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The Single Dad's Redemption
Roxanne Rustand
The Cowboy’s Second ChanceWith the town’s busiest sales weekend on the horizon, store owner Keeley North is desperate to find help. So when Connor Rafferty walks through her door, he’s an unlikely answer to her prayers. The former rodeo star may be a fish out of water in her shop, but he can rise to any challenge. And right now he’s set his sights on finding the son he hasn’t seen in five years. Keeley can’t risk her heart on a scarred cowboy who’s searching for something more. But if she can convince him to look beyond the mistakes of his past, Connor may get a second chance to have it all.Aspen Creek Crossroads: Where faith, love and healing meet


The Cowboy’s Second Chance
With the town’s busiest sales weekend on the horizon, store owner Keeley North is desperate to find help. So when Connor Rafferty walks through her door, he’s an unlikely answer to her prayers. The former rodeo star may be a fish out of water in her shop, but he can rise to any challenge. And right now he’s set his sights on finding the son he hasn’t seen in five years. Keeley can’t risk her heart on a scarred cowboy who’s searching for something more. But if she can convince him to look beyond the mistakes of his past, Connor may get a second chance to have it all.
“My time is all yours, until my truck is fixed,” Connor said.
“Better be careful,” she said. “I’ll have you so busy that you’ll forget about leaving.” She grinned, then handed him the cabin key.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The gratitude in his eyes took her aback, so Keeley gave him a breezy smile to lighten the moment. “No problem at all.”
“No—I really mean it.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder as he spoke, and she stilled, unable to take another step as a gentle warmth seemed to travel straight to her heart.
“It seems like a lifetime ago when I was around anyone as thoughtful and caring as you are, and I don’t think anyone around here even realizes how special you are.”
Flustered, she didn’t know what to say. He was so tall and utterly handsome, though it was the man inside who drew her.
“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” Their gazes locked. “I’ve spent a lot of years being angry that my prayers went unanswered. But now I realize they have been all along… They’ve brought me to you.”
A USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author of over thirty-five novels, ROXANNE RUSTAND lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, including three horses, rescue dogs and cats. She has a master’s in nutrition and is a clinical dietitian. RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achievement Award, two of her books won their annual Reviewers’ Choice Award and two others were nominees.

The Single Dad’s Redemption
Roxanne Rustand

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many are the plans in a person’s heart,
but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:20–21
With many thanks to author Lyn Cote,
my “sister of the heart,” who has been
such a wonderful friend from the day
I began my writing journey many years ago.
And many thanks to editor Melissa Endlich,
for her astute and invaluable guidance.
I appreciate you more than words can say!
Contents
Cover (#u56541d9a-f364-59d1-9c0a-5d19a5a1aba4)
Back Cover Text (#u7ecfa9c3-4b52-5d21-9d33-9247cc4ddec1)
Introduction (#u3b89621c-b6d6-5ba9-8c50-d3af318e0cd3)
About the Author (#u8ea36768-7a0a-5620-aca4-f674052cb266)
Title Page (#u4d792cfa-7ed8-5ae5-9840-331b94c5c28d)
Bible Verse (#u9f47373a-ca61-53e2-bf2b-9b2bfa92447b)
Dedication (#u26f30204-c227-587c-901f-2098b2c0e9c7)
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u6ad09821-0572-5b6e-a3f4-0a1dccdd97ab)
Looking up at the roiling black clouds, Connor Rafferty turned up the collar of his denim jacket and lengthened his stride.
Aspen Creek was definitely a tourist town. The far southern edge held a scattering of truck stops, bars and shabby houses, but the original part of town was more upscale with six blocks of stately old Victorian homes and brick mansions. At least ten of them had been converted to elegant B and Bs with small, discreet signs on the sidewalk offering off-season rates.
Rates that would be far beyond his very limited means.
He strode on, over an arched stone bridge spanning a wide creek and through the six-block-long downtown area, feeling as if he’d stepped back in time.
The town was all about historical flavor. High on their fancy elevated facades, the quaint stone-and-brick, two-story buildings all proclaimed dates in the mid-1800s; the street signs were lettered in antique script.
What had probably once been a main street filled with empty storefronts and other evidence of a dying town was now brimming with stores geared toward the yuppie tourist trade. Gift shops, pretty little tea shops, restaurants, fancy women’s clothing boutiques and a bookstore. For the outdoor sports enthusiasts, a variety of stores offered gear from fishing, kayaking and canoeing to skiing, backpacking and biking.
A single, massive bank on Main, with a plaque embossed with the year 1864 on the cornerstone facing the sidewalk, looked as if it could withstand World War III.
Somewhere on the north edge of town he’d find a cheap strip motel and, a mile farther, a campground with modern facilities, according to the tow-truck driver who had dropped Connor’s pickup at Red’s Mechanic Shop & Wrecker Service south of town.
Connor hadn’t intended to make this stop in eastern Wisconsin on his way from Montana to Detroit, but major engine problems had certainly changed his plans in a hurry.
This was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t need, with just a few hundred bucks in his pocket, nearly seven hundred miles to go and a burning need to reach the son he hadn’t seen in five long years.
Five irreplaceable years in the life of a young boy. And five years of worry about how well his ex-wife was taking care of him...or not. A familiar surge of anger burned through his chest at the thought of what he and Josh had both lost, and the God who had ignored his prayers.
Josh had been only four when Connor went to prison. Would the child even recognize him now?
A blinding bolt of lightning struck the steeple of a white-clapboard church a few blocks down and a deafening crack! shook the sidewalk beneath his feet. The tentative patter of rain turned to a deluge in earnest, pouring off the brim of his Resistol Western hat and soaking through his denim jacket.
Just as quickly the rain turned to an onslaught of marble-size hail.
He ducked into the first entryway on his right and stepped into a dimly lit store. Soft classical music drifted through the cinnamon-and-coffee-scented air.
It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the warm golden and amber lighting of flickering candles, plus a dozen or more stained-glass lamps and chandeliers displayed around the store. An avalanche of what his grandma had always called “pretties” seemed to fill every millimeter of space. China. Glass doodads. Frothy lace.
Fancy stuff at odds with the steady plink of water hitting a galvanized bucket sitting on the floor by the end of the front counter.
He couldn’t have felt more out of place if he’d suddenly found himself on Mars.
A slender young woman behind the cash register stared at him in shock.
He belatedly jerked off his hat and ran a hand over the two-day stubble on his face. “Sorry, ma’am. I...I just stepped in to get out of the hail,” he murmured. He reached behind himself for the door handle, acutely aware of the puddle forming beneath his battered Western boots. “Sorry ’bout the mess.”
“No—don’t go.” She slipped around the corner of the front counter, deftly avoiding the bucket on the floor. Her shoulder-length, shiny blond hair swung forward against her cheek as she motioned to the white wrought-iron table and matching chairs displayed by the front window. “Just listen to that storm out there. Have a seat. Coffee? Hot tea? I’ve even got fresh shortbread cookies.”
“Really, ma’am, I—”
“Sit.” She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “At least for a while. If you go back out and get yourself struck by lightning, I’ll forever feel it was my fault.”
He awkwardly took the chair closest to the door and glanced around for a place to hang his hat, then settled it on his knees.
“Coffee?”
He nodded. “Uh...thanks.”
She bustled to the coffeemaker at the end of the front counter and soon returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and a tray of cookies, each with a little purple-frosting flower on top.
“You can be my taste tester. This is the first time I’ve made lavender shortbread, and the coffee is a new brand of Irish cream.”
The aroma of the coffee was pure bliss. The first bite of cookie was like an explosion of rich butter and a delicate flowery flavor on his tongue. Nothing in his memory had ever tasted as good.
She grinned at his reaction as she took the chair opposite his and offered her hand across the table. “Keeley North.”
“Connor. Connor Rafferty.” He hadn’t seen—much less talked to—such a pretty woman in more than five years, and the brief contact of her delicate hand in his sent his mind reeling back to a different time and place. Back to when he’d been a carefree man who worked hard and found pleasure in simple things.
