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A Place to Belong
Linda Goodnight


Faith and warm memories have helped widow Kitty Wainwright endure the loss of her husband.That's all she's ever neededuntil she hires contractor Jace Carter to repair her motel. Kitty has no idea the silent, scarred Jace has admired her since they set eyes on each other. Although Kitty's wary of letting anyone into her heart, Jace can't ignore his feelings for her.But with old secrets threatening to ruin his future happiness, Jace has to put his past to rest before he can convince Kitty that she belongs by his side.












Lord, help me. I’m in love with her.


It was the first time he’d ever allowed himself the full thought, though the emotion had been hovering in his heart for years.

He focused on the distant, shining body of water and beyond to the narrow line he knew to be Redemption River.

“We should head back down.”

One hand holding the puppy steady, Kitty said, “You must be starving.”

“I could use a bite.” And more space between the two of us.

“Me, too.” She stepped away from the window but lingered in the oddly shaped room for a few more minutes while he stood like a helpless teenager watching and yearning.

“I love this room, Jace. I’ve never seen anything like it. If I lived in here, I would turn this space into something I could use every day. It’s far too wonderful to be hidden away in an attic.”

Her innocent phrasing caught in his brain and spun in repeating circles.

If she lived in this house—an impossible thought he’d never get out of his head now that he’d seen her here.




LINDA GOODNIGHT


Winner of a RITA


Award for excellence in inspirational fiction, Linda Goodnight has also won a Booksellers’ Best, an ACFW Book of the Year and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from RT Book Reviews. Linda has appeared on the Christian bestseller list and her romance novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Active in orphan ministry, this former nurse and teacher enjoys writing fiction that carries a message of hope and light in a sometimes dark world. She and her husband, Gene, live in Oklahoma. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.




A Place to Belong

Linda Goodnight








But the vessel he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so the potter crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over.

—Jeremiah 18:4


For His glory. Always.




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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


The day should have been perfect, one of those freshly-washed days after a spring rain when buds burst free from winter, birds sing and the world smells green.

Window rolled down and the engine of his Ford Super Duty rumbling pleasantly, Jace Carter was feeling good. Progress on the 1902 Victorian remodel was going well.

Overhanging oaks dappled sunlight onto the highway as he rounded the curve headed toward home. Ahead, a historic bridge spanned Redemption River and led into the small town of Redemption, Oklahoma.

He slowed to enjoy the view of the river, the way the willows wept over the railing, and the bridge itself, hand built by the town’s early pioneers. A man who made his living in wood appreciated good workmanship, especially when it had lasted more than a century.

The familiar thump of the road projected him onto the long historic bridge. He was craning his neck toward the rain-flushed river when the unexpected happened. A pair of screaming, water-soaked men bolted over the railing, arms waving frantically.

Jace’s heart bolted, too. He slammed on his brakes, yanked the wheel.

“Help! Help us!” Two hysterical men rushed to his window. Pale as plaster, terror dripped from both like the muddy red of the river dripped from their jeans and T-shirts.

Fear prickled Jace’s scalp as he listened to a disjointed, breathless rendering of the basics. Their boat had capsized. There was a man in the water. They couldn’t reach him.

He slammed the truck into park, killed the motor and leaped out to run down the slippery slope to the river. At first, he saw nothing but the thick, muddy water, swift and dangerous with the swell of spring rains.

“Call 9-1-1.” He tossed his cell toward one man and ran with the violent current, searching and praying for a chance to reel in the hapless victim.

His boots slipped. The thick bog slowed his progress. He spotted a red ball cap snagged on a branch. Hope leaped.

With his boot toes clinging to the muddy bank, he stretched. Missed. The swirling maelstrom ripped the cap away.

Behind him one of the men choked, “Jerry. Jerry.”

The noise of the current sucked the sound downstream with the red cap. With a sinking heart, Jace was convinced the same had happened to a stranger named Jerry.

By the time emergency vehicles arrived, Jace’s legs and lungs ached and he was wet and muddy to the waist. The two survivors wandered aimlessly along the banks in shock and grief of a day that had begun as fun and ended in tragedy.

Within the hour half of Redemption had joined the search. Jace didn’t hold out much hope at this point, but there was always a miracle.

“He could be halfway to the Gulf by now.”

Jace lowered a pair of binoculars to look into the grim face of Sloan Hawkins. They stood together with other volunteers on the bridge. The preacher was here. So were Trace and Cheyenne Bowman. Cheyenne, a former policewoman, had helped organize the search with efficient skill. The old Dumpster Divers, GI Jack and Popbottle Jones had arrived with the sirens. They knew the river well and were guiding police boaters toward hidden inlets and snaggy coves.

Below the bridge, ATVs revved and spit mud beneath their tires in a desperate attempt to find the man. That was the way of Redemption. People here cared. That warm acceptance was what had drawn him to the little town fourteen years ago when he was searching for a place to begin life for the second time.

Regardless of fatigue and the shivers of cold running from his muddy, wet feet to his torso, Jace couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Once, long ago, he’d been drowning, though not in water, and someone had reached out a saving hand. How could he not do the same?

The vision of a red ball cap floated relentlessly in front of his mind’s eye. If he’d been a few seconds faster could he have saved a man’s life?

A helicopter chop-chopped over the water.

A television news van rolled to a stop on the bridge, blocking the slow crawl of traffic to film the beehive of activity. A brunette in a blue News 12 windbreaker stuck a microphone in Jace’s face.

“Sir, anything you can tell us about the missing man? Did you see anything? What do you know about the incident?”

Jace shook his head and turned away, lifting his binoculars to scan the scene below. Tension tightened the muscles in his neck.

Sloan Hawkins, a securities expert with experience in handling situations with aplomb, stepped in to answer.

“From all reports, three men were riding the current. They capsized. Two made it out. One didn’t.”

“Did you witness the incident? Or talk to any of the victims yourself?”

Jace held his breath, hopeful that Hawkins wouldn’t point him as out as a possible witness.

“Sorry. Didn’t see a thing.”

Jace released the breath. Talking wasn’t his favorite activity, especially to strangers. Words could trip a man up if he wasn’t careful.

“Do you know the victim? Where are the other two men?” The reporter’s quick eyes scanned the bridge.

Sloan deferred, pointing the woman and her cameraman toward the gaggle of police units stationed on the flats directly south of the bridge.

The reporter sprinted away.

“Be dark soon.” Jace squinted into the western sky. He dreaded the moment when light would fail and hope would diminish.

By midnight, weary, disheartened searchers began to slowly leave and the search was called off until daylight.

“There’s a man down there somewhere.” Jace drew in a long breath and repeated softly, “Somewhere.”

Sloan clapped Jace on the shoulder. “Come to the house with me. Eat. I know you haven’t.”

“I couldn’t.” But he wanted to. He didn’t relish being alone on a night when he’d become too aware—again—of his own mortality.

“Sure you could.” Hawkins whipped out a cell phone—one of the fancy kind—and touched a single icon. “Annie, I’m heading home. Jace Carter’s with me. They’re calling off the search for the night.” He listened then laughed softly, though his expression was humorless. “Starved. Love you, too.”

The endearment made Jace uncomfortable. Or maybe envious. He’d never had that kind of casual, confident relationship with anyone. Never would.

But he’d accepted his lot in life. He’d created it, and he’d learned to be grateful for what he had. He made one final glance toward the river. Not everyone got a second chance.



Kitty Wainright stirred the pot of chili on Annie Hawkins’s beautiful vintage cookstove. “This will taste good to them after being out on that river.”

She and Annie, along with Cheyenne Bowman, had been in the middle of planning a fundraiser for the Redemption Women’s Shelter when word of the accident had come. Both Cheyenne and Sloan had left immediately to join the rescuers. Annie and Kitty stayed behind with the children, Cheyenne’s stepdaughter Zoey and Annie’s pair, Justin and Delaney. Annie had long ago put the two nine-year-old girls to bed after a call to Cheyenne. The preteen Justin still dragged his feet, miffed at being considered too young to join the search and rescue effort. Annie was allowing the late night as a salve to his wounded pride.

Outside a motorcycle engine rumbled. Justin leaped from the couch. “There’s Dad.”

