A Place to Belong

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He hoisted a nail gun toward the graveled lot behind her. “You have company.”

Kitty spun toward the sound of tires crunching on the gravel, a sound she acquainted with paying customers. “Come to the office when you finish. I’ll fix you a sandwich and pick your brain.”

“Can’t guarantee you’ll find anything.”

With a laugh and a wave, Kitty hurried toward the office and the slender man exiting a shiny navy blue sedan.

Jace squinted against the morning sun and watched a moment longer as Kitty’s energetic stride ate up the ground. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside and out. Delicate, feminine, but strong as a willow, she took his breath. Stole his brain cells.

A car door slammed and he heard Kitty’s lyrical voice speak to the newcomer though he couldn’t make out the words. A man of average height, on the skinny side and dressed in a business suit fell into step beside the cheery blonde proprietress of Redemption Motel. When they reached the office the man opened the old-fashioned screen door and waited while Kitty stepped inside. He followed and the door snicked quietly closed behind him.

A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sunlight that was Kitty Wainright and setting the parking lot and the motel units in shadow. Jace frowned, gut tightening in the weirdest way. He squinted toward the closed door.

Something bugged him. A fierce, nagging protectiveness welled in his chest. Miserable, hot.

He waited ten seconds. The cloud moved on and he huffed derisively. He’d lived so long on the dark side he was suspicious of everything and everyone.

He bounced the nail gun against his thigh before turning back to the damaged roof.

The suspicions were in his soul, not inside the office of Kitty’s motel.

“Ahoy, Jace Carter.”

Jace glanced down at the ragged figure of GI Jack and lifted a hand in greeting. The old man dressed in ill-fitting castoffs and an army cap that had seen better days was one of Redemption’s eccentricities. Many took him and his partner, Popbottle Jones, for bums. Considering their propensity for Dumpster diving, maybe they were, but Jace found them to be the most interesting bums he’d ever encountered.

GI Jack was an artist, a junk artist who could turn pop cans and wire or cast-off buckets and hubcaps into something beautiful. Jace got that. In a way, finding the worth in the worthless was what he did, too.

Next to the grizzled old man stood a candidate for world’s homeliest dog. Most everyone in town knew about GI Jack’s pets—mostly strays he’d gathered together over the years. This one was Biscuit, a dog of unknown origins. The only thing Jace knew for certain was that Biscuit was a brown canine with lopsided ears, oversize feet, and as shaggy as his owner. He looked as if his ears had been sewn on out of leftover parts by a blind seamstress. One flopped low on the side of his head and the other stuck straight up on top. But the dog’s tail swished the air with such joyous abandon anyone with a heart would forget his looks and be charmed.

Jace thought of the new puppy at home, a bundle of wiggling joy himself. He didn’t know why he’d let the local vet, Trace Bowman, talk him into taking in an abandoned pup. Jace was gone all day, but the pup was sweet company in the evenings. When Milo was older, Jace planned to take him along for the ride.

“Funny that drowning victim has never been found,” GI said without preamble.

Jace sighed and shot the nail gun again. The drowned man wasn’t his favorite topic. Besides the nagging feeling that he’d not done enough, he’d taken plenty of good-natured ribbing about his cameo shots on the TV news. “Big river.”

“That’s what Popbottle said. Lots of snags and undertows to drag a man down.” GI withdrew a half sandwich from his shirt pocket and took a bite. “The widow’s got a leak?”

“More than one.”

“You’ll fix her up. She’s mighty fortunate to have a good builder willing to rush over anytime she needs help.”

“Least I can do.”

“I figure you got bigger fish to fry than that old roof. Ida June does this kind of repair.”

Though past eighty, Ida June Click still worked around town as a handywoman. She was a dandy, too, in her pink coveralls and lime green tennis shoes. “Ida June’s getting a little frail to be climbing on roofs.”

“Ha! Don’t tell her that. She’ll challenge you to a roofing contest.”

“And win.”

“Yep. And win. She’s a whirlwind, our Miss Ida June. Reckon you could say the same for our Widow Wainright. Mighty pretty, too.”

Jace grunted. Hadn’t he been thinking the same thing? All she had to do was step into view to make his eyes happy. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

“Mmm-hmm.” GI’s gray head bobbed up and down. “Too bad she’s set on being a widow forever. Too young, if you ask me, to give up on life.”