Privileges he’d never appreciated until he was behind bars. Privileges and opportunities he would never fully regain.
In his former life, he might have asked this charming woman to meet him for coffee...or maybe even dinner, in the hope of getting to know her better.
Now he knew there was no point.
Once he revealed his past, a woman like this one would run the other way.
Shaking off his dark thoughts, he looked up and found she was watching him with an expression of concern. Had she asked him something?
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice gentle and warm.
Today’s stress and exhaustion after fourteen hours behind the wheel of his pickup, plus several more on the side of the road with engine trouble, had turned his bones to lead.
“Just...a long day.”
“You aren’t from around here,” she said as she leaned back in her chair and studied him over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Nope.” Clearly, she already knew that from the way she was looking at him. Maybe she’d already figured out he wasn’t just some average guy, either. He shifted uneasily, feeling as if his prison number was stenciled on his denim jacket.
Outside, hail battered at the windows in heavy sheets and continuous lightning lit up the sky like the Fourth of July. He took a swallow of coffee, savoring the heat as it slid down his throat.
“Texas, right?” She cocked her head. “Or maybe Oklahoma? I love the accent.”
That was what she’d noticed? He jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “Texas, ma’am. Though it’s been a long while.”
“Just passing through?”
“On my way to Detroit.”
“But then you fell in love with our pretty little town and decided to stay,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. My truck broke down five miles from here.”
Her eyes widened a little at that. “Sorry. At least you got into town before this weather hit, right?”
“Yeah.” Though the weather was the least of his problems.
“Were you towed to Red’s garage—south side of town?”
“Yep.”
“He does good work, but he usually has quite a backlog. When will he get it done?”
“A couple weeks...maybe three.”
“Ouch. Sounds about right for Red’s, but that can’t be very convenient.” She drummed her fingers on the glass surface of the table. “So I suppose you’ll be renting a car to continue on?”
If only he could. This trip to Detroit meant everything to him. He had to find his ex-wife, Marsha, and son before she made good on her threat and disappeared again.
But he’d planned on smooth sailing, not a massive mechanic’s bill coupled with extra weeks of motel and food expenses.
After buying a fourteen-year-old Dodge Ram diesel in Montana, the cash in his wallet had already run low and running up debts with no employment in sight would be risky. Renting a vehicle to reach Detroit and then returning for his truck later wasn’t even a dim possibility.
“No. I...guess I’ll have to wait for the repairs.” He dredged up a wry smile, knowing the customers who patronized a fancy store like this one could probably replace a vehicle like his without a second thought.
Not that they’d ever own such an old beater in the first place.
He rose, reached for the thin wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Everyone who walks in is welcome to the coffee.” She studied him, her gaze boring into his until he felt as if she could see clear into his deepest thoughts. “I don’t mean to pry...but will you just be doing the usual tourist things around here while you wait, or might you be looking for some work?”
Who would even hire him, given his past?
“I...” Heat crawled up the back of his neck as he faltered then swallowed his pride. “I could use something temporarily, since I have to stay in town awhile. But I don’t expect I’d find anything like that around here.”
Biting her lower lip, she hesitated. “Maybe. Our busiest days of the year are next weekend, and I’m short of help. If you’re interested, I might have a temporary job for you here. Even a week or two could help us both.”
Startled, he glanced around at the antiques, the china, the delicate bits and pieces displayed in every nook and cranny. He managed a short laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid you won’t find much of anything else in a town this small. Our population is less than four thousand and there’s no manufacturing here. Without the agriculture throughout the county and our tourism, the town would die.”
“What about construction?”
“There aren’t any big companies based here—I think the closest are maybe thirty miles away or so.”
“That’s it?”
“We’ve got a few small, independent contractors in town—father-and-son teams who only do remodeling, though every time I try to schedule a reno project they’re all booked for months ahead.” She sighed. “I don’t know if they’re looking for extra help, but I sure wish they would so they could work faster.”
He nodded, the weight of his situation growing heavier by the minute.
“Jobs around here are mostly at the resorts, restaurants and shops,” she continued. “But we’re on the verge of tourist season, and the high-school kids have probably nabbed every seasonal job they can find.”
He felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He’d once earned six figures a year on the rodeo circuit, but he’d liquidated all of his assets for legal fees while fighting to keep his freedom and he’d still ended up in prison.
Now it sounded as though he’d be lucky to find even a minimum-wage job slinging hamburgers or sweeping floors. “So there’s not much hope, then.”
“You never know.” She went behind the counter and pulled a newspaper from a shelf underneath. “You’re welcome to take this. The classifieds are on the back pages.”
She rummaged through a file drawer along the wall behind the counter, withdrew a sheet of paper and handed it to him with the newspaper. “Here’s an application, just in case you decide to apply here.”
Words failed him as he glanced at the fancy doodads in the store. Just looking at it all made him feel big and awkward and claustrophobic, and made him want to step outside to take a deep breath. “I don’t think this would be a good fit, ma’am. But I appreciate the offer.”
She shrugged. “Keep me in mind, just in case. The job wouldn’t be that hard. I stock gifts, antiques and work by local artisans, with some gourmet foods and such thrown in. Running the register is easy.”
He felt his jaw drop at her willingness to take a chance on someone she’d just met, and a warm ember of something long forgotten flickered to life in his chest. He hadn’t remembered that people in the outside world could offer trust so easily. Then again, she didn’t know where he’d been for the past five years.
“You could be making a big mistake, offering a job to a complete stranger.”
“I won’t be, if you fill out the application,” she said with a tentative smile. “Believe me, I always follow up on references and do background checks. Anyway, I’ve been saying some prayers, so maybe this was meant to happen. You could use some short-term work and, at the very least, that’s what I need. How much better could it be?”
If she only knew.
He hesitated then shook his head. “I appreciate your offer. But I think I’d better look around town a little more, if it’s all the same to you.”
* * *
Long after Connor disappeared down the sidewalk, Keeley stood at the front bay window of the store and stared after him. What had just happened? There were a number of big-name horse breeders and trainers in the county, but an honest-to-goodness Texas cowboy had never, ever, walked into her store—boots and all.
Much less one who looked like that.
Tall and muscular with broad shoulders and raven-black hair, he’d made her heart stumble the moment he’d walked into her store. His dark five o’clock shadow had drawn her attention to his strong jaw and the flash of white, even teeth when he’d briefly smiled.
He looked like someone who could take on any challenge with the laconic, easy grace of a man straight out of the Old West. But it was his long, dark lashes and those silver-blue eyes that had made her heartbeat stumble. The emotions lurking in those stunning eyes spoke of pain, and loss, and suffering, and had called to her at the deepest level.
She was still standing at the window, frozen in place, when her friend Beth Stone, owner of the bookstore down the street, waved at her from the sidewalk and came inside.
“You look a bit shell-shocked. Is everything all right?” Propping her umbrella in the entryway, Beth tucked a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and scanned the shop. “But of course not. This is Edna’s last day. Is she already gone?”
Keeley blinked, still reeling from the cowboy’s unexpected appearance. “She came in earlier to say goodbye and is well on her way to Florida. The store already feels empty without her.”
“She was always such a hoot. And she was so cute—always imagining herself a matchmaker but never quite getting it right. She was certain her nephew Ken was just the man for you.”
Keeley stifled an inward cringe. For all her wonderful qualities, this had been the one small catch when working with Edna.
She and her elderly cronies in this small town enjoyed arranging introductions and pushing their prey along the road to wedded bliss. But Ken was bald, paunchy and old enough to be Keeley’s father, with four wild teenagers and—the biggest barrier of all—he wasn’t a believer.
Edna had tried to work her matchmaking skills on Keeley and Ken for the past two years, but it was so not going to happen.
“She always had a good heart, trying to make people happy,” Keeley said tactfully.
Beth chuckled. “So true. I’ll miss that, and I’ll miss teasing her about her beloved Wisconsin Badgers. So...any prospects for her replacement?”
