And Tyler wasn’t exactly the center of the universe. People didn’t flock here looking for jobs even when Ingalls Farm and Machinery, the town’s main employer, was running at peak capacity. There just wasn’t much of a turnover at the F and M. Most of the people who worked there measured their employment in decades or years, not months or weeks.
Sarah narrowed her eyes against the coppery glare of the setting sun and continued her study of Michael Kenton. She wondered what he did for a living. If he didn’t look like a factory worker seeking employment, he certainly didn’t look like a waiter or bartender on his way to a job interview at Timberlake Lodge, Tyler’s other main employer.
Maybe he was just passing through, as unlikely as that might seem. Tyler didn’t have the kind of reputation that attracted drifters. Most of the people who came here had a reason for doing so. But when all was said and done, this man’s reason was none of her business. He was a Good Samaritan, stopping to offer his help in her time of need. What he did for a living or where he was going was his business, not hers.
While she watched, the stranger finished anchoring the chain with sure and practiced gestures, and two minutes later, with Jonas carefully maneuvering his battered pickup, the trunk came free and dropped to the ground with a thud. Ten minutes after that the hole in the roof was covered, the heavy plastic tarp was anchored down with cement blocks and Michael Kenton was back on the ground.
Randy and Jonas were surveying the litter of broken, twisted branches around them as he descended. Randy looked at his watch, shrugged and prepared to yank the starter cord on the chain saw. The gesture wasn’t lost on Sarah.
“Wait,” she called. She walked toward the three men, her feet strangely reluctant to move from the spot where she was standing. “Don’t worry about clearing away those branches this afternoon. It’s only an hour until the game starts. You’ll miss kickoff if you don’t leave now.”
“I don’t like to leave a job half-finished,” Jonas said stubbornly.
“It can wait. You can’t be late for Brian’s homecoming game.” She looked at Michael Kenton and smiled automatically, her Sunday-morning-greeting-on-the-church-steps smile. She would treat him just like all the other men in her congregation, keep a friendly distance. That way he wouldn’t seem quite so dangerously male, so compelling. “Jonas’s youngest boy, Brian, is Tyler High’s star quarterback this season. Tonight’s the homecoming game against Sugar Creek. I don’t want Jonas and Randy to miss it.”
Michael Kenton looked directly at her with those dark, unreadable eyes, and Sarah fought against an unexplainable urge to look away or be in danger of being lost in their depths. Her practiced smile faded away, leaving her breathless and a little unsteady.
“No problem,” he said after a few moments. “There’s a good hour of daylight left. If Jonas will leave the chain saw, I’ll finish up.”
“We can come back tomorrow,” Jonas said.
“That’s not necessary unless you don’t trust me with your property.”
“Didn’t say I didn’t trust you.” Jonas motioned for Randy to hand over the saw. “Said you didn’t have to stay and finish my work. But if you’re of a mind to do it, I’ll say thank-you and be on my way.” He held out his hand.
Michael Kenton returned the handshake. “Like I said, no problem.”
After making arrangements to come back the next afternoon and haul the cut wood away, Randy and Jonas climbed into the truck and drove off, leaving Sarah alone with the stranger. She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned back to face him.
“You really don’t have to do this. I...it’s getting late. You’ll probably be wanting to find a place to stay. There’s a very nice bed-and-breakfast a couple of streets over. It’s called Granny Rose’s.” He didn’t seem like the bed-and-breakfast type. “Unless you were planning to spend the night at Timberlake Lodge?”
“Is that the big place out by the lake I passed coming into town? Lots of gables and chimneys and a fancy gate out by the road?”
Sarah nodded, having trouble meeting his dark gaze. She recrossed her arms under her breasts, noticing the late-October chill for the first time. She felt awkward and tongue-tied in Michael Kenton’s presence, as though she’d never been left alone with a man before. She’d never felt that way around men when Eric was alive. And since he’d died three years ago she hadn’t felt much of anything at all. That made this stranger’s effect on her even more disturbing. “I think Timberlake’s out of my price range.”
