At Home in His Heart

by Glynna Kaye

  “Your daddy always wanted me to go fishing with him.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I’m not a good swimmer. Makes me nervous when I know I can’t touch the bottom and still keep my head above water.”

  “You should have said something.” Concern clouded Bryce’s dark eyes. “Do you want me to move closer to shore?”

  She shook her head. Gave him a carefully controlled smile. “No, that’s okay. The water’s still. And I have the life jacket. If I go overboard, though, you’ll have to fish me out.”

  He nodded, his eyes still troubled. “You can count on it.”

  “Mommy says I swim better than a fish,” Gina piped up in her big outside voice—and Davy shushed her. She cringed. Nodded. Went silent.

  “That so?” Bryce took off his hat, wiped his forehead with his hand, then settled the hat back on his head.

  “I made sure she started lessons when she was a toddler. I didn’t want her to be wary of water like her mother.”

  “Shhhh,” Gina reminded, putting a finger to her lips. “You’re scaring my fish.”

  Sandi made an “excuse me” face at Bryce. He grinned and an absurd sense of contentment filled her.

  “Do you want to fish, too?” he whispered from the far side of the boat. “I’ve got an extra rod tucked back in here. Might make a fisherwoman of you yet.”

  “Don’t count on it.” But it did have an appeal—as long as she didn’t catch anything.

  To her relief, though, he didn’t push. Didn’t insist she give it a try. Didn’t make fun of her. Didn’t get disgruntled the way most men would have at her refusal. Even Keith had gotten put out a time or two about it, which wasn’t his nature.

  He’d put up with a lot.

  Maybe, in some small way, the museum dedication would make it up to him.

  It wasn’t his imagination. Bryce was sure of it.

  He’d seen it in her eyes at the lake a few days ago. Didn’t think she could have missed it in his, either. But she’d shut it down fast. Refusing to recognize it. Refusing to admit it. Determined not to let it lead to anything more.

  Which was probably the direction he should take, too. That is, if he still had a lick of sense left in him after her big beautiful eyes clearly spelled out her interest in him.

  What was a man supposed to do when a woman looked at him like that? Well, he knew what Old Bryce would do, but that was beside the point.

  He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and let out a gust of pent-up breath, his mind’s eye—every fiber of his body—reliving that unanticipated connection with the pretty gal sitting in the bow of his boat. Bundled up in her bright orange life jacket. Hands gripping the seat. Her gaze locked on his as they’d all but stared into each other’s soul.

  Shaking his head, he focused again on the spreadsheets illuminated on the computer screen in front of him. Not looking good. But the fire chief was pushing the city hard to release funds for the empty firefighter opening. He’d used two simultaneous fires last week to press his point. They needed that extra man.

  He pushed back in his chair. For weeks he’d been intending to talk to Sandi about his plans for the museum. How he needed to get Grandma Mae down to the lower level. It would break Sandi’s heart, what with her determination to set up some kind of memorial for Keith. But what other choice did he have? Grandma could sell the house and get a single-level one, but with the market as it was right now she wouldn’t get anywhere near what it would have garnered just a few years ago, before the economy staggered. A newer place would cost more, too, so that meant debt.

  Besides, who would buy this place and retain the museum anyway? The historical society sure couldn’t swing it.

  So his best bet was to give the society ample warning. Then get to work on a downstairs living quarters. Remodel it for handicapped accessibility as time and money allowed—and hope it would be ready before Grandma had a real need for it. Although with those steep stairs she’d already become a prisoner in her own home when no one was around to assist her. Had already lost her independence. No easy thing to accept for a spunky, on-the-go woman who’d never let her age slow her down until now.

  Grandma was his first priority. He loved her. Would care for her to the best of his ability. As much has he hated to disrupt Sandi’s plans to honor Keith, that was the way it had to be.

  He’d find her and tell her.

  Today.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Things didn’t look good.

  Sandi stared at the laptop screen, again, studying the spreadsheet that the historical society treasurer had emailed her. While the Fourth of July push to beef up their bank account was encouragingly successful, it fell far short of seeing them through the winter without city assistance. Which meant another fundraiser on the heels of the last. And another after that. It looked as if that would be a regular endeavor from here on out.

  If the historical society went under, how would she live it down? How could she prove to LeAnne that her son hadn’t made a mistake marrying her?

  Although that was debatable.

  Get one thing straight, Keith. If you’re determined to make the military a lifelong career, you can forget about having any more children. At least with me, anyway.

  All the excuses in the world couldn’t make up for those hateful words—not Gina being sick at the time, not living far away from all that was familiar, not fear for Keith’s safety. She could justify her rejecting, wounding words any way she wanted to, but it came down to pure selfishness and not trusting God.

  She pushed back from the kitchen table to watch Gina playing on the sofa with her plastic horses. Galloping. Neighing. At least she’d finally put aside the makeshift fishing pole she’d insisted Mommy make from a sturdy long stick and heavy string weighted by a magnet. Construction-paper fish with paper clip “hooks” made for several days of fishing fun, and Gina had talked nonstop about Uncle Bryce and the real-life fish she’d caught.

  Bryce.