“I did have a drop-in of sorts, just before you arrived.” Keeley felt the back of her neck warm. “A cowboy stopped in—”
“A cowboy? Here?”
“From Texas, apparently. He’s heading for Detroit but had car trouble and will be around for a while.”
Beth’s gaze drifted to the lace displays. The glass case showcasing antique jewelry. The pretty dried-flower arrangements. “This is the most girlie shop in town. You really found a guy who’d be good at this sort of thing?”
“Not exactly.” Keeley managed a wry smile. “You and I both know how bad I am at hiring people. The only time I ever got it right was when I found Edna.”
She’d wanted to hire a replacement early so she and Edna could both work on training the new clerk before the annual Aspen Creek Antique Walk next weekend—the busiest sales days of the year and the crucial beginning of spring tourist season.
But her first hire had failed to show up. The second had found making correct change an impossible feat and saw customers as a bother when they interrupted her personal phone calls. The third had lasted two days and then walked out for good—apparently with a number of lovely antique rings and bracelets in her pocket.
And since then not one person had answered her advertisement in the paper. Not one.
Keeley shuddered, remembering all the reasons why she desperately needed help, and soon. Long-term. Temporary. Anyone. The first honest, dependable person she could find.
That brought her thoughts right back to the tall, dark and unwilling cowboy.
“So this guy stopped in. And?” Beth prompted.
“I’d just finished praying. I’ve been so frustrated trying to find a new employee that I just turned it over to God and promised to hire the very first person who walked in—if they wanted a job.”
Beth’s eyes sparkled. “And?”
“The cowboy came in to escape the rain, and it was such perfect timing that I thought maybe it was a sign from above. But he wasn’t interested.”
Beth’s face fell. “Too bad.”
“Exactly. I need to be here to run the store, but you know what it’s like with my dad these days. I might have to leave at a moment’s notice, if he needs me. Know anyone who wants a job?”
“Believe me, I would send them right over. It took me three whole months to replace my last assistant manager.” Shaking her head in commiseration, Beth set a small white bakery box on the counter by the cash register. “I brought this for Edna’s farewell, but she’s already gone. So if it’s any consolation, here’s something from Sweetie’s Bake Shop. Nothing like a nice sugar overload to lift your spirits, right?”
“At this point, I sure hope so. Can we share it?”
A heavy roll of thunder vibrated the oak flooring beneath their feet and Beth frowned. “I’d better get back to my store before the deluge starts again. Have you heard the severe-weather warnings on the radio?”
“Rain and more rain. A chance of flooding for the next five days. Just what we need.”
Beth laughed at that as she headed for the front door and picked up her umbrella. “I’ll be praying for you, Keeley. Hopefully your next applicant will be perfect.”
Chapter Two (#u6ad09821-0572-5b6e-a3f4-0a1dccdd97ab)
Keeley North hadn’t been kidding.
By five o’clock Connor knew that looking for a job in Aspen Creek and actually finding one were two different things. He’d walked every block, checking store windows for Help Wanted signs. If seasonal jobs had been available this spring, they’d already been snapped up.
The lodging situation wasn’t any better.
He hadn’t bothered checking out the B and Bs in the grand old homes, but even the handful of seedy strip motels in town were too expensive. At least the campground would be cheap. Set along the banks of Aspen Creek a mile north of town, according to the tow-truck driver, it was just five bucks a night and even included a building with showers.
He could pitch his one-man backpacking tent and manage on basic fare cooked over his camp stove for the next two weeks, no problem there. He’d already done the same and enjoyed the open sky for two nights on the road while on his way to Detroit. Even a primitive campsite was better than prison walls.
Now he sat hunkered over the classifieds and a cup of coffee in a truck-stop café at the south end of town, looking for any opportunities he might have missed. He’d passed some beautiful horse-breeding farms and training facilities on his way here—rolling hills, white fences, fancy barns. One, the Bar-B Quarter Horse Ranch about fifty miles back, had made him long to saddle a green colt once again. Those were the kinds of places where his background would be a perfect fit.
But none of them was advertising for help.
The only jobs listed were those he wasn’t suited for. Nurses. Home health aides. Day-care providers. A nanny for infant triplets.
The last one made him shudder.
He glanced heavenward, a rusty prayer forming in his thoughts. Then he just sighed, dropped a couple of bucks on the table and stood.
The kind and loving God of his childhood Sunday-school days sure hadn’t bothered to answer his prayers whenever he’d really needed help, and Connor hadn’t been on speaking terms with God for a long, long time. Why would He care now?
Connor shouldered his duffel bag and headed north on Main toward the campground, thankful that the rain had stopped.
He pulled to an abrupt halt.
Across the street, an old black New Yorker sedan pulled away from the curb and lurched to a stop in the middle of the street. Then the elderly driver laboriously backed up over the curb and swung across the sidewalk, apparently planning to execute a slow-motion three-point turn using the empty lot next to Keeley’s store.
But the car kept going back.
And back.
Until it bumped into a tall wooden ladder propped against the flat roof of the two-story building.
Then the car lurched forward into the street and lumbered away, the driver clearly oblivious to the destruction in his wake as the ladder teetered...then crashed to the ground.
Connor shook his head in disbelief. Did that old duffer even have a driver’s license? At least no one had been on the ladder, which now lay in splinters.
Movement at the top of the building caught his eye and he lifted his gaze to see Keeley standing on the flat-topped roof with a dumbfounded expression, a hammer in one hand and her other hand propped on her slim hip.
His heart took an extra beat.
“Dad,” she shouted, clearly exasperated. “Come back here!”
The car continued down the street at a turtle’s pace.
“Dad!”
The sidewalks were deserted; no other cars were coming down Main. Keeley’s attention swiveled to Connor. “Hey,” she called down to him. “Can you help me?”
Connor walked across the street to the empty lot and studied the splintered ladder. “I think this one is toast. Got another one somewhere?”
She mumbled something he didn’t make out and he couldn’t help but grin up at her. He couldn’t see what she’d been working on, but she was the cutest handyman he’d ever seen, bar none.
“I’ll take that as a no. Want me to call 9-1-1? The fire department or the police?”
“Oh, no. Please no,” she said fervently. “I’d never hear the end of it. Neither would my dad, and he would not handle it well, believe me.”
“Was that ladder the only way up there? Isn’t there an inside stairwell?”
“There is, but only to the second floor. And right now, the trick is getting from here to there. The old iron fire-escape ladder is too weak to use.”
“Isn’t that a fire-code violation?”
“Of course it is. Just last week I had a contractor look at leaks in the roof and give me an estimate on replacing the fire escape.”
The lowering sun backlit her cloud of honey-blond hair, making it gleam with sparkling highlights, though her face was cast in shadow. He suspected she was frowning at him, maybe debating her next move. “So how can I help?”
“Could you go into the store and up the stairs by the storeroom in back? The door’s locked, but there’s a key hanging from a leather thong behind a picture of my mom, just to the left.”
“Now that sounds really secure,” he muttered.
She laughed. “I heard that. But it certainly shows me you’ve never lived in a small town like Aspen Creek. After you come upstairs, go through my apartment to the kitchen in back. If you could just unlock the French doors, then I can jump down onto the second-floor balcony and get back inside without anyone else—like the whole fire department—learning about my dad’s little mistake. Okay?”
He dutifully wound his way through the store, past the glittering chandeliers and stained-glass lamps, old rockers and ornately carved tables glowing in the warm light with the patina of well-loved old age.
With every step he kept an eye out for the fragile doodads parked on every flat surface and hoped he could make it past without knocking anything to the floor.
He expected more of the same—fuss and frills and probably mind-numbing pink ruffles everywhere in Keeley’s personal space. Instead the bright and airy upstairs apartment was like the woman herself—welcoming and classy with its cream walls, white wooden blinds and an eclectic mix of antique and modern furnishings that invited rather than overwhelmed.
But while the apartment felt welcoming, his first step out onto the tipsy balcony in back made him shudder.
