At Home in His Heart

“I’d like that.”

“Then it’s a plan. So, Gran, what’d you do today?” He sliced another potato—with less gusto this time.

“Peggy came by and set my hair.” She patted her curlers. “Then I watched a little TV. Did some reading.”

He had reading to do, too, if what was in the box sitting on his bed was what he thought it was. Grandma had been at him to join the men’s summer group at Canyon Springs Christian Church. But he’d taken one look at the syllabi posted in the fellowship hall a few Sundays ago and decided it wasn’t for him.

Not that he couldn’t use some help in the God department, but a big chunk of it focused on how to be the head of a household. A husband. A parent. He’d feel out of place among all those married guys. Dads. Grandpas. He didn’t put much stock in what others thought about him, good or bad. But this was different. He’d look downright silly to them. Green as grass.

It was stuff he needed to know, though, if he was going to be the kind of man he should have become a long time ago. All the stuff Keith kept telling him—and he hadn’t listened. Blew him off. But going to the men’s study would be like a rookie recruit marching out with a bunch of battle-hardened, heavily equipped veterans—without guns and gear. In skivvies even.

There was nothing to stop him, though, from ordering online the CDs and workbook they were using. So that’s what he’d done. Ordered a volume on Arizona history, too, just in case Grandma asked what was in the box.

Yeah, he had a lot of catching up to do. But he didn’t want to think about why, since his encounter with Sandi yesterday, that it seemed more urgent than before.

Sandi would give just about anything not to have to make this call.

But all too often doing the dirty work was synonymous to her role as the president of the historical society. Right now calling Bryce Harding fell into that category. Why’d the electricity have to go out tonight? Just when she’d slipped in to catch up on work? But with the museum set to be open Saturday and Monday, she didn’t dare hope the situation would resolve itself. Since Mae’s grandson seemed to be sticking his nose in museum business now, she’d let him deal with it.

She speed-dialed Mae’s number on her cell phone. Had the power gone out upstairs, too? She glanced around the darkened room of the old stone house which sat a block off Main Street, surrounded by trees. At nine o’clock and with leafed-out bushes and bristly pines snuggled in close, hardly any light came in from the street. She gave an involuntary shudder.

It was creepy here at night.

In the dark.

Alone.

“Hello?”

Startled when the phone picked up on the first ring and a familiar masculine voice responded, she steadied herself by launching in with her most businesslike tone. “This is Sandi Bradshaw. I’m downstairs at the museum. The power is out, although it looks like the neighbors still have lights. Do you?”

“Yeah. You probably blew a fuse down there.”

She waited expectantly, but he didn’t offer a solution.

“Is that something you can do something about? I have work to do here tonight and the museum will be open tomorrow.”

He paused as if debating her request, then it seemed he’d covered the mouthpiece with his hand for she could hear indistinguishable words in his rumbling voice. Probably consulting with Mae. When he returned he seemed to speak with reluctance. “Grandma has extra fuses. Hang on.”

The phone went dead.

She crammed it back into her purse. No wonder he’d long infuriated LeAnne, why she was so adamant about daughter and daughter-in-law giving him wide berth. How had her charming husband gotten along so well with him since childhood? She had no choice, though, but to wait for Bryce to ride to the rescue.

When at last she heard him on the porch at the rear of the house, she stubbed a sandaled toe on a chair as she made her way through the outdated kitchen that the historical society still used on occasion. By the time she got to the door, he’d already used his key and let himself in.

He had a flashlight, one of those sturdy man-type ones that could sit on the floor and direct a beam with a tilt-type head. It illuminated the room, throwing a massive shadow of his broad-shouldered body to the wall behind him.

“Thanks for coming.”

He nodded, then moved past her. Shining the light around the room, he flipped a wall switch. The room remained dark.

She refrained from a smug I-told-you-so.

He wordlessly glanced in her direction as if reading her mind, then maneuvered around the table and headed to the front of the house. She followed, relieved to have another human being in the darkened building even if that person had to be Bryce. Didn’t hurt either that he looked as if he could take on anything that might spring out of the shadows at them.

