A Place to Belong. Linda Goodnight

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      Chapter Two

      Four days later Redemption still buzzed with the tragedy. The rescue had been scaled back, renamed a recovery effort, and moved downstream.

      “Horrible,” thought Kitty as she whipped sheets from the bed in Unit 7 and tossed them in with a pile of towels for the laundry. The unit had been occupied by a reporter who’d decided the story was over and rushed off to film tornado devastation up in Cleveland County.

      Linens in arms, Kitty left the scrubbing for later and stepped out into the spring sunshine. The morning was golden, though the weatherman said more rain was coming. Her fingers practically itched to be digging in the planter boxes and tiny gardens around each unit, but the ground was too wet. She sniffed the scents of grass and damp earth.

      Up on the highway a trucker geared down with a low whine, a sure sign he was entering Redemption, not leaving. Maybe he’d stop in for a room. She could use the income.

      From the roof of Unit 2, the whoosh-bang of a nail gun told her Jace Carter was on the job.

      Kitty turned toward the sound, dropping the linens in the laundry room on her journey.

      Balanced on his knees atop the roof of Unit 2, the quiet carpenter placed a nail gun against a shingle and fired. Her motel was old and the roof of this room hadn’t withstood the test of last week’s downpours. The inside was a mess, too.

      “Good morning.” She shaded her eyes against a stunning glare and looked up.

      She could barely see him. Just the curve of his back and the rubber-gripped bottoms of his work boots.

      With a skitter and crunch of feet and knees against old-fashioned asphalt shingles, Jace came into view. Moving with studied care and smooth athleticism toward the edge of the roof and the extension ladder, he lifted a gloved hand.

      Backlit in sunshine, tool belt low on one hip, brown hair neatly spiked and gleaming clean, Jace wore old jeans and a white and gray striped shirt. She’d never seen him in anything but neatly pressed long sleeved shirts. He was, she realized, a good-looking man.

      Kitty ground her back teeth, annoyed at herself and at Annie for putting the notion into her head.

      “Morning,” he said, voice low and soft. “I hope the noise didn’t wake you.”

      “No. Of course not. I’m an early riser.” She figured he knew that already as much as he’d worked here. When he made a reach for the ladder, she stopped him. “Oh, don’t let me bother you. I only wanted to say hi and ask if you’d like coffee or something.”

      “Got my thermos, thanks.” He smiled, a slow, almost cautious response that crinkled the weathered edges of gentle hazel eyes.

      “How’s it coming?”

      Jace was an excellent builder, a restorer of antique homes and furniture. He had far better jobs than repairing her cranky old lady of a motel. Yet he never turned her down. She’d never wondered about that before, but after Annie’s comments, she did.

      “The roof’s pretty old.”

      Kitty gnawed a bottom lip. “You saying I need a new one?”

      “I can make it work.”

      She knew he could. Jace was a wonder with the historic buildings in Redemption. Though Redemption Motel was certainly not a turn-of-the-century Victorian bed-and-breakfast. It was an old relic of the fifties, cranky, bothersome and a ton of never ending work. And she loved it. More because of who it represented than what.

      “I’ve been thinking of renovating.”

      Jace shifted. The tool belt dangling on one hip clinked, metal against metal. “Yeah?”

      “Thinking.” She laughed. “No money for serious renovations.”

      Motel rooms in a town the size of Redemption didn’t bring in big money. If not for the long-term renters who put regular cash in the coffers, she couldn’t keep the doors open. Those and the huge Christmas celebrations, Victorian style, and the Land Run reenactment in April kept the motel afloat. She made enough to get by, but there was seldom any money in the bank for extras. Some extra cash would be a blessing.

      “We could work something out. Take care of the major issues. Let’s talk about it.”

      “Okay. I wouldn’t want anyone but you tearing into my baby.”

      Jace was scrupulously honest, always did more than she paid him for, and his work was perfection. Her cranky old lady of a motel looked much better since he’d begun doing the upkeep.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