At the far edge of the tiny platform he could see the top bar of a wrought-iron fire escape dangling toward the ground, but the wood-plank flooring of the balcony showed ample evidence of rot. Reaching that ladder to escape a fire seemed more risky than just going for a two-story leap off the edge.
The rusted wrought-iron fire-escape ladder heading up to the roof looked even worse.
“None of this is safe,” he called out to her. “I think I’m going to call 9-1-1 after all.”
She peered over the roof edge above him. “No, don’t—please. I’m going to just dangle over the edge and drop lightly. It’ll be fine.”
Maybe until her feet hit the fragile planks and went right through.
“If it’s so fine, why didn’t you set up a ten-foot ladder on the balcony to get up there in the first place?”
“The contractor said the balcony was still serviceable, but I agree with you. It’s one of the next projects on my list.”
Connor eyed the spindly railing and weakened floorboards. “If he thought this was okay, then I’d say he isn’t the guy you want to hire. You need someone with more common sense.”
“Look—I can handle this on my own, now that you’ve unlocked the door. I just need you to step back inside so I don’t land on you. I’ll be careful.”
Connor stepped into the doorway, with one foot still on the balcony.
A moment later she slowly backed over the edge of the roof, her feet dangling a few feet above the floorboards. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into the kitchen before she could drop.
Dressed as she was in a heavy gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, she felt surprisingly delicate and light in his arms, and the soft scent of some sort of flowery perfume wafted into the room.
When was the last time he’d inhaled such a wonderful scent? He couldn’t remember.
“Ooof!” she exclaimed as he quickly released her and stepped back. “Thanks.”
It had been at least six years since he’d held a woman in his arms, and he felt an unaccustomed warmth flowing through him that settled in his chest and robbed him of breath. “Uh...no problem.”
“I really do owe you,” she murmured, averting her gaze as she dusted her hands against her jeans. A rosy blush brightened her cheeks. “You have no idea how much I wanted to avoid having Todd show up—he’s a deputy in town—or the fire-department guys. You can be sure it would’ve been front-page news in the local paper, complete with photographs. Like I said, I would never live it down. And my dad...”
She closed her eyes briefly, clearly cringing at the thought.
“He’s...” Connor hesitated. “Quite a driver.”
Her mouth twitched, and then she laughed softly. “That has to be the understatement of the year. But I promise you, I’ll be taking his keys away. I won’t let him get behind the wheel again and risk someone’s life.”
The small kitchen, with its white cupboards and yellow-checkered curtains, had seemed as bright and airy as the rest of the apartment, but now he felt the walls closing in on him.
Maybe it was the claustrophobia he’d been fighting since walking out of the prison doors.
Maybe it was his increasing awareness of her sparkling green eyes and her creamy skin, or his sudden curiosity about what it might be like to hold her in his arms just one more time. But that was a bad idea.
His ex-wife had provided a painful lesson on the risks of judging women based on beauty, and there was no room in his life for any ties at any rate. The moment his truck was fixed, he needed to be back on the road.
He cleared his throat. “I guess I’d better be going.”
He turned for the door to go downstairs, but she touched his arm and he froze at the warmth of her hand.
“Please—wait. Did you find a job in town?”
He knew what she was going to ask, even before she spoke. He shook his head.
“Have you given any more thought to working here?”
He looked over his shoulder, ready to say no and be on his way, but the hope in her eyes stopped him short. “I wouldn’t be much use. As soon as my truck’s done I need to hit the road, no matter what.”
Her expression inexplicably brightened, though how she heard anything positive in his reply escaped him.
“I totally understand, and that’s fine. Even a week or two would help. Would you be willing to fill out a job application, just in case you change your mind?”
He swallowed hard, knowing it was only fair to tell her the truth before this went any further. A burning wave of humiliation rushed through him over what he now had to reveal to this pretty young woman—one who had probably never received so much as a parking ticket.
“You really wouldn’t want me here.”
“Why not?” A teasing glint sparkled in her eyes. “It isn’t like you’ve just landed on Mars, you know. The store may be slanted to female customers, but the job is easy.”
She sure was determined, he’d give her that. He sighed. “There are things you don’t know about me, ma’am.”
She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. “Just put it all on the application. You seem like a nice guy, so I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”
That was what she thought.
At the cash-register counter, she handed him another application and a pen, and motioned to the ice-cream table and chair by the front window. “Just have a seat. It won’t take long.”
Defeated by her perseverance and the ingrained Texas manners that precluded arguing with a lady, he skimmed over the application.
There were four places to list previous employers, and his job history certainly had a suspicious five-year hole in it. What should he write there—inmate? Infirmary worker while incarcerated at the Eagle Creek State Prison in Montana?
The job before that was “rodeo cowboy” and before that he’d been the hardworking son of a Texas rancher. Fixing fences, training horses and raising cattle were hardly good work experiences for the kind of employee she needed.
But the part he’d expected—listing past convictions—wasn’t on the form. Maybe times had changed and those details couldn’t be asked.
Yet he couldn’t lie and he wouldn’t hide the truth. He fixed his weary gaze on the glittering baubles hanging over the front counter. “As much as I could use the money, I’m really not your guy.”
She tipped her head and smiled at him. “The cash register is super easy, I promise.”
He sighed heavily. “Your application form doesn’t ask about legal history.”
She blinked, clearly not expecting a comment like that, and drew back. “And?”
“It should.” He fished in his back pocket for his billfold and withdrew a folded photocopy of a newspaper article, smoothed it out on the counter and then handed it to her. “Read this.”
Her mouth dropped open at the headline. She darted a quick look at him then read the brief article he already knew by heart, word for word.
Texan Connor Rafferty, sentenced to life without parole for the murder of Sheriff Carl Dornan, has served five years in the Eagle Creek State Prison. Recent DNA evidence has exonerated Rafferty of all charges and he has been released. No one else has been charged, but state investigators say the case is ongoing...
“Five years,” she breathed, giving him a searching look. “Five years of your life gone and they were wrong?”
He’d expected doubt, suspicion, even instant fear of a man she might still believe to be a cop killer despite laboratory evidence to the contrary. He’d expected her to order him out of her store. He hadn’t expected to see the sympathy in her eyes.
He hitched a shoulder. “That’s about it. But right now I’m just thankful to be free.”
“I can’t imagine what it was like for you.” She shook her head slowly. “And for your poor family.”
“Nothing good.” He tucked the article back into his wallet. “I don’t think you want a guy fresh out of prison at your cash register.”
Her brows drew together as she searched his face. “But you weren’t guilty, right?”
“No. But I spent five years behind bars and I’ll be marked by that injustice forever.”
“Maybe you should give people a chance to prove you wrong.”
“Is it worth the risk? If word about my past spreads, people might be afraid to come into your store.”
“You aren’t exactly unique. Marvella Peters is a beautician in town, and one of her nephews in Chicago was released from prison for burglary two years ago. The same situation—based on DNA.” She thought for a moment. “And I saw a television show about this sort of thing, too. At least you aren’t the poor man who put in thirty years before proven innocent.”
He’d spent his years in prison knowing he’d never be freed, given the enormity of the charges against him and a federal sentence without chance of parole. A bleak, suffocating sense of hopelessness had weighed on his chest every minute of every day.
God had forgotten him well before his incarceration and he’d given up on prayer long before that. But now he felt a tentative flare of hope and silent words began to form into a rusty, awkward plea. Was it really possible to start over? To be given a chance?
Please, God. Let it be true. But even as he breathed that prayer, he knew it wasn’t possible.
His own father had never cared enough to forgive him and offer him another chance, so why would the Almighty?
“I’m really sorry, and I hope you won’t be offended, but—” Keeley bit her lower lip. “I—I do need to check out your story. Can I photocopy that article?”
“Of course.”
It would be an easy way out for her, once she thought this through a little longer. A delay, followed by a tactful withdrawal of her job offer.
He didn’t expect anything more.
