“I should have insisted.”
“Like you could stop me? I have my own mind, and I remember turning of age a while back. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I think I know what I can and cannot handle.”
Joe’s eyes flashed. “That’s quite clear.”
“Are you saying I don’t know what I am doing?”
“I just think you let yourself get in over your head without realizing it. And I, being the one who did see it, should have stopped you.”
Mona sighed. “Give up, Joe. I don’t need you babysitting me. I’m a big girl—”
“—and you don’t depend on anyone but yourself, I know!” He threw his hands up in surrender and turned his back to her.
Shock silenced her. She stared at him, saw him clasp his hands behind his neck, and pull deep breaths. Her anger dissolved, watching him wrestle with his own. She deliberately softened her voice. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know I tend to do things myself.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “But I will admit it—you saved me.” She offered a rueful grin.
He peeked over his shoulder. “God saved you. I just played along.”
She bit her lip, weighing his words. God had saved her. Again. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the knowledge. Another undeserved rescue by the Almighty. Somehow she dredged up her voice. “I can’t believe you actually jumped into the falls.”
He turned, a begrudging smile curling his lips. “Well, that was the only way to keep up with you. I didn’t know you were serious about going swimming today.”
Mona laughed, and it was easy to find comfort in his teasing expression. It made her want to play along. His friendship suddenly felt warm, a safe refuge for her battered emotions. “I don’t suppose you want to race to the bridge?” she suggested in a roguish tone.
Joe shook his head. “I’ve had enough racing for today.”
A woodpecker drilled not far away, and the thick foliage whispered as the breeze stirred it. Her whole body tingled when he took her hand and led her through the forest. She decided it was due to the fresh river wind.
Liza was leaning over the bridge, scanning the other side of the river with pensive dark eyes, when Mona and Joe finally emerged from the trail. Tears accompanied her exclamations of relief as she ran to Mona and embraced her. Joe released Mona’s hand, feeling well the absence of its warmth. He ran a hand through his wet hair. Civilization never seemed so attractive.
Brian walked up behind Liza and gave Joe a piercing look. “Good thing you caught her,” he said, his voice sharp.
Joe bit back accusing words. It wouldn’t do any good to attack the guy in front of Mona and Liza. But he had to swat away visions of wrapping Brian’s smug smile backward around his face. He’d tried to shy away from brawls since his schoolyard days when he’d gotten enough practice defending Gabe. Joe blew out a hot breath and turned away.
“Get me out of these wet clothes,” Mona moaned.
“I don’t know. The drenched-puppy look becomes you.” Liza’s cheery voice teased, easing the horror of the afternoon’s near tragedy.
Joe spun around. “Where’s Rip?”
Liza gave him a blank look. Brian shrugged.
Joe walked to the center of the bridge, cupped both hands around his mouth, and called Rip’s name. The river roared in reply. He whistled, called again. No answering bark. Great. He’d left his dog in the woods. Some owner he was. Indictment screamed inside him—he was always abandoning someone.
Mona came up beside him. “He’ll show up, Joe. Keep calling.” She must have read his desperation, for she turned upriver and called Rip’s name. The action warmed him. So, she secretly liked Rip.
They hollered for Rip as they hiked the rest of the way down the trail, but Joe’s hope sank lower with each step. In the Kettle parking lot, Brian’s black Honda cooked in the low afternoon sun, and Joe couldn’t help but notice his truck looked like the wreck of the Hesperus next to it. For some reason, the comparison made him grimace. He’d been proud of the forest green clunker until now.
Trudging toward his wheels, he wondered if Mona would be riding back with him. She and Liza had ridden up with Brian. The refined hoodlum in black threads had forbidden the Lab to ride in his car, so Joe had followed in his truck. He wasn’t relishing the thought of a long, quiet ride home to relive the mistakes of the day.
He stalked to the cab, paused, and was about to holler for Rip a final time, when a pool of brown fur in the bed of the truck caught his attention. Relief washed through him seeing Rip, deep in slumber. Joe scratched him behind his ear, and the Lab instantly sprang to his feet, bathing his master in liquid kisses.
