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The Heart's Voice
Arlene James
After a rodeo accident left her widowed, petite Becca Kinder returned to work at her in-laws' store to support her two small children and fix up a house growing more dilapidated by the minute. Dan Holden, the strong but silent carpenter who frequented the shop, was just the man she needed… if only she could get him to agree!Still struggling with the loss of his hearing in a military exercise, Dan came back to his hometown to live quietly among the people who knew him, prepared to renounce romantic love. But when disaster struck Becca' s home, Dan wondered if God' s plan was for him to rebuild her home… and her heart.



“How’d you lose your hearing?”
He nearly dropped. “How…?” He stared into her wide, clear green eyes, sucked in a breath and accepted that the secret was out. “Explosion, about thirteen months ago.”
She shifted the baby on her hip. “About the same time CJ was born, then.”
What a coincidence, he thought, looking at the baby. She’d been gaining something precious while he was losing his hearing, along with life as he’d known it, his career, the future he’d envisioned for himself.

ARLENE JAMES,
the author of over forty novels, now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her as she’s been at it since the eighth grade! Arlene reflects, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

The Heart’s Voice
Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
So that you incline your ear to wisdom,
and apply your heart to understanding.
—Proverbs 2:2

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter to Reader

Chapter One
“Here’s your chance.”
Becca looked up from the shelf of canned goods she was stocking, glanced at her mother-in-law, Abby Kinder, and immediately turned her attention to the row of shopping carts parked along the front wall of the Kinder grocery store. Daniel Holden, tall and straight, tugged a cart free and aimed it toward the produce section. Becca felt a flutter of excitement inside her chest. With Easter just a week away, the time was right to begin repairs on her dilapidated ranch house. The weather was fine, she had managed to save a sum of money and it seemed that God had finally provided someone to do the work, at least according to the town scuttlebutt.
“You just don’t expect the Marine Corps to turn out expert carpenters,” she commented quietly. “I mean, soldiers, of course, and maybe mechanics, computer techs, even desk clerks, but ‘carpenter’ just doesn’t seem to fit the mold.”
Abby chuckled, swiping a feather duster over boxes of pasta dinners. “You’d be amazed at the kind of training the military offers. Cody considered signing up, you know.” She smiled wistfully, the pain of loss clouding her clear gray eyes even after these many months, but then she shook her silver head, the bun at the nape of her neck sliding from side to side, and her customary cheer reasserted itself. “His dad and I thought it was too dangerous, so then he goes out and takes up rodeo.” She waved the feather duster, as if to say no one could predict what life would hold. Becca knew exactly what she meant. After years on the rodeo circuit, Cody had been killed in his own backyard by a high-strung stud horse.
Becca squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand and went back to emptying the box on the tiered flatbed cart at her side, giving Dan Holden time to finish his shopping. Resolutely putting thoughts of her late husband out of her mind, she concentrated on the proposition she meant to make the tall ex-marine with the carpenter’s skill.
Every day she drove past the Holden house on her way to and from work. Empty for longer than she’d lived in the sleepy little town of Rain Dance, Oklahoma, the elegant place had gradually taken on an air of abandonment and decay, but over the past three or four months that Dan had lived there, the old-fashioned two-story prairie cottage had seemed to come alive and take back its dignity. Now it stood fit and neat, as straight and tall as its owner and occupant, who just might be the answer to Becca’s prayers.
When Dan turned his shopping cart toward the single checkout stand, Becca quickly wiped her hands on her apron and moved behind the counter. As Dan placed the first items on the rubber mat, Becca gave him a bright smile.
“How’re you keeping, Mr. Holden?”
He nodded, but made no reply. She’d noticed that he was a quiet man, rarely speaking and often seeming shy, though with his looks she couldn’t imagine why. He’d pretty much kept to himself since returning to Rain Dance after an absence of some ten or twelve years, but Becca figured he’d just been busy with the house. She rang up the first items and bagged them, talking as she worked.
“The word around town is that you’re something of a carpenter.”
He made no comment, didn’t so much as look at her as he placed several cans on the counter. Becca licked her lips and took the plunge.
“Fact is, I’m looking for someone to help me fix up my old house, Mr. Holden, and I was wondering if you might be interested in taking on the project?”
It seemed a good idea. To her knowledge he didn’t have a job, not that there were many to be had in this part of south central Oklahoma. Most folks depended on ranching, farming and intermittent oil field work to keep afloat, or else they were pensioners making the most of their retirement income. Living was cheap, if limited, in Rain Dance, which boasted a population of some 500 residents within the narrow confines of its city limits and perhaps an equal number in the surrounding area.
Without ever making eye contact, Dan Holden placed a carton of milk on the counter and reached back into his shopping cart for a box of cereal. She took his lack of reply as a good sign. At least he hadn’t refused her outright.
“I’ve got a little money put aside,” she told him, “and you’ve done such a fine job on your place, I was thinking we could maybe help each other out.”
He plunked down a jar of pickles and a squirt bottle of mustard. She reached for the mustard, judging it a perfect fit for the space left in the shopping bag that she was packing. Their hands collided, and he looked up with a jerk, as if she’d burned him. She tried that smile again.
“So what do you think?”
He frowned as if puzzled, then muttered, “I think I have everything I need.”
Becca felt her smile wilt. “I see.” Tamping down her disappointment, she quickly rang up the rest of his purchase. “I guess that means you’re not interested in the job?” He didn’t dignify that with a reply, so she gulped and asked, “Might you be able to recommend someone from around here who could help me?” She’d been asking that question of everyone in town, and his name was the only one that ever seemed to come up.
Dan peered at the digital readout provided by the cash register and plucked bills from his wallet. She counted out his change, figuring that he was thinking over his answer, and left it on the counter. He picked it up, coin by coin, gathered his three bags of groceries and walked out.
Becca’s jaw dropped, but she quickly snapped her mouth shut again. The man hadn’t answered her with so much as a shrug.
Abby had been hovering nearby with her feather duster, listening unabashedly to every word. She now looked at Becca with sad confusion on her face. “Well, he’s sure changed. The Dan Holden I remember was a polite, outgoing young man. He wasn’t much more than a boy, but still, that’s not the same Dan Holden who left here for college. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“I wonder what changed him,” Becca mused, leaning a hip against the counter.
“God knows,” Abby replied. “God always knows, and that’s what matters, honey. If Dan can’t or won’t help you, God’ll send someone else. You’ll see.”
Becca smiled and put aside her disappointment, knowing that her mother-in-law was right. She wouldn’t have been so certain a few years ago, but she had learned, thanks to the Kinders. When she’d first arrived in Oklahoma as a nineteen-year-old bride of only days, she’d thought she’d made a terrible mistake. She’d met Cody at a rodeo and married the cute cowboy after knowing him for only two weeks. The rodeo life had seemed exciting to a country girl reared on an Iowa farm, but then she’d realize that she’d be spending most of her time in Rain Dance, which had seemed precisely the sort of place from which she’d thought she’d escaped, a dying town peopled with old folks and country yokels.
Then Abby and John Odem Kinder had opened their hearts and their lives to her. They’d shared their small house, their affection and, most important, their faith, and almost before she’d realized what was happening Rain Dance had become home—and she had become a mother to a blond, blue-eyed baby girl. Cody had eventually scraped together enough winnings to buy them a place of their own on a quarter section three and half miles northeast of town.
The house had needed work even then, but the ranch had needed a good pair of breeding stock even more. They were hoping to start the horse herd that would provide the income that would keep Cody at home with his growing family, as Becca was pregnant again. Even without the much-needed repairs on the house, she wouldn’t think of living anywhere else now, not even after finding herself a young widow with two children to support.
Rain Dance had its limitations, but she knew in her heart that this was where the good Lord meant her to be, so this was where she’d stay—even if she could see daylight through some walls of her little house.

