“Mona, calm down. It’ll be okay. I’ll help you fix it.I’ll work round the clock. . . . I’ll even pay for it.”
Mona opened her eyes and glared at him. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your money. You’re fired!Pack your bag and your measly dog and get out of here tonight!”
She whirled, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the door behind her. The building shuddered. She got as far as the bottom step. Sinking onto the hard wood, she buried her face in her hands and wept.
Joe scraped his hands through his hair, searching through the events of the day, desperate to make sense of Mona’s accusation. Had he left the hose on? He closed his eyes, blew out a shaky breath. He’d been watering the poplar tree. Brian had arrived, and Rip smashed Liza’s pottery. . . .
His jaw clenched. Brian! He’d handed the hose to Brian and hadn’t touched it again. The weasel had left it running under the lilac tree. Anger blew through him. He trembled and closed his fists, wanting to stalk down the culprit and sop up the basement with his fancy leather jacket while he was still wearing it. Help me calm down, Lord. Joe unclenched his fists and blew out a hot breath. It would do no good to attack Brian. It would just show Mona he couldn’t accept responsibility and would rather cast blame.
He trudged to the sofa and sank into it, anguish swamping him. Fired. Mona wanted him to leave. But without his help, she’d never piece the Footstep back together. Just like her blind determination to jump across the river despite the obvious perils, she was going to fire him without another helper in sight. Even if she did find another handyman, she would probably spend all her time following him, ordering him around. Maybe she’d even wander down to the beach with him and challenge him to a rock-skipping contest.
The thought made him burn. He leaped to his feet. No, he had to reason with her. For her own good, he had to stay.
He marched to the door and whipped it open. Determination fueled his steps, but he skidded to a halt on the landing, and his pounding heart skipped a beat. Mona sat at the bottom in a crumpled mass, weeping, her agony audible. He stifled a moan and tiptoed down the stairs.
Wordlessly, he sat down next to her on the steps. She had her arms wrapped over her head, and her entire body shook. She tried to contain her sobs, but they hiccupped from her tiny frame. His heart wrenched, watching her emotions bleed. Tentatively, he curled an arm around her. After a moment, she leaned her head against his chest. She sounded so broken, it brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to soothe the pain away, tame her fears, and hold her until she could smile again. He rested his cheek on her hair, his eyes burning.
When he felt her body stop racking, he cupped a hand under her chin so her swollen, red eyes lifted to his. He caressed her cheek with his thumb, smearing her tears.“I’m not leaving, Mona. I am so sorry this happened, but I am not going to leave you to chip away at these massive repairs and watch your dream die. I’ll even work for free. I don’t care what you say. I’m staying.”
He saw argument, albeit weak, gather in her eyes. He put a finger over her lips to silence her.
She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“I forgive you.” He wove his fingers through her hair.
Her chin quivered, and he saw a fresh batch of tears glisten in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t either. But we can pray and ask God for help. I know He can rescue you and the Footstep.”
To his profound surprise, she shook her head. “No. That would be asking too much. Maybe God doesn’t want this to happen. He’s probably using all these repairs, even this catastrophe, to tell me to give up.”
Joe frowned. “Why would God do that?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “Because I don’t deserve His help. I don’t deserve this dream to come true.”
Joe gently drew her gaze to his again. Her eyes were tortured, and he recognized the familiar pain prowling in them. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
She shrugged, tears spilling.
“Mona, God isn’t the great saboteur of dreams. He doesn’t give us a dream just to make it fail. He puts that dream inside us for a reason, and He wants to help make it happen.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t deserve any of God’s goodness. I wouldn’t blame Him a bit if He yanked it all away.”
Her hopeless words made Joe ache. He caressed her face, reaching out to her with his eyes. “Listen, the character of God is full of mercy—not giving us what we do deserve—and grace—giving us what we don’t deserve. You say you don’t deserve God’s help, but by your very words, you prove He isn’t trying to destroy your dreams. Ask God for help. If you don’t think you deserve it, then perhaps that is exactly what God wants to delight you with, to show how much He loves you.”
She frowned at him, biting her lip. Joe searched her face and saw only doubt. “Mona, have you ever heard this verse: ‘Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires’? When we delight in Him, He wants to fill our lives with His love, with our deepest longings.”
Her eyes filled, and he saw in them desperation, as if she were trying to comprehend his words. Lord, what is keeping Mona from accepting Your love, Your grace, in her life?
Mona’s expression abruptly changed. Flicking her tears with both hands, she squinted at him. “So you’re staying?”
The way she said it, her eyes flecking with hope, trust pitching her voice, entwined his heart. Suddenly all the reasons he had for leaving, or staying, were muted by one thought: he was falling for this lady, hard and fast.
“I’m staying,” he affirmed softly. She smiled, and he couldn’t stop himself. She looked so beautiful and needy, and the vulnerable way she gazed at him, as if longing to believe his words . . . it reeled him in. Cradling her face in his hands, he gently kissed her. Her soft lips tasted of salt, and she trembled at his touch. Her response was everything he’d hoped for, tender and yielding. He longed to linger, to pull her into his arms, but self-control forced him to draw back. He studied her face. “As long as I’m not still fired.”