He was out the door in an instant.

Kitty smiled inwardly. The snarly boy had blossomed under the tender-tough care of his father.

“I’ll set the sandwiches out.” As she moved past the coffee pot to the refrigerator, she hitched her chin. “Do you think they’ll want coffee this late?”

“Sloan won’t. I don’t know about Jace.”

“Me, either.” A building contractor who’d gone out of his way to help her after her husband’s death, Jace Carter had been in Kitty’s motel many times, but she couldn’t claim to understand him. “He’s so quiet.”

“Still waters run deep.” Annie grimaced. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. Jace is cute though. Nice guy, too.”

Kitty made a noise of agreement but didn’t pursue the conversation. Annie wasn’t finished.

“He looks good. Works hard. Obviously thinks you’re someone special.”

The comment surprised her. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, come on, Kitty.” Annie waved a jar of mayo. “He spends more time at your place than anywhere.”

“I run a motel. An old motel that needs constant repair.”

“Uh-huh. There are a lot of old buildings in this town.”

Annie was right. Over a hundred buildings in Redemption were on the National Register of Historic Places and only an expert with Jace’s eye and skill could work on them. Kitty’s motel, a throwback to the fifties, was not on that list.

“Jace is the original Mr. Nice Guy,” she said.

“True. But have you ever considered that he might be the least bit interested in you?”

Kitty’s heart bumped. “No.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Oh, girl. What am I going to do with you? You’re what? Thirty?”

“Thirty-one.”

“There you go.” She slapped a plate of sandwiches on the table. “Open those gorgeous baby blues and take a close look at Jace Carter. He’s a doll and he has a thing for you.”

“Annie, stop. You know I’m not in the market. Never will be.” The very idea gave her a stomachache.

Annie quieted. A nurse with a heart as big and warm as the sun, she knew Kitty’s history. “Dave was a great guy, Kitty. We all liked him, but he’s gone. Has been for a long time.”

Kitty bit her bottom lip. Seven years was a long time but memories never died the way Dave had. “I’m not interested in finding anyone else.”

“Really?” Annie’s compassionate green eyes bore into her. “Think about that, Kitty. Love is a beautiful thing. Too beautiful to live without.”

Didn’t she know it? Hadn’t she had the best in Dave Wainright? Insides squeezing, she tried to laugh off the conversation. “Oh, you newlyweds. All you think about is love.”

Annie arched one blond eyebrow but didn’t say anymore because at that moment the men trooped into the country kitchen. Fatigue pulled at their faces.

Kitty’s stomach quivered oddly when she looked at Jace Carter. She wished Annie hadn’t said such a silly thing. She’d never allowed herself to consider Jace as…well, as a man, but now she couldn’t help noticing. Average height, he bested her by several inches. The word neat always came to mind when she thought of him. But tonight his usual tucked in, tidied up appearance was disheveled and dirty. His brown hair was rumpled and tagged with dirt as though he’d run a muddy hand through it.

He had the softest, quietest eyes. Hazel she thought, though she’d never noticed before. And he had strong, carpenter hands, a little rough and work-scarred, but capable. She had noticed them before, the way he held a piece of lumber almost tenderly as though he could envision the beauty hidden inside. He was an artist with wood.

“You guys okay?” she asked to stop the flow of her thoughts. Annie and her suggestions.

“Rough night.” Sloan did the talking.

Sloan Hawkins, dark and dangerous-looking with blue eyes that could melt a rock, crossed the room to kiss Annie’s cheek. “Smells good.” He smiled a tired smile. “So does the food.”

Annie blushed prettily and swatted at her husband. The newlyweds’ sweetness put a catch in Kitty’s chest. She and Dave had loved like that. She glanced at Jace, saw him avert his gaze. He removed his ball cap, crushing it in those capable, tattered hands.

“I should go. I’m too dirty to be here.” The voice was as quiet as his eyes, warm, too, and manly.

“Don’t be silly,” Annie said. “Kitty, get him a towel, will you, while I put this food on the table?”

“Got it.” She hurried out of the kitchen, glad for the momentary reprieve from her own crazy thoughts. She was tired. That’s all.



Jace settled into the chair Sloan shoved at him, glad to be off his feet. He was cold to the core. Should have gone home, but when Sloan said Kitty was here, he’d been too tired to resist. Just looking at her helped soothe the ache of these last few hours.

Tonight her hair was swept up in a knot atop her head and held by a black doodad, but he’d seen it down before, long and pale. She was like a fairy tale, a blonde Rapunzel with a hint of Tinkerbell in her heart-shaped face and blue-bonnet eyes. Jace laughed at his fantastical thoughts but thought them again when he saw her coming toward him with a big blue towel.

“I warmed this in the dryer.” She draped the heated terry cloth around his shoulders. “You look cold.”

He was cold, inside and out. Tonight’s failed rescue chilled his soul.

“Thanks. Feels good.” The towel smelled good, too, clean, fragrant and warm. Or was that Kitty?

“You really should get out of that wet shirt. Sloan could probably loan you one of his.”

The rain had started, a soft drizzle right before they’d given up the search.

“I’m okay.” She couldn’t know that he would never remove his shirt in front of anyone. Ever. He was modest, yes, but more than that, he was ashamed.

Kitty hovered, and he searched for something, anything to say, but his useless tongue stuck to his mouth. He’d had no one to fuss over him since he was small, and having her bring him a towel or a glass of tea or a cheery smile felt good. Too good to ruin with words.

Ah, who he was kidding? If not for her motel and the work he did there, Kitty Wainright wouldn’t give him the time of day. The motel office was a shrine to her hero husband and according to the local gossip he’d picked up over breakfast at the Sugar Shack each morning, Kitty had openly declared herself a widow forever. As was her way, Kitty was kindhearted and good to everyone. Even a stray dog like him.

Which made them friends and neighbors and nothing else. Ever. He had long ago declared himself a lifetime bachelor, though his reasons were far less heroic than hers. He rubbed at his shoulder and remembered a time too ugly to forget.

“Let’s eat.” Annie waved her hand over the steaming bowls of chili she’d set at each place. “There’s plenty. Hope it doesn’t keep you up all night.”

They chuckled at the joke, knowing it wasn’t indigestion from the spicy chili that would keep them awake tonight.

They ate in silence until Justin broached the topic of to night’s tragedy. “Do you think they’ll find him?”

Sloan laid aside his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Drowning victims are usually found.”

“But not always?”

“No. Not always.”

Annie shuddered. “Gruesome.”

“I wonder if he has a wife and family,” Kitty mused and Jace turned to look at her. “I remember when Dave was killed. The army sent an officer. Who tells a civilian’s wife?”

“The police.”

Annie said, “I wonder if it’s on the news.”

“Should be. There were reporters everywhere.” Sloan trekked over to the counter where a small TV hung from the cabinet. He positioned the screen toward the table.

In the months since Sloan Hawkins, purportedly the bad boy of Redemption, had returned to his hometown and married his high school sweetheart, Jace had come to like and respect the man. There was darkness in him, a darkness Jace recognized because of his own shadows, but Annie Markham Hawkins and a relationship with God had smoothed some of Sloan’s rough edges.

Jace knew about that, too—the lightening of dark places with faith. He’d be a dead man without Jesus.

A half-dozen fast-paced, loud commercials flickered across the screen while Sloan surfed through the channels in search of late-night news.

“Here we go,” he said, tossing the remote to the table as he returned to his food. “Chili’s good, Annie girl. Just what I needed.” He winked and squeezed her hand on the tabletop.

Jace suffered the familiar pinch of envy. No man was an island, or some such proverb.

“Hey, Dad. There you are!” Justin leaped up from the table to point. Sure enough, the camera scanned the scene at the river, then focused on Sloan’s face. Relieved that he didn’t appear in the shot, Jace listened as a digital Sloan repeated his comments to the reporter. He’d no more than thought the thought when there he was. The shot was only a flash as the camera panned but enough for him to recognize himself. Not once, but twice as the cameraman surveyed the rescue attempt.

“You look handsome, handsome,” Annie said, smiling at Sloan.

Sloan thumped a fist against his chest. “Hollywood will be calling. What do you think, Jace? Me and you. Made for TV?”