Chapter Three (#ulink_5de08f6e-984d-5642-8d13-34b4bb824abb)
The next day Keeley stopped at the sheriff’s office during her lunch break feeling decidedly upbeat. Finally. An employee—and one she felt good about hiring. Was God finally answering her prayers and maybe using her to give this man a new start?
It didn’t take long to receive a second opinion on Connor Rafferty.
“How much worse could this guy be?” Deputy Todd Hansmann shoved the job application back across his desk and threw up his hands in disgust. “An ex-con? Are you crazy?”
Keeley rolled her eyes. His irritable tone confirmed that she’d been right to firmly decline Todd’s occasional offers for dinner or a movie when she’d first moved back to Aspen Creek.
Now he was engaged to a take-charge redhead named Nina, who didn’t take sass from anyone and who managed the one grocery store in town. They seemed like a perfect match.
“No, I’m not crazy.” She stabbed her forefinger at the photocopied newspaper clipping. “If I was, I would’ve hired him without checking out his story. But I’ve read about counterfeiters making currency with a computer, so I wanted to make sure this newspaper article wasn’t faked. Can you verify this for me?”
He snorted. “Lorraine is running a background check right now. But since he spent five years in the slammer, there must have been some mighty compelling evidence to lock him up in the first place. If he got released on some technicality—”
“DNA is not a technicality. It’s proof. Right?”
“But he got arrested, Keel. The cops must have had good reason to be suspicious. If he was just some innocent, random guy, why did they ever consider him? Maybe he has a long history of being a troublemaker.”
“Exonerated, it says,” Keeley repeated, her light mood dissipating.
“That aside, prison changes a man, Keel. And not for the better. I still think—” At the buzz of the intercom on his desk, Todd pushed his chair back. “Just hold on a minute.”
Five minutes later he was back with several pages of printouts in hand, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant grimace. “Lorraine finished the background check. Apparently his story is true.”
“So someone in law enforcement was careless and he paid for their mistakes?”
“There were DNA errors, apparently. His legal record has been wiped clean. Uh... Lorraine even found some articles about the case and his release through the National Registry of Exonerations.”
A feeling of jubilation bubbled up in Keeley’s chest. “I told you!”
“You still shouldn’t take any chances.”
“Really, Todd.”
“Think about the kind of prisoners he’s been associating with...and about that last new employee of yours. Mandy. Candy—whatever her name was.”
“Mindy. I hardly think this guy would abscond with froufrou from the store.”
Todd’s eyes narrowed on her. “No, but he might run off with the cash register. Does your brother know about this? Your sister?”
They’d all gone to elementary through high school together here in town, so he knew her siblings well enough to track them down and give each a call.
Brad, a doctor in Cleveland, and Liza, a tax attorney in St. Paul, would have plenty to say if they learned of Keeley’s plans, and knowing Todd, they would probably be finding out all too soon.
She tried to hold back her rising irritation. “Why would this matter to them? They aren’t partners in my store, Todd. I don’t answer to anyone but myself.”
“Still—”
“I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision.” She reached across the counter and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks for the background check.”
He glowered at her. “So you’re going to hire a felon.”
She bit back a sharp retort and summoned a more reasonable tone. “Is he still a felon if proved innocent via irrefutable proof?”
She’d come here to make sure Connor’s story was true. That accomplished, it was time to leave before she said something she would regret. “I was really happy to hear about your engagement, by the way. Say hi to Nina for me, okay?”
Todd waved away the pleasantries and made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Did you know that they’ve never found another suspect for that murder? None? I hope that makes you think twice.”
* * *
Keeley left the sheriff’s office fuming at Todd’s unwavering opinion about her lack of common sense.
But with the help of a hot dog plus a large Heath Bar Blizzard for lunch at the Dairy Queen, followed by a fast-paced, twenty-minute walk, she’d calmed down enough to realize that she at least owed it to herself to check out Connor’s story a little further.
Maybe she was a tad impetuous at times—not that she’d admit it to Todd or her father—and she often led with her heart instead of her head when it came to assessing people and their intentions. But was that so wrong?
Maybe at times, as evidenced by the last three clerks she’d hired. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that she could understand Todd’s concern.
She’d been stunned when Connor walked into her shop moments after she’d recklessly promised God—in prayer, which surely must be binding—that she’d trust Him and would offer a job to the next person who walked into her store.
But she’d expected a nicely dressed middle-aged woman to come in the door—her usual sort of clientele—not a tall, lean cowboy whose handsome, chiseled face belonged on a hero in a Western movie. And she hadn’t exactly expected he’d be fresh out of prison, either—no matter what the circumstances of his incarceration. Had Connor been completely honest with her?
She’d felt a shiver of instant attraction when he’d come into her store, and when he’d briefly held her in his arms while helping her down from the roof, her pulse had kicked into overdrive and her stomach had fluttered. She’d felt the warmth of an embarrassing blush rise to her face.
But whatever her foolish reaction might have been to this stranger, she would be stupid not to check out his story even further. His thick black hair, silvery blue eyes and strong jaw might be compelling, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy.
Keeley got back in her car and drove slowly past Red’s Mechanic Shop & Wrecker Service. The three garage doors were all open, revealing a trio of SUVs in the service bays.
Her heart dropped. Just as she’d feared, there wasn’t a pickup in sight. Had Connor lied about the reason he was in town?
Maybe he’d just been casing her store...
At that thought, she had to laugh.
With her current financial state, there would be little cash to steal, and what interest could he possibly have in costume jewelry, local artists and pretty little antiques?
She turned around, pulled into the parking area and went looking for Red. He was sitting with his feet propped up at his desk in the cramped office, his thick fingers stained black with grease and motor oil, eating a sandwich.
He waved her toward a chair filled with a haphazard stack of invoices. “So how’s that New Yorker running, missy?”
At thirty-one, she was still “missy” to the man who had been fixing her dad’s cars for forty years. She smiled. “Like a clock. You do great work.”
“It ought to last another hundred thousand, but I’m not so sure about your dad, though.”
“That he’ll last that long?”
“That he oughta drive that long. I hear he had a little trouble yesterday afternoon.”
She fidgeted with her keys. “Oh?”
“Millie Ferguson was closing up her shop and saw him make some pretty strange moves on Main.”
Keeley groaned. Knitting Pretty was across the street from her own shop and just a couple of doors down. Its bay windows offered Millie a stellar view of everything happening on Main. She never missed a thing, and she never hesitated to share it.
“How did you hear about that?”
“At the coffee shop this morning. Good thing no one else was on the street.”
“Did...she say anything else?”
He chuckled. “Only that she saw a handsome cowboy talking to you yesterday. And she said she’s gonna keep a sharp eye out for your dad’s car and stay out of his way.”
If Dad’s little accident was already fodder for the coffee-shop crowd, then the whole town knew. “I just hope no one razzes him about it.”
“I imagine they will. No doubt about it.” He took another bite and continued talking around the mouthful. “So what can I do for you?”
Well, this was awkward. “I, um... Nothing, really. I heard you towed in a pickup yesterday.”
He lowered the sandwich and winked. “The cowboy. Is he a close friend of yours, by any chance?”
She could see the Aspen Creek gossip mill churning if she didn’t make things perfectly clear. “Actually, he might work at my store for a couple weeks while he’s waiting for his truck. But I was just driving by and didn’t see it on any of your lifts.”
“It’s parked out back.”
Relief washed through her. “Thanks.”
“I’ll get to it as soon as I can. But maybe you’ll want him to stick around longer.” Red grinned and reached over to give her a pat on the shoulder with a beefy paw. “I’ve never been one to stand in the way of true love, you know.”
She cringed at the way he warbled out the last words.
Red had always liked to tease her whenever she’d stopped here with Dad as a little girl. Now she wished she hadn’t come by to snoop. “Nothing of the kind,” she said firmly. “He’s just a potential employee.”
Red gave her a knowing look as he took another bite of his sandwich. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Whatever you say.”
