“Over here, son. Quickly. We don’t have much time, especially if that wind keeps up.”
A stack of thick canvas tarps perched right beyond the door on a wooden bench. “You have so many. What do you do with all these tarps?”
Art grinned now that the shock had worn off. Rain dripped off his nose and onto the floor in an almost comic manner. “I’m a roofer. Of all things. Guess I’ll earn my keep tonight, won’t I?” He gazed over the heavy folds of canvas at Joe. “At least, with your help, son. Getting the trunk off without creating more problems is probably the most important right now. Let’s get a move on. Lightning seems to have moved away. I don’t want either of us to get hit.”
As they walked out, arms full, the branch didn’t seem anywhere near as big as it had appeared originally. Maybe they could do this between the two of them after all. “Then you guide me, sir. I’ll be your extra set of hands and try not to get in the way.”
He couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder toward the back door. Blue eyes focused on him for a brief second out the back-room window. Took his breath away. Victoria had grown into such a beautiful woman. Then she turned away, no doubt to help her mother. That feeling in his stomach filled him with what? Dread? He tamped down the strange emotions. Blue eyes or not, there was work to do, and besides, getting mixed up with some girl was not on his agenda.
*
Victoria locked eyes with him for a second, then she twisted from the window. He had helped her father take charge and it wasn’t even his home. That was kind. She realized now more than ever how all the problems had begun at the dance. All because Joe had been such a gentleman. But there wasn’t time to think about dreamy eyes. She and her mother dashed through the mudroom to the kitchen and into the front room, their arms loaded with pots and pans to catch the water dripping from the hole in the ceiling.
“Victoria, over here,” her mother shouted. “Let’s protect the furniture first.”
“Right behind you, Mom.” She lugged the empty laundry basket filled with pans into the front room. “Here you go.”
They set a pan under each drip.
At last, her mother took the time to stop. “Who’s the young man?”
“Joe Huntington.” Victoria bit down on her lip.
“Who?” Her mother’s voice changed almost immediately, her lips pursing, exposing her agitation. “Isn’t he the boy who—”
“Not now, Mom. I’ll explain later. But it wasn’t at all what I had thought.” She shook her head. “Not at all. So put away that angry face and let’s get this done.”
Victoria set the biggest pot on the sofa cushion to keep off the water. Then realized that moving the sofa worked better. So she slid her arms around the top and heaved it out of the way.
Her mother’s brow was still knitted together, a face Victoria had been on the receiving end of too many times. Oh, yes. She was remembering Joe, all right. Was she also remembering how she’d been in trouble at dance school with Joe? Her mother had been required to talk with Miss Davies about Victoria’s behavior. Horsefeathers. Not another lecture now, please. That was years ago. She was a grown-up now.
But Joe pushed through the front door before her mother could respond. “Here you go. Mr. Banks said to cover the furniture. I’ll help.” He took control immediately and Victoria liked that. A decisive man. “We’re going to be cutting the limb, and you’ll both need to get out of the house, just in case.”
Her mother eyed him suspiciously but managed to ask, “In case of what? Is there another disaster ahead of us?”
“No, ma’am. But we don’t want to take chances when we roll that branch off the roof.”
“Oh, my.” Her mother’s hand fluttered over her chest. “Off the roof? Where will you roll it?”
“Ma’am, there’s room on the other side of the house between your place and the neighbor’s. He’s out helping us, too. We’ve got ropes rigged so it shouldn’t fall on the garage.”
“On the garage?” Her mother’s hands started their telltale wringing, a sign she was about to fly over the top.
Joe seemed to recognize her anxiety and moved her toward a dry chair. “Sit for a minute. Let me help Victoria. We’ll cover the sofa right away. Victoria, move those pans near it and we’ll put on the cover before it’s completely ruined.” He opened the tarp up and spread it out. “Why not push the big pieces together? This is big enough to cover all of them.”
He didn’t wait for a response but shoved one of the chairs toward the sofa.
