s much around here in the way of young single women, either.”
Sandi Bradshaw’s wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. He took aim with the knife and gave the potato a whack. A chunk flew into the air and landed on the worn linoleum floor. He bent to pick it up. “That’s overrated, too.”
She snorted, and he couldn’t suppress a grin.
He’d never confided to her the details of his life in the military, but undoubtedly she’d filled in the blanks on her own, wise woman that she was. No point in denying it. He’d sowed his share of wild oats.
And then some.
Wasn’t proud of it. But what was done was done and now in the past.
He changed the subject. “Do you want to go to the Memorial Day parade on Monday? I’d be happy to take you.”
He didn’t much care for parades himself, but he’d dress like a clown and stand on his head in the middle of it if that would make Grandma Mae happy.
“I’d like that.”
“Then it’s a plan. So, Gran, what’d you do today?” He sliced another potato—with less gusto this time.
“Peggy came by and set my hair.” She patted her curlers. “Then I watched a little TV. Did some reading.”
He had reading to do, too, if what was in the box sitting on his bed was what he thought it was. Grandma had been at him to join the men’s summer group at Canyon Springs Christian Church. But he’d taken one look at the syllabi posted in the fellowship hall a few Sundays ago and decided it wasn’t for him.
Not that he couldn’t use some help in the God department, but a big chunk of it focused on how to be the head of a household. A husband. A parent. He’d feel out of place among all those married guys. Dads. Grandpas. He didn’t put much stock in what others thought about him, good or bad. But this was different. He’d look downright silly to them. Green as grass.
It was stuff he needed to know, though, if he was going to be the kind of man he should have become a long time ago. All the stuff Keith kept telling him—and he hadn’t listened. Blew him off. But going to the men’s study would be like a rookie recruit marching out with a bunch of battle-hardened, heavily equipped veterans—without guns and gear. In skivvies even.
There was nothing to stop him, though, from ordering online the CDs and workbook they were using. So that’s what he’d done. Ordered a volume on Arizona history, too, just in case Grandma asked what was in the box.
Yeah, he had a lot of catching up to do. But he didn’t want to think about why, since his encounter with Sandi yesterday, that it seemed more urgent than before.
Sandi would give just about anything not to have to make this call.
But all too often doing the dirty work was synonymous to her role as the president of the historical society. Right now calling Bryce Harding fell into that category. Why’d the electricity have to go out tonight? Just when she’d slipped in to catch up on work? But with the museum set to be open Saturday and Monday, she didn’t dare hope the situation would resolve itself. Since Mae’s grandson seemed to be sticking his nose in museum business now, she’d let him deal with it.
She speed-dialed Mae’s number on her cell phone. Had the power gone out upstairs, too? She glanced around the darkened room of the old stone house which sat a block off Main Street, surrounded by trees. At nine o’clock and with leafed-out bushes and bristly pines snuggled in close, hardly any light came in from the street. She gave an involuntary shudder.
It was creepy here at night.
In the dark.
Alone.
“Hello?”
Startled when the phone picked up on the first ring and a familiar masculine voice responded, she steadied herself by launching in with her most businesslike tone. “This is Sandi Bradshaw. I’m downstairs at the museum. The power is out, although it looks like the neighbors still have lights. Do you?”
“Yeah. You probably blew a fuse down there.”
She waited expectantly, but he didn’t offer a solution.
“Is that something you can do something about? I have work to do here tonight and the museum will be open tomorrow.”
He paused as if debating her request, then it seemed he’d covered the mouthpiece with his hand for she could hear indistinguishable words in his rumbling voice. Probably consulting with Mae. When he returned he seemed to speak with reluctance. “Grandma has extra fuses. Hang on.”
The phone went dead.
She crammed it back into her purse. No wonder he’d long infuriated LeAnne, why she was so adamant about daughter and daughter-in-law giving him wide berth. How had her charming husband gotten along so well with him since childhood? She had no choice, though, but to wait for Bryce to ride to the rescue.
When at last she heard him on the porch at the rear of the house, she stubbed a sandaled toe on a chair as she made her way through the outdated kitchen that the historical society still used on occasion. By the time she got to the door, he’d already used his key and let himself in.
He had a flashlight, one of those sturdy man-type ones that could sit on the floor and direct a beam with a tilt-type head. It illuminated the room, throwing a massive shadow of his broad-shouldered body to the wall behind him.
“Thanks for coming.”
He nodded, then moved past her. Shining the light around the room, he flipped a wall switch. The room remained dark.
She refrained from a smug I-told-you-so.
He wordlessly glanced in her direction as if reading her mind, then maneuvered around the table and headed to the front of the house. She followed, relieved to have another human being in the darkened building even if that person had to be Bryce. Didn’t hurt either that he looked as if he could take on anything that might spring out of the shadows at them.
He halted and turned, looking surprised to see her tailgating so closely. “What are you working on that can’t wait until tomorrow?”
Meaning, why did he have to get out of his cushy recliner and surrender the TV remote to Grandma so he could do this right this very minute?
“I’m inventorying a donation of photographs that came in this week. Early days of Canyon Springs. Perfect timing since my daughter is celebrating a birthday with friends tonight.”
His brow wrinkled. “But it’s not her birthday, right? That’s in April.”
He remembered that?
“Right.”
He nodded at her confirmation and moved into the main room of the museum. Flipped another switch.
Got a clue now, Sergeant?
Maneuvering around her, he headed back through the kitchen to an adjacent room that once served as a pantry. Now it housed a hodgepodge of boxes containing the town’s memorabilia and office supplies. She stood in the doorway, acutely aware of the diminutive dimensions of the space as he set the flashlight on a shelf. Then with a long-suffering look in her direction, Bryce lifted down from the wall a gingham-decorated bulletin board to reveal a metal panel. Fuse box. What did he expect? She couldn’t leave that ugly gray thing protruding like that.
She returned to the front room to allow him to do whatever he needed to do in peace. Rummaging through her purse with a lighted key chain, she found the red, spiral notebook that contained her checklist. Perfect. If he intended to raise the rent, she may as well negotiate more bang for the buck.
A few minutes later, blinding light flooded the room from the overhead fixture. While her eyes were still adjusting to the abrupt contrast, he joined her.