That meant the diner crowd would likely be hearing another chapter of her life the next time Red stopped in for his favorite rhubarb pie.
She was just climbing into her Honda SUV when Red came to the open door of his shop. “Your cowboy stopped by just an hour ago and fetched the rest of his camping gear from the back of his truck. If you need to find him, check out the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. But keep an eye on the weather, honey. Looks like more storms are rolling in.”
“Thanks, Red.” Turning for Dad’s two-story brick house on Cedar, she flipped on the radio and mulled her options as she drove through town. Okay, Lord. Unless You give me a big sign, I’m going to give that cowboy another chance to say yes.
As she pulled to a stop in front of her father’s house, her heart fell. “Dad? What on earth...?”
She shouldered on her Marmot rain jacket and hurried up the cement walk leading to his front porch, where Paul North sat on the porch swing in a wet short-sleeved shirt, huddled into himself and obviously chilled to the bone. “You’ll catch pneumonia out here. Why aren’t you inside?”
He shot an irritable glance at her. “Bart.”
“The dog?” She glanced around the empty front yard. “Where is he?”
He hiked a thumb toward the house. “He must’ve jumped against the door and shut it while I was getting my mail.”
Right. She shut her eyes briefly at the thought of her elderly father walking the two blocks to the post office then losing his keys. “You went in the rain? Without a jacket?”
“It wasn’t raining when I left,” he snapped.
“This is important, Dad. What if I hadn’t stopped by? What if it was colder outside? You could end up in the hospital.” She fingered through her keys and unlocked the heavy oak front door. “Do you remember where we put your extra keys after the last time you got locked out?”
“Of course I do. They’re gone.”
She went to the farthest brick pillar supporting the porch roof, felt for the single loose brick, retrieved the slim metal box behind it and held it up for him to see. “Right in here, Dad.”
He gave her hand a blank look then shrugged. “Then you didn’t put them back right the last time. Too far back.”
Stifling an exasperated sigh, she held the door open for him and ushered him inside. He’d locked himself out before—without the unlikely help of his crotchety, lazy old dog—hence the keys hidden at both the front and back doors. He was just seventy-three, but now the trick was for him to remember where they were.
One more sign that his independence was fading and her responsibility for him had to increase—despite his stubborn refusal. “You need one of those medical alert necklaces, Dad. Push a button and help is on the way.”
He visibly shuddered. “Over my dead, cold body.”
“Or if you’d just put your cell phone in your pocket every morning and keep it there, you could call for help if you locked yourself out or fell—”
“I’m not an invalid,” he growled as he shuffled across the kitchen to the central hallway and the staircase leading to the second-floor bedrooms. “I’m going up to take a hot shower.”
Frustration welled up in her chest as she watched him disappear down the hall. She stopped by as often as she could and never knew what she might find. “I’ll be back in an hour and make some supper, okay?” she called out to him.
“Suit yourself.” A few minutes later she heard the distant slam of his bedroom door.
Even on his best days he could be short-tempered—especially if anything occurred to highlight his lapses in memory or judgment. She understood that he feared the eventual loss of his independence, she really did.
But still.
Was it too much to expect a bit of kindness from him when she tried to help? He often seemed to think she was an enemy now. She sighed heavily as she looked heavenward and prayed for patience.
I’m trying my best, God. Please—just give me strength and help me keep him safe.
She touched the local weather app on her iPhone, glanced at yet another line of approaching rain on the Doppler radar screen and hurried to her car.
There’d been no responses to her Help Wanted ad in the paper today, so she would try to find Connor, ask him one last time and pray he would agree.
It was probably a waste of time trying to track down someone who didn’t want to work for her. Once again, he was going to refuse.
But with just seven days until the biggest tourist weekend of the year, what were the chances of finding anyone else in time?
* * *
With rain falling yet again, starting a campfire was hopeless. Connor grabbed his shaving kit, a towel and change of clothes, and headed for the two-sided, concrete-block pavilion that offered shade and shelter for a dozen picnic tables, with restrooms and shower facilities in the attached building behind.
He settled on one of the picnic tables under the dim illumination of a hanging lightbulb and pulled out an old Lee Child novel from his kit. But his thoughts kept wandering and he finally tossed the book aside to stare out at the rain as his memories flooded back.
Josh in his fuzzy purple pajamas, laughing as he raced around the house to avoid story time because that meant bedtime. Making motor noises as he played with his tractors, pretending he was plowing the carpet.
The fresh, clean scent of him after bath time, his cheeks rosy and his dark, wet hair standing up in spikes that made him imagine he was a dinosaur.
He’d been four then; would he remember any of those days? Anything at all? Or would he be frightened when he saw Connor again for the first time in years? If I can get you back, you’re going to have a safe, happy life, little cowboy—I promise you that.
The boy’s life sure hadn’t started that way.
The marriage had been troubled from the beginning, starting with the cute buckle bunny who’d swept Connor off his feet. He had never regretted Joshua’s arrival—not for a second. But the shotgun marriage was something he and Marsha had both come to regret.
They’d been just twenty-one. He’d had to follow the rodeo circuit, while she’d resented being trapped at home with an unplanned baby. Their initial mutual infatuation had quickly dimmed.
But Connor hadn’t wanted a divorce. He’d prayed that he and Marsha could find some calm middle ground—maybe even come to love each other—to give their child a stable, peaceful home.
Just more prayers that God hadn’t seen fit to answer.
During his last year in prison, he’d tried attending Bible study for a while, needing something—anything—that could give him answers and a sense of peace about his past in the midst of the desolation he’d felt over his incarceration. He hadn’t found the answers he’d wanted.
Hard-hearted, just like your dad.
The words came out of nowhere—as loud and clear as if the accusation had been spoken inside his head.
And with them came an onslaught of bitter memories.
Chris and Dan had been the hardworking sons, the ones who’d managed to get along with Dad, while Connor had been the rebel who’d bucked authority and refused to bend.
His teen years had been pure misery...except for competing in high-school rodeo. That had been the ticket to send Connor off on the college circuit...then into the pros after graduation.
Dad had been furious, but rodeo was Connor’s life. All he’d ever wanted to do, and he’d never looked back.
Dad’s disgust when Connor had called home to tell him about the baby and his sudden marriage had sealed the deal. There’d been no more phone calls from anyone at the ranch after that. Josh had never even met his uncles and grandfather.
What kind of man showed no interest in his grandson? He hadn’t even bothered to show up at Connor’s murder trial a few states away, either. As far as Connor knew, no one at the ranch had ever checked on the outcome...and Connor had been too proud to write.
Even as his old anger and hurt started to simmer, that same inner voice told Connor exactly what he didn’t want to hear.
It’s not only Dad’s fault. A bigger man would go back and apologize for the pain he’d caused.
Connor turned his cell phone over in his hand, wondering what he’d hear if he called the ranch after all these years.
Probably just the old man slamming the receiver down once more.
Why give him that chance?
Connor shoved his cell into the back pocket of his jeans and headed for the camp shower building...though his inner voice refused to stay quiet.
But what about Josh—doesn’t he deserve to know his grandpa? His uncles? If you wait too long, someday it will be too late.
* * *
A mile out of town Keeley turned off the highway onto the long gravel road leading to the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. She pulled to a stop by the concrete-block picnic pavilion overlooking the creek and surveyed the nearly deserted campsites.
Two pop-up camping trailers were barely visible through the trees. A 1970s motor home stood parked at the far end of the central clearing with no sign of any inhabitants. There were no tents, and no wonder, with the heavy storms that had been sweeping through the county since last night. Even now, raindrops were pattering on the roof of her car and a distant flash of lightning pierced the dense forest to the west.
This was a lovely campground—typical for this part of Wisconsin—but anyone with common sense would opt out of tent camping during weather like this.
She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. Had Connor chosen a more isolated spot somewhere else in the heavily wooded, hundred-acre park? If so, the possibility of finding him was almost nil now that ominous clouds hid the early evening sun, turning the landscape to deepening shades of gray.
