Happily Ever After Page 5

  Not that the desire for a husband to hold her didn’t rear its desperate head on an occasional starlit night, but love was just too intimate, too exposing. The last thing she needed was a man scrutinizing her heart or running roughshod over her dreams. Only God knew her deepest desires, and that was terrifying enough.

  No, Mona didn’t need anyone—not a rumpled know-it- all handyman and certainly not perfect Mr. Whitney.

  She padded back to bed, picked up Siberian Runaway, and placed it on the nightstand. Surely she should be content with all God had given her—her bookstore and her imaginary dream man, Jonah.

  “There’s a man downstairs!” Liza’s voice scrambled up the stairs just seconds before her feet. Mona covered her head with her pillow and groaned. She’d forgotten to mention their new handyman to her roommate.

  Liza threw open Mona’s door, breathing hard from her sprint upstairs. “I found a guy in the backyard,” she wheezed. Mona peeked out from under the pillow. An impish grin lit up Liza’s face. She scampered to Mona’s bedside, plunking her chin down on the mattress, her eyes level with Mona’s. “And he’s cute.”

  Mona threw the pillow at her and climbed out of bed, reaching for her robe. “He’s our new handyman.”Slipping the robe on, she tied the belt and gave Liza a stern look. “Don’t get attached; he’s not staying long.”

  Liza produced a dramatic pout. “He could serve coffee?”

  “Don’t bet on it. Just what I need, a third partner. I have enough problems with you and your mud.”

  Liza threw the pillow back. “It’s called pottery.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I used to dig up the stuff at construction sites in our old neighborhood. I made some great pots too. Only mine didn’t sell for thirty bucks a shot.”

  Liza wiggled her fingers. “Gotta have the touch.”

  Mona rolled her eyes. “Go entertain our new handyman. His name is Joe. I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

  “With pleasure.” Liza waltzed out the door.

  Mona sat on the bed and worked a strand of hair into a knot. Lord, please make him a hard worker. Help me get this place in shape. . . .

  The sound of a motor roaring to life disintegrated the rest of her prayer. Mona leaped to her feet and raced to the window. The sun had cleared the horizon, and the house stretched out in a languorous shadow across the dark green lawn. Mona’s heart pulsed with joy as she watched her new handyman run a lawn mower over the crisp, calf-high grass. Wearing a faded red sweatshirt and a royal blue baseball cap backwards, he was hunched over, pushing the mower hard through the jungle. Warmth spread through her. She hadn’t even thought of the outside appearance yet. Maybe he would be some help, after all, in making her dreams come true.

  Liza sat on the yellow kitchen counter, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands when Mona came into the kitchen.“Come help me dig out the stuff in the shed. I found some definite keepers yesterday.”

  Mona hummed in response. She bent over the counter, grabbed the crumpled remains of a donut bag, and began to scribble madly.

  “What are you doing?” Liza asked.

  “Making a to-do list.”

  “That’s a novel.”

  Mona glanced up and smiled slyly. “He’s mowing the lawn. I didn’t even know we had a mower.”

  “It was in the shed. Along with a great many other useful items, like an old rolltop desk and a wicker chair.”

  Mona hummed again, this time in interest. “Okay. I’ll be out in a second.” She bent back over the list.

  When Mona stepped outside, the day greeted her with golden sunshine breaking through a cirrus-scattered sky and the heady fragrance of fresh-cut grass. A spring breeze sang in the lilac tree next to the garage, and a grouping of fir that shaded the back shed replied in melody. Mona drank deeply and tasted peace.

  A crash shattered the air.

  Mona ran toward the shed and spotted Liza stumbling from the building, covered in soot. “Found an old woodstove,” Liza muttered.

  Mona bit her lip to stifle a laugh. It didn’t work. She swaddled her stomach with her arms. “You’re a chimney sweep!” she howled.

  Liza glared at her. Then she swept Mona into a hug.

  “Get away from me!” Mona sputtered.

  Liza grinned, her white teeth a striking contrast to her soot-covered skin. “Just trying to share the happiness.”

  Mona examined her formerly clean pink flannel shirt and winced. “Okay, wiseacre, let’s get to work.”