“You found him!” Mona exclaimed.
Joe appreciated the relief in her eyes. “The guy wore himself out, I guess.”
“Too many squirrels in this forest.”
Joe nodded and reached for the door handle.
“Can I ride with you?”
Do birds fly? “Sure.”
Joe caught Liza’s smirk as Mona climbed into the truck. He chose to ignore her.
The ride home was long. The warm truck cab magnified his weariness, and sleep lay like sandbags on Joe’s eyelids. The river had sucked the strength from his bones.
Mona lay slumped against the door, eyes closed. She looked exhausted and beautiful, with her hair drying in golden tendrils around her face. Her windbreaker was glued to her arms and torso, and she had to be uncomfortable in her sodden jeans. But a slight smile played on her lips, belying her misery. Something turned in his heart. The trip wasn’t a total loss. He had that smile as a keepsake—and the delicious memory of her nestled in his arms, unloading her fear into his chest. He wanted to hold her forever and decided he would, no matter where he went.
By the time they rolled into Deep Haven, the sun was a steadily falling crimson ball flecked with orange. It lit the clouds over Lake Superior red-gold, and they seemed tufted against the sky. The energetic lake was throwing itself in mighty white heaves against the jagged shoreline, and seagulls layered the far lighthouse like a gray-and-white blanket. Someone had tossed a box of meat scraps on shore, and another gang of greedy gulls screamed and fought each other for the morsels.
Joe drove slowly along Main Street. The gas line at Mom and Pop’s gas and groceries stretched a half mile as pickups with trawler boats and camping gear, headed for the northern lakes, filled up their extra tanks. The convenience store would be sporting a full till this evening, by the looks of the patrons lugging out bulging bags of supplies, gas cans, and boxes of live bait. Joe realized with a start that fishing season had opened. Maybe he should ask Gabe if he would like to catch some walleye with him. Would his brother know how?If not, maybe he could teach him and be the big brother he should have been.
World’s Best Donuts had closed for the day. The dime store, however, pushed back the approaching twilight with a pale yellow light, holding out for the last few anglers. Joe wondered what it would be like living in this slow, sleepy tourist town during the winter, when the boom of vacation season died. He envisioned sitting with Mona in the Footstep, warming their feet in front of a wood-burning stove, cups of coffee perched on the stumps she had varnished. The idea embraced him, and he was afraid of how much he liked it.
Mona stirred next to him, rubbed her eyes, and sat up.
“Almost home,” he said. Home. He hadn’t had a home in fifteen years, and now he was calling the Footstep home? A sense of panic hit him. What was he thinking? He had a life to live outside Deep Haven, a world to experience. His home had no borders, and until now, he’d been perfectly content with that. He wasn’t searching for a place to live. He had his backpack, and now Rip. That was the only home and family he needed.
Joe gritted his teeth and pulled up to the drive. “Back to your place.”
An hour later Joe had peeled off his wet clothes, taken a hot shower, and changed into his Rip-torn jeans, wool socks, and a Texas A & M sweatshirt. All his other clothes were filthy. He’d have to find
the local Laundromat tomorrow.
Armed with a hot cup of decaf and a ham sandwich, he set the plate on a backless caned chair and settled into the sofa. He knew he should be fleshing out ideas for what he’d seen today—opportunities to get back into the good graces of his employers, tidbits that could pan out into treasures. But something about the way Mona had clung to him, trusting him with her pain as if he were already a part of her life and her world, gave him pause.
Perhaps this wasn’t the right place, the right time.Maybe he’d chance going back empty-handed, and if he paid the price, then perhaps Mona wouldn’t have to.Maybe she’d never have to answer probing questions or wonder at his motives. Maybe he could leave in his wake just the memory of a man who’d rescued her from the Devil’s Kettle and helped her scrape together her dreams.
