Maxwell's Smile

by Michele Hauf

  “Cool,” Sam said. “What did you find out, buddy?” He leaned against the stainless steel counter right next to Rachel, arms crossed and brilliant white smile distracting her until the drink overflowed. Sam noticed and gave her another wink, then quickly returned his attention to Maxwell.

  “You were researching charitable donations, Maxwell?” she asked, grabbing a handful of napkins. She was sometimes taken by surprise at her son’s enterprising behavior.

  “Yes, last night. And I found the neatest organization. It’s called Kid Flicks. I read all about them. They’re legit. Wait, let me bring it up so I can tell you about it.”

  Maxwell set down his backpack, which he never went anywhere without, and tugged out the iPad his grandparents had given him for Christmas.

  “Maybe Mr. Jones has some grocery shopping to do,” Rachel suggested as she cleaned up the mess of bright orange frozen fruit from the counter with a couple of the inadequately thin napkins. “You shouldn’t bother him.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Sam argued. “In fact, I want to hear about this organization. If there’s a place that accepts movies for kids, I’m on it.”

  Offering a wincing smile, Rachel wondered why she couldn’t just let the man talk to them. She’d gone manless far too long if this redneck carpenter could make her heart do flip-flops. He was handsome and kind and seemed like a perfectly normal guy, yet he was also a little too sexy for her vulnerable heart. It would be like combining mango with spinach in a smoothie. It just wouldn’t work because, well, because she had certain expectations and—hell, who was she kidding?

  What was wrong with a little friendly conversation?

  She’d focused on Maxwell and her career as a Realtor for so long, she wasn’t sure she’d know a good thing if it walked up and stole her red pepper.

  “See here.” Maxwell moved beside Sam, who squatted to look at the website her son had brought up on the screen. “Kid Flicks was founded by four sisters, Lexi, Romi, Marni and Berni Barta, when a friend of theirs was being treated for leukemia and needed something to help her pass the time while she was in the hospital. This is a picture of the sisters. They’re pretty.”

  “Pretty smart, if you ask me,” Sam said. “So the Barta sisters founded this organization all on their own? Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “Me too. They were teenagers at the time. Now Kid Flicks sends DVD libraries all over the United States to hundreds of different children’s hospitals and pediatric departments.”

  Whenever her son got excited about something, it lightened Rachel’s heart. She took a sip of Maxwell’s smoothie and got a brain freeze.

  “I got to thinking about all the kids in the hospital,” Maxwell said thoughtfully. “I talked to Katie, the girl across the hall from me, when the nurse got our lunches mixed up. I walked over and traded Jell-O for her pudding. She has a brain tumor, and has been there for weeks. Other kids could be there for months. They can’t all have homework to keep them busy. And what if it’s summertime? No school, and they can’t go outside to play.”

  “It’s got to be tough,” Sam agreed.

  “Katie was sad, but also bored,” Maxwell said. “So being able to watch a movie to distract her from the treatment or take away some of the boredom would be a good thing.”

  “That was a great idea those sisters had,” Sam said.

  “They take donations,” Maxwell continued. “You can send cash or you can hold a drive to collect DVDs and then send them to Kid Flicks. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Wait. What?” Rachel bent down beside the two of them and stroked her fingers through her son’s hair. “What evil plan are you concocting now?”

  Maxwell gave her his patented evil villain laugh, complete with wiggling fingers about to clutch the mysterious weapon that would destroy the world.

  “Sounds like Maxwell wants to hold a charity drive to collect DVDs for kids who are stuck in hospitals,” Sam said. “Did I tell you how smart you are, Maxwell? I bet your mom is super proud of you.”

  That Sam could see how special Maxwell was meant a lot to Rachel. She didn’t know what to say, so she said the first thing that came to her. “Maybe you could come over tomorrow afternoon to give us a quote on the garage?”

  Sam’s eyes met hers, and his smile worked its way into her heart with startling ease. “I’ll be there.”

  Maxwell beamed from one to the other.

  Sam shook hands with her son. “I’d better get the rest of my groceries,” he said, and left with promises to see them both tomorrow.