Becca shepherded her daughter, Jemmy, into the pew near the front of the church where the Kinders sat, smiling as the four-year-old moppet preened in the simple blue-and-white-polka-dotted dress sewn for her by her grandmother. With her pale blond hair twisted into curls that most likely wouldn’t last the service and a white straw hat tied with a blue ribbon under her chubby chin, she had sat for photos on the front steps of the narrow orange-brick church, giggling as John Odem had snapped away with his camera. Thirteen-month-old CJ had gone up onto his knees, trying to filch plastic eggs from his sister’s Easter basket, his shirttail poking out of his navy blue shorts, matching bow tie seriously askew.
Finally Abby had brought the picture taking to a halt, warning that they would be late if they delayed any longer. Eager to show off her finery, Jemmy had insisted on accompanying her mother to the nursery, where CJ could play without disturbing the service, while her grandparents secured seats in the crowded sanctuary. By the time the middle-aged nursery attendant had finished gushing over how Jem’s dress matched her blue eyes, the pianist had started to play the opening prelude.
As mother and daughter slipped into the pew, Becca smiled at the family in the seats behind them and patiently lifted her gaze toward the rear of the church while Jemmy climbed up onto the cushioned seat. Dan Holden stood in the doorway, a look of consternation on his face. Becca was struck by how handsome he was, standing there with his military bearing in well-pressed slacks, shirt and tie, his square jaw cleanly shaven, short, light brown hair neatly combed, sky-blue eyes searching the crowded pews for a seat.
She’d seen him here before, of course, but he usually slipped in a little late and took a seat on the aisle in the very last pew and then was gone again before she and her family had worked their way to the door. Today, however, even the back pews were packed. She saw him hesitate and then turn slightly as if to leave. Something in her couldn’t let that happen. It was Easter Sunday, the day of all days when a Christian should be in church. Beckoning him with a slight crook of her hand, she quickly turned and slid into the pew, crowding close to her daughter in order to leave space for him on the aisle.
For several long seconds she didn’t know whether or not he would take her up on her invitation, but then she felt his silent presence at her side and glanced up with a welcoming smile. Color stood in small, bright red patches high on his cheekbones, but he nodded thanks and folded his long frame onto the bench seat, elbows pulled tight to his sides. The pastor already stood in the pulpit, and he immediately lifted his voice to welcome all to God’s house and comment on how nice it was to see so many in the congregation.
A few minutes later the music leader took over and got them all onto their feet for the first hymn of the morning. Becca joined in the singing. Jemmy climbed up into her grandfather’s arms so she could see better, while Abby held a hymnal for him. His gravelly bass voice boomed so loudly that Jemmy covered her ears with her hands, which was exactly what John Odem had intended. It was a game they played, one of many. John liked to say that one of the most important lessons he’d learned in his nearly seventy years was to have as much fun as possible to help balance the difficulty that life often dealt. Having fun definitely included teasing his granddaughter. Smiling indulgently, Becca glanced at Dan Holden out of the corner of her eye. To her surprise Dan stared straight ahead, rigid and silent.
Realizing that he didn’t have a hymnal, Becca briefly considered offering to share her own, but his stiffness made her uncertain. Compelled to seek another remedy, she looked down the pew, spying an extra hymnal in the pew pocket in front of her mother-in-law. Becca caught Abby’s eye and pointed to the hymnal. Abby plucked it up and passed it to her. Becca immediately handed her own hymnal to Dan Holden, opened to the correct page.
He jerked, as if shocked by the gesture, and shook his head. His hand dipped with the weight of the heavy book before his gaze locked on her face, blue eyes piercing hers. Something there made Becca’s breath catch, something intense and aching. His gaze moved from her face to the music on the page. The next instant he snapped the book shut, dropped it into the pew pocket in front of him and clasped his hands behind his back, a proud soldier at ease before a commanding officer.
Stung, Becca ducked her chin, brow beetled as she tried to figure out this guy. What was his problem, anyway? One moment he seemed charmingly shy and the next downright rude. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to act around people. She now wanted to ignore him, but since he occupied the space right next to her, she couldn’t help being uncomfortably aware of his every movement, or lack of it, to be more precise. During the sermon she noticed that he never took his eyes off the pastor’s face. He appeared rapt, almost eerily so, and he seemed genuinely moved at several points. By the time the service progressed to the invitation, her puzzlement had deepened significantly. Dan Holden’s actions and reactions just didn’t seem to add up, and Becca’s curiosity had definitely been piqued by the time the service ended.
As expected, the instant they were dismissed, he turned into the aisle, but Becca impulsively reached out to trap him with a hand clamped firmly upon his forearm. He turned wary eyes of such intense attention on her that she once more caught her breath, but the next moment she heard herself babbling, “Oh, Mr. Holden, you remember me, don’t you? I’m Becca Kinder.”
“From the store,” he mumbled in a voice so low that she had to lean close to hear him.
“That’s right.”
He glanced past her, his blue gaze sliding over Jemmy to John Odem. Becca released him, a little abashed by her forwardness now. He nodded at John and said, a little too loudly this time, “Mr. Kinder.”
“Hello, Dan.”
But Holden’s gaze had slid right on past John Odem to Abby. “Ma’am,” he said, and then he slipped away, edging and elbowing his way through the throng moving sluggishly toward the door. By the time Becca gathered her daughter to her side, he was gone.
“That man is downright peculiar,” she said to no one in particular.
“Aw, I bet he’s just having a little trouble settling into civilian life,” John Odem said, tweaking Jemmy’s ear.
Becca ducked her head. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Maybe you ought to call on him, John,” Abby suggested, crowding her family out into the aisle.
“Sure thing,” John Odem agreed. “I’ll go soon as that side of beef is delivered in the morning. Then you can do the butchering.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Abby retorted.
“Why not?” John Odem asked innocently. “I figure it’s time for some thumb soup.”
“What’s thumb soup?” Jemmy wanted to know.
“That’s what we’ll be having for supper once Grandma lops off her thumb with my butcher knife.”
“Ewwww!” Jemmy exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.
“Stop that, John Odem Kinder,” Abby scolded with mock severity. “We’ll be having no disgusting soups, sugar,” she assured her granddaughter, “because I’m not doing any butchering.”
“You two are going to put this child off her feed for a month,” Becca said reprovingly. “Honey, no one makes soup out of thumbs. Grandpa’s just joshing you.”
“Grandpa!” Jemmy scolded, sounding for all the world just like her grandmother.
John Odem laughed delightedly. When they drew even with the pastor, however, he did ask about Dan Holden.
“Anybody talk to that Holden boy since he came home, Pastor?”
The middle-aged preacher shook his head. “Not for lack of trying, John. He doesn’t seem to have a phone. Shep Marcum and I have stopped by the house a few times, but no one ever came to the door. He seems to be keeping pretty busy.”
“He seems to be keeping to himself,” Abby commented, and the pastor nodded.
“That, too.”
Becca bit her lip, mulling over this information. It seemed that Dan Holden didn’t want to have anything do with anyone around Rain Dance, but if that were so, then why had he come back here?