“I doubt she’s given up.”

“Then I reckon you did?” GI cackled at the look Jace shot him. “All right, all right. A shame though, two handsome people, both single and of the same faith—”

Jace pulled the trigger on the nail gun to drown out the rest. After the torment of the last few days—the drowning, the TV picture and noticing Kitty too much—he wasn’t in the mood for reminders of his single status. If he ever was.

“Saw that car pull in. Oklahoma plates but not local.” GI tore off a bite of his sandwich and handed it to the dog. With delicate nips, Biscuit accepted the treat. “Wonder what he’s doing at the motel?”

Jace wondered the same. “Reporter maybe.”

“Doubt it.”

So did Jace. The drowning story was over for the most part and the news media had departed. “Could be doing a story on the upcoming Land Run celebration.”

In late April of every year, Redemption returned to her 1889 roots by throwing a two-day festival that brought tourists and vendors from all over the country.

“Maybe. Looks kind of slick to me. Like a salesman.”

“There you go then. Maybe he sells hotel products.” Jace shot another nail. “You know, shampoo and soap.”

GI scratched the dog’s lowest lopsided ear. “I saw some damage on Unit 8.”

Jace squinted south toward the mentioned unit. Kitty’s motel was old but she kept it up. Rather, he did. Kitty worked around the place, too. She planted pretty flowers and kept everything sparkling clean. There was a long-term renter in Unit 8, and the regulars were the motel’s mainstay. “Yeah?”

“Shingles are off.”

“I’m nearly finished here. I’ll check it.”

“Got nothing else to do, huh? Lazy bum.”

Jace chuckled. GI knew better. He was swamped. Always was. He had three other jobs waiting, two in progress, and four more calls to bid before the week was out. He also had his own historic house to finish, an ongoing project for the last three years. He could see the end in sight, though, and was eager to see his dream home come to fruition.

All of them would have to wait though until the motel was taken care of. He felt a compulsion to help anytime Kitty called. He’d begun working on the motel to honor her dead hero husband. Lately he wondered if he’d do the work just for the privilege of seeing Kitty.

“You looking for a job?”

GI barked a laugh. “Jace Carter is a funny man. Well, me and Biscuit got some stops to make. You come on out to the house anytime. I got a new project going. Petunia and Popbottle will be happy to see you.”

“Petunia misses me?” Petunia was the resident watch-goat. Last time he’d stopped by to visit she’d eaten his ball cap. The time before she’d nibbled some paint off his truck.

“The old girl loves you, Jace Carter. Bring her a snack anytime.”

Jace raised a hand as the eccentric old man shuffled away, lopsided dog at his heel.

He worked for another thirty minutes before checking the damage on Unit 8. Sure enough, a half-dozen shingles were missing. With a sigh, he headed toward Kitty’s office to let her know.

He didn’t particularly like entering the motel office, but he’d been there plenty of times. He stepped inside, heard the bell overhead jingle merrily, and looked around at the memorial to a man a hundred times better than he was.

Decorated in patriotic colors of red, white, and blue and smelling of flowers, the room was jammed with Americana and military memorabilia. A display case boasted bobblehead soldiers and eagle-topped pens. The walls were plastered with photos, including Uncle Sam who never tired of wanting someone. The pointing finger made him feel guilty.

If he’d been a man, he would have joined the army and fought for his country instead of wasting his youth in trouble.

A tri-folded American flag rested on an enclosed shelf on the wall behind the display. Given the photo of the serious-faced soldier next to it, Jace had long ago surmised the flag had been the one given to Kitty at Dave Wainright’s military funeral.

He nodded to the photo, offering his respect and waited for Kitty to hear the bell and come out.

Behind the inner office was the tidy cottage Kitty called home. He’d been inside plenty of times, mostly to discuss repairs of one kind or another, and he’d attended her Bible study on occasion. He’d stopped going to that out of guilt. He had trouble keeping his mind on the Lord with Kitty present and with the memories of her dead husband all around.

He waited, hat in hand, in the outer office. He’d learned patience the hard way, and waiting no longer bothered him.