“Mine, too,” she said, forcing a smile. “Especially now that I have to find the money in the budget to fix the church roof.”
“It should be a simple-enough job. There was no serious structural damage that I could see.”
“Thank heaven for that,” Sarah said.
“Aren’t you going to ask the Almighty to help you out on this one?” Michael Kenton asked, the beginning of a smile touching his mouth.
“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Sarah reminded him. “One of our local contractors, Joe Santori, promised to send someone over to give me an estimate as soon as he could spare the time. But he’s putting up some new condominiums on Lake Shore Road, and what with everyone else who has wind damage to deal with...” She fell silent a moment, then spoke quickly before her brain could censor her words. “Mr. Kenton, would you like the job of repairing the church roof? I can’t pay you much, but I can offer you a place to stay. And your meals. I’m a pretty good cook.”
Why had she said that? Why had she told this man she would fix his meals? It would have been enough to offer him the use of the efficiency apartment above the parsonage garage. That was what the room was meant for, after all—sheltering travelers and townspeople in need of a place to stay. But there had been no need to offer to share her food and her kitchen. She wished she could take the words back, but it was too late. She was torn between hoping he would accept her offer so that she could quit worrying about the hole in the roof, and wishing just as hard that he would say no, get in his pickup and drive out of town and out of her staid, quiet life before he disturbed it any more than he already had.
Michael Kenton didn’t answer right away. His blue-black eyes grew even darker, more unreadable. Or perhaps that darkening, that feeling that he was considering accepting her offer for reasons of his own that had nothing to do with a place to stay and food for his stomach was only a trick of light and shadow as the sun slipped closer to the horizon and the smell of burning leaves came to her nostrils on the evening breeze.
“It would take only two or three days to fix the roof,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and untroubled. “If you turn me down I’m going to have to cancel day care until I can get someone who will. Surely you can find enough charity in you to spare me the wrath of the parents of thirty-five displaced preschoolers, can’t you, Mr. Kenton?”
He held her gaze for a few seconds more. Then the darkness retreated from his eyes and a smile curved his mouth, a genuine smile this time, one that nearly took her breath away. “Thirty-five preschoolers?”
“Thirty-five,” Sarah confirmed.
“TylerTots,” he said, still smiling. “Who came up with that name?”
Sarah raised her chin. “I did. I think it’s cute.”
The smile disappeared. “What will your husband say about me staying here?”
“My husband is dead, Mr. Kenton. He died three years ago in a snowmobile accident. This was his church, his parish. Now it’s mine. I have the authority to allow the use of the garage apartment and to offer you the job of repairing the church roof. I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said.
“Is it a deal, Mr. Kenton?” she asked, holding out her hand. He had refused to shake hands with her before. She wondered if he would do so again. He hesitated barely a heartbeat, then enfolded he
r hand in his. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. His hand was hard and strong, his skin warm and rough, and she felt the shock of his touch all the way to her toes.
“It’s a deal, Reverend Fleming.”
“Good.” The one-word reply was all she could manage. He released her hand, and Sarah resisted the urge to rub away the tingling sensation in her palm. “I’ll show you the apartment. You can buy all the supplies you need from Murphy’s Hardware and charge it to the church’s account. They open at seven, so there’s no reason you can’t get started first thing in the morning.”
CHAPTER TWO
“THIS IS THE FIRST YEAR since Kellie Jo was born that I haven’t had to rack my brains for Halloween costumes,” Moira Schweinhagen said as she ran her fingers through Alyssa Wocheck’s hair, watching in the mirror to see that every shining strand fell into place. “I mean, fifteen years of ballerinas and pirate hats and wooden swords and the walking dead. Enough is enough.”