The puzzle of Dan Holden just wouldn’t leave Becca alone. She lay in her bed that night trying to decide what it was she’d seen in his eyes that disturbed her so, but try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a solid explanation. Her first guess was loneliness, but why would a lonely man hold everyone at bay, avoiding conversation? Did his past hide something dark that he feared others would discover, something that shamed him? Maybe it was something that had forced him out of the Marine Corps, but what?
Maybe he was AWOL, absent from the military without leave.
No, that didn’t make any sense. He would be plenty easy to find in a little town like Rain Dance, especially since he had family connections to the community. Besides, a Christian man with a guilty conscience would be compelled to make things right, and she felt in her heart of hearts that Dan was a true Christian. She’d seen the tears standing in his eyes when the pastor had described the suffering of Christ as He’d willingly paid the sin debt for all of humanity, witnessed the quiet intensity of his emotion as he’d listened to the dramatic reading of Scripture, watched his silent joy as the Resurrection was proclaimed. Yes, Dan believed. It was obvious. So why, then, did he bolt like a scalded hound whenever anyone tried to connect with him?
Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was the one he didn’t want to have anything to do with, and he really had been busy when the others had come to call. It was a lowering thought, and one she felt compelled to put to the test on Tuesday next.

She stayed late to close the store on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so John Odem and Abby could have their dinner together at a decent hour, and it had become the family custom for the kids to eat with their grandparents and on occasion stay overnight. This was just such an occasion, so Becca found herself driving alone about eight-thirty in the evening past the Holden place on her way out of town. As she drew close to the house, she naturally glanced toward it.
Dan Holden’s profile appeared in an open living-room window. He was sitting in a big, comfy chair watching a large television screen. The way he sat there, so very still, hands resting on the wide rolled arms of the chair, had a lonely feel about it, and something inside Becca said, “Stop.”
She shivered, as if God Himself had tapped her on the shoulder, and before she could even think to do it, her foot had moved from the gas pedal to the brake. She sat there for a moment, the engine of her battered old car rumbling in competition with a cricket calling for his mate. Then with a sigh she yielded to her initial impulse and turned the vehicle into Dan Holden’s drive. She parked and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition as usual. Reluctantly she let her tired feet take her along the hedged walkway to the front steps and then up those steps to the broad, sheltered porch. From this angle, the light of the TV flickered against the windowpane, but now only that persistent cricket could be heard.
Becca knocked on the door. She thought its berry-red paint made a very pretty display with the pristine white of the siding, new grass-green roof and black shutters. She waited, but the contrary man couldn’t be bothered to answer his door.
She tried again, her irritation growing. No response. Well, that took the proverbial cake. The man obviously didn’t want or need a friend. It must have been a perverse imp who had compelled her to stop, but this time she was going to let Dan Holden know that his rudeness had been noted and marked. In a rare fit of pique she moved to stand directly in front of the window, which she pecked insistently with the tip of one forefinger before turning to stomp across the porch and down the steps on her way back to her car. Her feet had barely hit the paved walk when that red door finally opened.
“Who’s there?”
For an instant she considered giving him a dose of his own medicine, just stomping off into the night without another word, but that was not Becca’s way.
“It’s me,” she said, somewhat grudgingly. “Becca Kinder. I was just—”
The porch light suddenly blazed. “Mrs. Kinder,” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “Is that you?”
Becca frowned. “I just told you so, didn’t I?”
“Come up here into the light,” he dictated, stepping out onto the porch, “and tell me what I can do for you.” His voice had a stilted, uneven quality to it, as if he wasn’t quite sure what tone to use.
Sorry that she’d come at all, Becca climbed the trio of steps again, realizing that she had no idea what she’d meant to say to him in the first place. An honest response was always the best one, so she licked her lips and said, “I was hoping you might be interested in working on my house now.”
He cocked his head, as if he found something odd about that. “Sorry. Not possible.”
“But you’ve done such fine work on this place,” Becca heard herself arguing.
“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “Now I’m doing the garage apartment out back. Might rent it out.”
Becca nodded, disappointed all over again. At least he had an excuse to offer this time. That was progress. Of a sort. “I see. Well, if that doesn’t pan out and you find yourself needing work…”
He shook his head. “I’m keeping busy.”
That was something with which she could certainly identify. “Just not enough hours in the day, are there?”
“Suppose not.”
She searched for something else to say and finally gestured toward the western end of the south-facing house. “You ought to hang a swing over there.”
He glanced at the end of the porch and back again. “Think so?”
“And paint it red,” she added.
He rubbed his chin, smiling so brightly that she felt a kick in her chest. “Just might do that.”
She felt positively warm all of a sudden, and the thought occurred to her that he was a downright likable man when he wasn’t being standoffish. “You know what else would be pretty?” she asked, basking in that male smile. He shook his head. “Two big white pots right here on either side of the steps, just spilling over with flowers, geraniums maybe, red to match the swing.”
“My grandma used to keep flowerpots there.”
“Well, there you go,” Becca said.
He nodded. “I’ll look into it sometime.”
“Maybe when you’re finished with that garage apartment.”
“Maybe,” he said, making it sound like two words instead of one.
Completely out of topics for discussion now, Becca glanced at the window looking into his living room. “You’re missing your program,” she finally offered lamely, “and morning comes early for me, so I’d best be going.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Holden.” She turned to go, but then a fresh thought hit her. “You know, there’s a Bible study on Wednesday evenings that you might want—” She broke off. He’d already retreated and was closing the door. She brought her hands to her hips. There he went again! The man had practically locked up while she was still talking.
From the corner of her eye she caught sight of him moving back into the living room and reclaiming his seat in the chair. Must be some mighty interesting TV program he was watching. Curious, she stepped to one side and looked at the set. A commercial was playing, but she did note one interesting thing. The television seemed to be displaying closed captions, the words spelling out across the bottom of the screen. She was too far away to read them, and it could have been a disclaimer of some sort for the commercial, but she left wondering if she might not have discovered the clue to Dan Holden’s odd behavior.

Chapter Two
Dan came into the store on Friday morning, a half day for Becca. He smiled and waved as he pulled his cart from the queue, then purchased milk and eggs and a piece of salt pork for “a mess of beans,” as he said at the checkout.
“You must be missing military chow,” she teased.
“Must be,” he agreed shyly.
He turned his attention to a rack of television program guides mounted near the checkout, and Becca deliberately asked, “What sort are you having?”
He made no reply, just as she had expected, so she repeated the question once she had his attention again.
“Navy beans,” he said with a grin. “Called them something else in the Corps.”
“I prefer good old reds myself.”
He chuckled. “Red seems to be a theme with you.”
“I like red,” she admitted. “That’ll be $9.17.”
“Bet it’s a good color on you,” he said, and then ducked his head as that very shade bloomed on the ridges of his cheeks. He dug out a ten-dollar bill and plunked it on the table, mumbling, “You have a good day now.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, purposely not looking at him as she extracted his change from the cash drawer. “I’m expecting John Travolta to pick me up for lunch in his private jet.” She peeked at him to see how he’d taken that, or if he’d even heard it, but he was already making for the door with his groceries. “Hey!” she called out. “Your change!” She wasn’t the least surprised when he just kept on walking.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Abby asked, appearing from the little office blocked off across the aisle from the checkout.
Becca dropped the coins into her apron pocket. “Dan Holden just forgot his change, that’s all.”
“How much?”
“Eighty-three cents.”
“Oh, well, just give it to him next time he comes in.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Becca said with a smile.
Abby nodded and turned back into the office, where she was tabulating invoices for payment. Becca patted the small bulge in her pocket and decided that she was going to pay another call on the handsome ex-marine, and this time they were going to have an honest talk.