“Jace, come on back.” She rounded the doorframe leading into the back with her usual sunny cheer. All smiles and smelling of roses like the rest of the place, Kitty motioned to him. “Did you finish the roof? I have a check for you on my desk.”

He stepped around the display case, avoiding Uncle Sam’s stare. “I didn’t come for that.”

“No?” She paused next to Dave Wainright’s flag.

“There’s damage on Unit 8.”

She made a small sound of dismay and bunched her shoulders. She was so cute when she did that. “Can you fix it?”

“Sure.” He smiled, wanting to reassure her. “No worries.”

Her smile returned, lighting him up inside. “Worry’s a sin.”

Right. And he was a sinner.

Kitty laughed, a merry sound like wind chimes. “I have trouble with that one.”

“Me, too,” he admitted, feeling ridiculously pleased to share such a thing with her. Fact of the matter was, he worried all the time. Though over the years he’d begun to feel safe, a man in his shoes knew not to get too comfortable or too close.

“I’m glad you came in. There’s a man in my office who wants to see you.”

“Someone needing a remodel?” It happened all the time. He’d be working on one project and someone would stop in and ask him to look at another.

Before she could answer, they stepped into the inner office. The skinny man he’d seen from a distance rose from a chair and turned toward him with a toothy smile.

“Well, there you are. The famous Jace Carter.”

All the blood drained from Jace’s head. His ears roared and he thought he might pass out, something he’d never done. Not even when he’d been bleeding to death on a cold concrete floor.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked, prayed he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

Fourteen years of clean living fell away as he stared into the face of Donny Babcock. A face he’d tried to forget. From a past that had finally caught up with him.

Chapter Three

Somehow Jace managed to shake Donny’s outstretched hand. The skin was soft, a clear indication that Donny wasn’t doing any manual labor. Donny had always been good at other things besides real work.

“Remember me, old buddy? Donny Babcock?” The toothy grin shone at Kitty in explanation. “Me and Jace go way back. He’s surprised to see me after all this time.”

A real understatement.

Jace struggled for composure, careful not to reveal too much or to alert Kitty to his discomfort. He stood like a robot, unaffected on the exterior, writhing inside. Dread, deeper than the Redemption well, seeped into his cells.

“A real surprise,” he managed.

Donny slapped Jace’s shoulder and laughed. The slap was a reminder of what lay beneath his shirt and of the past he shared with Donny Babcock.

“Saw you on TV, Jace old pal. You’re famous. A real hero from the sound of it.”

Jace regretted every minute on that bridge with TV cameras rolling around him. He wanted to ask straight out what Babcock was doing in Redemption, but he couldn’t. Not with Kitty in the room.

“Just doing what neighbors do,” he said. “For what little good it did.”

“I heard they never found the body.” Donny pulled a long face. “Poor man.” He glanced at Kitty. “Such a tragedy.”

The words were insincere enough that Jace cringed. Kitty didn’t seem to notice. She nodded, one hand against her heart in empathy. “I know.”

“What brings you to Redemption, Donny?”

“You, Jace old buddy. Well, that and business. I’m in real estate investments now and this area has some interesting possibilities.”

“Someone in town told him you might be here,” Kitty injected. “Can I get the two of you a soda? Or some tea?”

“Sweet tea from a sweet lady sounds mighty refreshing.” Donny dazzled Kitty with another smile. He must have had veneers attached since Jace had last seen him. The smile was too white and big to be natural.

“Nothing for me,” Jace said. “I’ve got to go.”

“What’s the rush, pal? We need to catch up.” Donny slapped Jace’s shoulder again. “For old times’ sake.”

Jace clenched his teeth. If Babcock whacked him again, there would be trouble.

“Of course you do. You two sit down and talk. I’ll get some tea.” Kitty bustled from the room, leaving Jace alone with his nightmare.

“What are you really doing here?” he growled softly.

“Now, Jacey boy, mi amigo. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Babcock held up two fingers. “Scouts’ honor. My intentions are on the up-and-up. I saw you on TV and figured I’d come down and say hello.”

“You’ve said hello. Now say goodbye.”

“Jace, Jace, Jace. You’re starting to hurt my feelings. We were good buddies back then. Remember? You and me against the world. Not that I’m one to collect on old debts, but I saved your hide a time or two.”