“Wow. Thanks. You’re a pretty handy guy to have around.”
Now why’d she say something stupid like that? Sounded almost like flirting. She didn’t flirt. Hadn’t since Keith. Wasn’t going to start now.
Bryce gave her an assessing look. “It appears you’re back in business.”
“So it was a blown fuse? What would cause that? I didn’t have a bunch of appliances on at the same time.”
He shrugged. “No telling. Maybe a power surge. Decrepit fuse.”
“Well, thanks. And while you’re here—” She flipped through the pages of her pocket-size notebook. “Would you mind taking a look at a few other maintenance-related things?”
From the pained expression that clouded his eyes, it looked as though his TV remote must be calling his name.
“They wouldn’t have to be done right this minute,” she hurried on. “But if I could point them out now, then you could take care of them later. Not as in a hundred years from now, but later.”
“Like what?”
She ran her finger down the list. “The toilet runs excessively. Wastes water. We have to remember to jiggle the handle to get it to stop. Wasps built a nest on the porch, above the front door. Not good. And the outlet in the kitchen where we plug in the coffeemaker is dead.”
She motioned him to follow her to the front room where she demonstrated a creaking floorboard. “Obnoxious, isn’t it? And there’s a crack in the window of the bedroom we use for storage, the miniblinds on the front window are stuck half-opened and the dead bolt on the back door is almost impossible to latch.”
“That all?”
“Oh, and the kitchen faucet drips.” She glanced again at her list. “Several other things, but they can wait.”
“Who took care of this stuff for you this time last year?”
“What?”
“Who did your maintenance work before I came back to town?”
“Well, I have the past few years.” She stuffed the notebook back in her purse. “Or at least I’ve done what I could or hired someone to do it.”
He raised a brow, his expression mildly amused as he studied her. “And now suddenly—?”
Her face warmed. Was he intimating that she’d abdicated her responsibilities so she could coerce him into spending time with her?
“You’re raising the rent. It seems only right that more property upkeep should be included. With every passing year more things go wrong, more expensive things. Like the window air-conditioning unit last summer. Tearing out and upgrading the sidewalk so no one would trip and sue us. Roof repair. Replacing the furnace which also, incidentally, heats the upstairs.”
He looked round the room, all evidence of previous amusement vanished. “Maybe it’s time the society found a more adequate facility. This is an old house. Old plumbing, old wiring, old roof. Maintenance comes with the territory.”
“I understand that.” How dare he suggest they vacate the premises because she was asking for reasonable accommodation? “But I also understand from Meg and Kara who worked with you on the parsonage remodel that you’re quite capable at that type of repair work. You could do it at a fraction of the cost it would be for us to hire someone.”
He was silent a long moment, as if weighing the value of her requests. Was he thinking he owed her husband to help out his widow? Or that as luck would have it, a premature passing had saved his buddy a lifetime of heartache? She hated not knowing how much he knew about her and Keith.
At long last he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He was agreeing? Without further argument? If he was in such a willing mood, maybe she should have read the whole list to him. Who knew when there might be another opportunity like this?
“Thank you,” she managed, deflated that the need to defend the historical society’s rights had evaporated so easily.
“You’re welcome.” He took a few steps toward the kitchen, then paused to look at the crowded display cases and antique furniture. At the framed photographs, maps and documents lining the walls. Then he did an appraising once-over of her. A look that left her, of all the ridiculous things, wishing she’d combed her hair before leaving the Warehouse. Applied a little lipstick.
What was her problem tonight?
“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He gave the room another sweeping glance, then focused dark, considering eyes on her. “But you need to get a life.”
What?
She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“I told you not to take it wrong.”
“And how could I take a comment like that right?”
He shrugged and moved again toward the kitchen with her hot on his heels. “Don’t you think common courtesy demands you elaborate after saying something as judgmental as that?”
He halted in the arched doorway between the two rooms and again turned, his gaze solemn. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“Now I’m a mind reader?”
He waved a hand, indicating the museum as a whole. “Grandma says you and Gina have practically lived at this place. I know I see your car here frequently.”
“So?”
“So, do you think Keith would have wanted you to seal yourself up in this tomb? Digging through musty old stuff that belonged to dead people?”
With a gasp, her gaze flew to the photograph of her husband on the wall, his medals in the frame beside it. Hands on her hips, she stepped to within inches of Bryce. “I happen to appreciate history—and love some of those dead people.”
He didn’t so much as flinch. Just stared down into her eyes, some elusive emotion she couldn’t pinpoint flickering through his own.
Mesmerized, her heart rate quickened. She shouldn’t have moved in so close. To where she could feel the heat emanating from him. See the rising and falling of his chest. The pulse at his throat. Smell a faint, shower-fresh masculine scent.
With an abrupt movement, he broke eye contact and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t referring to Keith. My apologies.”
Then he swung around and headed to the back door.
For a moment she almost followed him. Almost let him have a piece of her mind. But what good would that do? His poking his nose into her business had started when she’d first met Keith—and it didn’t appear to have let up. Chasing after him now would only hand him another opportunity to voice judgment on her personal life.
A place where his observations weren’t welcome.
Chapter Three
“That man infuriates me, Meg. He’s just so, so—”
“Buff?” Her high school teaching colleague laughed as she refilled their glasses with icy, homemade lemonade. Sandi had stopped by after work late Saturday afternoon to pick up Gina.
Memory rushed against her will to the imposing, well-built man. Solid as a rock. “Very funny. I’m thinking more along the lines of mulish and interfering.”
“Are you kidding me?” Meg’s eyes widened as she placed the pitcher on the kitchen table and sat down across from her. “Are we talking about the same man? The Bryce Harding I know is a big lovable, huggable bear of a guy.”
“How would you feel about your Mr. Buff if he’d tried to stop your husband from marrying you? He had it in his head I was going to ruin Keith’s life. Even emailed him from overseas on our wedding day. Can you believe it? Keith showed it to me at the reception. Thought it was funny.”
“What did it say?”
“Last chance, bud. Bus departs at two.”