Dan saw the flashing light on the panel mounted on the kitchen wall. Connected to a motion detector, it signaled him whenever someone approached his front door. He’d installed the panels in his bedroom, bath and here in the kitchen, and eventually he meant to have them in every room. Originally he’d thought he wouldn’t need one in the living room, as it overlooked the porch, but little Becca Kinder’s visit a few nights earlier had shown him that he wasn’t as observant as he’d judged himself to be. He wondered how many other visitors he’d missed because he’d been too proud to admit that he might overlook what he couldn’t hear.
Rising from the chair, he left his sandwich on the table and walked down the central hall past the staircase to the front door. Upon opening the door, he didn’t know who was more surprised, Becca Kinder, who had apparently not yet knocked, or him at seeing pretty little Becca on his doorstep again, this time with a fat baby perched on one hip. It looked to be a boy.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” she said, holding out her right hand.
“What’s this?” he asked, putting out his own palm.
“The change you forgot at the store this morning.”
“Oh!”
He felt the burn of embarrassment again, and it galled him. What was it about this girl that kept him blushing like some awkward preteen? He slipped the coins into the front pocket of his jeans. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he glanced left and spied her little girl skipping merrily across his porch, pale hair flopping. Becca was not a girl, but a woman and a mother, he reminded himself, and he’d do well to remember it. He still thought of Cody Kinder as the happy-go-lucky kid he’d once known, clomping around in a droopy cowboy hat and boots two sizes too large. Now here stood his family.
“Didn’t have to bring this,” he said, looking her in the eye. He always worried that he wouldn’t get his volume right, but she neither winced nor leaned in closer.
She shrugged, and he dropped his gaze to her mouth. It was a pretty little mouth, a perfect pink bow. “No problem. It’s on my way home. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”
He assumed that it had to do with her house and the repairs she seemed to think she needed. “All right.”
“How’d you lose your hearing?”
He nearly dropped from shock. “How…” He stared into her wide, clear green eyes, sucked in a breath and accepted that the secret was out. “Explosion.”
She nodded matter-of-factly, no trace of pity in her expression. She was a pretty thing, with her fine, straight, light golden-blond hair cropped bluntly just above her shoulders, the bangs wisping randomly across her forehead. Those soft olive-green eyes were big and round, but not too large for her wide oval face with its pointed chin and small, tip-tilted nose. Completely devoid of cosmetics, her golden skin literally glowed, and her dusty-pink mouth truly intrigued him. She was so easy to lip-read.
“I figured it was something like that,” she said. “Mind if I ask how long ago it was?”
He shook his head, as much to clear it as in answer to her question. “About thirteen months.”
She shifted the baby on her hip. “About the same time CJ was born, then.”
What a coincidence, he thought, looking at the baby. She’d been gaining something precious while he was losing his hearing, along with life as he’d known it, his career, the future he’d envisioned for himself. Keeping his expression carefully bland, he switched his gaze back to her face.
“How did you know?”
“Little things. Abby says you were always friendly and outgoing before.” He winced at the implication. “But you don’t reply sometimes when you’re spoken to.” She grinned. “I thought you were rude.”
He closed his eyes, appalled that he wasn’t as smart as he’d assumed, then he opened them again to find that she was still speaking.
“…weren’t singing and the way you watched the pastor so intently when he was preaching. Then there were the closed captions on the TV the other night.”
He waved a hand, feeling ridiculous. Had he really believed that he could fool everyone? He’d thought that if he kept to himself and was careful he could lead something close to a normal life. Now he knew that wasn’t true, and he felt sick in a way that he hadn’t since he’d realized that he was never going to hear another sound. For some reason he felt compelled to try to explain it to her.
“It’s not obvious at first.”
“No, it’s not. Took me a while to figure it out.”
“I’m not comfortable announcing it.” He hoped he hadn’t stumbled over the word comfortable.
“I understand. And why should you if you don’t have to? How did you learn to read lips so well, by the way?”
“Training.”
“Guess that’s one good thing about the military, huh? They take care of their own.”
“That’s right. Helps that I wasn’t born this way.”
“I see. Is your deafness why you won’t work on my house?” she asked.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes.”
She bit her lip. “Okay. Well, you don’t have to worry that I’ll say anything to anybody. I mean, if that’s the way you want it.”
He forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“But since I already know about your problem, there’s really no reason why you can’t help me out, is there?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. She had a point. He sighed, then hoped she hadn’t heard. It was hard to tell with her. “You better come in.”
She shook her head, glancing at her daughter, who continued skipping. The child appeared to be singing to herself. Becca hefted the boy to a more comfortable position, and he noticed how small and childlike her hands were before quickly jerking his gaze back to her face. “That’s okay. Jenny likes playing on your porch.”
He wasn’t sure about the name. “Jenny?”
“No. J-e-m-m-y. Jemmy.”
“Jemmy.” He pointed at the boy. “CJ?”
“For Cody John, after his daddy and his grandpa.”
Dan nodded his understanding. The child was huge, with fat cheeks and thighs, or his mother was very small, or both. Either way, she looked much too young to have two children.
“So will you help me fix up my house?”
She might be young, but she was persistent. Dan rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. Was this God’s will, that he work on her house? He was having a hard time figuring out what God had in store for him these days. He’d come home to Rain Dance simply because he had to go somewhere after the Marine Corps had medically retired him, and at thirty he didn’t like feeling dependent on his parents, especially with his sister, Gayla, busily planning her fall wedding. By helping out Becca Kinder he’d at least be keeping busy.
“No promises,” he finally said, “but I’ll take a look.”
She literally bounced, as excited as if she’d just won the lottery. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Holden!”
“Dan,” he corrected automatically.
She smiled. “And I’m Becca.”
“Becca,” he repeated carefully. “Not Becky?”
“Not Becky,” she confirmed, “but short for Rebecca.”
“Okay, Becca. When and where?”
She started to answer him, but then she suddenly turned away. He followed her gaze and saw that Jemmy was about to slip off the end of the porch and down between the hedges. She stopped and cast a measuring glance at her mother, then resumed skipping again. Becca smiled at him and said, “As far as how to find us, just head east straight on out of town to the second section line. Then turn back north. We’re on the left just over a mile down.”
He smiled because she hadn’t altered the speed or manner in which she normally spoke. “Two miles east. One north. On the left.”
“Right. There’s no section line road there, but you’ll see the name on the mailbox.”
“Kinder,” he surmised.
“That’s it.” She flapped a hand happily. “Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this! See you then.” As she turned to go, he realized that he’d missed something important, and without even thinking, he reached out and snagged her wrist. A jolt of heat lanced up his arm. He instantly released her.
“Sorry. Uh, when?”
Her eyes grew even rounder, and apology was suddenly written all over her face. “I turned my head. Jemmy was about to crawl off into the bushes, and I didn’t even think.”
“It’s all right.” He brought his hands to his hips, just to be sure he didn’t accidentally reach out for her again. “Tell me when.”
“Monday’s my day off, so anytime Monday would be great for me.”
He nodded. “Monday.”
She smiled, and he drew back, that smile doing strange things to his insides. He wondered if her husband was going to be there, and hoped that he was. It would be best to deal with Cody. Perhaps he should suggest it, but she was already turning away again, calling the girl to her side as she went. Dan backed up and closed the door. Then he suddenly remembered something he’d seen.
She wore her wedding ring on her right hand and no ring at all on her left. Thinking quickly, he weighed the significance of that, and then he remembered something else. One day down at the store he’d seen two women standing in front of the deli case, watching John Odem carve up a ham. One had leaned close to the other and apparently whispered something that had stuck with him. What a shame about the boy.
He knew now what it meant. Cody Kinder had died. That explained why Dan hadn’t seen him around at all since his return, even why Becca had come to ask for his help. He thought of the boy he had known and felt a keen sense of loss tinged with shame. Cody had been younger than him, so they hadn’t been buddies or anything, but Dan had always liked the kid as well as his parents, who had fairly doted on their only child. And to think that all this time he’d been too busy feeling his own loss to even realize what they had suffered.
He sighed and bowed his head.
Okay. I get it. Lots of folks have lost lots more than me. The least I can do is help Becca Kinder with whatever repairs she’s needing. And I’ll try to be less prideful from now on, Lord. Really I will.
For the first time in a long while a real sense of purpose filled him, and it felt good. Really good. He went back to his lunch, walking down the hall to the kitchen, completely ignorant of a loud squeak at a certain spot in the clean, highly polished hardwood floor.