“I can’t sit here and do nothing.” Her mother rose and took an end of the tarp. Maybe his helping would let her see him in a different light. “Don’t worry, young man, I might behave like a fainting flower from time to time, but I’m stronger than you think.” She slapped her hands. “What should we do first?”
Joe and her mother tucked and pushed until they had the tarp secured over most of the front room furniture. The rest of the smaller pieces didn’t seem to be getting wet, so they just corralled them tighter to the far wall and set out more pans.
With his jaw tight, he started for the door. “There you go. I’m headed back up on the roof with your father.”
“On the roof?” Victoria shouted. “You shouldn’t be up there in your dress clothes. Those shoes will slip and slide. Look at all the mud on them. You could get hurt!” She followed him to the door, where she bent down, grabbed a glove from the umbrella rack and scraped at the mud. When she stood back up, her face zinged with warmth.
“Aw.” He clipped her chin. “You care about me.” He dropped a smile, then dashed out the door. “Your father needs my help, dress shoes or not. I can’t leave him up there by himself. That would be dangerous.”
“But, Joe…”
He grinned like a cat with a mouse, but his face quickly reflected his concern for them. “You ladies should get coats on and sit in my car. It’s out of the way. Your neighbor is helping us prune the smaller branches, but we don’t want her to roll until it’s time.”
“Her again, huh?” And with that she headed for the coatrack.
“Yes, ma’am. Definitely a her. How about if you two get under cover before we start the heavy work? Don’t want any mishaps.”
Victoria drew in her lip with her top teeth and bit down…again. How chivalrous. Was he as wonderful as he appeared to be, or was this the face he donned for her parents? Who was the real Joseph Huntington? One minute cold as ice, the next giving her a ride home, apologizing, helping her father. She shook her head. Too much mystery for her to care. So why the fluttering insects in her stomach?
*
Joe stifled a chuckle. His shoes? Was she really concerned with his shoes when she had a five-foot section of her roof ripped away? He’d been through war and back, and he understood that clothes could always be replaced, but a man’s life came along only once. Determined steps drove him out of the front room toward the back and around to the outside front of the house again, where Mr. Banks and his neighbor were mulling over the fall of the branch.
As he lifted his feet in the mud, they dragged like lead weights. The mud crusted the edges so that they looked more like shoe boxes than shoes. He shook off as much as he could, then scraped them against a broken branch.
“Son, grab that big tarp off the hood of your car.” Art nodded. “That’s the one. Lug it up here. Be careful, now. Those shoes are gonna be slippery.”
Okay, so maybe she was right about the shoes. He’d be a bit more careful.
An hour passed as Joe, Mr. Banks and the neighbor named Slater cut the huge branch away from the house. Then with Mr. Banks on top and ropes fashioned to help it fall in the right direction away from the garage, Joe and Mr. Slater eased the branch over the side and onto the ground with a bang. Then the three of them created a sort of canvas roof by tacking all the edges so the wind and rain couldn’t penetrate the ceiling anymore. That should protect the home until the storm subsided.
Art offered a muddy hand by way of thanks. “Bob
, thanks for your help. Without you and Joe here, I don’t know what I’d have done.” Slater reminded him that he’d be by in the morning and help him cut up the branches into firewood. Art turned to Joe. “Young fella, I think you’d better come in and warm up before heading out.”
Slater waved and left for home.
“Thank you, sir, but I should probably skedaddle.” He didn’t need another look at blue eyes. Did she believe what he’d told her? He hoped so. Then maybe she would consider…no. No, he was married to his plan, not to the idea of dating. Not yet.
Art clapped him on the back. “We wouldn’t hear of it. Some hot coffee and a piece of my wife’s pumpkin pie, if it isn’t soaked through with rain. Guess I shouldn’t offer till I know for sure, should I?”
Being neighborly would go a long way in establishing himself back into the community. And pie sounded mighty good. “Well, if you insist. Sounds good even if it is soaked.”
Joe’s eyes lit up as he followed his nose to the back of the house, where it was dry and smelled of coffee and spice. All gentleman, inside and out, Banks had made it clear that Joe shouldn’t leave without a proper thank-you. Now he was glad.