Meg let out a gleeful yelp, then clapped her hand momentarily to her mouth. “Sorry. But Sandi, that’s no big deal. That’s how guys talk to each other. They can’t express their feelings well. Half the time they can’t even identify for themselves what they’re feeling. That was just Bryce’s way of saying ‘hey, dude, gonna miss ya.’”
“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.”
“Hey, don’t you remember?” Meg’s eyes continued to dance. “At my wedding reception, right before we cut the cake, one of Joe’s old navy buddies snuck up and clamped a fake ball and chain around my hubby’s ankle. That’s just guys.”
“I remember. But this is different. Way different.”
“You’re blowing a joke out of proportion, Sandi. Seriously. Bryce is one of the good guys.”
“You wouldn’t think that if you knew about him what I know about him.”
“Maybe the man you knew has changed. Joe said Bryce quit going to church with his grandma when he was in high school. But he goes now. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
She couldn’t tell Meg how Keith had worried about Bryce. About his wild ways. His hard drinking and hard partying. His superficial relationships with women. Keith had done his best to influence Bryce, to convince him he wasn’t really living unless he was living for God. But Bryce the Bullheaded carried on in the direction he was determined to go—and good-naturedly badgered Keith to join him on his journey.
“As the old saying goes, Meg, sitting in a garage doesn’t make you a car.”
“It’s a start.”
“Maybe.” Guilt nibbled around the edges of her conscience. She’d been kind of snippy with him at the Warehouse and again at the museum last night. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t how Keith—or God—would want her treating him. “Because of his interference, Keith delayed proposing. We could have been married who knows how much earlier if Bryce hadn’t poked his nose in where it didn’t belong. That’s time Keith and I’ll never get back.”
Time that maybe she could have grown up more. Done things differently.
“But if you’d have married earlier,” Meg said, her gaze steady, “even if you got pregnant right away like you did with Gina, your baby wouldn’t have been Gina.”
“I know.” Sandi toyed with the ribbon on a basket of spa-type goodies that Meg had given her for her birthday. “And I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”
She glanced out the open French doors to the patio, where Meg had several flats of petunias awaiting transplant. Could smell the sweet fragrance. Hear the laughter of their precious children coming from somewhere under the long-shadowed pines.
“But can’t you see why I’m not thrilled about Bryce’s homecoming?” She poked at an ice cube with the tip of her finger. “I hear he’s doing odd jobs. Not what I’d call earning-a-living work. Moved in with his grandma—like she needs him to deal with. And now he’s announced the historical museum rent will go up when the lease renews.”
Meg cringed. “You’re on a tight budget, aren’t you?”
“Even with measly city assistance we’re barely hanging on, what with the drop in seasonal visitors. And of course Bryce raises the rent right when I’ve almost saved enough money to donate a display case. Right when I’m prepared to approach the board about expanding our miniscule armed services exhibit to a room of its own. But unless summer revenues rebound or we can drum up more local support, that won’t happen anytime soon—thanks to Sergeant Harding.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Mae could need the money.”
“More likely he does.” Wine, women and song didn’t come cheap.
Meg sipped at her lemonade, struggling to suppress a smile.
“What?”
“Oh, I just seem to recall that less than a year ago I, too, met a certain single someone over a bottle of aspirin at Dix’s Woodland Warehouse.” She waved a hand around the kitchen of their newlywed home. “And look where I am today.” Sandi wagged a warning finger. “Don’t even—” “Mommy! Mommy!” two giggling, childish voices yelled in unison. The screen door off the laundry room slammed behind them, then her almost-first-grade daughter and classmate pal Davy Diaz charged into the kitchen. Davy threw himself into his mother’s open arms just as Gina did likewise with her own mom. Hugs all around.
“Oh, my goodness.” Meg brushed back her stepson’s black hair to reveal a smudged forehead that matched his grimy cheeks. “How’d you two get so dirty?”
“We’re building Gilligan’s Island,” Davy managed to get out, still attempting to catch his breath. “On that big pile of dirt Daddy dumped back there. I’m Gilligan and Gina’s Skipper.”
“Can you believe it, Meg? Gilligan’s Island fans. Third generation. Thank goodness for DVDs.” Sandi allowed Gina to climb onto her lap. Then, slipping her arms around her daughter’s waist, she smiled down at the pigtailed tomboy who, except for the blond hair and freckles, looked so much like her daddy. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Gina’s shoulders slumped. “I like being dirty.” “I know you do. But tomorrow’s a church day.” Gina pointed at her playmate. “You goin’, Davy?” He nodded his head in exaggerated agreement. “Yup.” Sandi gathered up their things, then Meg and Davy escorted them to their car.
“Thanks for agreeing to take care of Gina a few afternoons a week this summer, Meg. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate knowing she’ll have a safe and happy place to go. The afterschool babysitter this year has been cranky and impatient. Not good with kids at all.”
“You know I’m more than happy to have her here. She and Davy get along so well. Seldom fight.”
“Thank goodness.” She turned to the driver’s door, but Meg’s hand stayed her, eyes troubled.
“I know I don’t know everything there is to know about him like you do, Sandi, but I think you’re wrong about Bryce.”
“Don’t I wish.” She gave her friend a halfhearted smile.
But she wouldn’t hold her breath.
“Hey, big fella.”
Bryce felt a nudge and looked up from the Warehouse shelves where, crouched and arms full, he’d been gathering items for museum-repair jobs.
“Hey, Kara.” He rose to his feet, taking in the tall, pony-tailed woman beside him, her red-blond hair shimmering down her back. “How are things in your world?”
“Good. Grand opening of the equine center’s almost here. Thanks for giving Trey a hand.” She motioned to the merchandise cradled in his arms. “How about you? Looks like you’re planning serious home repair.”
“Not quite, but close. Canyon Springs Historical Museum.”
Kara laughed. A laugh he well remembered from when she’d helped him when he’d filled in for another guy on the parsonage remodel last winter. A Canyon Springs hometown girl who’d spent time as a Chicago interior designer, she’d been a much-needed ally at making the place female friendly without going overboard on foo-foo stuff as some of the church ladies had pushed for.
“Didn’t take long for Sandi to put you to work, did it?” Kara folded her arms, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m told that ‘to do’ list of hers keeps half this town hopping.”
“So I’m not its only victim?”
“No, but from looking at what you have there, I’m guessing you got more than your fair share.”