  Inside, the shed smelled of cinders, dust, and old lawn clippings. Mona wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I thought they cleaned this out.”

  “Not a chance. But lucky for us. Look at this.” Liza held up a frayed blanket, revealing a very old, chipped, pool-hall piano.

  Mona’s eyes widened. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “And it’s ours!” Liza exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Yeah, but how’re we going to get it in the house?”

  Liza made a wry face. “We need muscles.”

  “Somebody call me?”

  Mona whirled. Joe Michaels held on to the upper frame of the door, leaning into the shed and grinning like a Cheshire cat. A fine layer of perspiration added to his rumpled, masculine appearance. His hair spiked around the baseball cap, his blue eyes teased, and Mona felt something inside her give way. She forcibly gathered her composure. “Well, Mr. Handy, we’re gonna need more than your brute force to wrestle this inside.”

  “How about Brian?” Liza offered. “I’ll ask him tonight when he comes over.”

  Mona’s jaw dropped. “I thought you said . . . ”

  Liza’s piercing gaze silenced her. “Some things I don’t do for myself.”

  Irritation hissed through Mona. Liza had invited him over for her! She turned away.

  “Well, surely you ladies aren’t going to let all this brawn go to waste.” Joe stepped between the two women. “Give me something to carry.”

  Mona didn’t know whether to thank him for peacemaking or throttle him for interfering. She wanted to let her best friend have it with both barrels. Then a dusty, wooden box set upon a pile of red bricks diverted her attention from her frustration. “What’s this?” She climbed over a rusty wheelbarrow.

  Joe met her in the corner. “Looks like an old phonograph.” “

  Really?” Mona reached to pick it up.

  Joe leaned past her, grabbing the case. “Let me earn my keep.”

  Mona scowled. “I can carry this just fine. I think if I can muscle a canoe onto my shoulders, I can handle this.”

  Joe’s eyes darkened, and his smile faded slightly.

  “Sorry to interfere with your feminist moment. Here.”

  He dropped the box into her outstretched arms.

  It weighed more than she’d imagined. Mona stifled a grunt and lugged the phonograph out of the shed. She set it down carefully onto the grass, ignored Joe’s presence behind her, and worked the rusty latches. When she pried open the box, the sight rocked her back onto her heels. The RCA, complete with a record changer, appeared in mint condition, despite the battered case.“What a treasure,” she gasped.

  “I think there are a lot of treasures to be found here if we keep searching,” Joe commented softly.

  Mona met Joe’s blue eyes and saw his sincerity. Her fury dissipated. He was just trying to help, and she wasn’t giving him the chance. He smiled. It drew her in like an embrace. Then the sun moved out from behind a cloud, and his shadow grew long and covered her.Funny how she felt so comfortable inside it.

  “Sorry I got angry.”

  He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have assumed. You hired me to help, not take over.” His relaxed posture and the crooked grin on his handsome face spoke forgiveness.

  She returned his smile, friendship taking root in her heart. Perhaps he was right. There were treasures all around her—she just needed to keep her eyes open.

  4

  Joe sat in the round attic windowsill, a book open in his lap, watching Mona dig a trench for
flowers along the front walk. She was hard at it, had been all day.Looking beyond her, he noticed the low red sun turning Lake Superior into copper. Weariness seeped through his bones. Mona’s little dream pushed his abilities to the edge, although he’d patched roofs, reworked plumbing, and built homes all over the world.

  Joe forked a hand through his stubby hair and closed the journal he’d been writing in. He took solace in recording his daily activities, as if penning them onto paper gave his thoughts and travels coherency. Purpose. Sometimes they even offered hints at solutions for the trouble that dogged him. But today he found no peace in scribing his jumbled thoughts. Rip sprawled in a streak of sunlight on the wood floor, sides heaving in largo rhythm. “Tired from all the squirrel chasing today, huh?”

  The dog’s ears perked, but his eyes remained shut.

  Joe tossed the journal on top of the refrigerator, then plopped down on the orange-and-black sofa he’d picked up earlier at the local Goodwill. He’d been mildly surprised to find one in a town this small, but he’d chosen the least lumpy sofa, paid twenty bucks, and hauled it home in the pickup. Remembering Mona’s horrified expression when he lugged it home, he laughed.