Becca couldn’t say why she looked for him to come into the store on Saturday, but she was disappointed when it didn’t happen. Ever since he’d admitted his deafness to her, she’d felt that they shared a bond along with the secret. And yet she felt torn about the secret itself. Whatever his reasons for not publicly acknowledging his lack of hearing, it served only to keep him isolated. Most people would gladly accommodate his condition, allowing him to get back into the swing of things around the community. Perhaps with him working around her house—and she couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t be—God would give her the words to say to convince him to let people know about his disadvantage.
She didn’t see any reason to wait for Monday to speak to him, however, so on Sunday she kept an eye out, and sure enough he slipped in late and took up his customary spot on the back row. She didn’t signal to him to come up front, though there was space in the pew, but she did rush out at the first possible moment, leaving Jemmy in the care of the Kinders. With barely a nod for the pastor, she hurried through the narrow foyer and down the front steps, catching up with him beneath a big beech tree that grew near the sidewalk and overhung the dusty parking area.
He stopped and turned when she tapped him on the shoulder. She suddenly found herself smiling like a goose.
“What’s your hurry?”
He glanced down at the key in his hand and said softly, “Bean casserole.”
She waited until he looked up at her again before she said, “Guess there’s no point in inviting you to Sunday dinner, then, huh?” She’d meant to tease but realized belatedly that she was serious. At any rate, he missed the inflection.
“Nice of you.” He shook his head apologetically. “Not a good idea.”
“Because you’d be uncomfortable around John Odem and Abby,” she surmised.
He seemed a little surprised by that, but then he didn’t have any way of knowing that she routinely took Sunday dinner with the Kinders. “Yes,” he said, and she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t exactly the truth—not all of it, anyway.
Suddenly struck by how forward she was being, she looked away. That’s when Shep Marcum stopped by to shake Dan’s hand and invite him to the men’s Sunday-school class.
“Thank you for mentioning it, Mr. Marcum,” Dan said slowly and politely, but just a tad too loud. Then again, Shep was nearly John Odem’s age and hard of hearing. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “I’ll think on it.”
“You do that, son,” Shep said, clapping Dan on the shoulder. “We’d sure be glad to have you.” He glanced at Becca and winked. “Looking mighty pretty again today, Becca. That’s a right attractive dress you’re wearing.”
Becca grinned. “Shep, it’s the same dress I wear every other Sunday, and you know it.”
“Well, it’s still a nice one,” he said jauntily, stepping off the sidewalk.
She laughed and slid a wry look at Dan. “He says that about the other one, too.”
“The other one?”
“My other Sunday dress.”
“Ah.”
He looked down at his feet, missing the greeting called out by the Platters—not that he’d have caught it, anyway. Becca nudged his toe with hers, and when he looked up said softly, “Wave at Bill Platter and his wife. To your left.”
Dan looked that way and lifted an arm in greeting before turning back to Becca. “Thanks. He coming over?”
“Nope. Heading for the car. They always go to her mother’s in Waurika on Sunday.”
Dan nodded, keeping his gaze glued to her face. “Graduated high school with Bill.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “He looks older than you.”
“He is. Held back, dropped out for a while.”
“Is that so? Then you’ll be surprised to hear that he’s a big man around here now. Pretty well-heeled. Owns an insurance agency in Duncan.”
His mouth quirked at the word hear, but she didn’t apologize, sensing that would compound the mistake. “Surprised he’s living in Rain Dance, then.”
“How come? You’re living in Rain Dance now.”
He looked away, mumbling, “Inherited my house.”
She stood silently until he glanced her way again. “Is that the only reason you came home, because you inherited your grandmother’s house?”
He turned away as if he hadn’t understood her, but then he turned back again and looked her in the eye. “Not sure. It is home.”
She smiled. “Yeah. I feel the same way. I couldn’t think of living anywhere else after Cody died.”
He asked gently, “Not long ago?”
“Twenty-one months,” she told him. “Just after I found out I was pregnant with CJ.”
His eyes widened. “Must’ve been tough.”
She nodded. “But we’re managing. I’m even finally going to get my house fixed up.”
He chuckled and tossed his keys lightly, signaling his intention to take his leave. “We’ll see. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed, adding, “Look left again and acknowledge Effie Bishop.”
Dan turned his head and smiled at the elderly woman, calling out in that same careful, measured way, “Good to see you again, Miss Effie.” He looked back at Becca as he moved into the parking area and mouthed the words “Thanks. Again.”
She smiled, waved and went in search of her family, marveling at how he handled himself. No one who didn’t know him well would realize his predicament, at least not with her acting as his ears. She found a strange satisfaction in that, one she didn’t much want to ponder.