“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head, not quite understanding how he let her push the projects off on him. He should have stood his ground. Backed her down when she started in with that “it seems only right” stuff. Not let her manipulate him the way she’d done poor old Keith.
She’d made it no secret back then that she wanted her husband out of the service—and out of Canyon Springs. Grandma said she still lived in that house trailer Keith bought at the end of his third year in the service, back when he dreamed of spending hard-earned leave time in the mountains fishing from dawn until dusk. Bryce always figured Keith’s bride would vacate right after his buddy was settled six feet under.
So what was she still doing here?
Kara glanced toward the Warehouse entrance, her smile widening. “Looks like someone’s checking up on you, Sergeant.”
He followed her gaze to the door, where Sandi had just entered, looking mighty pretty in a pair of below-the-knee shorts and blue knit top. Proceeding to the back of the store, she didn’t look his way. Hadn’t seen him. He could sneak out. Come back later. He couldn’t let her think she had only to snap her fingers and he’d come running. He should have put the supply trip off a few days. Weeks. Made her wait.
“Would you mind holding this stuff for me up front, Kara?”
“Be happy to.”
He walked with her to the checkout counter, where she had him place his items off to the side. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Almost to the door he halted. He’d likely see Sandi at church tomorrow, wouldn’t he? Did he want her dogging him about the repairs in front of other people? Maybe he should let her know he was on top of things. Didn’t need a drill sergeant to keep tabs on him. Remind her he was his own boss, set his own time lines.
He headed toward the back of the store with determined steps. Rounding the corner in front of a towering paper towel display, he almost collided with Sandi. In one arm she cradled two cereal boxes, a bag of bagels and a loaf of bread. Her other hand clutched a gallon milk jug.
Startled, she stepped back, directing a frown at him.
“Sorry, Sandi. Let me help you with that.”
With some reluctance—or so it seemed to him—she relinquished the armload. She was probably still mad that he’d told her she needed to get a life. It was the truth, but maybe he shouldn’t have been so brusque. Then again, if she could be bossy, why couldn’t he be blunt?
“Thanks.” She gripped the milk jug tightly, an uncertain gaze flitting to his.
He gave the grocery items a once-over. “Looks like breakfast.”
She ran a hand through her silky hair. “It dawned on me as Gina and I were heading home that I didn’t have a single breakfast item in the house.”
He glanced around but didn’t see the kid.
“She’s outside talking to a friend,” Sandi said, correctly interpreting the question in his eyes. She snagged a jar of peanut butter off a nearby shelf. “So are you still looking for a patch kit?”
“Actually—” Should he grab a bottle of orange juice and a carton of eggs to camouflage his intent? Naw. “I’m picking up stuff for museum repairs. Hitting the hardware store next.”
Although filled with disbelief, her eyes brightened. “Wow. Thank you. I didn’t expect you’d get to it quite this fast.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, no. Not at all. Marking things off my checklist is never a problem.”
“I’m booked for the rest of the weekend assisting Trey at the equine center, so the repairs won’t happen overnight.”
“I understand. Totally.”
“Didn’t want your checklist waiting with bated breath—although I did take down the wasp’s nest first thing this morning.”
“You did?” Pleasure lit her face as she did that cute little head-tilt thing. Her smile sparkled with genuine appreciation.
Oh, man, she was looking up at him as if he was the king of the world. No wonder poor old Keith hadn’t stood a chance. When she wasn’t busy bossing you around, she was pumping up your ego until your shirt buttons popped off.
He grinned down at her, openly basking in the moment—just as he secretly had last night when she’d come mighty close to flirting with him a time or two. Told him he was a handy man to have around. But why was he lapping up her praise like some kind of parched desert critter? It wasn’t as if he’d never gotten attention from an attractive woman before.
Been plenty of those.
What made this any different?
He sobered, not sure he wanted an answer to that question. “Now you need to let me know if those wasps come back. They often try to rebuild a few times.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Just let me know.”
“All right.”
“Promise?”
She nodded again.
They stood looking at each other, just like last night when she’d marched up to him and demanded an explanation for his insensitive comment about musty rooms and dead people’s belongings.
Only this time she wasn’t mad at him.
But she would be if she knew what he was thinking. Old Bryce for sure. He cleared his throat and shifted the groceries in his arms. “Let me take this stuff up front for you.”
“Thanks. I need to get Gina home and fed.”
He followed her, resolutely keeping his gaze focused anywhere but on Sandi. Only a couple of days and he was already starting to think stupidly. Act stupidly. Probably had a goofy look on his face, too.
Just like the one Keith had.
But she was a woman no sane man would take more than a passing glance at if he had a mind of his own. Didn’t want to be ordered around like some wet-behind-the-ears army recruit for the rest of his life.
It looked as if he’d better do his museum repairs during closing hours—when Sandi was off the premises.
Chapter Four
“Mommy, tell me about the time Daddy took me to see the guinea pigs at the pet shop.”
Sandi pulled her thoughts from the latest encounter with Bryce Harding—he’d already taken down the wasp nest—and wrapped her dripping-wet daughter in a big fluffy towel.
“I’ll tell you about the guinea pigs while we eat supper, okay?”
Gina had been asking for daddy stories ever since they’d left Meg’s. Apparently Davy’s tales of all the things he and his father had done since Joe’s return from the navy last year had sparked her own need for a renewed connection to the man she didn’t remember. She’d already been told the guinea pig story on the way home, but now she demanded it again. When you were only a year old when your daddy died, there weren’t that many stories to choose from.
A heaviness settled into Sandi’s chest as she finished drying Gina and got her into her pajamas. It was still daylight, but with the fresh air and hard play it was evident Gina would be ready for bed soon after they ate. And sure enough, a small bowl of soup and half a sandwich later she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Tucked into bed at Bradshaws-in-the-Pines—as Keith had dubbed their house trailer in keeping with local custom—Gina was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
No more daddy stories tonight.
Busy days ahead, though, so tomorrow after church they’d both rest. Monday was Memorial Day and, except for her two-hour afternoon slot at the museum, she’d promised the whole day to Gina. Parade. Petting zoo. Face painting. The works.