  “He’s cool,” Maxwell said.

  Cool was not a word her precocious son ever used. But Rachel had to agree. Sam Jones was cool.

  Chapter Three

  It was just a regular business call, Sam kept telling himself as he navigated the quaint Birch Cove neighborhood to Rachel McHenry’s house. Knock on the door, introduce himself, head to the garage to inspect the damage, and draw up an estimate. All-business.

  “Right,” Sam muttered as he turned onto a cul-de-sac that boasted hedgerows of lilacs in full bloom. He could smell the sweet blossoms through the open window on the passenger side of the rust bucket. Reminded him of his mom’s yard and hiding in the shrubs from her when he was little. No matter how angry she had sounded, she’d always smile when he’d appear with a slapdash bouquet of lilacs in hand.

  “Business,” he muttered.

  So why had he spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready this morning? The first three shirts he’d put on hadn’t been right. Too casual, too plaid, too fussy. He hoped this short-sleeved button-up in a shade of blue he’d always thought garish wasn’t too much. And since when had he last bothered with a scented aftershave?

  “It’s more than work,” he confessed to his smirking subconscious. “She’s pretty, and I like her.”

  It had been a while since he’d so quickly taken a liking to a woman, even one who had chewed him out for having corrupted her child with a kiddie movie. The fire in Rachel McHenry’s green eyes had made Sam smile inside, all the way to his heart. And he hadn’t stopped smiling since chatting with her in the grocery store over peppers and spilled smoothies.

  Pulling up the driveway, he immediately noted the fallen ceiling through the open garage door. It looked not good in a very expensive way.

  Grabbing his notebook, he jumped out and strolled over. A little red Volkswagen was parked on one side of the double garage, and it looked as if water had destroyed a good half of the sheetrock on the opposite side, judging from the chunks hanging down. Blame it on the inordinate amount of rain they’d experienced this spring.

  Sam scanned the interior. No kids’ toys were stacked along the wall, which he thought odd. Most garages in family neighborhoods sported bikes and sports equipment at least.

  He stepped back out onto the driveway and, shielding his eyes from the sun, leaned back to check the shingles. Not a quality product, judging from the loss of pebbles, and the black streaks indicated mildew. Probably a combination of ice damage, excessive rain and years of inattention. He knew single women rarely thought of things like house maintenance, which was why he had so many as clients.

  “Sam!” a voice called from a screened second-floor window.

  “Oh, hey, Maxwell! Your mom home?” “She’s out back planting flowers. I’ll be down in a bit, but I’ve got some work to finish first.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.”

  The kid must work harder than an executive at a Fortune 500 company. Sam saluted Maxwell, then wandered around the side of the pink house, following the bright path of purple flowers to a concrete patio slab.

  A vision in a flowered skirt and soft pink top squatted before a bag of mulch, intently reading the instructions on the plastic bag. Sunlight fell on her flushed cheek and Sam’s fingers moved at his thighs, as if eager to touch the rosy softness. Wasn’t every day a classy woman like Rachel McHenry came into his life. Not that she was in his life. But he intended to enjoy the moment.


  He cleared his throat.

  Rachel stood quickly and, at the sight of him, patted her hair, which was tied back with a floaty pink scarf. “Oh, Sam. I almost forgot you were coming over today.”

  Really? Sam’s heart dropped. Ah well, so he’d get the estimate done, then head back to work and life as he knew it. He should have figured he’d never have a chance with a classy lady like Rachel McHenry.

  “Maxwell called out to me from his window. Does that kid ever not have homework?”

  “He’s actually working on the DVD project. And I believe you were the one who put that idea into his sponge of a brain.”

  Sam wasn’t sure if that was an accusation or just a statement, but he intended to tread lightly until he could figure out the lovely Miss McHenry. She was about the only lady in this neighborhood who had not flirted or plied her wiles with him.

  On the other hand, why hadn’t she?

  It was the shirt. He knew he should have gone with the stripes. At least his hair was combed and he smelled a trifle better than eau de sawdust.