Jace forced a laugh as the rest of them chuckled at Sloan’s attempt to lighten the situation.

But chili curdled in the pit of his stomach. TV was the last place he wanted to be.




Chapter Two


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s it coming?”

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

“The roof’s pretty old.”

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

“I can make it work.”

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

“I’ve been thinking of renovating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He hoisted a nail gun toward the graveled lot behind her. “You have company.”

Kitty spun toward the sound of tires crunching on the gravel, a sound she acquainted with paying customers. “Come to the office when you finish. I’ll fix you a sandwich and pick your brain.”

“Can’t guarantee you’ll find anything.”

With a laugh and a wave, Kitty hurried toward the office and the slender man exiting a shiny navy blue sedan.



Jace squinted against the morning sun and watched a moment longer as Kitty’s energetic stride ate up the ground. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside and out. Delicate, feminine, but strong as a willow, she took his breath. Stole his brain cells.

A car door slammed and he heard Kitty’s lyrical voice speak to the newcomer though he couldn’t make out the words. A man of average height, on the skinny side and dressed in a business suit fell into step beside the cheery blonde proprietress of Redemption Motel. When they reached the office the man opened the old-fashioned screen door and waited while Kitty stepped inside. He followed and the door snicked quietly closed behind him.

A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sunlight that was Kitty Wainright and setting the parking lot and the motel units in shadow. Jace frowned, gut tightening in the weirdest way. He squinted toward the closed door.

Something bugged him. A fierce, nagging protectiveness welled in his chest. Miserable, hot.

He waited ten seconds. The cloud moved on and he huffed derisively. He’d lived so long on the dark side he was suspicious of everything and everyone.

He bounced the nail gun against his thigh before turning back to the damaged roof.

The suspicions were in his soul, not inside the office of Kitty’s motel.

“Ahoy, Jace Carter.”

Jace glanced down at the ragged figure of GI Jack and lifted a hand in greeting. The old man dressed in ill-fitting castoffs and an army cap that had seen better days was one of Redemption’s eccentricities. Many took him and his partner, Popbottle Jones, for bums. Considering their propensity for Dumpster diving, maybe they were, but Jace found them to be the most interesting bums he’d ever encountered.

GI Jack was an artist, a junk artist who could turn pop cans and wire or cast-off buckets and hubcaps into something beautiful. Jace got that. In a way, finding the worth in the worthless was what he did, too.

Next to the grizzled old man stood a candidate for world’s homeliest dog. Most everyone in town knew about GI Jack’s pets—mostly strays he’d gathered together over the years. This one was Biscuit, a dog of unknown origins. The only thing Jace knew for certain was that Biscuit was a brown canine with lopsided ears, oversize feet, and as shaggy as his owner. He looked as if his ears had been sewn on out of leftover parts by a blind seamstress. One flopped low on the side of his head and the other stuck straight up on top. But the dog’s tail swished the air with such joyous abandon anyone with a heart would forget his looks and be charmed.

Jace thought of the new puppy at home, a bundle of wiggling joy himself. He didn’t know why he’d let the local vet, Trace Bowman, talk him into taking in an abandoned pup. Jace was gone all day, but the pup was sweet company in the evenings. When Milo was older, Jace planned to take him along for the ride.

“Funny that drowning victim has never been found,” GI said without preamble.

Jace sighed and shot the nail gun again. The drowned man wasn’t his favorite topic. Besides the nagging feeling that he’d not done enough, he’d taken plenty of good-natured ribbing about his cameo shots on the TV news. “Big river.”

“That’s what Popbottle said. Lots of snags and undertows to drag a man down.” GI withdrew a half sandwich from his shirt pocket and took a bite. “The widow’s got a leak?”

“More than one.”

“You’ll fix her up. She’s mighty fortunate to have a good builder willing to rush over anytime she needs help.”

“Least I can do.”

“I figure you got bigger fish to fry than that old roof. Ida June does this kind of repair.”

Though past eighty, Ida June Click still worked around town as a handywoman. She was a dandy, too, in her pink coveralls and lime green tennis shoes. “Ida June’s getting a little frail to be climbing on roofs.”

“Ha! Don’t tell her that. She’ll challenge you to a roofing contest.”

“And win.”

“Yep. And win. She’s a whirlwind, our Miss Ida June. Reckon you could say the same for our Widow Wainright. Mighty pretty, too.”

Jace grunted. Hadn’t he been thinking the same thing? All she had to do was step into view to make his eyes happy. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

“Mmm-hmm.” GI’s gray head bobbed up and down. “Too bad she’s set on being a widow forever. Too young, if you ask me, to give up on life.”

“I doubt she’s given up.”

“Then I reckon you did?” GI cackled at the look Jace shot him. “All right, all right. A shame though, two handsome people, both single and of the same faith—”

Jace pulled the trigger on the nail gun to drown out the rest. After the torment of the last few days—the drowning, the TV picture and noticing Kitty too much—he wasn’t in the mood for reminders of his single status. If he ever was.

“Saw that car pull in. Oklahoma plates but not local.” GI tore off a bite of his sandwich and handed it to the dog. With delicate nips, Biscuit accepted the treat. “Wonder what he’s doing at the motel?”

Jace wondered the same. “Reporter maybe.”

“Doubt it.”

So did Jace. The drowning story was over for the most part and the news media had departed. “Could be doing a story on the upcoming Land Run celebration.”

In late April of every year, Redemption returned to her 1889 roots by throwing a two-day festival that brought tourists and vendors from all over the country.

“Maybe. Looks kind of slick to me. Like a salesman.”

“There you go then. Maybe he sells hotel products.” Jace shot another nail. “You know, shampoo and soap.”

GI scratched the dog’s lowest lopsided ear. “I saw some damage on Unit 8.”

Jace squinted south toward the mentioned unit. Kitty’s motel was old but she kept it up. Rather, he did. Kitty worked around the place, too. She planted pretty flowers and kept everything sparkling clean. There was a long-term renter in Unit 8, and the regulars were the motel’s mainstay. “Yeah?”

“Shingles are off.”

“I’m nearly finished here. I’ll check it.”

“Got nothing else to do, huh? Lazy bum.”

Jace chuckled. GI knew better. He was swamped. Always was. He had three other jobs waiting, two in progress, and four more calls to bid before the week was out. He also had his own historic house to finish, an ongoing project for the last three years. He could see the end in sight, though, and was eager to see his dream home come to fruition.

All of them would have to wait though until the motel was taken care of. He felt a compulsion to help anytime Kitty called. He’d begun working on the motel to honor her dead hero husband. Lately he wondered if he’d do the work just for the privilege of seeing Kitty.

“You looking for a job?”

GI barked a laugh. “Jace Carter is a funny man. Well, me and Biscuit got some stops to make. You come on out to the house anytime. I got a new project going. Petunia and Popbottle will be happy to see you.”

“Petunia misses me?” Petunia was the resident watch-goat. Last time he’d stopped by to visit she’d eaten his ball cap. The time before she’d nibbled some paint off his truck.

“The old girl loves you, Jace Carter. Bring her a snack anytime.”

Jace raised a hand as the eccentric old man shuffled away, lopsided dog at his heel.

He worked for another thirty minutes before checking the damage on Unit 8. Sure enough, a half-dozen shingles were missing. With a sigh, he headed toward Kitty’s office to let her know.

He didn’t particularly like entering the motel office, but he’d been there plenty of times. He stepped inside, heard the bell overhead jingle merrily, and looked around at the memorial to a man a hundred times better than he was.

Decorated in patriotic colors of red, white, and blue and smelling of flowers, the room was jammed with Americana and military memorabilia. A display case boasted bobblehead soldiers and eagle-topped pens. The walls were plastered with photos, including Uncle Sam who never tired of wanting someone. The pointing finger made him feel guilty.

If he’d been a man, he would have joined the army and fought for his country instead of wasting his youth in trouble.

A tri-folded American flag rested on an enclosed shelf on the wall behind the display. Given the photo of the serious-faced soldier next to it, Jace had long ago surmised the flag had been the one given to Kitty at Dave Wainright’s military funeral.

He nodded to the photo, offering his respect and waited for Kitty to hear the bell and come out.