Just as she pulled her daughter’s bedroom door closed, her cell phone rang and she hurried to the kitchen, where she’d left it on the counter.
“Hi, doll,” a warm female voice greeted her. “Happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks, Sharon.” Envisioning her friend Kara’s mother, owner of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, she flipped off the glaring overhead kitchen light then strolled into the shadowed living area of the open floor-planned space.
“How’d things go for your birthday dinner last night?”
“Pretty good. Devon was there, so that helped. Thanks for the prayers.” She sat down on the sofa and stretched out socked feet to rest on the coffee table. “It’s always hard when LeAnne first comes back for the summer, but after a few weeks it will be okay.”
“I know you’ve grown closer through the years.”
“I think the world of her. But I wish I wouldn’t always remember how she never wanted Keith to marry me in the first place. I still can’t seem to shake that.”
Nor could she shake off the certainty that her mother-in-law had been right. She hadn’t deserved Keith. Wasn’t worthy of him. But she’d never spoken aloud that conviction—and why she believed it—to anyone. Ever.
“Now stop that right now. It doesn’t matter what Keith’s mom did or didn’t want. What’s important is what Keith wanted. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.”
“Guess he did that all right, huh?” She gripped the phone tighter. “The remaining two years of it anyway.”
Had she only known Keith four years—and most of that long distance? And only been married to him barely two of those?
“Doll, am I going to have to come over there tonight and—”
“No, no.” Sandi laughed, picturing Sharon clomping into the room on her walker to pull her into a big bear hug and give her a good chewing out. “I’m not going to lower myself into a pity-party pit. I promise.”
“Good. Now get yourself into a bubble bath with a good book. The opening hurdle with your mother-in-law is behind you.”
But what about the hurdle that yet faced her with Bryce Harding back in town? She’d managed to avoid him until now, done her best to forget he even existed. But Thursday night’s inevitable encounter—and two subsequent ones—brought home that even though he hadn’t uttered a word about it, he still thought she’d been all wrong for Keith.
She hated his being right.
The two friends said their goodbyes, but when Sandi shut off the phone it immediately rang again. It was LeAnne Bradshaw. For a too-tempting moment she almost let it go to messaging.
“Sandi, I just found out the club is bringing in a San Francisco pianist for brunch tomorrow morning. I’ve heard he’s divine. You and Gina must join Devon and me.”
Must?
Golf, tennis, bridge and book-club chats filled her mother-in-law’s days behind the walls of the gated community where she resided three months out of the year. Nevertheless, Sandi long ago recognized Keith’s mom was lonely.
Like her.
If the pianist played early enough, maybe they could still get back in time for their morning’s commitments. “When will—”
“Ten o’clock. Nothing fancy. A sundress is fine.”
“Church starts at ten-thirty.” LeAnne must have forgotten.
“You go to church every week, don’t you?” Her mother-in-law sounded puzzled, as if not understanding her hesitation. “It’s not every day a concert pianist of Philemonn’s caliber comes to the high country. Gina needs to be exposed to some of the finer things that small towns don’t usually provide.”
“I know, but we—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer this time, Sandi. You need to treat yourself and Gina to something special every so often. I realize you didn’t have these opportunities growing up like Keith did. But he’d want that for you. For Gina.”
“Maybe we—” They could go to the early church service.
“Good. Then it’s settled. And while we’re lunching, let’s plan our Memorial Day visit to the cemetery.”
She took a steadying breath. “I went early this morning. To ok Gina.”
“You did?” The affront in LeAnne’s voice came through clearly—without me?
In the past they’d gone together. But for some reason Sandi couldn’t put into words, she’d needed to go alone this year. With her daughter.
“It just worked out better for me with my work schedule and museum obligations.”
“I see.” Unspoken words of hurt and reprimand hung in the air.
Although she couldn’t hear them over the phone, LeAnne’s well-manicured nails would certainly be clicking away, counting the seconds until Sandi came up with an alternative proposal. She didn’t want to go again. Summer hadn’t even started yet and time alone with Gina already seemed to be slipping away. But LeAnne was Keith’s mom, whom he’d loved dearly and worried about after his father’s death. Accompanying her to the cemetery was the least she could do, if for no other reason than the most glaring one—she owed it to Keith.
“Maybe we could go Sunday afternoon?” she offered, capitulating. “After the brunch?”
There was a long silence, as if LeAnne was deciding whether to accept the offer graciously or refuse and leave her daughter-in-law to repay her in some other way at a later time.
“I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. But you know it is a family time, a time to remember and honor Keith.”
Did she think Sandi didn’t remember Keith daily? Wasn’t doing her best to honor him?
When she didn’t respond, LeAnne continued. “So that’s what we’ll do. And tomorrow we’ll plan our Friday nights for the remainder of the summer, as well. Maybe a movie this week if we can find something suitable for Gina. Oops. Have to go. Another call coming through. See you tomorrow.”
Sandi shut off the phone and leaned back into the sofa. She sat in the fading twilight for a seemingly endless stretch of time, staring across the room to where she knew a framed photo of Keith rested on a built-in bookcase shelf. If only…
How many things she would change if only she could.
A few words. Spiteful, wounding words she couldn’t take back. Words that drew an immovable line in the sand. Words—born of fear for Keith’s safety and her own loneliness—that demanded that if he didn’t quit the military, didn’t come home immediately, she’d have no more children with him.
The flash of headlights from a vehicle traveling along the hard-packed gravel-and-dirt road momentarily illuminated the photograph. The proud smile and twinkling eyes of her husband seemed to focus on her as he cradled Gina on his lap.
Her first birthday.
Three months later he was gone.
And yesterday was her own birthday. Twelve months from now she’d hit the Big Three-Oh. If she lived the life expectancy of an average American woman, that left another fifty years.
Without Keith.
Alone.
Sandi sank deeper into the sofa as the car with the headlights passed by and the room returned to darkness.
“Move!”
Something shoved roughly against Bryce’s leg as the high school band down the street struck up the opening bars of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Almost caught him off-balance as he’d leaned over to speak to his grandma, seated in the wheelchair next to him.
What the—? He shifted, glancing down to see the ball-capped head of a kid pulling back to give him another hearty shove. He grabbed one of the hands. “Hey. Cut that out, kid.”