He halted and turned, looking surprised to see her tailgating so closely. “What are you working on that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Meaning, why did he have to get out of his cushy recliner and surrender the TV remote to Grandma so he could do this right this very minute?

“I’m inventorying a donation of photographs that came in this week. Early days of Canyon Springs. Perfect timing since my daughter is celebrating a birthday with friends tonight.”

His brow wrinkled. “But it’s not her birthday, right? That’s in April.”

He remembered that?

“Right.”

He nodded at her confirmation and moved into the main room of the museum. Flipped another switch.

Got a clue now, Sergeant?

Maneuvering around her, he headed back through the kitchen to an adjacent room that once served as a pantry. Now it housed a hodgepodge of boxes containing the town’s memorabilia and office supplies. She stood in the doorway, acutely aware of the diminutive dimensions of the space as he set the flashlight on a shelf. Then with a long-suffering look in her direction, Bryce lifted down from the wall a gingham-decorated bulletin board to reveal a metal panel. Fuse box. What did he expect? She couldn’t leave that ugly gray thing protruding like that.

She returned to the front room to allow him to do whatever he needed to do in peace. Rummaging through her purse with a lighted key chain, she found the red, spiral notebook that contained her checklist. Perfect. If he intended to raise the rent, she may as well negotiate more bang for the buck.

A few minutes later, blinding light flooded the room from the overhead fixture. While her eyes were still adjusting to the abrupt contrast, he joined her.

“Wow. Thanks. You’re a pretty handy guy to have around.”

Now why’d she say something stupid like that? Sounded almost like flirting. She didn’t flirt. Hadn’t since Keith. Wasn’t going to start now.

Bryce gave her an assessing look. “It appears you’re back in business.”

“So it was a blown fuse? What would cause that? I didn’t have a bunch of appliances on at the same time.”

He shrugged. “No telling. Maybe a power surge. Decrepit fuse.”

“Well, thanks. And while you’re here—” She flipped through the pages of her pocket-size notebook. “Would you mind taking a look at a few other maintenance-related things?”

From the pained expression that clouded his eyes, it looked as though his TV remote must be calling his name.

“They wouldn’t have to be done right this minute,” she hurried on. “But if I could point them out now, then you could take care of them later. Not as in a hundred years from now, but later.”

“Like what?”

She ran her finger down the list. “The toilet runs excessively. Wastes water. We have to remember to jiggle the handle to get it to stop. Wasps built a nest on the porch, above the front door. Not good. And the outlet in the kitchen where we plug in the coffeemaker is dead.”

She motioned him to follow her to the front room where she demonstrated a creaking floorboard. “Obnoxious, isn’t it? And there’s a crack in the window of the bedroom we use for storage, the miniblinds on the front window are stuck half-opened and the dead bolt on the back door is almost impossible to latch.”

“That all?”

“Oh, and the kitchen faucet drips.” She glanced again at her list. “Several other things, but they can wait.”

“Who took care of this stuff for you this time last year?”

“What?”

“Who did your maintenance work before I came back to town?”

“Well, I have the past few years.” She stuffed the notebook back in her purse. “Or at least I’ve done what I could or hired someone to do it.”

He raised a brow, his expression mildly amused as he studied her. “And now suddenly—?”

Her face warmed. Was he intimating that she’d abdicated her responsibilities so she could coerce him into spending time with her?

“You’re raising the rent. It seems only right that more property upkeep should be included. With every passing year more things go wrong, more expensive things. Like the window air-conditioning unit last summer. Tearing out and upgrading the sidewalk so no one would trip and sue us. Roof repair. Replacing the furnace which also, incidentally, heats the upstairs.”

He looked round the room, all evidence of previous amusement vanished. “Maybe it’s time the society found a more adequate facility. This is an old house. Old plumbing, old wiring, old roof. Maintenance comes with the territory.”

“I understand that.” How dare he suggest they vacate the premises because she was asking for reasonable accommodation? “But I also understand from Meg and Kara who worked with you on the parsonage remodel that you’re quite capable at that type of repair work. You could do it at a fraction of the cost it would be for us to hire someone.”