Shock washed over her beautiful face. Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Good,” he whispered, “’cause Rip and I weren’t looking forward to sleeping in the truck.”
“Mona?” Liza’s voice called from the house.
Mona pulled out of Joe’s grasp and scrambled hastily to her feet. “Out here!” she answered. She breathed out, a shaky breath that spoke volumes for both of them.
What had he just done? Looking at her as she smoothed her hair and straightened her sweatshirt, her eyes not meeting his, his mouth went dry.
He’d just kissed Mona.
It was by far the sweetest kiss he’d ever shared. And he’d enjoyed it way more than a man without a future in Deep Haven should.
Liza banged through the back door. “There you are.What are you up to?” She braked, eyeing them quizzically. “Not working on house repairs, I see.”
Joe gave Mona a tender smile. “Nope, other kinds of repairs.”
The silence between them was accentuated by the gentle wind singing through the trees and waves combing the shore. Liza scrutinized the couple on the steps, grinning suspiciously, then went back inside. Mona rubbed her arms and stared at Joe. He saw her confusion and offered a reassuring smile, one that might calm both their racing heartbeats. “Good night, Mona.”
She stuttered her reply. “G-good night, Joe. See you tomorrow.” Then she bolted toward the house.
He lingered on the steps, remembering the hope in her eyes, feeling the touch of her lips, and pushing back not just a little panic. He had no business kissing her. Yet being near her unraveled his common sense and pushed him into the realm of hope. Mona trusted him. That thought made something thick and warm spread through him.
He buried his face in his hands. Lord, I’m in big trouble here. This could really hurt. The memory of her tear-streaked, incredible green eyes staring up at him as
she clung to his words of assurance made his chest burn. Yes, he was definitely here to help Mona, as long as he remembered what was best for all of them—keeping a tight lock on his privacy. If he kept Gabe and Mona in separate worlds and a low profile himself, he just might be able to forget that he had a deadline looming. And he could throw himself into Mona’s dreams—not forever, but long enough to remind himself what it felt like to have a place to call home, a dream worth building.
Joe watched Mona’s light flick on in her room. He would stay until the job was done, but he was going to need a little help.
And please, oh please, Lord, make Mona’s dreams come true.
Mona slammed her fist into her pillow, hoping to fluff it into a more comfortable position. But when she plopped her head back on it, she knew sleep was no closer than it had been three hours ago. Moonlight spilled through her window, streaking across the wood floor. The wind tugged at the trees, and the branches moved in quick, stilted jerks across the window. By the sound of the waves lunging at the shore, Mona guessed that a storm front was breezing in. Or maybe the storm she sensed was only the turmoil in her heart.
She’d let Joe kiss her. So she’d been bereft, totally knocked off her feet by the horror in her basement. It didn’t mean she had to go blubbering to her local handyman. He probably saw her for what she was—a desperately lonely woman who needed this dream more than anything in her life. He’d probably kissed her out of pity.
Except . . . it had been such a gentle, impossibly tender kiss, with his fingers lightly brushing the sides of her face and sending tingles down her spine. It didn’t feel like a pity kiss—it felt more like what had been written in his eyes when he’d dragged her out of Devil’s Kettle. Emotions she couldn’t possibly put a name to if she wanted to keep her focus. Emotions that were building in her own heart. Ones she’d have to exorcise—and fast. This accident was a case in point. Joe had surprised her with his charm, and in a weak moment, she’d allowed herself to trust him and stopped hawking his every move.
Now, not only was her house floating on a virtual lake, her heart was poised to be crushed. It would do her well to remember that Joe was a drifter. He was leaving in four weeks, if not sooner, and if she wasn’t careful, he would be taking her heart with him.
Her throat grew raw. Did she want to destroy everything she had worked so hard for? Mona sat up, swung her legs off her bed, and let the cold floor jolt the soft image of Joe and his glistening blue eyes radiating concern from her mind.
The Joe Michaels package was definitely alluring. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed his company, his teasing laughter, and his ocean-deep eyes. And she was profoundly grateful for his hard work. But she couldn’t surrender to his charisma. God was giving her so much with the Footstep dream. She simply couldn’t add love to her list of requests.
The desires of her heart. Joe had no idea the thoughts those words produced. She shuddered, reluctant to unlock her heart, her dreams, even for her own private investigation. Desires—like the success of her bookstore. Desires—like a man to share her home, her dream with.Or how about her craziest dream—that Jonah would walk off the pages of Reese Clark’s books and into her arms? She chuckled ruefully. Some desires were beyond even God.
Still, Joe’s words stung. Not because he wasn’t right but because they would never, ever be for her. Why would the Almighty grant even one, let alone three dreams for a woman who’d killed someone she loved?
Forgiveness was enough. It would always be enough. Her desires would stay safely locked away where they wouldn’t hurt a soul.
Her throat closed and she padded to the window seat, curled inside, and buried her face in her knees. Oh, Lord, I’m sorry I let this happen—I should have watched Joe better. Please forgive me. You’ve given me this house, and I know it’s a gift from You. Please give me another chance to make the Footstep happen. I promise to keep far away from Joe if You’ll just help me pull this house together. Don’t let it all crumble, please.