“Here’s a boot scrape for your shoes. Although I can’t imagine Mother being upset about a little mud at this point.” His laughter belied the fact that his house still suffered from the storm.
Victoria rushed into the kitchen and waved a hand toward them as they scuffled in. “Mom and Dad, I suppose official introductions are better late than never. This is Joseph Huntington. He came to my rescue this evening to bring me home after the recital.”
“Don’t I remember you hanging around the house when you two were younger?”
Joe swallowed hard. “Yessir. I took Victoria to the graduation dance.”
“That’s it. I remember. Well, well. Now, isn’t that interesting?” Mr. Banks looked from Joe to Victoria and back again. “Very interesting.”
“Am I still welcome to have coffee?” He chuckled, hopefully breaking any tension that cropped up.
Her father slapped Joe’s hand into a tight grip. “More than welcome. And your timing couldn’t have been any better, could it? You rescued more than my daughter. I’m much obliged, son.”
Her mother’s frown as she cut the pie distressed Joe. Was she remembering how he’d left their daughter at the dance? Then she stopped the frown and put on a smile, for his sake or for her daughter’s?
“Oh, Victoria, was it a good show? I’m so sorry we had to miss it. When Daddy didn’t get home in time, I was so worried. I couldn’t very well leave until I knew he was all right and had some supper. And now I’m thanking the good Lord that we didn’t go. This might have been much worse.”
“It was lovely, Mom. Besides, you and Daddy saw the dress rehearsal last night. I think it might have been even better than the show. How many times can a person watch fairy princesses dancing about the stage?”
“Well,” Mr. Banks chided, “you know better than to think we’d miss a single one of your spiffy dance productions unless we couldn’t help it.”
Victoria pecked his check and handed him a piece of pie. “I do know. You and Mom are my biggest fans.” She turned to Joe. “Well, I didn’t ask you. What did you think of my spiffy dance production?”
“I think my niece is a prodigy.” He grinned. “And her teacher is wonderfully talented.” Those eyes again, narrowed right on to his gaze. He looked away. Because he’d love to say more. Tell her how beautiful the teacher was.
She laughed. “That may very well be.” Her blush sent his heart to beating loudly enough that her parents must have been able to hear it. “I mean, about your niece. Time will tell if she continues to practice and move up. But she was adorable, wasn’t she? And always very determined to learn each and every step until it’s perfect. That’s a lot for one so young.”
Her father mumbled something about it being better than playing baseball, but Joe knew enough not to take the bait. Still, his eye twitched.
Instead he took a seat and slid his fork into the flaky crust and then the creamy pumpkin. “This is delicious pie, Mrs. Banks. Thank you. Just the right amount of cinnamon. My mom used to put in too much, but this is about perfect.” He frowned at the memory and recovered in time to offer a second smile of approval.
Victoria’s mother put a hand to her heart. “Used to?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed hard. “Both my folks are gone.”
A stillness settled over the gathering. Even the storm outside had finally moved along. “That’s right. I remember reading about the accident. I’m so sorry, Joseph.”
The four finished their coffee and had seconds on the pie. They had discussed the recital again and Joe’s precocious niece. Contentment overwhelmed him as he began to see a different side of Victoria. Not the little diva he had always imagined her to be. And her parents, well, they were the salt of the earth, as his mother would have said. Good folks…kind folks.
Joe accepted the warmth the family offered. He hadn’t felt this at ease in years except at his brother’s home where he was treated like royalty. “I do appreciate your hospitality.”
Victoria’s mother spoke up. “And well you should be on the receiving end after all the hard work you did with my mister. He’d have had a difficult time covering that roof by himself. And even more trouble with the branch. You and Bob Slater saved the day.”
Art said, “Two women certainly wouldn’t have been much help.”
Victoria rolled her eyes.
Was she still as tough as she’d seemed as a kid? Or had she merely filled the role of son so many times the habit was hard to break. Joe remembered her being an only child.