Behind the inner office was the tidy cottage Kitty called home. He’d been inside plenty of times, mostly to discuss repairs of one kind or another, and he’d attended her Bible study on occasion. He’d stopped going to that out of guilt. He had trouble keeping his mind on the Lord with Kitty present and with the memories of her dead husband all around.

He waited, hat in hand, in the outer office. He’d learned patience the hard way, and waiting no longer bothered him.

“Jace, come on back.” She rounded the doorframe leading into the back with her usual sunny cheer. All smiles and smelling of roses like the rest of the place, Kitty motioned to him. “Did you finish the roof? I have a check for you on my desk.”

He stepped around the display case, avoiding Uncle Sam’s stare. “I didn’t come for that.”

“No?” She paused next to Dave Wainright’s flag.

“There’s damage on Unit 8.”

She made a small sound of dismay and bunched her shoulders. She was so cute when she did that. “Can you fix it?”

“Sure.” He smiled, wanting to reassure her. “No worries.”

Her smile returned, lighting him up inside. “Worry’s a sin.”

Right. And he was a sinner.

Kitty laughed, a merry sound like wind chimes. “I have trouble with that one.”

“Me, too,” he admitted, feeling ridiculously pleased to share such a thing with her. Fact of the matter was, he worried all the time. Though over the years he’d begun to feel safe, a man in his shoes knew not to get too comfortable or too close.

“I’m glad you came in. There’s a man in my office who wants to see you.”

“Someone needing a remodel?” It happened all the time. He’d be working on one project and someone would stop in and ask him to look at another.

Before she could answer, they stepped into the inner office. The skinny man he’d seen from a distance rose from a chair and turned toward him with a toothy smile.

“Well, there you are. The famous Jace Carter.”

All the blood drained from Jace’s head. His ears roared and he thought he might pass out, something he’d never done. Not even when he’d been bleeding to death on a cold concrete floor.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked, prayed he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

Fourteen years of clean living fell away as he stared into the face of Donny Babcock. A face he’d tried to forget. From a past that had finally caught up with him.




Chapter Three


Somehow Jace managed to shake Donny’s outstretched hand. The skin was soft, a clear indication that Donny wasn’t doing any manual labor. Donny had always been good at other things besides real work.

“Remember me, old buddy? Donny Babcock?” The toothy grin shone at Kitty in explanation. “Me and Jace go way back. He’s surprised to see me after all this time.”

A real understatement.

Jace struggled for composure, careful not to reveal too much or to alert Kitty to his discomfort. He stood like a robot, unaffected on the exterior, writhing inside. Dread, deeper than the Redemption well, seeped into his cells.

“A real surprise,” he managed.

Donny slapped Jace’s shoulder and laughed. The slap was a reminder of what lay beneath his shirt and of the past he shared with Donny Babcock.

“Saw you on TV, Jace old pal. You’re famous. A real hero from the sound of it.”

Jace regretted every minute on that bridge with TV cameras rolling around him. He wanted to ask straight out what Babcock was doing in Redemption, but he couldn’t. Not with Kitty in the room.

“Just doing what neighbors do,” he said. “For what little good it did.”

“I heard they never found the body.” Donny pulled a long face. “Poor man.” He glanced at Kitty. “Such a tragedy.”

The words were insincere enough that Jace cringed. Kitty didn’t seem to notice. She nodded, one hand against her heart in empathy. “I know.”

“What brings you to Redemption, Donny?”

“You, Jace old buddy. Well, that and business. I’m in real estate investments now and this area has some interesting possibilities.”

“Someone in town told him you might be here,” Kitty injected. “Can I get the two of you a soda? Or some tea?”

“Sweet tea from a sweet lady sounds mighty refreshing.” Donny dazzled Kitty with another smile. He must have had veneers attached since Jace had last seen him. The smile was too white and big to be natural.

“Nothing for me,” Jace said. “I’ve got to go.”

“What’s the rush, pal? We need to catch up.” Donny slapped Jace’s shoulder again. “For old times’ sake.”

Jace clenched his teeth. If Babcock whacked him again, there would be trouble.

“Of course you do. You two sit down and talk. I’ll get some tea.” Kitty bustled from the room, leaving Jace alone with his nightmare.

“What are you really doing here?” he growled softly.

“Now, Jacey boy, mi amigo. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Babcock held up two fingers. “Scouts’ honor. My intentions are on the up-and-up. I saw you on TV and figured I’d come down and say hello.”

“You’ve said hello. Now say goodbye.”

“Jace, Jace, Jace. You’re starting to hurt my feelings. We were good buddies back then. Remember? You and me against the world. Not that I’m one to collect on old debts, but I saved your hide a time or two.”

Dark shame flushed through Jace’s system. The place on his side began to ache the way it did when he remembered.

“I appreciate it, Donny, I do. But I’m not that stupid kid anymore. I’m a new man, with a good life.” Fourteen years of being the best man he knew how to be, of seeking God with all his heart. Of paying penance with every breath in his body.

“And you don’t want anyone messing it up. I’m cool with that. I didn’t come here to cause trouble for you, Jacey boy.”

“Why did you come?”

The toothy smile came again. “To do you a favor.”

The sound of soft footsteps stopped the conversation. Jace paced to the door and opened it for Kitty. She carried a tray with two glasses of tea and a plate of cookies. His heart pinched at the kindness. This was the life he’d chosen, the life he’d worked for. Donny was right. He didn’t want anyone destroying the respect and friendships he’d gained in Redemption. And Donny’s presence threatened everything.

Was he selfish to want him gone? After Donny had been there when he needed him most?

“Let me take that,” he said.

Kitty’s mouth curved. “Thank you, Jace.”

She relinquished the tea and stepped into the room, bringing her fresh rose scent along.

“You shouldn’t have bothered. I need to go.” He fought to keep his tone easy. “I have an appointment with Samuel Case to bid a job.”

He normally wouldn’t have explained himself, but today he needed an excuse to get out of here and think.

“But you have a guest.”

“No problem, Miss Wainright. Jace and I can reminisce at his place. We were just discussing my accommodations and he insisted I stay at his house for a few days.” Babcock turned glittery brown eyes on Jace. “Right, Jace?”

The blatant lie took him aback, but he wasn’t ready to call Donny’s bluff. Not in front of Kitty. The man knew too much. And he was bound to have a deeper motive for showing up after all this time. Jace had an obligation to himself and to his adopted town to find out what it was.

“You can follow me out to the house.”

“No, no, go ahead and bid your job. Old Donny will sit here and enjoy his tea with Miss Wainright. I’ll be along later.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

Donny winked. “I’ll find you.”

Jace’s gut tightened. Until he knew what Donny was up to, if anything, he didn’t like leaving him alone with Kitty. But he’d backed himself into a corner and could do little else.

On legs shaky with adrenaline, he headed to his truck and prayed all the way to Samuel Case’s antique shop.



He should be working, had plenty to do, but Jace couldn’t relax until he found out what Donny Babcock was doing in Redemption, Oklahoma. By the time he arrived home from his appointment with Samuel Case, he was drenched in sweat. Worry sweat.

He let himself in through the side door and was met by a delighted puppy. Milo, a beagle mix of some sort with curly ears and soft brown eyes, thought Jace was the sun and the moon.

“Got any presents for me to clean up?”

They were working on house training, and he should probably crate the pup during his absences but he couldn’t. The floors were hardwood. They’d clean. No living creature should be locked in a cage.

The dog wiggled harder, mouth open, eyes dancing along with his feet and tail. If a dog could throw out his back, Milo would manage.

Jace crouched on his toes and gathered the bundle of warmth and love against his chest. A few minutes with Milo and he could almost forget his worries.

But not quite. He had a lot to lose with Donny Babcock in town.

With Milo dogging his heels, he paced the gleaming wood floor of his living room. He’d spent hours perfecting this shine. Hours stripping away the old carpet and the old finishes. Layer after layer until he’d uncovered the stunning solid oak flooring, made even more beautiful by age. Someone had told him he should put down area rugs but he couldn’t bring himself to cover something this beautiful.