He was silent a long moment, as if weighing the value of her requests. Was he thinking he owed her husband to help out his widow? Or that as luck would have it, a premature passing had saved his buddy a lifetime of heartache? She hated not knowing how much he knew about her and Keith.

At long last he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He was agreeing? Without further argument? If he was in such a willing mood, maybe she should have read the whole list to him. Who knew when there might be another opportunity like this?

“Thank you,” she managed, deflated that the need to defend the historical society’s rights had evaporated so easily.

“You’re welcome.” He took a few steps toward the kitchen, then paused to look at the crowded display cases and antique furniture. At the framed photographs, maps and documents lining the walls. Then he did an appraising once-over of her. A look that left her, of all the ridiculous things, wishing she’d combed her hair before leaving the Warehouse. Applied a little lipstick.

What was her problem tonight?

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He gave the room another sweeping glance, then focused dark, considering eyes on her. “But you need to get a life.”

What?

She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I told you not to take it wrong.”

“And how could I take a comment like that right?”

He shrugged and moved again toward the kitchen with her hot on his heels. “Don’t you think common courtesy demands you elaborate after saying something as judgmental as that?”

He halted in the arched doorway between the two rooms and again turned, his gaze solemn. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Now I’m a mind reader?”

He waved a hand, indicating the museum as a whole. “Grandma says you and Gina have practically lived at this place. I know I see your car here frequently.”

“So?”

“So, do you think Keith would have wanted you to seal yourself up in this tomb? Digging through musty old stuff that belonged to dead people?”

With a gasp, her gaze flew to the photograph of her husband on the wall, his medals in the frame beside it. Hands on her hips, she stepped to within inches of Bryce. “I happen to appreciate history—and love some of those dead people.”

He didn’t so much as flinch. Just stared down into her eyes, some elusive emotion she couldn’t pinpoint flickering through his own.

Mesmerized, her heart rate quickened. She shouldn’t have moved in so close. To where she could feel the heat emanating from him. See the rising and falling of his chest. The pulse at his throat. Smell a faint, shower-fresh masculine scent.

With an abrupt movement, he broke eye contact and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t referring to Keith. My apologies.”

Then he swung around and headed to the back door.

For a moment she almost followed him. Almost let him have a piece of her mind. But what good would that do? His poking his nose into her business had started when she’d first met Keith—and it didn’t appear to have let up. Chasing after him now would only hand him another opportunity to voice judgment on her personal life.

A place where his observations weren’t welcome.

Chapter Three

“That man infuriates me, Meg. He’s just so, so—”

“Buff?” Her high school teaching colleague laughed as she refilled their glasses with icy, homemade lemonade. Sandi had stopped by after work late Saturday afternoon to pick up Gina.

Memory rushed against her will to the imposing, well-built man. Solid as a rock. “Very funny. I’m thinking more along the lines of mulish and interfering.”

“Are you kidding me?” Meg’s eyes widened as she placed the pitcher on the kitchen table and sat down across from her. “Are we talking about the same man? The Bryce Harding I know is a big lovable, huggable bear of a guy.”

“How would you feel about your Mr. Buff if he’d tried to stop your husband from marrying you? He had it in his head I was going to ruin Keith’s life. Even emailed him from overseas on our wedding day. Can you believe it? Keith showed it to me at the reception. Thought it was funny.”

“What did it say?”

“Last chance, bud. Bus departs at two.”

Meg let out a gleeful yelp, then clapped her hand momentarily to her mouth. “Sorry. But Sandi, that’s no big deal. That’s how guys talk to each other. They can’t express their feelings well. Half the time they can’t even identify for themselves what they’re feeling. That was just Bryce’s way of saying ‘hey, dude, gonna miss ya.’”

“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.”

“Hey, don’t you remember?” Meg’s eyes continued to dance. “At my wedding reception, right before we cut the cake, one of Joe’s old navy buddies snuck up and clamped a fake ball and chain around my hubby’s ankle. That’s just guys.”

“I remember. But this is different. Way different.”