“We’re all grateful.” Mrs. Banks dropped a hushing glance at her daughter.
“Anyone would have done the same, ma’am.” Not Wallace Wysse Jr. Not unless there had been something in it for him, of that Joe was sure.
Chapter 5
Joe leaned over the latest blueprint for the new office building on Main. He’d worked on this project for two weeks now. Ever since the night he’d helped the Banks family. He could do this job cheaper, better and more reliably than Wallace Wysse Jr. Whatever had made that man think he could be directly involved with the building? Joe understood how to coax good work out of folks: work right alongside. Wallace only knew how to boss.
Someday, when Joe had his own company, things would be different. As he sharpened his pencil to take notes, he noticed old man Wysse standing near the loading dock in back, hands tight at his sides. What the…?
Joe casually strolled to the window in time to see Wallace shaking his finger in the old fellow’s face. Joe cracked open the window.
“I won’t have you selling the business out from under me, Father.”
“But you said you didn’t want the headache. And Stephen couldn’t care less.”
Wallace took a step back as if evaluating the situation. “That was before.”
“Before what, son? What has happened to change your mind?”
“Joseph Huntington happened, that’s what. Why you hired him in the first place is beyond me. The guy’s useless.”
“Useless? As in, knows what he’s doing. Son, really.”
Joe was a problem between Wallace and his father? Whatever for? He worked harder than any of the other men here. Wallace should be grateful, not angry with him. Perhaps he was only interested in getting his own way. If Joe remembered correctly, Wallace had been like that in school.
Wallace pressed forward. “He wants to start his own business, but I heard the bank won’t loan him any money. That tells me plenty. You trust Mr. Flannigan, don’t you? See? So, I’m guessing with all that failure attached to him, he wants my business.”
Mr. Wysse cocked his head. “You mean my business, don’t you?”
“You know good and well what I mean, Father. Besides, I’m thinking it’s a good idea for me to take the company over after all. Keep it in the family. I know that’s what yo
u’ve always wanted.”
With a shake of his head, the old man ambled back toward the door to the dock. “I never would have believed it, son. No. Not on your life. You were raised better than this.”
Joe closed the window and scuffed the floor with his shoe. Did Joe really dislike Wallace because Wallace wasn’t a good worker? Or were there other issues at hand? The fact that Wallace had singled out Victoria to try to impress.
Like it or not, he needed to have a talk with the senior Mr. Wysse.
After a day of wrangling with his emotions, Joe found himself outside the old fellow’s door. His belly churned. As much as he hated confrontation, he had to try. He just had to.
The welcome greeting following his light rap put his mind somewhat at ease. Joe entered and shook Wysse’s hand. He seated himself opposite the huge desk in the company office. “I’m sure you know why I’m here, sir.”
“For a raise, I suppose. Is that it, young fella? And no one deserves it more than you. Joseph, you’ve been an asset to us.” The old man’s eyes looked tired. Pouchy and red.
The chair grew colder under Joe’s rump; he fought to get comfortable. “Well, sir. I had actually wanted to talk with you about a more serious matter than a raise.”
“What’s that? What could be more serious to a young man than a raise?”
“Buying you out, sir.”
“Buying me out? What gives you the idea I want to sell my business?”
“Honestly, sir? Since I moved back home I’ve heard rumors that Stephen has no desire to stay in Howell, and Wallace has made it abundantly clear that he wants out of the business. And I can tell by his lack of attention at the job that—”
“Hold up there. Best to say no more on that topic. Wallace is my son. He and I have discussed the matter, and it seems he’s ready to step up and take the reins from me. I’ve looked forward to this day for a very long time.” But his face said differently. He was just putting up a good show for Joe to keep his son’s reputation intact.
Interesting. Yet no need to let on to the old man that he’d heard the conversation. “I had no idea he was interested in running your business. I apologize if I spoke out of line.” Out of line and now probably out of a job. At the least, he’d put an end to any hope of ever having a chance to one day purchase the company.
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