Copyright
ISBN 1-58660-603-4
.mobi ISBN 1-62029-597-7
© 2002 by Gail Gaymer Martin. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Truly Yours, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
One
“What do you mean you brought home a man?”
Lana West peeked out the window at the attractive stranger on her front porch, then turned to her younger sister. “Why is he here?”
Barb gestured toward the lawn. “You’ve been complaining for weeks about the yard work.”
Glancing at her wristwatch, Lana noted the time. “Now that I think of it, why are you here?”
“I’m running errands for my boss.” Barb grinned. “Fridays are slow. He told me to take my time.”
“Friday might be slow. . .but not you.” Lana shook her head. “You’re worse than a kid. I can’t count the number of stray dogs and cats you’ve brought home. But this is ridiculous.” Despite her astonishment, she chuckled. “This time you’ve brought home a stray man.”
“He’s not a stray. He needs a job.”
“What happened to the Michigan Employment Agency?” Lana asked, half joking and half serious. Barb had always been the most soft-hearted person she’d known.
Frowning, Barb eyed her. “I hope you’re kidding.”
Lana sent her a halfhearted smile but didn’t answer.
“You’re always complaining about being too short to reach the upper limbs.” Barb stepped toward the window. “Look at him. He’s tall and strapping.”
Lana had already noticed the man’s build. She would have been blind not to, but she took another admiring peek anyway. “I’ll grant you that,” she conceded, amusement escaping her voice.
Barb lowered her arms in seeming disappointment. “I thought he’d be the answer to our prayers.”
Looking at her sister’s dejection and conceding Barb had been correct about her dislike for yard work, Lana admitted perhaps the tall, well-built handyman was God’s answer to her prayers. The yard needed major spring pruning and trimming, and until school let out for the summer, Lana didn’t have time to do anything but correct papers and write exams. Once school closed for the summer, she had a whole list of wonderful plans—things to do for herself. She could forget her students and class work and luxuriate in her own needs.
Finding a gracious way to admit defeat, Lana shrugged. “Since he’s here, you might as well ask him to come around back, and I’ll get him started. I know you need to get back to work.”
“See,” Barb said, “I knew you’d see my side of it.” She tossed Lana a teasing grin and hurried out the door.
Watching her benevolent sister dart through the doorway, Lana breathed a deep sigh. If she didn’t harness Barb’s enthusiasm, her sister would force her into too many unwanted situations like she so often did. Barb had a knack for volunteering for anything while Lana liked to plan ahead—get organized and have a handle on things. Lana’s counsel seemed to roll off her sister’s back like rain off an umbrella.
Though Lana hated to admit it, she had a fault or two herself. Too often she plopped the burdens of the world on her own shoulders and forgot to let God carry some of the load. She prayed God would teach her how to let go and let God. . .or for that matter let anyone take charge except her. And patience. . . Lana pushed that fault from her mind. Going there would only depress her.
Pulling her thoughts together, she stepped through the side door into the attached garage and pulled out the equipment she figured the stranger would need. When she located all the yard tools, she strode into the backyard carrying a hedge trimmer, edger, and pruning shears.
Planning to supervise the stranger, Lana faltered when she faced the man directly. He had an air of authority that made her squirm, but drawing on her fortitude, she forged ahead. “My sister said you’re looking for work.”
He didn’t respond, instead watching her with his arms folded across his ample chest and a mischievous twinkle in his crystal blue eyes.
His expression addled her. She found it unreadable—somewhere between perplexity and amusement. An uneasy feeling shuffled through her, and she hoped Barb hadn’t hurried off to work too quickly. She might need defensive backup.
Trying to assume a look of control, she ignored his stare and motioned to the garage access door. “You’ll find anything else you need in there,” she said, dropping the pruning scissors and edger onto a garden bench. Feeling a sense of authority, she clung to the trimmer.
He gestured toward the bench. “Looks like you have about every tool a man would need right here.”
His rich, clear voice surprised her. For someone who couldn’t find a job, the man sounded educated. . .and articulate. Recognizing her uncharitable attitude, Lana cringed.
“So, what did you have in mind?” he asked, stepping toward her.
“If you look around,” she said, clinging to the trimmer and motioning toward the tall shrubs while turning one hundred eighty degrees, “you’ll see—”
As she swished past him, the man ducked and shot backward.
“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed that she’d wielded the gas-powered trimmer like a machete. “You can see why I don’t do this myself. I’m dangerous handling anything with a motor.”
His eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Yes, I see that.” He grasped the trimmer handle. “Why don’t you give me that weapon before you hurt one of us.”
Lana relinquished the implement into his large hands. Undaunted, she led him around the yard, explaining what needed to be pruned and shaped, but each time she faced him squarely, his smiling eyes flustered her, and her pulse sputtered like the gas-driven trimmer.