He rather liked the idea of being, rather than playacting, a hero. He rifled through his backpack and dug out a creased paperback. He’d read Louis L’Amour’s
Last of the Breed at least a dozen times, but he never tired of reading the story of a fighter pilot lost in the Siberian wilds.
Joe was somewhere in the Yablonovy Mountains when a loud rap jerked him back to reality. “Enter,” he called, laying a thumb over his last sentence.
The door opened and Mona leaned in on the knob.
“I’m doing laundry. If you want, you can do a load after I’m finished.”
“Just in time. I thought I might have to wear my long johns to church tomorrow.”
Mona rested her shoulder against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest. “Going to church?”
Joe nodded.
“Where?”
Caught. He fell into the snare without a thought. He’d been invited by Ruby to worship at the Garden.“Um, at a church north of here.”
“Up the Gunflint Trail?”
Joe calculated his answer. The road leading to the Garden strayed off the old, half-paved logging trail that stretched north from Deep Haven to the shores of Minnesota’s boundary lakes. “Yes. It’s off the Gunflint.”
“Oh, you must mean Gunflint Chapel,” she said.“We’ve worshiped there a few times. Cute chapel and the pastor is really nice.” She paused. “At least the pastor who served there ten years ago. I liked how he led worship in his moccasins.”
Joe raised his eyebrows. That sounded like a church he might enjoy. He hadn’t spent much time in formal fellowship, preferring to spend his Sundays with his Bible open in nature’s lap, listening to the birds sing their praises and letting his heart hum along. But actual voices raised in praise had a joyous effect on him, and on occasion he longed for the oneness of corporate worship.
“Well,” Mona continued, “I attend Grace Church, just up the road. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”
Joe folded his book on his lap, dog-earing the page.“Thanks, maybe some other time.”
Mona frowned. “Are you reading?”
Joe smirked at her expression. “A man’s been known to do that now and again. Don’t tell anybody. I’d hate to let out our secret—that we’re actually above primates in the evolutionary scale.”
Mona giggled, and it cheered him to hear it, especially after the day’s harrowing events. “What are you reading?”
Joe flexed an arm muscle. “A man’s book.” He held it up, and she made a sour face. “What, you don’t like Louis L’Amour?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t think a man has to wear a six-gun to be a hero.”
“Well, what do you read?”
“Adventure, romance, intrigue. I love to read.”
“Who’s your favorite author?”
“Reese Clark.”
The name knocked the wind out of him. “You like him?”
She wiggled her brows. “Actually, I’m in love with Jonah, his main character.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a real man.” She turned and shut the door, leaving him to restrain the strange leaping of his heart.
11
Mona hummed as she dug out the dirty clothes from her closet and tossed them into a laundry basket. She’d had to empty the basket of a stack of old books, and as she did, she couldn’t help but open a few and dive into her favorite chapters. Thus, sorting laundry took over an hour.
She piled the stack of Reese Clark novels next to her bed, intending to reread them soon. Her words to Joe rung in her ears. Jonah is a real man. Not that Joe didn’t have some of these utterly “real man” qualities—a tender streak that showed itself every time he wrestled with Rip and a protective nature that drove him into a frigid river to save her.
But Jonah was safer. Jonah always, without question, was honorable. He always let the heroine win, never stood in her way yet stood beside her. He never let his ladylove suffer, he never betrayed her heart, and he would never, ever leave her. It was always the women doing the leaving in the Reese Clark books.
Poor Jonah. It all started on his first adventure, when he worked as a dude rancher dodging unruly cattle and a nasty head wrangler. He’d fallen in love with the ranch’s owner, and Mona had sobbed onto the pages when his love had died in his arms.
In Clark’s next book, she traveled south with Jonah to Mexico, where he saved a family from a flash flood and stopped a ring of drug smugglers from destroying a village. In the end, his Mexican love had chosen another for her mate, and again Mona’s heart broke for her favorite character.
In Alaska Abyss, which she bought in hardback, Jonah sailed ship north and hired onto a salmon-boat crew in Alaska. After weathering a gale-force storm, her favorite hero hiked Mount Denali and saved an Inuit woman from hypothermia. But when she left him behind for her village in the Arctic Circle, Mona was secretly delighted.