  Her mind’s eye flickered to the big man. The engaging grin that split his bearded face. The gentle, expressive eyes. The way he’d looked at her when out on the lake. She couldn’t deny it—she’d looked right back at him with every bit as much boldness as he had her. Had allowed her fingers to linger in his palm as he helped her step from the boat back to shore. Had rested her hand on his rock-solid arm when thanking him for taking the kids fishing.

  He probably thought Keith’s widow was coming on to him.

  Was she?

  She pondered the unpretentious floral arrangement sitting on the living room coffee table. Red and white carnations with blue ribbons. She’d found it outside the front door when she’d awakened on Independence Day—a note from Bryce tucked in the foliage, expressing his sympathy at her loss.

  As much as she’d loved Keith, it wasn’t inconceivable that Bryce had lost more than she had. They’d been friends since grade school. She’d known him only four years, the first two courting by email and phone calls, and the latter two without significantly more in-person contact than the first two.

  Did Bryce have any idea how right he’d been to try to keep Keith from marrying her those many years ago? Every time she saw him, she couldn’t help but wonder…had her husband told him of her appalling ultimatum?

  She turned again to her laptop. Like it or not, she had to approach Bryce for an extension on the rent increase. But what were the odds he’d give it to her? He said he’d raised it because he didn’t have any choice, was making do with odd jobs while waiting for the firefighter opening. But maybe she could convince him that if the museum closed, the extra money would be cut off until he could find another renter. Something that might not be easy to do with summer half over.

  How she hated to face him, beg for a favor after their encounter on Sunday. He’d think she’d had it planned all along, to catch his eye. Butter him up.

  But what choice did she have?

  She’d find him and ask him.

 
Today.

  “I’m sorry, Sandi, but I can’t go beyond July 31 when the current lease runs out.”

  On the heels of a lightning flash, a rumbling tremor of thunder rattled spoons on the table. Lights flickered.

  From the look on her face where she sat across from him at Kit’s Lodge, his words weren’t what she hoped to hear. But finalizing calculations for a remodel proved the endeavor could cost considerably more than he’d anticipated. Would take longer, as well, which meant he might need to start on it in the spring, not wait until next summer or the following autumn.

  Sandi gripped the newly drawn-up paperwork, her blue eyes flaring but voice even. “What’s this with a one-month-at-a-time lease? What happened to the year?”

  “You know Grandma Mae hurt herself last fall.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Right. So?”

  “So I need to get her out of the apartment and into a place where she can regain some independence. That place is the first floor of her house. The museum.”

  Sandi’s eyes widened. “You’re kicking us out?”

  “Not right away. Spring maybe. But I’m keeping my options open with a short-term lease. Renewable monthly, of course.”

  She shook the papers, her voice escalating a notch. “That’s why you raised the rent, isn’t it? You thought we’d voluntarily pick up and move on our own. Get ourselves out of your hair.”

  He shook his head. “Since I haven’t landed that position I told you about, I need help to cover the remodeling costs. To make the place handicap accessible. Ramps. Bathroom and kitchen redo. Window replacement. It’s a lot more expensive than I thought it would be.”

  Her eyes flashed every bit as fiercely as the lightning outside the window, catching him off-guard. Had Keith ever been the unlucky recipient of a look like that?

  She tossed the papers to the table and crossed her arms. “So it’s up to the museum to foot the bill for your dream home, is it?”

  He said a silent prayer and kept his tone gentle, determined not to follow her fiery lead. “You’ve got to admit what the historical society has been paying Grandma the past fifteen years is almost criminal.”

  Her gaze sparked again as she drew in a sharp breath, opened her mouth—then abruptly closed it. She had to know what rents ran in this tourist town. In a good year, when seasonal visitors overflowed, Grandma could easily have rented the downstairs for the three summer months alone and made far more than what the historical society paid for a full year.

  “She never complains.” His words came softly, recognizing that although he’d thought it through for months, this was the first time Sandi was hearing anything about his plans. “But Grandma’s miserable trapped upstairs. Doesn’t like calling on me or a friend every time she wants to enjoy her porch. Go to the grocery store. To church. She can still drive, but negotiating those stairs is too dangerous. She could break her neck.

  It’s only the price tag preventing me from moving ahead on a remodel right now.”

  “Mae’s always been so self-sufficient.” The fire in Sandi’s eyes dimmed and he breathed a little easier.

  “Right. So I’ve got to get her down to ground level.”

  Sandi leaned forward, her gaze intent. Challenging. “Then buy a single-story home, Bryce. Keep renting us the museum. Rent out the apartment, too.”

  Leave it to Little Bossy Boots to think he hadn’t already considered those options.

  “I don’t have that kind of money, Sandi, to own two properties. The best I’d be able to do is sell the museum for far less than it was worth just a few years ago, but then I’d have a higher mortgage payment on a newer place and still have upgrade costs to make it accessible.”

  She stared at the lease papers fanned across the table, the spark draining out of her. Did the museum really mean that much to her?

  “I’m sorry, Sandi. Like I said before, I don’t have any choice.”

  “I know.” She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to gaze out the window at the restaurant’s treed parking lot just as the first of the summer’s monsoon rains broke loose from the darkened heavens.