Cold tears swabbed her face, and hair clung to her wet cheeks. The storm breakers hurtled onto shore as Mona rocked herself, reliving years of grief and wondering if she would ever break the bonds of sorrow.
12
Joe found Mona in her rumpled church dress, sitting cross-legged in the hallway. The phone lay in her lap, and she wore the most mournful expression he had ever seen. He hunkered down beside her. “What’s the matter?”
Mona bit her trembling lip and shook her head.
Joe’s heart twisted. She looked brutal this morning—puffy red eyes, sallow face. And when he’d greeted her with a smile, she merely offered a grimace in return. Obviously she’d had a hard night. He measured out a soft tone. “Please, tell me.”
Mona’s voice sounded weak. “The insurance company can’t come until next week. Why did I have to find a company with the nearest branch office in Minneapolis?” She covered her face with her hands.
Joe pinched his lips together, debating whether or not to reveal his morning’s activities. The yawning rumble behind him in the front yard made his decision.
Mona jerked her head up. “What’s that?”
Joe put a calming hand on her shoulder. “The septic company. They’re going to clean out the basement.”
“What?” Mona banged the phone onto the floor and hauled herself to her feet. “I didn’t call them.”
Joe stood and braced himself. “I did.”
She shot him a look that made him wince. “I can’t afford it, Joe, especially a weekend call. I have to wait for the insurance adjuster to arrive before I can spend one more nickel on this place.” She stalked toward the door.
He followed her, keeping his voice low-key. “I’m paying for it.”
She whirled; if she had fur and claws he would have thought her a grizzly. “Oh no you’re not. I already owe you more than I can ever repay. You’re working for peanuts, and I don’t need your charity.”
Joe buried his hands in his pockets and examined his scuffed shoes. How to make her understand? “Well, maybe this whole thing is my fault. Maybe I did leave the hose on.” He offered an apologetic grin. “The least I could do is pay for it.”
She glowered at him, but her fury lost steam. He saw her turning over the words in her mind, and her eyes flickered with an unknown emotion. Relief? Thankfulness? Anger? Joe didn’t want to know. He took a step closer to her. “Please let me help you, Mona. I don’t want to see your dreams crumble.”
She went white, and in her eyes rose a desperation so vivid it masked all other emotions. He wanted to hold her then, like he had last night on the porch, and like he did in his dreams. He wanted to smooth her hair and surround her with reassurance. At that moment he didn’t care if his heart might be stripped in the process. The longing for her to reach out to him, to trust him with her hopes, made his chest ache. What had happened to all that trust that had budded last night on his steps? Not a trace of it remained in those tortured eyes. Couldn’t she just let him help, a little bit, without making it seem like a federal crime?
Her next words drove a cold fist through those thoughts. “It’s a loan. I’ll pay you back if I have to wash dishes in some greasy truck stop for the rest of my life.” Then she hustled outside, putting distance between them like a wide receiver pulling away from the pack.
The sewer-truck hose snaked through the front foyer, along the wood floor that thankfully she hadn’t polished yet, through the kitchen, and down the back stairs.Mona listened to the loud pumps slurp up water and scowled as the truck’s tires plowed wide swaths into her front lawn.
The sight of a city septic truck at a Main Street business attracted a swarm of onlookers, and Mona spent most of the afternoon fielding mindless questions and meeting neighbors. It seemed everyone wanted to know why the old Victorian was leaking.
Edith Draper surveyed the scene like a general, standing on the porch with her arms folded across her chest, her nylon-clad legs pushed into sensible shoes under blue polyester stretch pants. He
r eyes stayed pinned to the long plastic tube running across the porch. Mona stood next to her, thankful for her stalwart presence.
Edith muttered something under her breath. The truck’s motor gobbled up the words.
“What did you say?”
Edith raised her voice and leaned close. “I said, no wonder Brian didn’t want to pay much for this house. He must have known about the leak in the foundation.”
Mona looked at Edith. “It wasn’t a leak. Joe left the hose on. But back to the part about Brian paying for this place—what are you talking about?”
Edith adjusted the hem of her pink acrylic sweater.“Brian Whitney. This was his grandmother’s house. When she died, her will instructed the family to sell it and divide it equally. Brian put in a bid for the entire house, but it couldn’t match your bid, so he lost it. I’m sure he received a portion of the proceeds, however.”
Mona felt sick. Why hadn’t Brian mentioned anything? He must have been assaulted by memory every time he walked into her home. Pity pierced her heart. Poor man, losing his grandmother’s home just because he couldn’t top her offer. No wonder he always seemed slightly jumpy when he was around her, always trying to impress her with his slick car and fancy duds, as if trying to keep his dignity. At least he was making the attempt to befriend her.
Her gaze traveled to Joe, and she watched him talk to a maintenance man. His hands were in his back pockets, and he rocked back and forth from heel to toe. He’d done a kind thing for her, and she’d treated him with all the warmth of a porcupine. If only he didn’t have eyes that reached right into her soul or words that found the soft spot in her heart, where they could twist and rip and scar.
Happily Ever After Page 12