Realizing her earlier fear had been foolish, Lana couldn’t help but admire the man. His gentle spirit and good humor surprised her, coming from a person without a job. He commented with familiarity about the shrubs and grasped her instructions. While the yard tour preoccupied him, she used the time to quiet her revving heart.
“What do you think?” she asked, motioning to the work.
“I think I’ve got it,” he said, giving her a polite nod that came close to a bow.
“I’ll be inside if you have any questions.”
Lana made her escape into the sanctuary of the house. What in the world had gotten into her? She felt wildly out of control, like a stampede pursued by experienced herdsmen.
Forcing herself to concentrate on her work, two hours passed before she heard a knock on the backdoor. When she answered, he stood outside, perspiration and dirt smudges sullying his good looks.
“I’m sorry,” she said, thinking of her manners. “Here I am sitting in air-conditioning, and I didn’t give a thought to offering you something cold. I can’t believe May has had such high temperatures. Would you like something to drink?” She looked beyond his shoulder and surveyed the backyard. Already his work had created vast improvements in the landscaping.
“No, thanks. It’s getting late. I’ll have to come back and finish. M
aybe tomorrow. It’s time to call the dealer to see if my car’s ready.”
“The dealer?” Rattled, Lana played with the top button of her knit top. “You mean you own a car?”
“Sure do. I dropped it off this morning for the six-month maintenance check-up.”
No job and a sixth month check-up? “You mean it’s a new car?” Her pitch hit the top of a piano scale. Embarrassed, she modulated her tone. “I had no idea.”
“Why would you?” he asked. With a soft chuckle, he pushed the amber-colored hair from his forehead.
Struggling to make sense out of their conversation, Lana peered into his face and organized her thoughts. “I don’t understand. My sister said you were—”
“A slight misunderstanding, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m your new neighbor. . .temporary new neighbor.” He wiped his fingers on his newly soiled trousers and stretched his arm toward her. “Mark Branson.”
Humiliated, she stood dumb struck. “My temporary new neighbor?” Then, like a sleepwalker, she extended her arm. “I’m so sorry. I’m Lana West.”
His handshake felt firm, and the amiable warmth rolled up her arm.
“It’s okay,” he said, his smile as caring as the Good Samaritan. “I just moved into town, and I’m staying with a long-time friend. Jim Spalinni.”
She felt her mouth sag, and she snapped it closed. “You mean you’re staying. . .there.” She pointed to the neat brick ranch next door.
He grinned and nodded. “Until I get a place of my own. That’s my next project.”
“I have no idea how my sister let this happen.” A headache stole up her neck and throbbed in her temples.
He shifted uneasily and tucked his soiled hands into his pockets. “To be honest, I didn’t understand the mix-up at first either. When I sorted out what had happened, I hated to embarrass you.” He released a good-natured laugh. “Anyway, I had time to kill.”
She circled two fingers along her aching forehead. “I don’t understand. I gather my sister got confused somehow.”
“Apparently.” He appeared to cover an escaping chuckle. “When she pulled up, I recognized her as a neighbor and gave a wave.”
Lana listened, confounded while he unraveled the mess-up.
“Your sister. . .what’s her name?” Mark asked
“Barb,” Lana answered, wanting to scream at her sister’s ridiculous faux pas.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Barb asked if she could help. I said, sure, thinking she recognized me. When she said, ‘Climb in,’ I didn’t think twice. I didn’t have to pay taxi fare.”
Lana shook her head. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I feel like a fool.”
His face filled with amusement. “I got a kick out of it. Figured it would make an amusing story.” He gestured behind him toward the access door. “By the way, I put your tools back in the garage.”
Tension rose up Lana’s spine. “I’ll wring Barb’s neck when she gets home.”
Grinning, he flexed his palm in protest. “Don’t let me be the cause of sibling-cide.”
She smiled back despite her irritation. “I believe that’s fratricide.” She swung around, looking for her purse. Paying him for the work seemed the least she could do.
His eyes leveled toward her mouth. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Smile. It looks nice on you.”
A burning flush heated her cheeks. She never blushed, and the sensation left her feeling helpless. “Please come in for a minute,” she said, opening the screen door.
He stepped inside, and she hurried to the kitchen table and pulled a wallet from her bag. “Let me pay you. . .despite the mix-up.”
He wove his fingers together behind him and backed away, shaking his head. “I haven’t finished the job yet. At Branson’s, we guarantee to please our customers.”
She thrust the bills toward him. “No, please take the money. I’m serious.”
“So am I. God tells us to treat our neighbors as we’d like to be treated. Maybe someday I’ll need a favor, and you’ll be waiting there with a willing smile like the one I just saw a second ago.”
A favor? She didn’t do favors. . .though she knew she should. Discomfort edged up her collar again, and she pulled on the neck of her blouse, hoping the motion might scare away her embarrassment. “You’re a Christian? That’s nice.”
“Sure am,” he said, a look of joy filling his face. “How about you?”