“It’s hard to believe all three of your children are in high school,” Alyssa commented with sympathy. The rise and fall of voices from the other occupied chairs at the Hair Affair salon underscored their words. Myra Allen was having her roots touched up in the seat next to Alyssa and, being incurably nosy, was probably eavesdropping on their conversation. Sheila Lawson, the manager at Timberlake Lodge and a high-school classmate of Alyssa’s daughter, Liza Forrester, was getting a manicure, while Martha Bauer, the mother of Alyssa’s best friend, Anna Kelsey, still spry and active at eighty-four, was evaluating her new perm with a critical eye.
Moira laughed, her blue eyes nearly disappearing into her plump, good-natured face. “It is a pretty high price to pay for not having to be sewing on costumes every spare minute of the month of October,” she agreed. “Especially since I’m working so many more hours now that I’m managing this place. But I don’t miss all that candy lying around the house. I used to gain at least a pound every Halloween. By the way, how many trick-or-treaters did you have last night?”
“Hundreds,” Alyssa replied with a smile of her own. She was used to Moira’s rapid-fire changes of subject. “I passed out all the candy I had in the house, and I even raided the cookie jar before I could satisfy all the little ghouls and goblins that came to the door.”
“Well,” Moira said, brandishing a can of hair spray as she smoothed a final strand into place, “it’s only once a year, after all.”
“Cece brought the twins by,” Alyssa continued, waving off the hair spray. “Jeff had an emergency at the hospital so she had her hands full. They were dressed up as little cows, with ears and tails and everything. They were ‘udderly’ adorable.” Annie and Belle Baron were Alyssa’s grandchildren, the daughters of her son, Jeff, and his wife, Cece. Along with their cousin, four-year-old Margaret Alyssa Forrester, they were her pride and joy.
“Liza and Cliff brought Margaret Alyssa by our place,” Moira said. She made a clicking sound against her teeth. “Imagine a four-year-old wanting to be a vampire.”
Alyssa laughed aloud. “Complete with fangs and fake bloodstains on her lips.”
“That child is just as much of a free spirit as her mother.”
“Liza always did march to a different drummer,” Alyssa agreed. Five years ago that statement would have caused her heart to ache. But five years was a long time, and her relationship with her rebellious youngest child was now on firm ground.
“They’re cute as bugs’ ears, all three of those kids.” Moira removed Alyssa’s cape. “Did you take pictures of them in their costumes so we can all see them?”
“Of course.” Alyssa brushed off her skirt as she rose. “Lots. Edward’s in London and missed seeing them in costume. And Dad and Tisha would never forgive me if I didn’t send them at least half a dozen poses.”
“I thought that husband of yours was going to be spending more time here at Timberlake and less time jetting around Europe.”
“He’s helping Devon interview candidates for a new vice president of operations for Addison Hotels International, so that both he and Devon can spend more time here,” Alyssa explained. Devon Addison, heir to the vast Addison Hotels chain, was Edward Wocheck’s stepson. And since her marriage to Edward he had become very dear to Alyssa, as well.
“That’s great. You’d never know that boy is worth big bucks when you see him on the street. Acts just like everyone else.” It was a high compliment coming from Moira, and Alyssa took it as such. “Speaking of my absent boss,” Moira said, changing the subject in midsentence as she led the way to the cash register. “She called yesterday to check up on us. She says she’s been down to the pool every day. And it sounds like their condo is really gorgeous.”
“Yes, it is very nice. Small and comfy and convenient to shopping and their favorite restaurants.” Privately Alyssa was a little shocked that her eighty-two-year-old father had decided to move into his fiancée’s Tucson condo. Tisha Olsen, a flamboyant and outspoken redhead was almost thirty years Judson Ingalls’s junior. And although Tisha routinely postponed setting a wedding date, their engagement was of long standing and their attachment to each other genuine. In Tyler, however, they’d always kept separate residences. Evidently in Arizona they felt more free to be themselves.
“Tisha says Judson has taken up golf,” Moira disclosed.
“That’s what he told me when we last spoke on the telephone. I can’t believe it,” Alyssa said with a laugh. “As long as I can remember Dad’s said that game was a waste of time. Now he’s golfing three times a week.”
“It’s good for him,” Moira pronounced, taking the check Alyssa handed her and slipping it into the cash register. “He’s worked hard all his life.”