Wood was his passion and nothing fired him up like a piece perfected by age just waiting for the hand of a master craftsman. He frequented estate sales and old barns in search of pieces like the banister now curving toward the second story of the Queen Anne he called home.

He ran a hand over the silky banister. Gary Henderson had taught him to appreciate fine wood, and he’d taught him the skills needed to build a business and a life. He’d also taught him about Jesus. The day Jace had been assigned to Gary’s woodshop class had been a blessing he would never take for granted. It was God, pure and simple, trying to help a messed-up kid.

“You should have known Gary,” he told Milo who’d jogged up the stairs to be on eye level with his master.

Jace had taken Gary’s shop class to get out of real work. Or so he’d thought. Eighteen years old, he’d been so scared back then any safe place was welcome. And Gary’s woodshop was safe. The master builder saw to that. No one monkeyed around under Gary’s watch.

“I would be dead without Gary.”

He believed the sentiment with his whole heart. With Gary’s guidance he’d become a real man instead of a punk kid destined for the cemetery. Gary had been the one who’d urged him to leave the city and start fresh in a place where no one would judge him by anything except his workmanship and character. He’d done that. He’d made Gary proud.

He blew out a worried breath.

More than anything today, he needed to talk to his mentor and friend.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and paced some more. Milo hippity-hopped down the stairs and followed.

Gary was gone. Died two years after Jace moved to Redemption to start over.

“God, you see my dilemma. Guide me.” Jace wasn’t a big talker to anyone else, but God already knew all his faults and mistakes anyway. And the dog thought every word was meant for him. Milo plopped down on his bottom, one leg sticking straight out as he cocked his head to listen. “Why has Donny Babcock tracked me down? After all this time, it can’t be good. It can’t be.”

He headed into the kitchen, oblivious for once to the granite counters and the warm patina of the hand-lathed cabinets. He should eat something but his stomach gnawed with anxiety.

He thought of Kitty and the gnawing got worse. He shouldn’t have left her alone with Babcock. Even if Donny had saved him from a knife-happy convict and certain slaughter, he’d been shady, always working a deal. A con in a building full of cons. Jace didn’t want Kitty hurt by anyone, least of all by someone connected to him.

As he reached into his back pocket for the cell phone, a car door slammed. He replaced the phone and went to the door. Donny was already there. He entered the house without being asked, brushing past Jace to gaze around at the inside of the Queen Anne.

“This your place?”

“It is.” His and the bank’s.

Donny stopped in the foyer, a soaring entry with a stained glass transom and crown molding. “Why didn’t you buy something new? Who wants old stuff like this anymore? It’s not even finished.”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “I like it.”

Milo, unused to being ignored, yipped once. Donny stopped dead still, mouth curled in distaste. “You got a mutt?”

Mildly, Jace said, “Meet Milo.”

“I don’t want dog hair on my suits.” He pinched the pleat on his pants, then flecked imaginary hair from his jacket.

Since the last time Jace had seen him, Donny’s taste in clothes had gotten noticeably more expensive, though the suit hung on his thin frame like it would on a hanger. His brown hair was slicked back and gleamed with gel, his black patent wing-tips spit-shined as if he’d learned in the military. Which he hadn’t. He reeked of department store cologne. All in all, he appeared respectable but Jace worried that beneath the polish beat the heart of the same sleazy hustler who’d conned his own family out of thousands.

Though tempted to tell Donny to find another place to stay, Jace kept quiet. The only motel in Redemption belonged to Kitty.

Ignoring the growling dog, Donny wandered into the next room. The future office was as empty as the living room.

“You need some furniture, pal. What’s the matter? Out of cash?”

Jace tried to see the rooms from someone else’s point of view. Other than a chair here and there, an antique desk with telephone and computer, and an incredible mahogany sideboard he’d rebuilt, they were basically empty. Even his bed was an air mattress tossed on the floor.

As with everything in the house, Jace wanted authentic pieces. Finding them, refurbishing them took time. He was a patient man who enjoyed the search.

“I can help you with that,” Donny pressed. “With the cash flow problem.”

“Just tell me what you want, Donny. I know you didn’t show up here after fourteen years out of sentiment.”

“Tsk-tsk. So suspicious. I told you, Jacey boy, I’ve come to do you a favor. Let’s order pizza and talk over a couple of beers. The widow’s tea didn’t do it for me.”

“No beer.” Jace crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the fireplace bricks. Milo sat on his foot, eyeing Donny with the same suspicion his master felt.

Donny stopped his hyperactive perusal of Jace’s house. Shoving back his suit jacket, he propped both fists on his hips. “No beer?”

Jace shook his head. “I’m a Christian now.”

“Hey!” Donny lifted both hands. “Me, too.”

Jace’s heart jumped. He leaned forward, hoping. “For real?”

“Me and the big dude upstairs, we’re tight. Yes sir.” Babcock held up a pair of crossed fingers. “Just like this. Serious, pal. I got a Bible and everything.”

Jace wanted to believe him but the words reeked of insincerity. That had been the way of the man Jace remembered. A consummate liar, he said what people wanted to hear until he got what he wanted. Then he’d laugh like a hyena behind their backs and call them fools.

Jace didn’t want to join the crowd of fools.

“So how about a few beers between a couple of former old sinners?” Donny asked, shooting Jace a crooked grin. “Jesus drank wine, you know.”

“Jesus could handle it. I can’t.”

“Aw, come on now, pal. You weren’t an alkie.”

“Don’t want to be either. Look, Donny, let’s get real here. I haven’t seen you in nearly fifteen years. What are you not telling me?”

Donny prowled around the living room, glanced out windows, ran his hands over the backs of chairs, his eyes shifting from side to side as if looking for a place to land. His fidgety behavior elevated Jace’s suspicions.

“All right, Jacey boy, here’s the straight of it. Looks like you’ve made a good life in this burg. I figured I’d come down and see what you had working.”

Jace snorted. “Me. That’s what I have working. Dawn to dark, six days a week in the busy season. I restore historic buildings.”

Donny stopped prowling. His shifty gaze focused on Jace. “For real? You’re a builder? No side businesses?”

“None.”

The admission must have caught him off guard. Donny grew quiet for a few seconds before the toothy grin stretched wide.

“Okay, I get it now. Ha-ha. I’ve gone straight, too. Living for Jesus, doing right.” With a light laugh, he tapped his chest. “What could be more perfect? You’re a builder and I’m in real estate investments. No one knows what we’ve been through but us. We can help each other, Jacey old pal.”

Jace was listening, wanting to believe Donny had changed, but wary. Donny said all the right things, but the tone wasn’t quite sincere. He couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that Donny was trying to con him. He felt a little ashamed about that, considering they shared a similar past.

“Are you clean?”

Donny fell back, mouth lax, expression hurt. He shoved at his sleeves. “Want to check? Want to see my arms?”

The needle had never been Donny’s drug of choice but Jace didn’t say so. Instead, he shook his head, the sense of shame deepening. Why couldn’t he trust that Donny had changed his destructive ways? Jace had. Why was he so reluctant to believe that someone else could do the same? “Forget it.”

“Hey, no problemo. I was a bad apple. Like you. Two peas in a pod, so to speak. But we’ve changed, buddy boy. We’ve changed.”

Lord, he hoped so for both their sakes. On the rough streets where he’d grown up boys as young as ten were already using. If not for a good mother who’d begged him to be careful, he’d probably have been a junkie. He’d been bad enough as it was. And Donny knew it.

“I have a sweet deal going in a retirement community in Florida,” Donny was saying. “I stand to make money—big money, Jacey boy—and I’m willing to cut you in.” He gazed around for effect. “From the looks of this empty place, you could use the extra dough.”

Jace’s mouth twisted. Donny was still all about working a deal. “Who couldn’t?”

“You’re interested then? Good.”

He didn’t say that, but he figured to let Donny talk. Maybe he’d find out what was really going down.

Donny started to prowl again, as restless as a flea. He sniffed, swiped at his nose. “Here’s the deal. I sunk everything I had into a couple of investment properties. Then I sold one of them faster than I expected and all my money is still tied up in the other properties. Escrow accounts and all that Housing and Urban Development red tape.”

Jace tensed. Now they were getting down to the real reasons for Donny’s sudden reappearance in his life. “You came to me for money.”