“You’re blowing a joke out of proportion, Sandi. Seriously. Bryce is one of the good guys.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew about him what I know about him.”

“Maybe the man you knew has changed. Joe said Bryce quit going to church with his grandma when he was in high school. But he goes now. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

She couldn’t tell Meg how Keith had worried about Bryce. About his wild ways. His hard drinking and hard partying. His superficial relationships with women. Keith had done his best to influence Bryce, to convince him he wasn’t really living unless he was living for God. But Bryce the Bullheaded carried on in the direction he was determined to go—and good-naturedly badgered Keith to join him on his journey.

“As the old saying goes, Meg, sitting in a garage doesn’t make you a car.”

“It’s a start.”

“Maybe.” Guilt nibbled around the edges of her conscience. She’d been kind of snippy with him at the Warehouse and again at the museum last night. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t how Keith—or God—would want her treating him. “Because of his interference, Keith delayed proposing. We could have been married who knows how much earlier if Bryce hadn’t poked his nose in where it didn’t belong. That’s time Keith and I’ll never get back.”

Time that maybe she could have grown up more. Done things differently.

“But if you’d have married earlier,” Meg said, her gaze steady, “even if you got pregnant right away like you did with Gina, your baby wouldn’t have been Gina.”

“I know.” Sandi toyed with the ribbon on a basket of spa-type goodies that Meg had given her for her birthday. “And I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

She glanced out the open French doors to the patio, where Meg had several flats of petunias awaiting transplant. Could smell the sweet fragrance. Hear the laughter of their precious children coming from somewhere under the long-shadowed pines.

“But can’t you see why I’m not thrilled about Bryce’s homecoming?” She poked at an ice cube with the tip of her finger. “I hear he’s doing odd jobs. Not what I’d call earning-a-living work. Moved in with his grandma—like she needs him to deal with. And now he’s announced the historical museum rent will go up when the lease renews.”

Meg cringed. “You’re on a tight budget, aren’t you?”

“Even with measly city assistance we’re barely hanging on, what with the drop in seasonal visitors. And of course Bryce raises the rent right when I’ve almost saved enough money to donate a display case. Right when I’m prepared to approach the board about expanding our miniscule armed services exhibit to a room of its own. But unless summer revenues rebound or we can drum up more local support, that won’t happen anytime soon—thanks to Sergeant Harding.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Mae could need the money.”

“More likely he does.” Wine, women and song didn’t come cheap.

Meg sipped at her lemonade, struggling to suppress a smile.

“What?”

“Oh, I just seem to recall that less than a year ago I, too, met a certain single someone over a bottle of aspirin at Dix’s Woodland Warehouse.” She waved a hand around the kitchen of their newlywed home. “And look where I am today.” Sandi wagged a warning finger. “Don’t even—” “Mommy! Mommy!” two giggling, childish voices yelled in unison. The screen door off the laundry room slammed behind them, then her almost-first-grade daughter and classmate pal Davy Diaz charged into the kitchen. Davy threw himself into his mother’s open arms just as Gina did likewise with her own mom. Hugs all around.

“Oh, my goodness.” Meg brushed back her stepson’s black hair to reveal a smudged forehead that matched his grimy cheeks. “How’d you two get so dirty?”

“We’re building Gilligan’s Island,” Davy managed to get out, still attempting to catch his breath. “On that big pile of dirt Daddy dumped back there. I’m Gilligan and Gina’s Skipper.”

“Can you believe it, Meg? Gilligan’s Island fans. Third generation. Thank goodness for DVDs.” Sandi allowed Gina to climb onto her lap. Then, slipping her arms around her daughter’s waist, she smiled down at the pigtailed tomboy who, except for the blond hair and freckles, looked so much like her daddy. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Gina’s shoulders slumped. “I like being dirty.” “I know you do. But tomorrow’s a church day.” Gina pointed at her playmate. “You goin’, Davy?” He nodded his head in exaggerated agreement. “Yup.” Sandi gathered up their things, then Meg and Davy escorted them to their car.