“Yes, he has. And I’m glad that he has a chance to enjoy himself with a woman he loves.” Alyssa and Tisha Olsen, although contemporaries in age, were not close friends and never had been. But Tisha had been Judson’s staunchest defender when he’d been accused of the death of Alyssa’s mother, a murder that had taken place forty-five-years before, and her belief in his innocence had never wavered. Alyssa admired her for that steadfastness. And all other considerations aside, Tisha adored Judson and so did Alyssa. That was their common ground, and they had built a workable relationship on that basis over the past four years.
Alyssa turned to take her coat from the hook alongside the counter. It was a beautiful sunny day, but the sunlight was deceiving. The temperature was only in the mid-fifties, with a bite to the air that seemed to have arrived with the new month.
“I’ll bet that’s the man that Pastor Sarah hired to fix the church roof,” Moira remarked, wiggling her finger in the direction of Murphy’s Hardware on the other side of Main Street. “Over there, loading stuff into that blue pickup. That’s who it has to be. Pete saw him up on the roof. Told me he looked like he’s doing a real good job. One or two other people have hired him to do storm repairs, since Joe Santori and his crew are so tied up out at those new condos on Lake Shore Road.”
Alyssa frowned at the mention of the contractor’s name. “I know Joe’s busy. He was supposed to replace the front porch railing for me before winter.” She glanced in the direction of Moira’s pointing finger. She had never seen the man Moira was referring to before, but she had heard about the stranger in town. He was dressed in faded jeans and an equally faded gray sweatshirt. He had short dark hair, mostly hidden beneath a red baseball cap, a strong profile and beard-shadowed chin. It was hard to make out any more details from inside the Hair Affair, but Alyssa caught herself staring at the young man nonetheless.
“Maybe this guy could do it for you,” Moira said, staring as hard as Alyssa. “His name’s Keating or Carson or something like that.”
His name wasn’t Carson. It was Kenton. Michael Kenton. Cece had told her about him, and she’d gotten the information straight from her friend, Sarah Fleming. “Joe always does our repair work....” Al
yssa adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. The broken porch railing, the result not of the recent storm but of a runaway piano that Liza had moved out to the boathouse, had been worrying Alyssa. The damage was very close to the front steps of the house, and with the twins and Margaret Alyssa always running in and out, she didn’t want to leave it unrepaired any longer than necessary.
“Why don’t you see if this guy’d be willing to do the job for you? Joe won’t mind, I bet, especially not on a little project like that.”
“Maybe I will,” Alyssa said, making up her mind. “It can’t hurt to ask.”
Moira nodded, then added a cautious rejoinder. “The worst he can do is say no.”
* * *
“EXCUSE ME—MR. KENTON, IS IT?”
Michael straightened to face the woman standing half in shadow, half in sunlight beneath the old-fashioned canvas awning outside Murphy’s Hardware.
“Yes, ma’am. Michael Kenton. What can I do for you?” His grandma had taught him manners once upon a time. He slid the last of the two-by-fours he’d been loading into the bed of the pickup and rested his arms on the side walls.
“I wonder if I might speak to you for a moment.” She was in her late forties or early fifties, with sleek blond hair lightly threaded with silver, high cheekbones and a long slender neck without a sag or wrinkle in sight. She was one very classy-looking lady. Michael had spent some time around the upper crust in his younger days, and he knew what to look for. Her shoes and purse were real Italian leather and her coat hadn’t come off the rack at K-Mart. Her earrings and the watch that peeked out from below her cuff were real gold, heavy and substantial, but elegant and understated, like everything else about her.
“Fire away.”
“I need some work done on my house. Nothing too complicated, but I’d like to have it finished before winter comes. Would you be interested in the job?” She shifted the strap of her purse a little higher on her shoulder. Her eyes were somewhere between blue and gray, with little lines fanning out from the corners. They were narrowed now, watching him closely, gauging his words and more, he suspected, as she waited for his answer.
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