  As if you have a chance in hell, buddy.

  “So you need some help with that?”

  She hefted the bag of mulch. “Cocoa mulch. It’s very light. I’m going to spread it around the patio. Smells great when the sun falls on it.”

  “Cocoa mulch? So it smells like…?”

  “Chocolate,” she said, with a sweet roll of her eyes, as if she were enjoying the treat right now. “Made from cocoa bean husks.”

  Man, he did love a woman who knew how to enjoy life’s treats. But spreading chocolate husks around her patio? Now, that sounded beyond decadent.

  “The garage door is open,” she said, jarring him back to reality.

  “Oh, right. I took a quick look inside. Water damage from the roof, I suspect, but I’ll have to grab a ladder off the truck and climb up to check for sure. Okay if I do that?”

  “Go for it.”

  * * *

  Rachel followed Sam’s retreat around the side of the house. He had a distinct bowlegged walk, all lanky and a little curved, his strong hands swinging at his sides with casual ease. So sexy.

  The mulch bag she’d been leaning on gave way and she plunged forward, landing on the half-empty bag in a sprawl. Rachel blew a strand of hair from her face and glanced toward the corner of the house where Sam had just disappeared. He hadn’t seen.

  “What am I doing?” she muttered. “I’ve been around handsome men before. Why does that one put me off my game?”

  Her game being a cold facade that announced to the single men in the world that she was picky about her relationships and wasn’t about to let anyone nudge their way into her life—and that of her son’s—until they’d passed her rigorous requirements.

  Thing was, she’d never really established what those should be.

  The man had to be good with children. And kind. Smart and employed were two important qualifications. But the real test seemed rooted in her heart, some indefinable quality Rachel sensed she would know only when actually experiencing it.

  No matter. She’d been with the guy all of a dozen minutes total. It was far too early to start picking out sexy dresses and planning dates.

  She glanced up toward the window of Maxwell’s room, overlooking the backyard. The delight in her son’s eyes when they’d run into Sam in the grocery store had been undeniable.

  What did he see in Sam Jones that her own blinders were blocking?

  * * *

  A half hour later, Rachel wandered around to the driveway to find Sam leaning against the hood of his truck, jotting numbers in a notebook.

  “So what’s the bad news on the garage?” she asked.

  “It’s going to cost a couple thousand in materials, for sure. But I can give you a deal on the labor.”

  “Yikes.”

  He shrugged. “Building materials are spendy. And you really should reshingle, but that’s another job entirely. Your house is old, like mine. This little town boasts a lot of 1960s homes. There’s a point when repairs get unwieldy and maybe you should consider looking for something newer.”

  “You’re telling me, a real estate agent, that? I’d love to find something newer, and less costly when it comes to repairs, but good housing is expensive.”

  “You’re a real estate agent? That’s cool. I’m looking for some land.”

  “Is that so? To build on?” “Yep. I would love to find a plot north of the cities, with lots of trees, maybe a creek to attract wildlife. A place to build my dream house and raise a family. Maybe even get some goats. I like goats.”

  The man liked goats. And he had a dream. Nice.

  “I’d like to help you make that dream come true. Are you working with a Realtor?”

  “No, haven’t gotten that far yet, but if you’re offering, I’m in.”

  “Depending on how much acreage you’re looking for, I think I can find a few properties for you to look at next week, if you’re interested.”

  “That would be awesome.” He slipped a business card from a paper clip on the notebook and handed it to her. “Give me a call when you’ve got some places in mind,” he said with a hopeful smile.

  From around the corner, they heard the echo of giggles from a nine-year-old boy.

  “Maxwell?” Rachel called. Her son was sitting in the side door to the garage.

  He got up and wandered out to the driveway. When Sam offered a high five, Maxwell met it with a hearty return slap. “Can I ask Sam a question, Mom? It’s about my project.”

  “Sure, Maxwell.”

  Blocking the sun from his eyes with his hand, Maxwell looked up at the tall man. “I was wondering if you could help me plan my campaign, Sam.”