Dark shame flushed through Jace’s system. The place on his side began to ache the way it did when he remembered.

“I appreciate it, Donny, I do. But I’m not that stupid kid anymore. I’m a new man, with a good life.” Fourteen years of being the best man he knew how to be, of seeking God with all his heart. Of paying penance with every breath in his body.

“And you don’t want anyone messing it up. I’m cool with that. I didn’t come here to cause trouble for you, Jacey boy.”

“Why did you come?”

The toothy smile came again. “To do you a favor.”

The sound of soft footsteps stopped the conversation. Jace paced to the door and opened it for Kitty. She carried a tray with two glasses of tea and a plate of cookies. His heart pinched at the kindness. This was the life he’d chosen, the life he’d worked for. Donny was right. He didn’t want anyone destroying the respect and friendships he’d gained in Redemption. And Donny’s presence threatened everything.

Was he selfish to want him gone? After Donny had been there when he needed him most?

“Let me take that,” he said.

Kitty’s mouth curved. “Thank you, Jace.”

She relinquished the tea and stepped into the room, bringing her fresh rose scent along.

“You shouldn’t have bothered. I need to go.” He fought to keep his tone easy. “I have an appointment with Samuel Case to bid a job.”

He normally wouldn’t have explained himself, but today he needed an excuse to get out of here and think.

“But you have a guest.”

“No problem, Miss Wainright. Jace and I can reminisce at his place. We were just discussing my accommodations and he insisted I stay at his house for a few days.” Babcock turned glittery brown eyes on Jace. “Right, Jace?”

The blatant lie took him aback, but he wasn’t ready to call Donny’s bluff. Not in front of Kitty. The man knew too much. And he was bound to have a deeper motive for showing up after all this time. Jace had an obligation to himself and to his adopted town to find out what it was.

“You can follow me out to the house.”

“No, no, go ahead and bid your job. Old Donny will sit here and enjoy his tea with Miss Wainright. I’ll be along later.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

Donny winked. “I’ll find you.”

Jace’s gut tightened. Until he knew what Donny was up to, if anything, he didn’t like leaving him alone with Kitty. But he’d backed himself into a corner and could do little else.

On legs shaky with adrenaline, he headed to his truck and prayed all the way to Samuel Case’s antique shop.

He should be working, had plenty to do, but Jace couldn’t relax until he found out what Donny Babcock was doing in Redemption, Oklahoma. By the time he arrived home from his appointment with Samuel Case, he was drenched in sweat. Worry sweat.

He let himself in through the side door and was met by a delighted puppy. Milo, a beagle mix of some sort with curly ears and soft brown eyes, thought Jace was the sun and the moon.

“Got any presents for me to clean up?”

They were working on house training, and he should probably crate the pup during his absences but he couldn’t. The floors were hardwood. They’d clean. No living creature should be locked in a cage.

The dog wiggled harder, mouth open, eyes dancing along with his feet and tail. If a dog could throw out his back, Milo would manage.

Jace crouched on his toes and gathered the bundle of warmth and love against his chest. A few minutes with Milo and he could almost forget his worries.

But not quite. He had a lot to lose with Donny Babcock in town.

With Milo dogging his heels, he paced the gleaming wood floor of his living room. He’d spent hours perfecting this shine. Hours stripping away the old carpet and the old finishes. Layer after layer until he’d uncovered the stunning solid oak flooring, made even more beautiful by age. Someone had told him he should put down area rugs but he couldn’t bring himself to cover something this beautiful.

Wood was his passion and nothing fired him up like a piece perfected by age just waiting for the hand of a master craftsman. He frequented estate sales and old barns in search of pieces like the banister now curving toward the second story of the Queen Anne he called home.

He ran a hand over the silky banister. Gary Henderson had taught him to appreciate fine wood, and he’d taught him the skills needed to build a business and a life. He’d also taught him about Jesus. The day Jace had been assigned to Gary’s woodshop class had been a blessing he would never take for granted. It was God, pure and simple, trying to help a messed-up kid.

“You should have known Gary,” he told Milo who’d jogged up the stairs to be on eye level with his master.

Jace had taken Gary’s shop class to get out of real work. Or so he’d thought. Eighteen years old, he’d been so scared back then any safe place was welcome. And Gary’s woodshop was safe. The master builder saw to that. No one monkeyed around under Gary’s watch.