Dan brought his white pickup truck to a halt behind Becca’s old car and studied the sight before him. He shook his head and killed the engine, automatically pulling the keys. The truck was spanking new, with fewer than two hundred miles on it. He’d ordered it specially equipped as soon as he’d made the decision to move back to Rain Dance, but it had never seemed so plush or shiny as it did now, sitting in front of Becca Kinder’s shabby little house.
The house didn’t need repairs, he realized with dismay—it needed demolishing. The roof line was uneven, the shingles a patchwork of colors and type. Over the low porch it sagged dangerously, and he saw that one of the support poles had sunk through the rotted wood and past the untreated joist to the ground. The house itself was built atop a foundation of cement blocks placed about two feet apart, so the floor probably rolled like an ocean inside. Besides that, every inch of wood siding needed scraping and painting. Windowsills were buckled. The damage was such that he could tell she’d been living like this for a long time, and that knowledge pricked him, though he supposed that he should’ve expected it.
Despite running the only grocery store in town, the Kinders had always been poor as church mice. None of them, Cody included, had ever seemed to mind. Dan remembered his grandfather saying that John Odem was a good man who had no head for business, that he gave credit to everyone who asked and probably collected only a fraction of what was owed him. That apparently still held true, and while Dan admired the generosity and pleasantness of the Kinders, he couldn’t help feeling a little irritated on behalf of Becca and the kids. No wonder she’d pressed him for help.
He got out of the truck and walked across the dirt yard to the porch, noting as he stepped up onto it that the floorboards were warped and broken. The whole thing would have to be replaced. The patched screen door opened and Becca stepped out, looking freshly scrubbed and smiling a happy welcome.
“It’s nearly ten. I was getting worried you wouldn’t show till after lunch.”
“Your morning off,” he pointed out. “Thought you might sleep in.”
She waved that away. “I’m a morning person, always up with the dawn.” She hugged herself. “I love it when the world’s still and quiet, like I’m the only person awake anywhere.”
He smiled, not because he identified—for him the world was always still and quiet, and he missed the bustle and racket of it keenly—but because she never bothered to police her speech with him. Becca was just Becca. Period. He liked that, admired it. In a funny way he was even grateful for it. She made him feel…normal. Whole. He reminded himself that he was neither.
“Come on in,” she said before leading the way inside.
He followed with some trepidation and found himself standing in a living room that couldn’t have been more than ten feet square. Poorly furnished with an old sofa, a small bookcase, a battered coffee table, a cheap floor lamp and a small television set on a wire stand so rickety that it leaned to one side, the place was shabby but spotless and cheerful.
Becca had obviously made a valiant effort. A colorful quilt covered the ratty sofa. Bright yellow ruffled curtains fluttered in the morning breeze. An oval, braided rag rug covered a significant portion of the torn linoleum floor, and sparkling beads had been glued around the edge of the yellowed lamp shade. The bookcase bulged with neatly stacked rows of paperback novels, children’s storybooks and Bible study materials. Best of all were the framed photos hung artistically on the wall, so many that they almost obscured the faded, old-fashioned wallpaper, along with a homemade shadow box of dried flowers and a variety of in-expert coloring-book pages pinned up at Jemmy-height. Jemmy sat on the floor industriously working on another while watching cartoons.
Becca waved him into another room. He glimpsed a sunny bedroom as he walked past an open doorway, then came to stand in the disaster that was her kitchen.
It looked like something straight out of the thirties, with a tired old propane stove, a tiny ancient refrigerator, peeling wallpaper that exposed its rough backing, a shallow tin sink and virtually no cabinets. The only work surface was an old table that obviously functioned as eating space and stood over the slanted entry of an old root cellar. A pair of unfinished shelves comprised the only storage, and a single naked lightbulb provided the only illumination, since the window and possibly a door had been boarded over. To top it all off, the baby sat in a rusty high chair in the very middle of the floor, naked except for a diaper, his hair, face and chest smeared and sticky. With one hand he clutched the remains of a banana while rhythmically banging a spoon on the metal tray with the other. When Dan caught his eye, the filthy little cherub offered him the piece of mushy banana. Dan pretended not to notice and quickly diverted his attention.
Becca reached out and removed the spoon from the baby’s hand with a patient shake of her head. “Sorry about the racket.” Realizing what she’d said, she put a hand to her head and, eyes twinkling, said, “Sorry for apologizing.”
He found himself smiling. Although the place was an appalling wreck and he was just beginning to realize what a job he’d let himself in for, he couldn’t do anything but smile. She was one of a kind, Becca Kinder, as natural and uncomplicated as a woman could get. Widowed much too young, she worked long hours at the store owned by her in-laws, obviously didn’t have a penny to spare, lived in appalling conditions and still managed to be happy and make a warm if humble home for her two children.
He’d do what he could, of course. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t, though he realized in that moment that he would be getting something important out of it, too. Because just by being herself and by treating him as if he wasn’t handicapped, as if he was someone to depend upon, as if he had something of genuine value to offer, she made him understand that it was so. Plus, he could make a real contribution. He could help her. To what extent he wasn’t yet certain, but her life and the lives of her children would definitely be better once he was through here. She couldn’t know what a gift that was, and even if he’d had the words to tell her, he doubted that he could express it sufficiently, so he just looked her in the face and asked, “Where were you wanting to start?”
She gave him a bright, brilliant, happy smile that lightened his heart. Then he felt something brush his hip and looked down to find his jeans decorated with mashed banana.