The child jerked free, head tilting up to look at him. Chin jutting and eyes flashing.
Bryce chuckled. A girl. And except for the affronted expression, she was the spittin’ image of her daddy. He turned to scan the faces around him, expecting to see her mother nearby. No sign of her. But he couldn’t be mistaken about this kid’s identity. The resemblance to her father was striking, and he’d caught occasional glimpses of her at church, too.
He squatted to eye level. “What’s the problem here?”
“I can’t see.” She pushed back the oversize ball cap—desert camouflage with an army insignia—and put her hands on her hips in a gesture that reminded him of her mom. “You’re too big. You hafta move.”
If he hadn’t any other clue as to her maternal parentage, that sealed the deal. Only another Bradshaw female would tell him what to do. Without a second thought, he handed his Western hat to his grandma. Then he lifted the now-giggling child over his head to sit atop his shoulders, her jeans-clad legs horseshoeing around his neck.
He grasped her ankles to steady her. “How’s that, little lady? Can you see now?”
She giggled again, tiny hands pressing against his forehead as she tilted it back to look into his face. “Do I know you?”
“I’m a friend of your daddy.” Should have said mom, too, but that would be stretching it.
“You know my daddy?”
“I sure do.” Did. “We were like brothers.”
“Mommy!” She released him and he felt her twisting and turning, searching in vain for her parent. “Mommy! Guess what?”
He patted her leg. “Hey, hey. Pipe down. The band’s coming.”
A moment later the color guard with the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America passed by. Bryce’s heart swelled as his hand shot up in salute, and he caught the eye of his friend Joe Diaz across the way likewise standing at attention.
The little girl leaned down to shout above the blaring band. Right in his ear. “Are you a sojur, too? Like my daddy?”
“I am.” Still felt like he was.
“What’s your name?”
“Bryce. What’s yours?”
“Gina.”
That’s what he’d figured. He’d always remember the call from Keith announcing her arrival. How excited he was. How much he considered her a personal gift from God. How he wanted a dozen more just like her. Bryce had hardly been able to get a word in edgewise even to congratulate him.
Gina pointed. “Look! Horses!”
Sure enough, following the band and pom-pommed high school cheerleaders came a mounted Kara Dixon and ex-rodeo cowboy Trey Kenton leading two dozen other riders in Western garb. Saddle leather creaking, bits jangling and metal-shod hooves ringing on the hard-topped street, they passed by in style.
“Mae!” a familiar female voice cried out, and he glimpsed Sandi worming her way through the crowd to his grandma’s side. “Oh, thank goodness, a familiar face at last. Have you seen Gina? I’ve been looking all over—”
“Hi, Mommy! I’m up here with Uncle Bryce.”
Uncle Bryce?
He turned to catch the displeasure on the face of the pretty, sun-hatted woman. She looked torn, as if wanting to order him to unhand her daughter but mindful of the prime parade-viewing spot the little latecomer managed to nab.
He almost laughed but thought better of it. “Take it easy, Sandi. I told her Keith and I were like brothers. That’s why—”
“I see.” She tilted her head to look at him with that appealing little mannerism. Was she even aware of it? Know how engaging it was? Especially to a guy who hadn’t gone near an attractive single woman in three years.
But no way was he touching Sandi Bradshaw with a proverbial ten-foot pole. He might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
He did laugh then, and he didn’t care when she frowned.
Still smiling, he turned himself and Gina back to the parade just as the historical society’s contribution to the day rolled by, a festively decorated buggy pulled by a flashy chestnut. A placard on the back announced the museum’s open-for-business holiday hours.
His smile faded. No doubt the economy had played a hand in the downturn in the historical society’s finances just as it had for almost every other business in town. But Grandma had given them a too-generous deal that they’d taken advantage of for far too long. Had he been aware of it years earlier, he’d have called a halt to it then, not waited until circumstances dictated a significant dollar increase all at one time. Even then, the escalation likely wouldn’t be sufficient for what he needed to do.
Then what?
He shoved uneasy thoughts aside to pat Gina’s leg and point out the miniature ponies coming along the parade route. Thirty minutes later, with the last tractor-pulled float rolling out of sight, he turned just as Sandi took a call on her cell phone.
She glanced in his direction and, catching his eye, turned slightly away. “What’s up, Fay?”
She listened intently as Gina drummed a light rhythm on the top of his head.
“I’m thrilled for you,” she assured the caller, but she didn’t sound convincing to him. “Of course. No, go and have a great time. Don’t worry about it.”
She dropped her head in resignation for a moment, then took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stuffed the phone back in her purse. “Let’s get going, Gina. Change in plans. We have to cover at the museum this morning, too.”
Little fingers stopped their drumming. “But you promised.”
“I know I did, sweetheart, but this can’t be helped.” She looked to Grandma Mae. “Fay just got asked to spend the day with an out-of-town guy she’s been dying to date. And earlier this morning Wanda called to say that her daughter’s family arrived unexpectedly late last night. What could I say?”
Grandma Mae patted her hand. “You’re too softhearted, Sandi.”
The pretty blonde grimaced.
Gina wiggled atop his shoulders. “Can’t we go to the petting zoo first, Mommy? Please?”
“There’s not enough time. We’re going to be late opening the museum as it is.”
“But Mommy—”
“We can take her, can’t we, Bryce?” Grandma smiled up at him. “I haven’t been to a petting zoo in years.”
Gina clapped her hands as he lowered her to the ground. “Can they take me, Mommy?”
“Well…” She cast him an uncertain glance. Conscious of Grandma’s enthusiasm, he didn’t shake his head, but he probably had “no” written all over his face. With any luck, she’d take the hint.
Grandma all but glowed. “We’d love to take her.”
There was that we stuff again.
With a squeal, the kid grasped his hand with both of hers, holding on for dear life as she danced in place, little pink lights on her tennis shoes flashing with every step. Somebody had already consumed way too much sugar this morning.
This isn’t a good idea, Grandma.
“That’s sweet of you, Mae.” Sandi glanced at him again—apparently not sold on the idea of leaving her kid in his care—then back at Grandma. “But only if you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“We were going to spend most of the day together,” Sandi continued with a regretful smile in the direction of her still-dancing daughter. “But now I’m stuck with every single one of the scheduled museum slots.”