  A smattering of applause and cheers echoed around the room as dining locals welcomed the annual downpour. A respite from the heat. Guardian against devastating bark beetles and of the fire-prone forest they lived in and loved.

  He didn’t join in, but instead studied Sandi. The slump of her shoulders. The quiver of her lower lip. Her resignation killed him. He could handle differences of opinion, objections, even her bossing. But seeing the blaze in her eyes doused to cold ash?

  “If you have any other ideas, Sandi,” he prodded, “I’m willing to listen.”

  Come on, let’s see a little fight here.

  He had no idea she’d take it this hard. Grandma was right. He should have manned up and told her months ago what he was planning. But he hadn’t much fancied a confrontation with her. Had put off his announcement too long.

  With a quick, decisive motion she turned from the rainstreaming window to gather the lease papers. Slid them into her tote bag. Pulled out her compact umbrella and placed it on the table. “I guess I need to let the society members know. Face the music.”

  He reached across the table to grasp her hand, which still rested on the umbrella. “This isn’t your fault. It isn’t even my fault.”

  She shot him a you-can’t-be-serious look.

  He frowned. “If Sharlene and the others want to blame you, I’ll bear the brunt of it. Just send them to me. I’ll handle them.”

  She stared down at his hand on hers.

  “I understand why you’re mad at me,” he continued, his voice low, barely heard above the pounding storm. Come on, admit it, woman. Show me you’re mad. Get that fire blazing in your eyes again. Punch me in the nose or something.

  Anything.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  She bestowed a half smile, but her eyes reflected a sadness, a defeat he couldn’t fathom. Weeks ago he’d tactlessly told her she needed to get a life, but he had no idea of the intensity of her attachment to the museum. Was it because she had her heart so set on that memorial to Keith?

  “How can I be mad at you knowing you’re doing what you think is best for your grandma?” She slipped her hand from his. “And you’re right. What the historical society was paying is far below the going rate around here. We were cheating Mae and getting away with it.”

  “I wouldn’t put it in that harsh of terms. There was no intent to do her harm.” He drew back his hand. “But look, Sandi, there are other places the museum could move. It’s not like you have to close it down.”

  She stared out the window again, rivulets on the glass obscuring the view. “Even with the increase on the place we have now, it doesn’t come near what it could cost to rent a smaller space.”

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  A disbelieving brow rose as she turned to him. “We?”

  He spread his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m willing to pitch in, help scout out a new location. It’s not like you have to find one by next week, right? When summer visitors leave, townsfolk will feel the pinch again, then you can probably negotiate something more palatable to the society’s pocketbook.”

  “You think so?”

  An ember sparked in her eyes. Tiny for sure, but he fanned the flame.

  “I know so.”

  A halfhearted laugh didn’t reassure him.

  “Wish I had your optimism.”

  “You’ll get yours back.” She had to. He couldn’t stand it if she didn’t. “I kind of landed a big one on you this morning. I apologize. I should have said something earlier.”

  “You tried to at the lake, didn’t you? Right before Gina and Davy pounced on you about fishing.” She dipped her chin down and tilted her head to look over at him. The familiar mannerism pierced his heart as uncertain, questioning eyes fixed on him.

  “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome. The anniversary of Keith’s
death has to be a hard time for you.”

  She nodded. “But it gets easier with each passing year.”

  He nodded. “How’s Keith’s mom doing?”

  “Ups and downs. She went to the Valley for the holiday weekend. That was best.” She toyed with the strap of her tote bag, fingers trembling ever so slightly until she fisted her hand to still the giveaway quaver. “My faith’s gotten me through it. God’s grace. But LeAnne refuses to acknowledge Anyone exists in the spiritual realm. Which makes it so much harder on her—and on me.”

  “I can understand that.”

  With a deep intake of breath, she sat up straighter as if coming to a decision. Zipped her jacket. Gathered the tote bag, purse and umbrella. Stood. “Sorry to run. I have a few things to take care of before I go to work this afternoon.”

  He stood, too, not ready for her to depart so abruptly. He wanted to tell her about how his faith sustained him, too. About the role her husband had played in that part of his life.

  Old Bryce. New Bryce.

  “You may as well wait until the storm blows through.”

  But she only gave him a too-bright smile. Said a quick goodbye and headed toward the restaurant’s door.

  He remained standing, watching her through the window as, jacket hood up and open umbrella in hand, she dashed across the puddling parking lot to her car. Then, heart heavy, he again lowered himself into his chair and motioned to the waitress for a refill.

  “We’re losing the museum,” Sandi stated flatly to her mother-in-law Friday night after Gina had been put to bed. Under a canopy of stars, monsoon rains long gone until tomorrow, the pair settled into lawn chairs on the front deck. She drank in the sweet scent of rain-washed pine. LeAnne stirred her iced tea. “What do you mean?” Her mother-in-law couldn’t care less about the museum— although she might if she knew the plans Sandi had for it. But there was no point in telling her about that now. Not with the whole thing set to collapse in spite of Bryce’s confident statements that they’d find an alternate location. He was trying to make her feel better. Get himself off the bad-guy hook.