In Berlin Crossing she had devoured the story of Jonah in Germany, where he watched the Wall crumble and helped a lady from East Germany find her family and true love on the Western side, again leaving Jonah with his heart in his hands.
By the time Jonah herded reindeer in Siberian Runaway, Mona was openly thrilled he hadn’t found a woman to win his love. That only meant more Jonah books—more adventures across the world, more opportunities to find the right lady.
Mona had preordered Canadian Catastrophe months ago and planned a prominent display space in her bookstore. It was due to hit the shelves in a month.
Mona sighed as she propped the laundry basket on her hip and treaded down the stairs. Liza’s accusation smacked of truth—Jonah was her dream man. In her mind’s eye, she conjured up his description—short hair, delicious blue eyes, and an embracing smile.
Mona skidded to a halt in the kitchen. She’d just described Joe! Her heart tumbled through her chest, and she battled the thought. Joe was an irresponsible drifter with no real goals. So what that he acted as if her dreams mattered to him? He pushed her to her last nerve with his goofball antics and his I-can-do-anything-better- than-you-can smirk. Joe was anything but Jonah. Joe might be flesh and blood, but only Jonah could hold her heart without breaking it.
She closed her eyes, fighting the image of Joe as she prayed. God, I know You’ve provided Joe for now, but please help me not to see more in him than what he is. Help me to look upward at Your plan for my life and not get entrapped by the petty longings of my heart.
She opened her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling calm take root in her heart.
The rotting cellar door creaked when she opened it. The damp, dust-laden air filtered into her nose and Mona stifled a sneeze. These catacombs of her home made her flesh crawl. Groping the wall, she found a light switch and flicked it on. The grimy overhead bulb lit a dim orange trail down the stairs. Mona squinted into the shadows, gauging her steps. The floor seemed muddy in the hazy lighting, not quite solid. Frowning, Mona eased down the stairs.
Her confusion slowly metastasized into horror.
The floor of her home was mud.
A lake of water, ankle high, filled the basement. Rotting wood, cement chips, dirt, and scum floated
along the floor. Standing two steps from the bottom, she watched ripples lap at her feet and gripped the flimsy rail to keep from collapsing. Where was the flood coming from? Was the house built on a swamp? From her perch, she examined the murky cellar, searching for a leak. A dark gray swath in the far cement wall seemed suspicious. She focused on it and made out a thin waterfall skimming over the top.
Mona flew up the stairs. Throwing her basket into the kitchen, she rushed outside, flicked on the backyard light, and sprinted around the house.
What she saw nearly buckled her knees. The garden hose had been left running under her lilac tree, gurgling for hours as she’d bounced down the Kettle River.
The sopping wet lawn glistened in the moonlight, and the foundation of the house was saturated. Mona squished through the grass, wading to the faucet. The whine and rush of water stopped as she cranked it shut, but fury coursed through her in a ferocious torrent. Joe!He was completely irresponsible, and now his foolishness had cost her a gigantic water bill and who knew how much in home repairs!
Anger took possession of her as she scrambled, fell, and scurried up the stairs to his garage apartment. She didn’t bother to knock; it wasn’t his place anyway. Bursting through Joe’s door, her frustration peaked. He lay relaxing on the sofa, calmly reading a book while her life sank in a quagmire.
The expression on her face must have betrayed her emotions, for he sat up and went white. “What?”
She shook, rage devouring coherent thought. She pointed at him, her finger shaking. “You! You let the water run! My basement is completely flooded!”
Joe jumped to his feet. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t deny it. When I let you water my tree, I didn’t know you were out to drown me!” She threw her hands in the air. “What am I going to do now? The foundation is probably ruined, the cellar is a swamp, and I have four weeks until opening. There’s no way I can repair this.” She closed her eyes, willing her pulse to a slower beat, her voice to a normal pitch.
Happily Ever After Page 11