She nodded. “I was raised knowing Jesus, but I don’t think I’ve gotten the Ten Commandments down as well as you have. I’m working on them.”
Tender humor settled on his face. “We all are. How are you doing?”
“With the commandments?”
He nodded.
“I’m still struggling with the first one.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and pushed back an unruly strand while sending a rich, warm laugh into the air. “Me too.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “Look at what you did today. I’m usually so busy with my own well-polished agenda, I don’t notice other people’s needs.” She winced, wondering why she was confessing her sins so blatantly. “When I do notice, I’m usually tied up with my own plans.” She shook her head. “See. That’s just one of the sins I have to conquer.”
“If I had time, I’d confess mine.” He scanned the room and motioned behind her. “Could I use your telephone? I’ll see if the car’s ready.”
“After you did my yard work, how could I refuse?” She gestured toward the wall phone. “If it’s ready, I’ll be happy to give you a ride to the dealer.”
Mark grinned at the petite woman who demonstrated so much pluck—the woman who’d just mentioned she didn’t do favors. “You’re not trying to get off that easy, are you?”
A pink tinge rolled up her neck.
He grinned and headed for the telephone. She seemed a paradox—soft inside and hard on the outside like candy-coated chocolate or a child with a toy backhoe trying to move a mountain. Lana had marched him around the yard, instructing him about what he should prune and what he shouldn’t. Tucking her short brown hair behind her ears, she’d eyed him with riveting gray eyes. She certainly had supervisory skills, but he liked that.
When she shoved the bills back into her wallet, she’d struggled to maintain a calm exterior, but her embarrassment colored her fair skin, giving her away. He had to chuckle, and though Mark felt a little guilty, he enjoyed seeing her a little tongue-tied and out-of-control.
He pulled the dealer’s business card from his shirt pocket while he scanned the tidy, antique-filled kitchen. Though the cabinets and countertops were modern, one wall was covered with baskets, old wooden spoons discolored from age, and antique kitchen implements whose original uses he couldn’t imagine—except for an old rug-beater that hung near the doorway.
“Nice place,” he said, lifting the telephone and punching in the telephone number.
“Thanks,” she said.
Before he connected with the dealer, Lana left the kitchen. His inquiry was answered with speed, and when he hung up, he peeked into the living room, thinking he’d find her there. Instead, the room stood empty. Letting his gaze sweep the room, he enjoyed the cozy feeling. As if in welcome, an antique oak table held a floral bouquet, and near the door, vintage umbrellas with carved handles rested in an antique stand. Everything in place. Everything fitting—so much like the paradox herself.
Not wanting to wander farther, he retreated to the kitchen and called her name.
In a heartbeat, she came through the door. “Everything okay?”
“Someone will drive my car here, and I’ll take him back. Thanks for letting me use your phone.”
A warm smile curved her full lips. “You’re very welcome. I’m really sorry for the confusion. But the more I think about it, I can’t help but laugh.” She lifted a finger and shook it in the air. “Wait until Barbara gets home.”
“Should I hide
the weapons?”
“No, I promise I’ll be gentle. That’s one commandment I’ve mastered.”
Her smile wove through his chest, and Mark sent up a silent prayer. If God willed it, he wanted to get better acquainted with this spirited woman.
“But maybe you could. . .”
Her pause aroused his curiosity. “Could what?”
She’d lost her commanding presence and stood beside him obviously nervous.
“You could. . .drop by later just to make sure I don’t do her harm. For dinner, maybe.” Her lovely gray eyes widened as she waited.
Her discomfort assured him she’d never asked a man to dinner before, and he delighted in her innocence. “I think that can be arranged.” He ran his fingers over his chin in playful thought. “Although you have to understand that one dinner isn’t going to pay off this debt either.”
“Okay,” she said, grinning. “I still owe you.”
He loved the idea, and after agreeing on a time for him to arrive for dinner, he stepped outside and calmed himself. Like a schoolboy tripping over his shoelaces, he tethered his excitement and forced himself to behave his age—a man pushing thirty—no matter how joyful he felt.
❧
When Barb walked in from work, Lana barraged her with questions like BB shot. “Why? How? What made you think. . . ?”
“I’m serious. I passed this guy with a poster that said, ‘Looking for any kind of work,’ and I felt guilty. We’re Christians, and I knew we had yard work. . .so I backtracked.”
“I’d say so,” Lana said, finding her sister’s story both amusing and outlandish.
Barb huffed. “When I swung around the block again, I didn’t see the sign, but the same guy stood there in jeans and a T-shirt.” She narrowed her eyes. “At least, I assumed he was the same guy who’d ditched his sign. I’d only been gone a minute.”
Lana tried to tuck away the grin, but it rose on her face anyway. “Barb, where did you think he pitched the sign?”
“I didn’t think.”
“Precisely,” Lana said, marking a victory into the air before teasing her sister some more. “But you’re fortunate. I promised not to harm you.” She warmed, remembering her conversation with Mark.
Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489) Page 1