Chapter Three
“Oh! I’m so sorry! CJ, stop that!”
Becca grabbed a dishcloth from the edge of the sink and rushed to scrub at the banana smeared on Dan’s jeans. He jumped back. She followed and scrubbed at him anyway, and he could tell that she was speaking but not what she was saying, as she was bent over, concentrating on the stain. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she suddenly looked up.
“Work clothes,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”
She frowned, but it turned into a smile as she turned to scrub her son. Dan thought it a wonder the little tyke’s skin didn’t come right off. She looked at him over her shoulder. Apparently she had enough experience at this sort of thing that she didn’t need to see what she was doing in order to do it.
“This is all my fault,” she said. “He didn’t really want that banana, but I was trying to keep him occupied. He tends to hang all over me when I’m not working.”
You should stay home, he thought, and then realized from the look on her face that he’d spoken aloud. He hastily added, “If—if you could.”
She nodded. “But I can’t. They stay with the woman who lives next door to John and Abby, so they’re close to the store, and by juggling our schedules we make sure they aren’t there more than a few hours a day. That’s why the butcher counter isn’t open all the time anymore.”
Dan had actually wondered about it, and had decided that John Odem wasn’t getting any younger and had probably cut back his hours for that reason. Now he knew that John wasn’t taking it easy somewhere while his wife and daughter-in-law ran the store. These Kinders were a wonder, with all their good-spirited hard work and caring.
“When CJ’s older,” Becca went on, “I’ll take them both into the store with me. John Odem’s going to set up a playroom, and Jemmy can help watch her brother.”
Dan smiled lamely. “Good plan.”
“CJ’s still clingy, though,” she said. “He’s at that stage, you know.”
Dan didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest notion about kids. He’d always imagined that one day he’d find some girl and settle down to parenthood, but soldiering had kept him too busy to do anything about it, and then one day it had taken the possibility away from him.
He knew that he couldn’t be a fit parent. His own childhood experience told him that. When he thought about all the times he’d been awakened in the dark of night by some bad dream or frightening noise and how his mom and dad had rushed to his side at his call, he understood his own inadequacy. Thinking about the times he’d tried some silly stunt and injured himself had forced him to admit that his inadequacy could put a child at real risk.
No, he didn’t know about kids, and he probably never would know more than the basics, even though his baby sister was planning a fall wedding and would, presumably, one day make him an uncle. He had to believe that God had a reason for the way things had turned out, and maybe Becca was showing him what that reason was. The skills he’d learned at his grandfather’s and father’s knees seemed to be playing an important role in it. Carpentry had always been an enjoyable pastime for Dan. Working with his hands gave him a certain satisfaction. Maybe it was meant to be more.
A small, delicate touch fell on his shoulder, and he realized with a jolt that Becca was speaking to him, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
“I thought we’d start in here with some plasterboard. If you could just get it on the walls for me, I think I could get it plastered and painted. I’ve been reading up on how to do it.”
He blinked and looked around the room. She’d been reading up on tape and bedding. “I can take care of it,” he said, bringing his gaze back to her face. “All.”
Her relief was palpable. “Oh, good. New plasterboard would patch up some of the holes.”
He made a mental note to check the insulation before he nailed up any drywall. He’d bet his bottom dollar that this place didn’t have a lick of insulation.
“Of course, I’ll be wanting cabinets,” she was saying. “Nothing fancy, you understand. They don’t even have to have doors.”
He’d never build her cabinets without doors, but he just nodded.
“And I would love it if we could replace that nailed-over back door,” she went on. “I don’t like not having more than one exit, you know?”
“For safety,” he said, and she smiled.
“Now, this is the most important part,” she said, reaching over to place her hand flat against the rough boards covering the outside wall. “There’s a window under here, too, and I’ve always figured it would be the perfect place for an air conditioner. Some summer nights it’s just so hot out here that my babies can’t sleep.”
His mind was racing. How in heaven’s name had they survived an Oklahoma summer without air-conditioning? It meant 220 wiring, though. No doubt the whole place would have to be rewired. He wondered if this old house even had a fuse box. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying even as his brain whirred with what was needed: insulation, wiring, window, door, light fixtures, probably plumbing. Plasterboard and cabinets were way down the line. He made himself concentrate on the movement of her mouth and was stunned to read what it formed next.
“Two thousand dollars isn’t a lot, I know, but I can get together more as we go along. It ought to make us a good start, don’t you think?”
Sensing her hope and her eagerness, he couldn’t make himself say what was on the tip of his tongue. He told himself ruefully that before he’d lost his hearing and become unsure of his own speech, he’d probably have blurted out that a measly two thousand wouldn’t get this one room into really livable shape. Now he just covered his dismay with a nod and asked to see the rest of the house, explaining carefully that he needed to see what was behind certain walls.
She led him on a full house tour, which didn’t take long, even with the baby attached to her hip. He wondered if she was going to survive this child’s infancy with a straight spine, since she seemed able to walk only at an awkward angle while lugging the great brick.
Her bedroom was in the same pitiful shape as the rest of the place, but the tiny bath and second bedroom had been added to the house sometime in the past few years and were structurally sound, at least. Unlike the papered walls in her room, he couldn’t see daylight through cracks. No wonder she wanted drywall in the rest of the house.
When they reached the second bedroom she put the baby down for a nap in a wobbly old crib squeezed into the corner next to the low, cotlike thing apparently used by the little girl, judging by the ruffly pink spread. The baby wailed, his chubby face screwing up and turning dark red, but Becca just bent low and kissed him, patting his belly until he calmed and rolled onto his side. The child was still awake when she led Dan from the room, but if he kicked up additional fuss, Dan couldn’t tell and she didn’t let on.
Back in the living room, he sat down to talk over what was going to happen next. Dan felt a distinct catch in his chest as he began to marshal his thoughts. She had so little. If he told her what this place really needed, she’d no doubt be upset, but would still want to do what little could be done with the funds she possessed. He decided that, though he couldn’t lie to her, she didn’t have to be overwhelmed with all of it at once. Besides, he could save her some real money by simply using what he had on hand, like the base cabinets he’d pulled out of the garage apartment. He’d thought them too old-fashioned to use, but they were solid and about the right size. Originally he’d intended to recycle the wood, but, stripped and refinished, the cabinets would make a welcome addition to her kitchen, especially if he dressed them up with doors that he could build in his shop out back of the house. She need not know that they were used—or free. And he certainly didn’t have to tell her that he would take no profit on this job. That was his business, after all.
Jemmy crawled up into Becca’s lap as she waited patiently for him to speak, and he figured it was polite to at least smile at the child. She brightened noticeably when he did so.
“You’re right,” he told Becca, switching his gaze to her face. “Start in the kitchen.”
She closed her eyes with obvious relief. “Then you’ll do it? You’ll take the job?”
He nodded, waiting until she opened her eyes again to speak, realizing a heartbeat later that he need not do so. She could hear, for pity’s sake. “I will make a plan for you to approve.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, still smiling. “Just do what you think best.”
“Best to have a plan,” he said, and she shrugged.
He rose. “Get my tape. Make some measurements.”
She hugged the little girl and bowed her head to say something to her. Jemmy looked up, delight and wonder in her eyes, and clapped her hands. Then suddenly she came off her mother’s lap, zipped across the small space that separated him from them and was suddenly standing on his feet, her arms wrapped around his legs in a childish hug. He could feel her breath on his jeaned thigh, the movement of her lips but he was too stunned to comprehend even that she was speaking until she glanced back at her mother and then turned her face up.
He caught the words nice man and Mr. Dan. He looked helplessly at her mom, but Becca just sat there smiling. With a lump the size of his fist in his throat he couldn’t have spoken even if he’d known what to say, so after a moment he gently dislodged the child and went straight out the door. Only as he was looking through the toolbox fixed to the bed of his truck did he once again regain his composure.

He took the plan to the store for Becca to see. It was a scaled-back, highly simplified version of the one he’d worked on almost nonstop for the past thirty hours. Hand drawn on simple white notebook paper, it was really nothing more than a floor plan of her kitchen with the cabinets, door and window set in place. He’d listed the work to be done, but it was only a brief overview and included such uninformative items as Basic Wall Preparation, Electrical Upgrade and Plumbing Adjustment, along with Door Installation and Cabinet Installation.
As he’d expected, she cared only about the final result, asking, “What color will the cabinets be?”
“Your choice. Paint or stain?”
She had to think about it, but then she shook her head. “Whichever is cheapest.”
He shrugged.
“Which is simplest, then?”
“Paint.”
She grinned. “I like yellow.”
He chuckled. “Exact color later.”
“When can you start?” was her only other question.
He checked his watch. If he could get to the building supply outlet in Lawton today, he could start work in the morning. “Tomorrow.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and tears filled her eyes. Alarm shot through him.
“It’ll take a while,” he warned, but she shook her head happily.
“I don’t care. It’ll be started. You know what they say. Once begun, sooner finished.”
She turned to the cash register and opened the drawer. Extracting an envelope, she turned back to him, then carefully placed it in his hands. He knew what it was even before he thumbed back the flap. She’d just handed him her life’s savings in cash. Humbled, he quickly decided against trying to return it. Instead, he’d earn the trust she had just placed in him.
He left her a copy of the plan and drove straight to Lawton, some seventy-five miles distant. Surprisingly, he found a number of good sales, so the two thousand dollars bought him just about everything he’d need to get her kitchen into decent shape. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one with a plan. He decided to let God worry about everything else.

