At Home in His Heart. Glynna Kaye

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СКАЧАТЬ a sandaled toe on a chair as she made her way through the outdated kitchen that the historical society still used on occasion.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 СКАЧАТЬ