“Thanks for agreeing to take care of Gina a few afternoons a week this summer, Meg. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate knowing she’ll have a safe and happy place to go. The afterschool babysitter this year has been cranky and impatient. Not good with kids at all.”

“You know I’m more than happy to have her here. She and Davy get along so well. Seldom fight.”

“Thank goodness.” She turned to the driver’s door, but Meg’s hand stayed her, eyes troubled.

“I know I don’t know everything there is to know about him like you do, Sandi, but I think you’re wrong about Bryce.”

“Don’t I wish.” She gave her friend a halfhearted smile.

But she wouldn’t hold her breath.

“Hey, big fella.”

Bryce felt a nudge and looked up from the Warehouse shelves where, crouched and arms full, he’d been gathering items for museum-repair jobs.

“Hey, Kara.” He rose to his feet, taking in the tall, pony-tailed woman beside him, her red-blond hair shimmering down her back. “How are things in your world?”

“Good. Grand opening of the equine center’s almost here. Thanks for giving Trey a hand.” She motioned to the merchandise cradled in his arms. “How about you? Looks like you’re planning serious home repair.”

“Not quite, but close. Canyon Springs Historical Museum.”

Kara laughed. A laugh he well remembered from when she’d helped him when he’d filled in for another guy on the parsonage remodel last winter. A Canyon Springs hometown girl who’d spent time as a Chicago interior designer, she’d been a much-needed ally at making the place female friendly without going overboard on foo-foo stuff as some of the church ladies had pushed for.

“Didn’t take long for Sandi to put you to work, did it?” Kara folded her arms, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m told that ‘to do’ list of hers keeps half this town hopping.”

“So I’m not its only victim?”

“No, but from looking at what you have there, I’m guessing you got more than your fair share.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head, not quite understanding how he let her push the projects off on him. He should have stood his ground. Backed her down when she started in with that “it seems only right” stuff. Not let her manipulate him the way she’d done poor old Keith.

She’d made it no secret back then that she wanted her husband out of the service—and out of Canyon Springs. Grandma said she still lived in that house trailer Keith bought at the end of his third year in the service, back when he dreamed of spending hard-earned leave time in the mountains fishing from dawn until dusk. Bryce always figured Keith’s bride would vacate right after his buddy was settled six feet under.

So what was she still doing here?

Kara glanced toward the Warehouse entrance, her smile widening. “Looks like someone’s checking up on you, Sergeant.”

He followed her gaze to the door, where Sandi had just entered, looking mighty pretty in a pair of below-the-knee shorts and blue knit top. Proceeding to the back of the store, she didn’t look his way. Hadn’t seen him. He could sneak out. Come back later. He couldn’t let her think she had only to snap her fingers and he’d come running. He should have put the supply trip off a few days. Weeks. Made her wait.

“Would you mind holding this stuff for me up front, Kara?”

“Be happy to.”

He walked with her to the checkout counter, where she had him place his items off to the side. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Almost to the door he halted. He’d likely see Sandi at church tomorrow, wouldn’t he? Did he want her dogging him about the repairs in front of other people? Maybe he should let her know he was on top of things. Didn’t need a drill sergeant to keep tabs on him. Remind her he was his own boss, set his own time lines.

He headed toward the back of the store with determined steps. Rounding the corner in front of a towering paper towel display, he almost collided with Sandi. In one arm she cradled two cereal boxes, a bag of bagels and a loaf of bread. Her other hand clutched a gallon milk jug.

Startled, she stepped back, directing a frown at him.

“Sorry, Sandi. Let me help you with that.”

With some reluctance—or so it seemed to him—she relinquished the armload. She was probably still mad that he’d told her she needed to get a life. It was the truth, but maybe he shouldn’t have been so brusque. Then again, if she could be bossy, why couldn’t he be blunt?

“Thanks.” She gripped the milk jug tightly, an uncertain gaze flitting to his.

He gave the grocery items a once-over. “Looks like breakfast.”

She ran a hand through her silky hair. “It dawned on me as Gina and I were heading home that I didn’t have a single breakfast item in the house.”