  She would be a tough one to win over. He saw it in the way she quickly hooded her feelings, snatching them in whenever they wandered. She didn’t trust easily and depended only on herself. She had a story to tell, evident from the haunted look that flickered in her eyes every time she stared at the house. Something would reach out and entwine itself around her, and she had to forcibly shake herself free. In the residue of her gaze, pain prowled so vividly he knew she’d lived with it a long, desperate season.

  Yes, God’s hand had surely directed him to this ramshackle Victorian. The place met his needs. He could stay in shape, pay up on the debt he owed, and be honest when he told his brother he had a job in town. And maybe he could help Mona and her roommate in the bargain. Joe chuckled, remembering the spark that lit between the two ladies. Obviously they had a tightly knotted friendship, but he’d walked into a powder keg today, judging by Mona’s face.

  He couldn’t help but admire Mona for putting action to her dreams, even if her feisty independence did ignite all his protective instincts, something he’d have to learn to douse. She reminded him of a lady he’d met not so long ago, someone whose sassy demeanor lit a spark in his masculine heart. He’d have to keep on his toes if he was going to dodge the grip of her delightful zeal. He would stay just long enough to make amends with Gabe and a dent in their repairs. Then he’d mosey on down the road.

  Gabe. He couldn’t escape it. It was time to see his brother. Now that he had something to occupy his time, he could honestly say he was just dropping in. No strings, no pressure to stay the night, the weekend, the month, forever. Just a quick, painless brotherly visit. He’d get it over with, and then maybe God would ease up on the guilt.

  “Ready?” Joe asked the sleeping mutt.

  Rip moaned in his dreams.

  “I know how you feel.” He headed for the shower, dreading the next few hours.

  Nearly two miles separated the Garden from the main road. Joe followed the map imprinted on the back of a brochure Gabe had sent him a few years back when they’d changed the name. When Joe and his ailing mother had first checked out the place, it had been simply referred to as the Residence. He liked the Garden better, like they were cultivating something special.

  Spotting a carved sign, he turned onto an unpaved road and followed the scent of pine through towering blue spruce and birch. Through a thinning of trees, he sighted a log home, recently built. The pale, skinned logs gleamed with sealant. It looked rustic, but from the pictures in the brochure, he knew otherwise. Plush and expensive, the institution had a long waiting list. He’d had to pull a fistful of strings to get Gabe admitted.

  He drove under a wooden entrance gate, noticing The Garden elegantly carved into the wooden plaque attached to the top crossbar. Rip barked, balancing on the bench seat. Joe placed a hand on his back. “Calm down, bud.”He spoke to himself as well.

  They weren’t expecting him, of course. He hadn’t called, had never personally talked with the new director. Just sent the monthly dues. He slowed, approaching the main lodge. In the circle drive, he stopped next to a long porch. An assembly of residents, apparently gathered for after-dinner air, fixed their eyes on him.

  “Stay,” he commanded Rip, who clambered over him to get to the door. He scowled, spying a fresh paw print on the leg of his khakis. Quickly, he opened the door, slipped out, whirled, and slammed it in Rip’s face before the dog had a chance to protest.

  Joe felt the residents’ eyes on him, but no one spoke, and he heard only the wind whistling through the trees. Fighting the urge to dive back into the cab, Joe brushed off his pants, straightened his tweed blazer, and pasted on a smile. He skirted his truck and made for the wide center porch steps. Not a word of greeting came from the dozen or so spectators.

  He thudded up the steps and stood on the porch. “I’m looking for Gabriel Michaels.” His voice didn’t sound like his own.

  “Gabe’s inside, working on the dishes.” A lean, middle-aged woman with stern eyes stepped from behind a screen door. A man with thinning gray hair and almond-shaped eyes peered from behind her.

  Joe returned her stoic gaze. “I’m his brother.”

  Defense dropped from her face, leaving surprise behind. She smiled, and warmth broke through her hazel eyes. “Glad to meet you, Joe. My name is Ruby Miller. I’m the director.”