He shifted his weight, primed to step in if she started complaining about the rent increase in front of Grandma. About how she had to give up her holiday with her kid to bring in more money to cover it.
“Then it’s settled.” Grandma beamed from Sandi, to Gina, to him.
With another squeal the little girl hugged his leg. “Come on, Uncle Bryce. Let’s roll!”
Conscious of her eyes on him, he met the troubled gaze of the too-pretty-for-his-own-good young mother. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something more.
Instead she turned to Grandma, that too-appealing mouth ever so slowly curving into a grateful smile. One that grabbed him by the throat tighter than the grip her kid had on his hand.
He took a steadying breath.
No, Grandma, this isn’t a good idea.
Chapter Five
“Your husband was a handsome man,” one of the women from Utah said, nodding to the photograph of a uniformed Keith adorning the local veterans display at the Canyon Springs Historical Museum.
“He was a good one, too.” While bittersweet, Sandi always enjoyed pointing out the photos and memorabilia of men and women who’d served in the armed forces. Each time it renewed her determination that the exhibit would be significantly expanded—and dedicated to Keith Bradshaw.
His mother would be so surprised.
And so proud.
She’d finally realize her daughter-in-law had been worthy of her youngest son.
“Don’t know what this world would do without men and women willing to make a supreme sacrifice for others,” a second woman said softly. “And thank you for answering our questions about the area. I’m still amazed that this oasis of cool pines exists in Arizona. I had no idea.”
When they’d departed, the last visitors of the day, Sandi locked the front door then headed to the rolltop desk and pulled out a cash box. At a two-dollar donation per visitor, a “take” for the day of fifty-four dollars might seem, to some, time not well spent. Holiday-goers must have wanted to be outdoors enjoying the weather, just as a number of historical society members who’d declined to assist today had pointed out. But every bit helped keep the museum afloat, so she wouldn’t beat herself up about it.
She slipped the cash into a small plastic bag and stuffed it in her purse for a Tuesday bank deposit, then paused to let her gaze travel around the museum’s main room. Originally a living room when Bryce’s grandparents first moved there, it was now packed with mementos of Canyon Springs’s past. Her eyes lingered on the veterans display in the corner.
On Keith’s photo.
I’m going to make you and your mom proud. I promise.
“Come on, Gina,” she called as she slung her purse over her shoulder. “Gather your things and let’s get out of here.”
When Mae had returned with Gina after lunch—also bringing Sandi a still-warm gyro from a street vendor—she’d settled her daughter in the kitchen with books, games and crayons.
How she hated being in Bryce’s debt for helping her make up for the lost mom-and-daughter day. But when Mae offered to brighten Gina’s morning, how could she refuse? Even with that big boulder of a guy almost glowering at her, she couldn’t decline the offer. It was clear he thought she’d try to make his grandma feel bad about raising the museum rent, but he needn’t have worried about that. She knew who the guilty party was—and it wasn’t Mae.
“Come on, Gina. Let’s go.”
She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Crayons littered the white-painted wooden table. A ladder-back chair, Gina’s jacket draped over it, had been pushed to the side. But no sign of the six-year-old. She headed back to the front of the house, then through the adjoining rooms.
“Gina?”
Now where had she gotten off to? She glanced up the narrow staircase to the apartment above. Could she have gone to see Mae? She knew not to bother her. And wouldn’t Sandi have heard the old steps creak even if she’d attempted to sneak up there?
She returned to the kitchen. The glass-paned back door appeared slightly ajar. Ah. She opened it wide, expecting to see Gina on the porch.
Uneasiness niggled. Gina knew better than to wander off. They’d been over the stranger-danger stuff enough times. Sandi stepped outside and walked between the towering ponderosa pines to peek around both sides of the old stone house.
She raised her voice. “Gina!”
Just as she was about to scale the exterior wooden steps to Mae’s apartment, she heard a squealing laugh. Gina’s laugh. Coming from behind the old garage. With a prayer of thanks, she hurried to the back of the property.
Rounding the corner of the structure, she halted. There in a metal fishing boat mounted on a trailer sat Bryce and Gina—her daughter in the bow and Bryce in the stern—both laughing and rowing away with imaginary oars for all they were worth.
Gina spied her immediately and waved her ball cap. “Mommy! Look! Uncle Bryce has a boat. He can take us fishing.”
Fishing? That wasn’t something high on her list of favorite things to do. And what was this Uncle Bryce stuff again?
She turned to him and his face reddened. He must feel as silly as he looked. Although kind of cute, too. A grown-up guy rowing away with gusto against make-believe waves just to make a little girl giggle.
Laying his “oars” aside, he stood, then jumped out of the boat. Graceful landing for such a big guy. What was he? Six-two? Three? His dark eyes met hers with uncertainty. “She wanted to try it out. I hope that was okay.”
“Next time—” she folded her arms, keeping her expression as straight as she could “—don’t forget the life jackets.”
He stared at her a moment, processing her words, then a grin split the handsome, bearded face. “Yes, ma’am. My oversight.”
A smile tugged at her own lips as their gazes held a little too long. Heart quickening, Sandi turned again to her daughter.
“Let’s go, Gina.”
The little girl’s lower lip protruded. “I want to go fishing, Mommy.”
“I don’t think so, honey.”
“Davy’s grandpa and daddy take him fishing.”
“Maybe you can go with them sometime.”
Gina gripped the edges of the bench seat on each side of her. “I want to go with Uncle Bryce. He’s going now.”
“Now?” She glanced at Bryce for confirmation.
He nodded.
Helpless in the face of her daughter’s obstinacy, she gave him a warning look. Come on, big guy, give me a hand here since this is your doing.
Obediently, he reached out to Gina and she went willingly into his arms to be lifted from the boat. “I’m afraid I don’t have any little-kid life jackets, Gina. Just big people’s.”
He set her feet gently on the ground, but she turned to cling to his hand. “You can buy a little people one, can’t you?”
Inwardly Sandi cringed. Was her daughter drawn to him, to any man, because she didn’t have one in her life? A daddy?
“Gina, that’s enough. Don’t badger Mr. Harding.”
“But I want—”
“Gina.”