  “Oh, Maxwell, I don’t know—” Rachel started.

  “Is that for the DVDs for the hospitals?” Sam asked.

  “It is. And after consideration, I realize I need a wish man.”

  “Uh, I think you mean wing man, buddy.”

  “Oh, right. Wing man.” Hands clasped behind his back, shifting from side to side a little anxiously, Maxwell asked, “Would you be my wing man, Sam?”

  “Two great offers in less than five minutes?” Sam flashed Rachel a wink. “Today is my lucky day. Deal.”

  “Awesome! I have a presentation prepared. Do you have time to come look at it?”

  “I, uh…” Swiping a palm down his chest, Sam looked to Rachel for approval.

  She appreciated that.

  “That would be fine,” she said. “But don’t keep Sam too long, Maxwell. I’m sure he’s a busy man.”

  “Great! It’s only a couple minutes,” Maxwell assured him as he took the man’s hand and led him toward the house.

  “Bring your stuff out to the patio,” she called. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

  It was Sam who saluted her before he disappeared into the house behind her son.

  Rachel leaned her elbows on the truck hood and sighed. Sawdust, goats and sexy winks. That man was dangerous to a woman’s heart. Especially a heart that hadn’t realized it was wanting until now.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Sam was back at the McHenry household, but he didn’t have a tool belt buckled around his hips. Instead, he wielded a green crayon and studied the poster design Maxwell had created in his PowerPoint presentation. Thanks to the McHenrys’ pastor, who lived three houses away, the industrious boy had already gone ahead and secured the local church’s parking lot to hold the DVD drive. He planned to put up posters advertising the event throughout the neighborhood and at his school.

  “I’ll need you to be my delivery and shipping man,” Maxwell said as he went over a checklist on the iPad screen before him. “Can I count on you for that, Sam?”

  “Of course you can, buddy.”

  “That means you’ll have to take all the movies we collect and box them up and ship them to the Kid Flicks office in California. And you’ll be responsible for shipping charges as well. Is that okay? I don’t have muc
h in my petty funds account after buying a new app for the iPad. It’s a 3-D brain. So cool.”

  “Maxwell, shipping expenses will be my contribution to the cause. Am I doing this right?”

  The boy leaned over Sam’s shoulder and inspected the poster he was working on. They planned to put this one on the street in front of the church the day of the event. “Nice. But maybe outline the green with black to make it stand out.”

  “Good call.”

  Out in the hallway, the vacuum cleaner sounded as Rachel moved into a nearby bedroom. She’d stayed close, never farther than a room away, which Sam found admirable. The woman had no reason to throw caution to the wind and trust him alone with her son, though she shouldn’t worry so much.

  On the other hand, he liked her being close by. Every so often, he caught a whiff of her rose-scented perfume and had to tuck his head down to hide his appreciative smile from Maxwell.

  When the vacuum stopped and they heard the door close on the master bedroom, Sam figured she was making the bed with the stack of sheets that had been piled in a basket in the hallway.

  “So.” Maxwell sat across the writing desk from Sam, putting up his feet and clasping his hands behind his neck in a comical version of the office boss. He whispered, “You like my mom, Sam?”

  Sam sat up straight, glancing out the open doorway. She couldn’t have heard that. Sneaky kid. “I, uh…I do. I think she’s very smart—well, she has to be with a son like you—and she puts chocolate in her garden.”

  “Doesn’t that stuff smell awesome? I do my homework outside in the spring and fall.”

  “You really need to cut down on all the homework, buddy. Don’t you have a swing set or a bike?”

  “A swing set?” Maxwell rolled his eyes. “That’s for babies. Besides, I’m not athletic. I prefer mental gymnastics.”

  Sam shrugged. If the kid never tried anything remotely sportslike, how could he know what he liked and didn’t like? But Sam wouldn’t push. Maxwell might remind him of Jeff, but they were two entirely different people. Jeff had always wanted to come along on his jobs and watch Sam work. They’d built a birdhouse together once, and it still hung in the willow tree in his backyard.