It took him three days to get the kitchen wiring done, the new door and window framed in, the glass installed, the walls stuffed with pink fiberglass insulation and the longed-for plasterboard on the walls. Since the electricity had to be off, Becca and the kids stayed in town with her in-laws for a couple of nights, but by the time he got the door hung on the third evening she was there with both little ones and a bag of groceries in tow. She sent the girl back into the living room and gave the kitchen a careful look.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done,” she said, placing the bag on the table that he’d pulled across the floor and out of his way. “It’s ready for the tape and plaster.”
He nodded, feeling a spurt of pride. “Tomorrow.”
She adjusted the baby on her hip and smiled, looking around the room. “I could help,” she said, facing him.
He shook his head. “My job.”
She sighed, but he saw the smile in her eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”
“Yes.”
“Hungry?” she asked, pulling a paper napkin from the bag and preparing to dust the tabletop. “I brought plenty. The least I can do is make sure you eat.”
He’d brought a sandwich for lunch, but the aroma of roast beef was making his stomach rumble now. Deciding that it would be impolite to refuse her offer, he looked at his dusty hands and checked his wrist for the time. Sixteen minutes after seven! No wonder he was hungry.
“Better wash up,” he said.
She nodded, and he moved toward the newly installed back door, picking his way around tools and scraps of building material. He felt something very light bounce off his back and stopped, turning. She pulled another napkin from the top of the bag. He looked at the wadded one on the floor, then back to her.
“Where you going?” she asked before starting to wipe off the tabletop.
“Spigot out back.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Why not use the bathroom?”
The bath was the most feminine room in the house, pink and flowery and as clean as a surgical suite. Cody had obviously added the room and the kids’ bedroom onto the house himself and managed a fair job of it. No doubt he’d have had the whole place whipped into shape by now, had he lived. Instead, Dan was doing the work. It didn’t seem right, and Dan was never more keenly aware of that than when he was standing in her little bathroom looking at her pink fixtures. He couldn’t help wondering if Cody had installed them to please her. He certainly would have.
Shaking his head, he slapped at the legs of his jeans and said, “Too dusty.” Then he escaped out the back door to bend over the rusty old faucet at the corner of the house. By the time he returned, Becca had unpacked a number of disposable containers from the bag, and the girl had dragged the high chair in from the living room, where he’d moved it.
Becca was talking, but he didn’t try to follow her, his interest taken by the food as she opened the containers. He saw sliced brisket, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw and a thick, rich barbecue sauce. She held up a bundle of butcher’s paper and unwrapped it, displaying three large pickle wedges and small banana peppers. He reached for one of the pickles, mouth watering.
She inclined her head toward the root cellar. “There’s bread in a box on the steps.”
He bit off a hunk of the tart pickle as he moved to open the flimsy cellar door. Inside, about four steps down a steep flight of rickety stairs, sat a cardboard box full of foodstuffs that Becca had removed from the kitchen shelves the night before he’d started work. A plastic bag of sliced white bread lay on top. He stooped and picked it up by the wrapper. By the time he carried the bread back to her, Becca had set the table with paper plates and plastic forks.
Jemmy hopped up on one of the pair of available chairs, but Becca spoke to her, and she started getting down again.
“Stay there,” Dan said, reaching for a short step-ladder. It made a tall but adequate stool when he sat on top of it. Becca put the baby in his chair and sat down.
Four people seated around a rectangular table in the littered kitchen made for a very crowded room, but Becca’s smile and his own satisfaction in a job progressing well overrode any awkwardness as Becca began filling plates. She piled his high, and he let her, suddenly ravenous. From pure habit he began to bow his head, then he felt a jolt as Becca took one of his hands in hers. Jemmy’s little hand slid into the other. His gaze flew to Becca. She had bent her head but lifted it again, eyes closed, as she spoke a simple grace.
“Thank You, Lord, for all Your many blessings, family, home, this delicious food and especially for Dan and all the good things he’s brought to us. We have need, Lord, and You’ve sent this fine man to help. Bless him for his willingness to share his talent.”
Dan felt a kick inside his chest. A fine man. He inclined his head and silently asked God to make him worthy of that description. When he looked up again he saw that Becca and Jemmy watched patiently. He looked at Becca and followed the seemingly natural impulse to squeeze her hand. She smiled. It was like warm sunshine bathing the cluttered, half-finished room. She pulled her hand back and began eating. Jemmy did the same, so he dug in to his own food.
“Good,” he said after swallowing.
She nodded and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before saying, “John Odem cooks a couple times a week for the deli case. Monday it was a huge ham and macaroni and cheese.”
Dan nodded. “I bought some. Real sweet.”
“Yeah, he likes that brown-sugar-cured ham.”
They concentrated on the meal for some time, then Dan noticed that Jemmy reached for one of the small yellow peppers on the butcher paper with the pickles. He shot a quick glance at Becca, who smiled and said, “She eats them all the time. John Odem again.”
Dan chuckled and watched with interest as the little girl gingerly nibbled the succulent yellow flesh. “Hot?” he asked when she met his eyes.
She shook her pale head. “Nah, na if yont ea te sees.”
“Not if you don’t eat the seeds,” he repeated carefully, realizing that she was eating around the ball of seeds inside the pepper. She nodded and kept nibbling. He felt an odd glow of pleasure. Children were often difficult to understand because they didn’t always get words right, but he’d followed Jemmy. She was smart for her age, or maybe her diminutive size made her seem younger than she was. “How old are you?” he asked.
She grinned and held up four fingers, spouting rapid-fire words, few of which he caught this time. Lost, he looked to Becca, who ducked her head to hide a smile before lifting it again to say, “Jem’s telling you that she had a party on her birthday, which is February tenth, and that you’re invited next year. It’s going to be here in our ‘newed’ house, by the way.”
“Newed?” he repeated uncertainly.
Laughter danced in her soft green eyes. “Abby told her the place was going to be ‘like new.’ So in her mind when you’re done it’ll be ‘newed.”’
He glanced at Jemmy and smiled. She beamed at him with something akin to hero worship. Just then something flew right past the end of his nose. He looked down to find a corner crust of bread on the table next to his plate. When he glanced in the direction it had come from, he noticed that both Jemmy and Becca were laughing. Even CJ, who had obviously launched the missile, judging by the white stuff oozing from his fist, was grinning broadly, showing off the few teeth he possessed.
“I’m sorry,” Becca said. “He saw me throw the napkin to get your attention earlier.”
Dan looked at the boy, and something in that little face seemed to be saying that he craved the same attention that Dan had been showing his big sister. Without even thinking about it, Dan picked up the scrap of bread and tossed it back at the boy. It was just long enough and just curved enough, incredibly, to hang on the boy’s bit of a nose. For an instant Dan couldn’t quite believe what had happened, and neither, apparently, could anyone else, but then the little imp grinned, put back his head and laughed so hard that his round little body jiggled all over. His whole being seemed to light up, even as he collapsed into the corner of the chair, laughing. The kid was so purely tickled, that crust of bread now clasped in his plump hand, that everyone was laughing, Dan included. He laughed so hard that his chest shook and tears gathered in his eyes. It almost hurt. He hadn’t laughed like this, felt this good since…so long.
He wiped his eyes and looked at the smiling faces around him. It was time to be happy again, time to stop licking his wounds and concentrate on the good in life, on the good that he himself could do.

Chapter Four
“You don’t have to keep feeding me,” he said slowly.
Becca had noticed that when he spoke carefully and precisely, his tone often lacked inflection, but when he blurted out or tossed off words, his speech was almost normal. This sounded like something he had rehearsed, at least in his mind, and she wasn’t at all surprised. They’d enjoyed several meals together in her quickly evolving kitchen, and though he often seemed pleased and relaxed, she had identified a growing unease, a certain tension developing between them.
“You have to eat,” she said, making sure he could see her face as she laid out the food. “Besides, it’s the least I can do. You’re working long hours, and you can’t be making much money on this job.”
When she thought about the material he’d used so far, she wondered if he could be making any profit, especially considering those cabinets. Even without the doors, which he said he was still building, they improved the room a thousand percent. And then there was the cookstove, which he’d said was used. She had no reason to doubt him, except that he’d pretended not to see when she’d asked where he’d gotten it. She kept wondering if his garage apartment had an empty space where the cookstove used to be, and the idea made her cringe inside. She wasn’t above a certain amount of charity, frankly, but even she had her pride.
“Don’t need money,” he said matter-of-factly, filching a potato chip from the open bag on the table. They were still eating deli food. She looked forward to the day when she could cook him a real meal.
“Everybody needs money,” she replied.
He held up four fingers, counting off the reasons he didn’t. “Medical disability. Military retirement. Inheritance. Good investments.”
“And the rent on that garage apartment?” she asked.
“Soon,” he said nonchalantly, averting his eyes.
She didn’t let him get away with that. Reaching across the side chair that stood between them, she placed a hand flat against the center of his chest. He looked down at it, then slowly lifted his gaze to her face. “You can rent an apartment without a cookstove, then?” she asked pointedly.
He blinked and chewed. She lifted an eyebrow insistently. Finally he grinned. “Got a stove same place I got yours. Used. Dealer in Duncan.”

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