The little shoulders slumped, but she didn’t release his hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“What do you say I look around for a kid one, then—”
“That’s kind of you, Bryce, but you don’t need to do that.” And no way was she letting this stranger take her daughter out in a boat, Keith’s old buddy or not.
“You can come along, too,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I’d never take a kid in a boat without another adult as backup.”
“Thanks, but we have plans for the evening.”
Gina eyes brightened with curiosity. “We do? What?”
Think fast. She intended a quiet evening and an early bedtime for both of them. Tomorrow was a school day. But at the excited look on her daughter’s face, she had to do something to make up for their lost day together—and for the never-ending piano brunch with Grandma yesterday. It had been a trial for an active little girl, to say the least.
“The High Country Equine Center’s grand opening,” she announced as if that had been her intention all along.
“The horse place?” Gina clapped her hands.
Sandi nodded. She’d give Devon a call. See if her cowboy-crazy sister-in-law wanted to join them.
Bryce studied her, his eyes questioning. “Maybe we can all go fishing another time.”
Surely he didn’t want to take them fishing any more than she wanted to go. He was being nice to a little kid he felt sorry for. Sorry because she didn’t have a daddy—and because her mommy didn’t deserve the husband she’d had.
How she hated not knowing how much Keith had shared with him. Not knowing if he sat in judgment of her.
“Come along, Gina. We don’t want to be late.”
Gina didn’t argue, but she turned to Bryce with outstretched hands, inviting him for a hug. He glanced again at Sandi as if seeking permission, then squatted down to envelop Gina in his brawny arms. The tiny girl all but disappeared as they folded around her, her eyes squeezed tight to hug him for all she was worth.
A heaviness settled into Sandi’s heart. She’d have to talk to Meg and Joe this week. Maybe Joe wouldn’t mind an extra kid tagging along on a fishing trip. Maybe he’d be willing to give Gina a little “man time” to help make her less needy. Less vulnerable to Uncle Bryce.
Bryce watched them walk away, a lump in his throat. Guilt pierced as he savored the childish embrace that by rights didn’t belong to him. What a shame Keith wasn’t around to receive precious hugs from the sweet little lady he’d sired. It should be her daddy she was clinging to, not him.
And it should be Keith looking into the eyes of her lovely mother, as well, sharing a smile and a too-long moment of mutual awareness. Letting his gaze linger on her face…
Shaken, he turned back to the boat. He hadn’t expected an attraction to Sandi, knowing what he knew about her. It caught him off-guard now, just as it had at the Warehouse, museum and parade. He had no business looking at her like that, thinking about her. Didn’t need to be noticing she was a gentle and caring mom. Didn’t need to be wondering how hard life had been in the five years since Keith’s passing—and about who would look after her and Gina in the years to come.
No, he had to remember this was Keith’s wife. The woman who’d lured his unsuspecting buddy down the path to matrimony, then proceeded to dictate to him what the rest of his life would be like—just like Keith’s mom had attempted. Just like Bryce’s own mother, when she bothered to drop in on his childhood at all, had tried to do. Ordering him around. Imposing her will on his. Never pleased with anything he did.
He squared his shoulders. From now on he’d watch himself. With God’s help, he’d keep his mind from wandering off where it didn’t belong. He’d come back to town to help Grandma, not to get snared in some pretty woman’s web.
He studied the boat. He didn’t feel much like packing up his gear and hauling the watercraft out to Casey Lake. Maybe he’d listen to those Bible-study CDs. Complete another online firefighting course assignment.
Or check out the equine center’s grand opening.
Grasping Gina’s hand, Sandi followed Devon through the crowded parking lot of the equine center. They’d arrived late and had to park down near the main road, then walk up the tree-lined lane leading to the massive indoor arena and stable. The High Country Equine Center—or “Duffy’s” as locals knew it—had been closed for over a decade. But now, under new ownership, expanded and remodeled, it was open for business again. Horse boarding, riding lessons, special events.
“Hurry, Mommy.”
Gina skipped along at her side, the oversize cap sitting crookedly on her head. The begged-for fishing trip seemed long forgotten as the evening air filled with shrill whinnies and the scent of sun-warmed pine, wood shavings, hay and horses.
Even Sandi’s own spirits lifted as she joined the excited throng of summer folks and locals. Always grateful when the crowds dispersed in the autumn, she nevertheless got caught up in the invigorating energy the annual influx of both familiar and unfamiliar faces brought with it. Seeking refuge in the ponderosa pine-studded community with its cool, more-than-a-mile-high elevation, the desert dwellers were the lifeblood of the economic health of Canyon Springs—and the museum.
“I had no idea this was such a big deal,” confided Devon. Nevertheless, she’d gone all out with a pricey brand of boot-cut jeans and a sparkly red shirt. Even sported cowboy boots and a sassy feather-accented Western hat. Knowing she couldn’t compete with her fashion-savvy sister-in-law, Sandi had stuck with Levi’s, a T-shirt and tennis shoes.
Over the sound system a booming voice of welcome sounded like Kara Dixon’s fiancé, Trey Kenton, who now managed the facility. The opening notes of the national anthem soon followed.
Gina tugged on her hand. “Hurry.”
The threesome wove their way among other latecomers, paid their way in and slipped through the opening to the arena seating. The place was packed. They should have come straight here, not gone home to have dinner and wait for Devon.
“Way up there, Mommy. I see seats!”
With a laugh and a shrug in Devon’s direction, she let Gina lead the way. Her daughter scrambled up the bleacher steps as Sandi followed behind. Sliding in sideways, focusing on maintaining her balance and apologizing for treading on toes, she and Devon kept an eye on Gina moving down one of the rows ahead of them. The little girl finally plopped on a gap of empty bleacher space, then grinned back at them.
“See? Uncle Bryce saved us seats.”
Sandi’s gaze flew to the man seated next to Gina, his hand raised to the brim of his straw cowboy hat in greeting. Wouldn’t you know it. A huge arena holding hundreds upon hundreds and Gina had to find a spot next to him.
“Uncle Bryce?” whispered Devon, securing her hat with her hand and pressing in close to Sandi’s ear. “Woo-hoo, gal. You didn’t waste any time, did you?”
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