Shifting her car into Drive, she started forward. Then slammed on the brakes.
She felt a little shiver of awareness even before Connor rounded the back of the building wearing a long, cowboy-style oilskin raincoat, a towel flung over his shoulder and a shaving kit dangling from his fingertips. The overhead security lights gave her a good glimpse of his face before he turned and sauntered toward the campsites along the creek. He didn’t glance in her direction.
Her heart gave an extra thud—yet again—and she inhaled a shaky breath. Oh, my.
Now he was clean-shaven, his wet hair slicked back. But it wasn’t just that he looked like some broad-shouldered, hard-edged heartthrob—she’d learned her lesson long ago about how little a handsome face mattered over the long haul. It was something far deeper that drew her.
The pain and sorrow she’d seen in his eyes.
His stubborn honesty about his past.
And the way he’d come to her rescue like some cowboy in an old Western movie, by circling her waist with his strong, capable hands and helping her off the roof...then breaking the awkward moment afterward with a disarming flash of humor.
She saw him moving at a faster clip toward the pines along the creek bank, and if she didn’t gather her thoughts, she was going to lose him.
She rolled down her window. “Hey, cowboy!”
He turned in surprise and waited as she drove up beside him.
“Nice night for camping,” she said with a smile.
“As long as the wind stays down.” A corner of his mouth kicked up as he glanced toward the black, roiling clouds rapidly building over the treetops to the west. “What brings you way out here?”
“I think you know,” she said dryly.
He studied her for a long moment then sighed. “You checked out my story.”
She nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “I have an old friend at the sheriff’s office, and he got right on it.”
Connor stilled. “And?”
“I really do need help now. When the college kids come back for summer break, I can probably hire one of them for the tourist season, but—”
“All right.”
“Though that’s six weeks away and by then you’ll be long gone anyway, so—” She faltered to a stop and stared at him. “Wait a minute. You’ll do it?”
“You were right. I could use the cash, so if you need help, I’m game.” He gave the sky another glance. “If this weather keeps up, I might need to pay for a place to stay that actually has a roof.”
Relief washed through her. “I open at ten on Saturdays, so can you come in tomorrow—say, nine o’clock? I could pick you up.”
“No need.” The soft rain intensified and he pulled up the hood of his coat. “I just hope you don’t come to regret this. You might if folks find out about who you just hired.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_57ac03c6-3d8e-5991-8fc9-c53195a911c7)
“So as you can see, this cash register is really easy.” Keeley gave the drawer a firm shove to close it. “Any questions?”
“Nope.” But the store, with its thousands of frilly, sparkly, dangly things everywhere and the multitude of stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, made him want to go rope a steer. Bale hay. Anything that would be outside and far from town, where a man could drag in a deep breath and not inhale the scents of soaps and fancy creams and a forest of dried flower arrangements.
Why anyone would want a bunch of dead flowers instead of fresh ones, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I can tell you’re really loving this,” she said dryly. “So let’s get on with the tour, okay?”
He nodded and followed her into the storeroom, where deep shelving lined each wall from floor to ceiling. A worktable held a coffeemaker, gift wrap and a pile of shipping supplies. “I don’t suppose you’ve done much gift wrapping and shipping.”
“Nope.” He thought back over the difficult four years of his marriage. He’d hung in there, trying to make his son’s life normal and happy, but there hadn’t been much to celebrate with a wife who’d often met her girlfriends in bars, drank too much and didn’t always come home.
“Wrapping is easy.” She collected two gift boxes from the shelf over the table and pulled two lengths of bright pink paper from one of the rollers, then handed him a tape dispenser and scissors. “Just copy what I do, step by step.”
She led him through the process three times before she was satisfied, then showed him how to affix a Keeley’s Antiques & Gifts sticker and a bow on the top. “Easy, right?”
Bows and sparkly pink wrapping paper. What would his brothers think of him now? He thought longingly about stacking hay. Cleaning horse stalls. Wrestling calves for branding. “Uh...right.”
No wonder she’d seemed hesitant—even wary—when she’d first offered him a job. Desperate as she was to find help, even she must have seen that he wouldn’t be good at this.
“The shipping boxes are all stacked flat, but are super easy to make up.” She reached for one on an upper shelf and whipped it together in the blink of an eye. “You can use crumpled paper or the little air-filled cushioning pillows—in that box over there. No foam packing peanuts. I hate those peanuts.”
“What about sweeping around here? Mowing—and those maintenance projects you mentioned? I’d be better at that.”
“Yes, but you aren’t getting off that easy.”
Her eyes twinkled. “If I need to leave to check on my dad or need to run to an estate auction, for instance, I’ll need you to handle things here. I’ve already got a boy who comes to sweep and such after school. You’ll meet Bobby on Monday.”
He caught a flash of movement above head level to his left and spun around, expecting to catch something falling from a shelf.
A scrawny white cat glared down at him, its back arched and tail raised. With a torn ear and one eye closed, it looked like a pirate fallen on bad times. Its superior expression suggested that it knew Connor wasn’t much better off.
“Rags,” Keeley murmured as she deftly finished preparing and sealing another shipping box. “Any questions?”
“Rags?”
“The cat.”
“It looks...” He was at a loss for words. Maybe it was her prized possession, but it was the homeliest creature he’d ever seen.
“Worse for wear?” She smiled up at the furry beast, then reached into a dorm-size refrigerator under the counter, grabbed a can of cat food and pulled back the tab on the lid. She set it on the workbench. “He showed up a few weeks ago and I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He’s never let me touch him, but I’m working on it. Once we’re friends, I’ll catch him and get him vaccinated and neutered.”
“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Connor said dryly.
“Not his choice, given the feral-cat population around here.” She put the shipping materials away then turned to face Connor once more. “So—this is where my extra stock is. I’ve labeled the larger boxes clearly, and small items are in labeled plastic totes. If I’m not here and you have any questions, there’s a phone by the register and you can always call my cell.”
“I think I can handle it.”
She frowned. “Do you have a cell phone? In case I need to reach you?”
“Just a basic no-contract, prepaid phone I picked up in Montana. Text and calls, but no internet.”
“That works.” She reached for her back jeans’ pocket, took out her phone and punched in his number as he recited it to her, then gave him her number. “We’re all set, then.”
“You mentioned repairs.” He gestured toward a five-gallon pail strategically placed under a slowly dripping leak in the ceiling by the back wall. “Do you have a list?”
At that she rolled her eyes. “Sadly, more lists than I could keep track of. I finally had to start putting them all in a ring notebook along with a raft of estimates. Most of the jobs are big and will require more time than you’ll be here, or need to be done by someone licensed and bonded. I’ve got all that scheduled. But there are endless small jobs, believe me.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Three years. I’ve already done quite a bit to this place, but the building is older than a lot of my antiques, and it was empty for several years before I bought it. The repairs and updates just don’t end—and now I have a ticking clock, as it were.”
He moved to the window facing the alley and ran a hand over the water damage on the sill. “A deadline?”
A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “I’ve had a few financial problems and now I need to refinance a short-term reno loan within a couple months, plus my mortgage while the rates are still low.”
“Seems like this is a successful business, though.”
“Depends. Tourism plummeted last year due to a cold, wet spring and blistering-hot, humid summer. It was like a ghost town during our busy season. Not only that, but last year I had to replace the furnace and AC, and this year all of the plumbing. My dad still insists that I was a fool to buy this building, but I’m going to prove him wrong.” She heaved a sigh. “I hope.”
Connor whistled. “Bad year.”
She nodded. “The loan officer says he won’t refinance if the place isn’t fully up to code, and he’ll require a full inspection. There’s a lot of work left to do.”
“There must be contractors around here, though.”
“Some, but the best one is booked six months out. I’ve been on his schedule since February, for a number of projects.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Your job application listed past jobs as ranching and rodeo. I guess I don’t exactly know what your skills are.”
He laughed. “Not many that apply to this place.”
“So, you grew up on a ranch?”