“Buddy, pal, compadre. Listen. You are not hearing me.” Donny’s voice took on a placating tone as if he was talking to a whiny child. “I came to you because I figured who better to share the wealth? You know me. I know you. We can trust each other.”

Like a mouse trusts a tomcat.

“I’m just a little short on cash flow at the present, but the assets are there. I swear to you. On my brand-new Bible.” He held up his right hand as though to impress Jace with his sincerity. Jace was not impressed. “As soon as the property closes, I’ll be able to pay you back with interest. It’s a win-win situation, done all the time in my business.”

“Why didn’t you go to one of your business associates or to your banker?” Jace crossed his arms again and shook his head. “If you want help ask for it, but give me the facts, not a con.”

Donny turned his back and paced some more. Jace could practically see the wheels turning inside his head.

“You should get a couch. One of those long recliner things with the built in tables and cup holders. And a big screen.” He stopped, spun. “How do you live in this place without a big screen?” When Jace simply stared at him, he said,” This is no con. I swear on my mother.”

First the Bible and now his mother. Too much swearing to be true. “I’d like to believe you, but I don’t.”

Donny stopped his prowling and shoved both hands in his pockets. His shoulders slumped. “All right, look. Here’s the real skinny. The economy is killing the real estate business. I’ve been straight as an arrow for the last ten years, working day and night like you said. Honest. Clean as a new shirt. I swear it. Then the market goes south and I’m struggling. I don’t want to go back to that life, Jacey boy. You got to help me out.”

Jace suffered a tug of sympathy. He knew the fear of going back, because he lived with it daily. “I’m not rich.”

Most of his assets were tied up in this house and the twenty surrounding acres.

“Seeing you on television was like a sign. I’m thinking, go see Jace. He owes you one.” Donny stretched out his hands. “I was hoping you would invest in this deal. Just a little to get me going again. After everything that happened, it’s the least you can do. I saved your hide, Jacey boy. You’d have died right there if not for me. Torres had you down with no help in sight. No help but me. He was carving you up like a Christmas turkey.”

Jace shuddered at the vision of himself on the cold, wet concrete, someone standing on his bleeding hands and Torres with the homemade knife. The scars on his body throbbed.

“One more minute and he’d have cut your liver out and left you to bleed to death. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Jace dragged a hand over his face. It did count for something. “Tell me again where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing.”

He listened attentively while Donny related his business dealings and his lifestyle among prosperous, law-abiding citizens. Jace wanted to believe he was telling the truth and yet Donny’s story seemed inflated to impress.

“You got a second chance at the good life, Jace. Don’t I deserve one, too?”

What could he say to that? Donny was right. God had blessed him with a second chance and the Lord was no respecter of persons.

“Come on, have a heart. Spot me a few lousy bucks until business picks up.”

Jace gnawed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t about to hand any sizable cash to a man he hadn’t seen in years.

His conscience pricked. That stranger had saved his life.

“I can loan you a little. Maybe a couple of hundred.”

Donny’s mouth twisted. “Get real. A couple hundred won’t get me to Tulsa.”

Jace shifted against the rough lacquered brick, felt the hard pressure against his scarred back and remembered what Donny Babcock had done for him. “What do you want, Donny?”

“Well, let’s see now.” Donny roamed the living room again, looked out the undraped bay window. “I could use a place to stay. A few bucks. Just until this deal goes through. Then I’ll be out of your hair. I swear it.”

Realization slowly seeped through. Donny was down on his luck and searching for a soft place to land. There was probably no land deal, no money in escrow.

“You’re broke.”

Donny held up an index finger. A diamond winked from his pinky. “Temporarily short of cash. Emphasis on temporary. I got that deal working.”

Jace no more believed him than he could read minds. He blew out a tight breath. He might be a fool, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Gary Henderson. What if Gary had turned his back on Jace? Where would he be today?

This one’s for you, Gary.

“You can bunk here for a few days.”

“I knew I could count on you. Tell you what, old buddy, when I get this deal cooking—”

Jace held up a hand to stop the words. “Listen, Donny, and listen good. No cons. I’m respected in this town. I have a business, friends, a church family. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a low profile while you’re here.”

Donny went still. Sly awareness crept across his bony face. “I think I’m getting the picture. They don’t know about your little trip up the river, do they?”

Jace shoved his hands in his pockets. “No.”

“And you want to keep it that way.”

Jace’s heart bumped. Not even a town as generous and welcoming as Redemption would do business with him if they knew. “Redemption’s a good town. Good people. Don’t mess with them. Don’t mess with me.”

“Well now, the way I see it is this. I got no reason to tell the good folks of Redemption Jace Carter’s ugly little secret. No reason at all. You help me out, and I’ll return the favor. Get my drift?”

Jace stared into Donny’s glittery eyes and felt the earth shift off-kilter. The promise sounded eerily like a threat.

With a heavy heart, he knew he had no choice but to believe Donny Babcock was all he claimed to be. He only hoped that trust didn’t cost him everything.




Chapter Four


Two weeks later, Jace listened to the chat and clatter inside the Sugar Shack Bakery while he ate his usual breakfast. He was a regular, preferring Miriam Martinelli’s cooking to his own. Other businessmen started their day here as well and he’d learned about more than one restoration job over a plate of bacon and eggs.

This morning he would have liked to sit alone and worry to himself, but the local gathering place was jammed as usual and folks sat wherever they could find a seat.

“Met that friend of yours yesterday, Jace.”

The speaker was Tooney Deer, the local mechanic who owned Tooney’s Tune-Up. The Native American’s chair was crammed between GI Jack and Popbottle Jones. Jace and Sloan Hawkins finished out the group of five seated elbow to elbow at a table intended for four. Thick white platters of pancakes, eggs, and meat along with matching cups of steaming coffee crowded the space even more.

Jace stopped chewing. “Donny Babcock?”

Since his arrival, Donny was slippery as a snake. Jace wasn’t surprised that he was getting around town. Concerned, but not surprised. He wished every thought about Donny wasn’t negative but the man he recalled wasn’t worth anyone’s confidence. Even though he’d saved Jace from certain death that one time, Donny had double-crossed him a few times, too. And the old Donny Babcock would lie when the truth was easier. The new Donny didn’t seem much different.

Jace had offered him a job, primarily to keep an eye on him, but Donny found other things to do. Real labor was never his favorite activity. Like this morning when Jace left the house at six, Donny grumbled something about having business calls to make. Jace was tempted to hang around and see what kind of calls Donny was making, but he had customers waiting.

“Said he’s staying at your place for a few days to help you out.”

That was Donny. Twist the story to suit his purposes.

“He’s here for a few days.” He hoped the stay was brief. Since Donny’s arrival, he felt as if was holding his breath all the time, looking over his shoulder, waiting for the ax to fall.

“He says the two of you go way back.”

“Yeah.” To avoid further conversation, Jace bit off a chunk of buttery toast. The last thing he wanted was questions about how and where and when he’d known Donny Babcock. Small town folks with conservative values didn’t tolerate criminals.

Just last year the local chief of police had been indicted for murder and sent to prison.

“Nice enough fellar, I guess. Kind of jumpy.”

Jace thought the same thing but he’d been alert to any evidence of drugs in the house and hadn’t found any.

“Well, lookee here who’s coming in the door, looking like Mary Sunshine.” GI pointed one of Miriam’s fat buttered biscuits toward the bakery’s glass door.

Kitty Wainright sailed into the bakery, a soft floral skirt swirling around her legs. Jace’s chest clenched. The air in the room seemed to grow lighter, warmer.

Kitty’s pale hair fell long and loose this morning with soft bangs framing her small face. If she ever wore makeup, he couldn’t tell, but with wide blue eyes and skin like a pearl, she needed no enhancement.

“Mighty handsome woman,” GI muttered in Jace’s direction before booming, “Howdy, Miss Kitty.”

Kitty spun, a ready smile blooming. She raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning.”

GI Jack cut his eyes at Jace. “Mmm-hmm. Mighty handsome single woman.”

Jace shoved in a forkful of scrambled egg and pretended his pulse hadn’t kicked into third gear.

“Here’s a spot for you, Miss Kitty.”

