The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand

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      He glanced heavenward, a rusty prayer forming in his thoughts. Then he just sighed, dropped a couple of bucks on the table and stood.

      The kind and loving God of his childhood Sunday-school days sure hadn’t bothered to answer his prayers whenever he’d really needed help, and Connor hadn’t been on speaking terms with God for a long, long time. Why would He care now?

      Connor shouldered his duffel bag and headed north on Main toward the campground, thankful that the rain had stopped.

      He pulled to an abrupt halt.

      Across the street, an old black New Yorker sedan pulled away from the curb and lurched to a stop in the middle of the street. Then the elderly driver laboriously backed up over the curb and swung across the sidewalk, apparently planning to execute a slow-motion three-point turn using the empty lot next to Keeley’s store.

      But the car kept going back.

      And back.

      Until it bumped into a tall wooden ladder propped against the flat roof of the two-story building.

      Then the car lurched forward into the street and lumbered away, the driver clearly oblivious to the destruction in his wake as the ladder teetered...then crashed to the ground.

      Connor shook his head in disbelief. Did that old duffer even have a driver’s license? At least no one had been on the ladder, which now lay in splinters.

      Movement at the top of the building caught his eye and he lifted his gaze to see Keeley standing on the flat-topped roof with a dumbfounded expression, a hammer in one hand and her other hand propped on her slim hip.

      His heart took an extra beat.

      “Dad,” she shouted, clearly exasperated. “Come back here!”

      The car continued down the street at a turtle’s pace.

      “Dad!”

      The sidewalks were deserted; no other cars were coming down Main. Keeley’s attention swiveled to Connor. “Hey,” she called down to him. “Can you help me?”

      Connor walked across the street to the empty lot and studied the splintered ladder. “I think this one is toast. Got another one somewhere?”

      She mumbled something he didn’t make out and he couldn’t help but grin up at her. He couldn’t see what she’d been working on, but she was the cutest handyman he’d ever seen, bar none.

      “I’ll take that as a no. Want me to call 9-1-1? The fire department or the police?”

      “Oh, no. Please no,” she said fervently. “I’d never hear the end of it. Neither would my dad, and he would not handle it well, believe me.”

      “Was that ladder the only way up there? Isn’t there an inside stairwell?”

      “There is, but only to the second floor. And right now, the trick is getting from here to there. The old iron fire-escape ladder is too weak to use.”

      “Isn’t that a fire-code violation?”

      “Of course it is. Just last week I had a contractor look at leaks in the roof and give me an estimate on replacing the fire escape.”

      The lowering sun backlit her cloud of honey-blond hair, making it gleam with sparkling highlights, though her face was cast in shadow. He suspected she was frowning at him, maybe debating her next move. “So how can I help?”

      “Could you go into the store and up the stairs by the storeroom in back? The door’s locked, but there’s a key hanging from a leather thong behind a picture of my mom, just to the left.”

      “Now that sounds really secure,” he muttered.

      She laughed. “I heard that. But it certainly shows me you’ve never lived in a small town like Aspen Creek. After you come upstairs, go through my apartment to the kitchen in back. If you could just unlock the French doors, then I can jump down onto the second-floor balcony and get back inside without anyone else—like the whole fire department—learning about my dad’s little mistake. Okay?”

      He dutifully wound his way through the store, past the glittering chandeliers and stained-glass lamps, old rockers and ornately carved tables glowing in the warm light with the patina of well-loved old age.

      With every step he kept an eye out for the fragile doodads parked on every flat surface and hoped he could make it past without knocking anything to the floor.

      He expected more of the same—fuss and frills and probably mind-numbing pink ruffles everywhere in Keeley’s personal space. Instead the bright and airy upstairs apartment was like the woman herself—welcoming and classy with its cream walls, white wooden blinds and an eclectic mix of antique and modern furnishings that invited rather than overwhelmed.

      But while the apartment felt welcoming, his first step out onto the tipsy balcony in back made him shudder.

      At the far edge of the tiny platform he could see the top bar of a wrought-iron fire escape dangling toward the ground, but the wood-plank flooring of the balcony showed ample evidence of rot. Reaching that ladder to escape a fire seemed more risky than just going for a two-story leap off the edge.

      The rusted wrought-iron fire-escape ladder heading up to the roof looked even worse.

      “None of this is safe,” he called out to her. “I think I’m going to call 9-1-1 after all.”

      She peered over the roof edge above him. “No, don’t—please. I’m going to just dangle over the edge and drop lightly. It’ll be fine.”

      Maybe until her feet hit the fragile planks and went right through.

      “If it’s so fine, why didn’t you set up a ten-foot ladder on the balcony to get up there in the first place?”

      “The contractor said the balcony was still serviceable, but I agree with you. It’s one of the next projects on my list.”

      Connor eyed the spindly railing and weakened floorboards. “If he thought this was okay, then I’d say he isn’t the guy you want to hire. You need someone with more common sense.”

      “Look—I can handle this on my own, now that you’ve unlocked the door. I just need you to step back inside so I don’t land on you. I’ll be careful.”

      Connor stepped into the doorway, with one foot still on the balcony.

      A moment later she slowly backed over the edge of the roof, her feet dangling a few feet above the floorboards. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into the kitchen before she could drop.

      Dressed as she was in a heavy gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, she felt surprisingly delicate and light in his arms, and the soft scent of some sort of flowery perfume wafted into the room.

      When was the last time he’d inhaled such a wonderful scent? He couldn’t remember.

      “Ooof!” she exclaimed as he quickly released her and stepped back. “Thanks.”

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