  He shook her hand, curious that she knew his name.

  “We didn’t know you were coming.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, then cupped the back of his neck. “I didn’t either. It just sort of happened.”

  She pinched her lips. “In between trips?”

  Inquisitive ears edged in on their conversation. He flicked a nervous glance at the closing horde. “Yes and no.”

  Her eyebrows flared in surprise, and he wondered how much she knew.

  “Where did you go last, Joe?”

  Joe turned and found the owner of the voice, a young woman in her mid-thirties. Her brown hair curled gently around full cheeks and smiling eyes.

  “Um, here and there. Saw Mount Hood in Oregon State.”

  “I have a poster of that,” another voice said from behind him.

  “Gabe reads us all your letters,” announced a plump girl with straight blonde hair.

  “And your pictures are all over his room,” added a young man, whiskers sprouting over his face.

  Joe felt surrounded. They knew his world, his life. And he knew nothing about them. His mouth seemed filled with cotton.

  “Come on, Joe.” Ruby’s voice parted the crowd with the effectiveness of a shepherd’s crook. “I’ll take you to Gabe.”

  Joe followed Ruby inside, hearing the group file in behind him. Obviously, they didn’t get many visitors.

  They walked through a large family room. Navy and forest green accented the overstuffed sofas, and paneled tabbed curtains hung from skinned, shellacked tree branches—the latest in woodsy decor. The smell of oiled wood reminded him of Mona and the table she’d been scrubbing. It tugged at the knot in his chest. Under different circumstances, it felt like a place he could call home.

  He found Gabe in the kitchen, dish towel in hand, wiping a baking pan. His brother chatted with a young redheaded woman who was elbow deep in sudsy water.

  “Gabe?” Ruby tiptoed into the kitchen. “You have a visitor.”

  Gabe turned, and Joe went weak with shock. His younger brother had developed into a man, with whiskers, wide shoulders, and a tan. He appeared grown-up and tailored in a green polo shirt and khakis. Joe squinted at him, the effects of time and distance hitting him hard.

  Gabe, too, stared blankly. Then, like a cloud moving from the sun, joy broke through. “Is that you, Joe?” He formed the words slowly, enunciating with difficulty, but the expression on his round face and the shine in his almond-shaped eye
s shouted his delight with eloquence.

  Joe’s feet told him to run, but he planted them, masked his emotions, and grinned. “Yep. In the flesh.”

  In two quick steps Gabe closed in and threw his arms around Joe. He crushed his face into Joe’s chest. Joe felt fear flush out of him, and he put his arms around his brother. Shame crawled into his bones the longer Gabe held him, and Joe realized what a fool he’d been to stay away so long. “How are you doing, buddy?” His voice cracked.

  Gabe leaned back, happiness making his blue eyes shine like jewels. “Great!”

  Ruby patted Gabe on the back. “Why don’t you show him your room, Gabe? Daniel will finish the dishes.”

  Gabe handed the towel to the gray-haired observer behind Ruby, then tugged on Joe’s jacket. “C’mon.”

  Joe shot a look at Ruby, who smiled broadly. He must have had a help-me expression on his face, for her eyes took on a motherly texture. “Go on, Joe. It’s okay.”

  He raised his brows, then followed Gabe from the room.

  Gabe’s large second-story bedroom faced the back of the property. Smooth, white-pine walls were dotted with posters from around the world, giving his brother’s place a well-traveled aura. He eased into the room behind Gabe, crushing carpet so thick he could bury himself in it and not be found for a year.

  “Did you fix this up yourself?” Joe asked.

  Gabe stood in the middle of the bedroom, arms wide. “Yep. I love the color red.”

  Joe chuckled, digging a foot into the strawberry-colored carpet. “Well, it’s bold.”

  Gabe laughed, the sound of it warm and accepting.

  Joe dug his hands into his pockets and surveyed the room. A single bed, with a cherry red Indian blanket thrown over the top, lined one wall. He recognized the spread. He’d sent it to Gabe during his stint at a dude ranch in Texas. On the other side of the room a vinyl La-Z-Boy with peeling arms squatted in the corner. Joe felt a twinge. “That was Mom’s.”