“I would be dead without Gary.”

He believed the sentiment with his whole heart. With Gary’s guidance he’d become a real man instead of a punk kid destined for the cemetery. Gary had been the one who’d urged him to leave the city and start fresh in a place where no one would judge him by anything except his workmanship and character. He’d done that. He’d made Gary proud.

He blew out a worried breath.

More than anything today, he needed to talk to his mentor and friend.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and paced some more. Milo hippity-hopped down the stairs and followed.

Gary was gone. Died two years after Jace moved to Redemption to start over.

“God, you see my dilemma. Guide me.” Jace wasn’t a big talker to anyone else, but God already knew all his faults and mistakes anyway. And the dog thought every word was meant for him. Milo plopped down on his bottom, one leg sticking straight out as he cocked his head to listen. “Why has Donny Babcock tracked me down? After all this time, it can’t be good. It can’t be.”

He headed into the kitchen, oblivious for once to the granite counters and the warm patina of the hand-lathed cabinets. He should eat something but his stomach gnawed with anxiety.

He thought of Kitty and the gnawing got worse. He shouldn’t have left her alone with Babcock. Even if Donny had saved him from a knife-happy convict and certain slaughter, he’d been shady, always working a deal. A con in a building full of cons. Jace didn’t want Kitty hurt by anyone, least of all by someone connected to him.

As he reached into his back pocket for the cell phone, a car door slammed. He replaced the phone and went to the door. Donny was already there. He entered the house without being asked, brushing past Jace to gaze around at the inside of the Queen Anne.

“This your place?”

“It is.” His and the bank’s.

Donny stopped in the foyer, a soaring entry with a stained glass transom and crown molding. “Why didn’t you buy something new? Who wants old stuff like this anymore? It’s not even finished.”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “I like it.”

Milo, unused to being ignored, yipped once. Donny stopped dead still, mouth curled in distaste. “You got a mutt?”

Mildly, Jace said, “Meet Milo.”

“I don’t want dog hair on my suits.” He pinched the pleat on his pants, then flecked imaginary hair from his jacket.

Since the last time Jace had seen him, Donny’s taste in clothes had gotten noticeably more expensive, though the suit hung on his thin frame like it would on a hanger. His brown hair was slicked back and gleamed with gel, his black patent wing-tips spit-shined as if he’d learned in the military. Which he hadn’t. He reeked of department store cologne. All in all, he appeared respectable but Jace worried that beneath the polish beat the heart of the same sleazy hustler who’d conned his own family out of thousands.

Though tempted to tell Donny to find another place to stay, Jace kept quiet. The only motel in Redemption belonged to Kitty.

Ignoring the growling dog, Donny wandered into the next room. The future office was as empty as the living room.

“You need some furniture, pal. What’s the matter? Out of cash?”

Jace tried to see the rooms from someone else’s point of view. Other than a chair here and there, an antique desk with telephone and computer, and an incredible mahogany sideboard he’d rebuilt, they were basically empty. Even his bed was an air mattress tossed on the floor.

As with everything in the house, Jace wanted authentic pieces. Finding them, refurbishing them took time. He was a patient man who enjoyed the search.

“I can help you with that,” Donny pressed. “With the cash flow problem.”

“Just tell me what you want, Donny. I know you didn’t show up here after fourteen years out of sentiment.”

“Tsk-tsk. So suspicious. I told you, Jacey boy, I’ve come to do you a favor. Let’s order pizza and talk over a couple of beers. The widow’s tea didn’t do it for me.”

“No beer.” Jace crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the fireplace bricks. Milo sat on his foot, eyeing Donny with the same suspicion his master felt.

Donny stopped his hyperactive perusal of Jace’s house. Shoving back his suit jacket, he propped both fists on his hips. “No beer?”

Jace shook his head. “I’m a Christian now.”

“Hey!” Donny lifted both hands. “Me, too.”

Jace’s heart jumped. He leaned forward, hoping. “For real?”

“Me and the big dude upstairs, we’re tight. Yes sir.” Babcock held up a pair of crossed fingers. “Just like this. Serious, pal. I got a Bible and everything.”