After pocketing two fluffy biscuits and a square pack of jelly, GI Jack pushed back from the table.

“I don’t really have time to sit.” But she began winding her way through the chairs and tables in their direction.

“Might as well. I’m leaving, too.” Tooney took a final slurp of coffee and stood. “That’s Pastor Parker bringing in his car right now. Brake job.”

Popbottle Jones rose as well, dignity in the old professor’s movements. From beneath the table, he retrieved a large canvas bag, the collection sack for his recycling business. “Time and tide waits for no man.”

“Yep. Time and tide.” GI’s head bobbed. “The trash man, too.”

The pair of unlikely friends never missed a Dumpster if they could get there before the garbage truck.

Popbottle placed some neatly folded dollar bills beneath his plate and hoisted the canvas bag to his shoulder. The Dumpster divers looked like bums, but Popbottle Jones and GI Jack never failed to tip. “You gents have a blessed day.”

In seconds, three men had departed, leaving Jace and Sloan alone at the table. Jace looked at Sloan with chagrin. “What was that all about?”

Sloan grinned. “I think you know.”

At that moment Kitty arrived, bringing with her the scent of fresh air and sunshine. Jace’s belly knotted in a mix of pleasure and despair. If his friends were matchmaking, they were wasting their time.

Sloan pushed aside a pile of plates to make room for the newcomer. As Kitty settled with feminine grace, Sassy Carlson sailed by, snatched up the plates and swiped a cloth across the tabletop.

“Anything for you, Kitty?” the waitress asked.

“Two dozen doughnuts to go, please. Mixed. When you get a minute.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll be here all day.” Sassy’s jaunty grin matched her bobbing brown ponytail. “Want some coffee while you wait?”

“Oh, might as well. And one of those decadent sticky rolls that are so bad for me.”

“Got it.” The waitress sashayed away, dodging chairs, checking tables, and offering comments as she went.

“You’re out and about early this morning, Kitty.” Sloan casually stirred his coffee.

“The Land Run committee meeting.” Clutching a small, flat handbag, Kitty propped her arms on the tabletop. The tiny purse chain clinked against worn Formica. “I’m picking up the doughnuts.”

The Land Run Committee was made up of business people and interested citizens who put together all the details of the two-day historical celebration. Jace had never joined the official committee but he helped out where he could.

“Annie and I will be there,” Sloan said. “Have you talked to Margo this week?”

Local businesswoman Margo Starks chaired the Land Run Committee along with the mayor. Jace found the woman intimidating but she got the job done.

“Not since the last meeting. Why?”

“She told Annie the vendor list is filling up. The Old West Gunfighters and the trick rider group confirmed.”

“Oh, good. Both of those are highlights.”

“And…” Sloan paused for effect. “Both groups asked about staying at your motel again.”

Kitty clapped her hands. “You’re just full of good news this morning, Sloan Hawkins.”

“Which means I need to get to those repairs sooner rather than later,” Jace said. Kitty needed the extra income that came with the Land Run Celebration but that required all the motel units be in top shape. Which they were not.

Kitty’s blue gaze turned on him. “Will you have time?”

“Sure.” He’d make time. She was a hero’s widow.

His conscience tweaked just the slightest. Dave Wainright wasn’t the only reason he found time for the Widow Wainright.

“Will your friend be helping you? He told me about that place in Florida the two of you renovated.”

Jace hoped his face didn’t register the shock. He’d never been to Florida in his life and to his knowledge Donny knew nothing about building, particularly the special kind of restoration Jace did.

“I can’t speak for Donny, but the work will get done in time. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. If you tell me you’ll do something, you always do.” She turned her smile on Sloan. “Redemption’s blessed to have someone like Jace.”

Sloan cast an amused glance at Jace. “Can’t argue that. His expert eye saved me a bundle on Aunt Lydia’s chimney. I was going to tear the thing down.”

“It’s not about the money,” Jace said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s the history.” Sloan sipped at his coffee, then grinned from Jace to Kitty. “Get him talking about restoration and he’s a chatterbox.”

Jace grinned sheepishly. Sloan was right. He felt good about making old things new again, and he believed the most dilapidated building could be rehabilitated into something beautiful.

“Why tear down something that’s impossible to get back? All that history and character gone forever.”

“Which is why Kitty’s right. Redemption needs you, my friend.”

“I hope you’ll still say that after you get my bill.”

They all laughed, but Jace reached for his napkin, more for something to do than out of need. Compliments made him nervous. What if he couldn’t live up to them? Especially now that Donny was in town.

Kitty leaned forward and, above the smells of coffee and bacon, Jace caught the soft scent of roses. “Which reminds me, I almost forgot to tell you. The closet door in Unit 4 won’t close. I know you’re busy, but when you get time—”

“I’ll run by this afternoon.”

Sloan made a funny noise. “Listen, kids,” he said. “I’d love to stay—but duty calls. Duty and a gorgeous blonde. Annie and the kids are expecting fresh raisin bread with their breakfasts and I see Hank putting loaves in the case now.”

Kitty glanced at the clock above the cash register. “You’d better hurry if you plan to make the Land Run meeting.”

“Right.” Sloan pushed back and rose, directing his parting remarks to Jace. “Let me know what you think about the attic repair.”

Jace nodded. “Call you tonight.”

And he was left alone with Kitty.



Jace was on the premises. Again.

Pleasure curled in Kitty’s chest. Even from her position in the attic of the laundry room, she could hear his quiet voice talking to someone. He had such a nice voice. Soothing. Kind. She liked to hear Jace talk.

Like yesterday in the Sugar Shack, she’d practically had to pry words from him until she’d asked about the renovations on the old bank and he’d opened up. She’d sat back, nibbled the gooey cinnamon roll and listened to that soothing voice.

Now she could hear it again, somewhere outside the motel units.

She stuck her head through the open hole leading down onto the washer. “Jace!”

The rumbling voices stopped. “Kitty? Where are you?”

“Laundry room.”

In seconds, the door opened and sunlight spilled over the washing machine like melting butter. Spring was fully upon them and Kitty reveled in the new awakenings of life. However, spring also meant birds trapped in the attic and she was determined to discourage their nests early on.

“What are you doing up there?” Jace’s head was tilted back. He wore an amused expression above his usual neatly pressed jeans and shirt. In one work-gloved hand, he carried a leather tool belt.

Next to him was his friend, Donny Babcock. She’d only met Donny a few times since he’d sat in her office and told her far more about his life than she wanted to know. He was nice enough, she supposed. A little pushy maybe but if Jace liked him, he must be okay.

“Birds.” She slapped a hand at a cobweb stuck to her hair. “Phew. I’ll need to go through the washer myself when I finish this job.”

“Want me to have a look?”

“No, that’s all right. I can do it, although I feel bad about destroying all the hard work some poor little pair of birds has done to build a nest. Do you have any extra boards on you? Maybe if I find their entrance points and cover them, the birds can’t get in here in the first place.”

“Let me come up and have a look.” He turned to Donny. “You can unload the materials over at Unit 7 while I take care of this.”

Donny didn’t look too happy about the assignment but he flashed a toothy grimace at Kitty and left.

“Come up and I’ll show you.”

“How did you get up there?”

“The washer.”

Jace looked dubious. “No ladder?”

All the blood was starting to run to her head. She must look like a beet by now. A beet with stringy blond hair loaded with cobwebs and insulation.

“Oh, come on, scaredy cat. You can do it.”

His mouth curved. “Catch me if I fall?”

Impossible, considering she was above and he was below so she laughed. “Absolutely.”

After pocketing his gloves, he handed up his tool belt and stepped upon the washer. When he stood, Kitty’s hair grazed his face. He blew it out of the way. And just that simple little connection made her pulse jump. She retreated from the opening.

His hands appeared first, strong and capable. Then as if he was chinning himself in a gym, he pulled his upper body through the opening.

Kitty’s pulse fluttered again. For a trim guy, Jace Carter was incredibly strong.

Dust flew around him as he stood. Balancing with booted feet on separate rafters, he placed a fist on either hip. “A ladder would have been easier.”

Kitty tossed her hair, laughing at him. “A challenge is good for you.”

