Mending The Widow's Heart. Mia Ross

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      When Holly tilted her head and gazed up at him, he wondered if he’d stepped over some unseen line of etiquette. He’d just met her, after all, and she could easily misinterpret what he’d intended to be a compliment. He’d never had much luck reading women, so he waited anxiously for her to say something.

      “I think so, too,” she finally agreed, adding a cute grin. “Just don’t tell her I said so. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

      It didn’t occur to him that he’d been holding his breath until it came out in a rush. Hoping to mask his bizarre reaction to her, he held out his hand. “Deal.”

      As they shook, Holly’s hand felt small and vulnerable in his, but her grip was firm. Trusting was the word that leapt into his mind, and he sternly pushed it aside. Nice as she seemed, there was no way he’d drag a woman into his wreck of a life, especially one with such a young child. Even though every word she said in that lilting Southern accent of hers made him want to smile.

      He’d just made that decision when she said, “I hate to impose, but is there any way you could help me get out there? She’s coming home from the hospital on Friday, and I have a lot to do before then, so I’d like to get started first thing in the morning. Even a new map would be better than this,” she added, waving the useless drawing before tossing it on the counter.

      “Sure.” Sam reached for an order pad and pen, then stopped. His parents had drummed hospitality into their children’s heads since they were old enough to grasp the concept. It certainly didn’t include sketching roads on a piece of paper for a visitor who’d probably get lost once she left Main Street. “Actually, I’m doing the rehab work out at her place, and the new fixtures for the kitchen and bathroom came in today. I was planning to take them out there later, but if you give me a minute, we can go now. That way, you can follow me and learn the way.”

      “Oh, that’s not necessary.” Reaching out, she rested a hand on her son’s shoulder in a motherly gesture. “I’m sure we can find it, and I hate to interrupt what you’re doing.”

      “You’ve had a long day already,” Sam argued, unsure of why he was fighting with her about this. Most of the time, he let people make their own choices and didn’t worry too much about the outcome. For some reason, this was different, and he tried again. “It’s still raining, and you’ve probably got a few suitcases. If I give you a hand, the unloading will go faster.”

      “I can’t argue with that.” Letting out a tired sigh, she smiled at Chase. “Right now, I’d give anything for a warm bath and some dry clothes.”

      “Me, too,” the boy chimed in eagerly.

      That was the closest he’d come to complaining, and Sam had to admit that he was impressed with the kid’s upbeat attitude. Probably got it from his mother, Sam mused before shoving the thought away. “Okay, then it’s settled. I’ll be right back.”

      “I’ll be here.”

      She gave him a grateful smile before focusing on the rest of Daphne’s letter. It was a good thing, too, because the exchange of those few simple words had unleashed a torrent of emotions in Sam. As vivid as the day they’d first appeared, they made his chest twist with a pain so strong, he wondered for the countless time if he’d be dragging it around with him like some invisible anchor until the undertaker finally put him in the ground.

      Running his hand over the dog tags he wore beneath his shirt, he closed his eyes and waited for the worst of it to pass. As usual, the intensity eased, but the remorse he still felt left a bitter taste in his mouth. Someday, he might be able to hear someone say, “I’ll be here,” and not flash back to the darkest, most horrific day of his life.

      But not today.

       Chapter Two

      Holly was fairly certain that if Sam had left her to her own devices, she’d have driven right past the road that led to the long, winding driveway of her aunt’s new home. One unmarked side street led to another and another, which fed into an isolated dead end that held exactly three houses. She got the feeling that her guide was finding his way through the outskirts of Liberty Creek using an inherited sense of where things in his hometown had been standing since the founders had first hacked it out of the forest.

      She’d never been much for school, but being a history buff, that class had always held a special appeal for her. She recalled that New Hampshire was one of the original thirteen colonies and had played a pivotal role in the Americans’ fight for independence. If those long-ago Calhoun brothers were any indication of the local residents’ spirit, she had no trouble believing that men like them—strong and stubborn—had played a key role in the patriots’ eventual victory.

      Sam’s pickup finally signaled a turn onto a rutted lane that looked more like a deer path than a driveway. When she got her first look at the house, she groaned out loud. “Oh, Auntie. Have you lost your mind?”

      Chase leaned in to get a clearer view between the front headrests. “Didn’t Sam say he was fixing the house?”

      “Yes.”

      “It looks like he should tear it down instead.”

      She couldn’t have summed up the property’s condition any better, but she was wary of agreeing for fear that he’d repeat her comments and hurt their sensitive relative’s feelings. The sprawling farmhouse must have stood on many more acres years ago, and the trees growing around it were the same vintage as the ones she’d admired in the town square. The porch that stretched across the front of the house wasn’t quite done, and the front steps were nowhere to be seen. Entire sections of boards had been replaced, but most of the antiquated windows remained. The end wall was painted a mellow cream, and a pair of wine-colored shutters leaning against it gave her a glimpse of Sam’s plans for the exterior. She could envision it looking classic and stunning when it was finished, but for now, the kindest description she could invent was “work in progress.”

      Sam parked near the front porch and climbed out of his truck. Avoiding the puddles, he strolled toward Holly’s car while she sat there trying to come up with something encouraging to say about the dilapidated farmhouse her aunt had bought on a whim for her retirement home.

      When she stepped out, she blurted out the only positive remark she could think of. “It’s in a real pretty spot.”

      Cocking an eyebrow in obvious amusement, he said, “I know the house isn’t much to look at now, but it’s actually better than it was when I started in the spring.”

      “Was it falling down the hill?”

      “Not a chance. This place was built of solid oak, and it’ll outlast all of us. It was empty for a while, but with a little work, it’ll be amazing.”

      She stared up at him waiting for the punch line, but judging by his earnest expression, he wasn’t yanking her chain. He sounded confident, not in the cocky way some guys could, but in the solid, dependable way a girl would be able to count on.

      So, since she wasn’t exactly Miss DIY, Holly decided that she didn’t have a choice other than to trust his assessment. “If you say so.”

      “I do.”

      The СКАЧАТЬ