“I’ll remember you said that when we’re both in traction.”

Kitty laughed again. She felt almost giddy today. It must be spring and the excitement of the coming Land Run Celebration. She glanced at Jace standing there, stance wide, as he stared around at the attic interior. Kitty knew what attraction felt like, though she’d long repressed the emotion out of dedication to Dave. But Annie’s comments had her noticing Jace Carter. If she was attracted to him, she didn’t want to be, though she had to admit the zip in her blood felt good.

“The birds must be getting in through that vent under the eave,” she said, pointing.

“They probably ripped through the screen.”

“Can a little bitty bird do that?”

“Sure. Shelter is a powerful incentive.”

To prove the fact, wings fluttered around the gap leading to the outside but the bird quickly flew away when Kitty moved in that direction. She picked her way toward the wall, taking care not to step off the rafters. A step down would put her in contact with the ceiling of the laundry room. She doubted the Sheetrock would hold her weight.

“Wouldn’t hurt to put a floor up here.” Jace stepped gingerly, too, his contractor’s eyes studying the wiring as he moved.

“Too expensive. I don’t come up here often.”

“Once is all it takes.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Grim reaper.”

His mouth curved, and she was tempted to do something else silly just to watch his eyes light up and the corners crinkle with merriment. Sometimes he was too solemn.

“Let’s check the nests first, make sure there are no eggs yet.”

Kitty caught her lip between her teeth. “What will we do if there are? I don’t want to break up someone’s happy home.”

She expected Jace to tease. Instead, his smile was soft. “Let’s look first, then worry.”

“Good advice.” Kitty started for the closest nest, a bundle of dried grass and twigs.

“Can you reach it?” He started toward her.

She tiptoed. “Maybe.”

Straining to see inside the nest, she peeked inside. A wild flap of wings rushed her face. “Oh!”

She jerked back, lost her balance, and fell at an angle across the rafters to slam her shoulder into the side of the house.

Jace was there before the dust cleared. He crouched beside her. “Are you okay?”

A little shaky, she sat up and dusted off her now dirty blouse. “Embarrassed. It was just a bird.”

“An unexpected bird. I would have done the same thing.”

“Probably not, but you’re sweet to say so.” She rotated her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you up and assess the damage.”

He took her by the arm, and once again she was aware of the strength in those battered carpenter’s hands. Together they stood, Kitty teetering a bit as she sought for balance and to quiet her racing pulse.

Jace hooked an arm around her waist and stood like a solid wall, letting her lean on him, waiting for her to settle. Through the dust of the attic, she caught the scent of soap, aftershave and warm man, scents she’d tried to forget about in the years since Dave’s death. A woman missed those manly smells.

“Okay now?” That quiet voice of his soothed something inside her.

Kitty nodded, acutely aware of how close they were, of how solid he was, and of how small and delicate she felt next to him.

Jace cleared his throat and slowly released his hold. She clung to his shoulder a moment longer. “Jace.”

He broke contact gently but firmly and stepped back two rafters. His face was tense. “You shouldn’t come up here. It’s not safe. You’re bleeding.”

Kitty glanced in surprise at her bloodied palm. “It’s only a scrape.”

“You should put something on that.” He turned his back as though the sight of her blood bothered him. “Go on down. I’ll take care of this.”

He moved away and went to the damaged vent. Kitty watched his stiff back for a moment longer and then she slid through the attic opening into the laundry room.




Chapter Five


Jace wanted to kick himself.

He finished repairing the attic vents, a simple task once Kitty was safely out of sight. Then he removed the bird nests, relieved to discover that no eggs had been laid in any of them, including the one that had caused Kitty’s fall.

He lowered himself into the soap-scented laundry room where the essence of Kitty surrounded him.

She hadn’t been hurt, but touching her was reflex. He shouldn’t have because now the memory of her velvety skin and rose scent tortured him.

She’d probably thought he was weird the way he’d jerked away like a man on fire.

He rubbed both hands over his face and groaned. For years, he’d worked for Kitty Wainright and been a distant friend. And he’d handled the situation well. Suddenly this spring, keeping his feelings under wraps seemed impossible.

But he had to. Even if Kitty was interested, which she wasn’t, he couldn’t be.

With a vicious yank of his tool belt, he went in search of Donny.

His boots crunched on the gravel path leading between the motel’s cabins where Jace spotted his pickup truck near the target unit. Donny was nowhere in sight.

“Figures,” he muttered. He turned to stare at the pretty cottage he knew to be Kitty’s home. A fierce protectiveness surged through him. Maybe Donny wasn’t over there, but he probably was. Donny always had an eye for ladies and a line a mile long.

Oblivious to the vibrant red and white tulips basking in the sunlight, Jace stalked down the path. Outside Kitty’s front entrance, he lifted a whimsical knocker—patriotic, of course, and another reminder of why he had to take care of Kitty but keep his distance, too. He’d set a hard task for himself, but he was determined to see it through. Penance came in many forms, and if his was blond and beautiful with the soul of a saint, he would simply have to cope.

She appeared, still wearing the smudged blouse, though the cobwebs were gone from her silken hair. With her easy smile, she pushed open the door. “Is my attic safe from feathered invaders?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jace removed his cap, held it in both hands like a shield between them. To discourage conversation, he didn’t smile. The warm feelings in the attic could not be repeated.

“Is Donny over here?”

Kitty gave him a long, curious look before saying, “He is. Come on in.”

Jace followed her slim form into the sunny living area.

The room was small and tidy like its owner, filled with soft, feminine color and dotted with spring flower arrangements. Whimsical figurines of kittens had been set here and there. One brown kitten lay on its back, smiling with abandon. It reminded him of Milo.

“Come on in the kitchen and have some iced tea with us. You must be thirsty after being up in that dirty attic.”

He was, but thirst was the least of his problems. He followed her anyway. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

Kitty paused in the kitchen’s entry, her expression sweet as honey. “I always have time for friends.”

Stab him in the heart and let him bleed. “How’s your hand?”

“Oh, that.” She raised the palm to display a wide Band-Aid. “I had a splinter. Now that it’s gone, I’m good as new.”

“Sorry that happened.”

“My fault. You warned me.” She widened her eyes and curled her lips in a silly gesture that made him smile in spite of his intent to the contrary.

“No traction, though.”

She laughed. “There’s always a next time.”

He hoped not. Neither his heart, nor his resolve, could take it.

Donny Babcock appeared behind Kitty, interrupting the pleasant exchange. Jace didn’t know whether to thank him or hit him.

“We have work to do,” he said to his supposed helper.

“Why don’t you start without me?” Donny flashed his expensive teeth at Kitty. “Kitty and I were getting better acquainted. She invited me to her Bible study.”

Something dark and fierce twisted in Jace’s belly. “I need your help.”

“All right. All right.” He gave Kitty a put-upon look and followed Jace out the door.

When he and Donny reached the work area, Jace was still stewing. Part of him worried about Donny’s intentions, but mixed up in there somewhere was a heavy dose of old-fashioned jealousy. He shouldn’t be jealous, had no right to be, but he was. If Kitty ever decided to let go of her dead husband, she deserved a good man, a man better than either him or Donny Babcock.

He handed Donny a nail puller. “Kitty’s a nice woman.”

Donny studied the puller as though the tool was an alien spacecraft. “You interested in her?”

“We’re friends.” He emphasized the word to make a point.

“Good to know. Wouldn’t want to nuzzle in on a friend’s sweet spot.” He winked. “So you shouldn’t mind if I get to know her a little better.”

Jace’s grip on the hammer tightened. “I do mind.”

“But you just said the two of you are only friends.”

Teeth tight, Jace pivoted on his toes. “Look, Donny, she’s too good for either of us and you know it. Leave her alone.”

Donny laughed and propped one hip on a windowsill, the nail puller forgotten. “Just because you want to punish yourself forever doesn’t mean I do, Jacey boy. A second chance is a second chance at everything.”

Jace tried another direction. Appealing to Donny’s conscience wasn’t working. As if it ever had. “She’s a grieving widow. Didn’t you see the motel office?”

“Yeah, a bunch of old junk that needs tossing out if you ask me. A stinkin’ shrine to a dead guy. Come on. Get over it.”




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