“Yep. We raised cattle, horses and hay. But then a bad case of ‘bright lights and big city’ knocked me sideways. After graduating from college I ended up on the pro rodeo circuit for nine years.”
She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Can you go back to rodeo now?”
“I’ve been away too long, and championship-level rodeo is mostly a younger man’s sport, except something like team roping. Eventually I would’ve needed to stop and do something else anyway.”
“Like what?”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “That will take serious thought.”
“What about going back to your family’s ranch?”
He ignored the twinge of pain in his heart whenever he thought about the angry phone conversations with his dad during his first few years away from home—calls that had always ended with Dad slamming the phone into its cradle.
“Nope. That water went down the creek long time ago. As the oldest son, I was expected to head home after college and eventually take over, not go all over the country chasing dreams. My dad quit talking to me years ago.”
She reached out and rested a hand on his arm—a gesture that sent a warm rush of sensation straight to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“My incarceration sealed that deal anyway, but it’s all right. I’m thirty-three and it’s not too late to go back to grad school or vet school. That was my plan in the first place once I’d saved enough winnings on the rodeo circuit.”
Her brows drew together. “But still...it’s your family, Connor. Do you have any brothers or sisters? What about your mom?”
“Mom walked out on Dad while I was in high school and moved out East. She never came back. My younger brothers were bitter when I took off, because they were left behind to work on the ranch. But now they manage the whole spread, so they’ve got a good deal going.” He shrugged. “When I’ve got my future sorted out again, I’ll give them a call. But not before.”
She searched his face, her eyes filled with sympathy. “At least you’re free now and can get on with your life. Right?”
He nodded. It had been years since he’d held a hammer, but maybe working here could give him a current reference for when he started job hunting, after he’d dealt with Marsha in Detroit.
For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.
“I don’t know which of our dads is the bigger challenge,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “Mine used to be a general contractor. Just six months ago he was helping with the reno projects around here, but now his mind is failing and he’s more testy than ever. You never know what’s ahead in life, right?”
He almost laughed at that.
One day he’d been climbing into his pickup to reach the next rodeo up in Butte—the next he’d been behind bars and accused of murder.
And nothing—not his prayers to the God who no longer cared, not his lawyer and not even a witness who’d seen him that night elsewhere—had made one bit of difference.
Chapter Five (#ulink_81d4057f-082b-59d5-9035-eae64034b94c)
At five o’clock Keeley flipped the sign in the front window to Closed and peered out at cars driving past, windshield wipers on high. Thunder rumbled again, making the wood flooring beneath her feet vibrate.
“I cannot believe this is the third rainy day in a row. The forecasters say it’s a ‘stalled front.’ I’m just praying it decides to pack up and move on tomorrow.”
Connor came out of the back room, his Western-style oilskin coat draped over his arm. “Why then?”
“The Antique Walk starts Friday.”
“You’ve mentioned it before, but I’m still not sure what it involves.”
“There’s usually a big flea market at the fairgrounds, with a carnival and rides, but everything could end up a big, muddy mess if the ground doesn’t dry out first.”
“Sounds like quite an event.”
“It’s supposed to be. Several of the churches put up food tents, the 4-H clubs set up a petting zoo and the FFA—Future Farmers of America—club coordinates a tractor pull and a horse show. The quilters raffle some beautiful quilts for charity—the list goes on and on.” She bustled around the store, pulling down the window shades facing the sidewalk and adjusting the positioning of the merchandise. “But it only works out well if the weather is nice and we get the big crowds from Minneapolis and Chicago.”
She moved to the cash register and began counting the money into neat stacks, tallied the total and slipped the money into a zippered bank deposit bag to drop off on the way home.
“Last spring was cold and windy, so we had the smallest crowd in years. We ended up in the red on event costs and didn’t reach our donation goals for heart disease and cancer research, either.”
Connor walked to the front door and studied the sign displaying the store hours. “So, your store is open tomorrow afternoon?”
She nodded, dropped the bank deposit bag into her purse and grabbed her car keys from a drawer under the counter. “All of the stores in town are open Sunday afternoons. Weekends are the busiest times during high season, and none of us can afford to close for the entire day, even if we want to. It would really decimate the weekend traffic coming from the big cities.”
“So, do you want me to come in tomorrow?” He shouldered on his coat.
“I’d like you here every day, if possible. Your time in town will be short as it is.” She smiled. “You’ve caught on really fast and your help means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“The more hours, the better. Noon, then?”
“Perfect.” She eyed the light rain outside. “How on earth do you start a campfire when it’s this wet?”
“Can’t.”
“Then how will you cook your supper? Do you have a propane gas stove or something?”
“Something like that.” Thunder rumbled again as he opened the door to step outside. “G’night.”
“Wait.” Guilt lanced through her at the thought of him heading out into the rain. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hurried after him. “I’m definitely giving you a ride home tonight.”
He turned to face her, the rain sluicing down his coat. “I don’t mind the walk at all, ma’am.”
“I just had an idea. I’m heading over to Dad’s house to make supper and I’d like you to come along.”
“That isn’t necessary. Really.”
She waved away his protest. “Consider it a part of your workday, because this will help me a lot, as well. You can talk to Dad while I make supper and then you can eat with us. I am sure there’ll be a time or two when I need to send you over there, so it’ll help if he gets to know you. Maybe not anything about your, um, recent past, though. Not just yet.”
Frowning, he hitched a shoulder as if wanting to turn her down. “Well...”
She bit her lower lip. “I want to apologize in advance for anything Dad might say or do that seems rude. He wasn’t always that way. His doctor says it’s probably part of his dementia.”
A corner of Connor’s mouth kicked up into a brief grin. “Actually, it sounds just like home.”
Not for the first time, she wondered about what Connor’s life had been like before he’d ended up in prison.
Not always happy, apparently, from his hints about his troubled family life back at the ranch. Yet he’d been nothing but polite, with the subtle undercurrent of Texas charm that made her heart warm. Whatever he’d suffered during his unjust incarceration, he’d still managed to come through it as a kind and decent man. “So you’ll join us?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
This was strictly business—a way to help introduce Dad to this stranger. So why did she feel such a flicker of delight at his answer?
Connor would be leaving town in no time. She’d never see him again. And she’d already had too many lessons in the art of failed relationships to ever risk her heart again.
She would not—could not—have any personal interest in Connor Rafferty.
He raised an eyebrow and she realized she’d been staring at him while sorting out her thoughts. She scrambled for something else to say.
“Um, just steer clear of Dad’s dog and you’ll be fine.”
“I think I’ll manage...though it sounds like your dad might be the bigger challenge.”
She bit back a laugh. “I forgot. You had a career riding bulls or broncs or something equally intimidating. Right?”
“Saddle broncs.”
“So you can easily deal with a grumpy dog.” She ushered Connor out the back door of the shop and then locked the door behind them. “I’ve had a five-pound pot roast in Dad’s Crock-Pot since this morning, simmering away with plenty of fresh vegetables and garlic. I hope you’ll enjoy it more than a soggy campground and cold food.”
He flashed a smile that warmed her clear down to her toes. “On that score, I have no doubt.”
* * *
Once he’d heard about that beef roast, it would have taken a herd of stampeding Herefords to keep him from joining Keeley and her dad for dinner.
But now that they’d been at her dad’s house for an interminable hour, Connor wished he could tactfully leave despite the otherworldly aromas wafting into the family room from the kitchen.
Paul North sat in his La-Z-Boy recliner, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
He’d said nothing when Keeley introduced the two of them, and his icy demeanor hadn’t wavered since. Now and then he directed a glare in Connor’s direction.
If eyes could shoot flames, Connor would have been a pile of cinders by now. He shifted his weight on the leather sofa and tried another topic. “So...are you a sports fan?”
“No.”
Connor had never followed sports, so that would’ve been a dead end anyhow. “Golf?”
“No.”
“Camping? Hiking?”
Paul’s thick, steel-gray brows drew together in a frown. “Do I look like someone who would go camping?”
Connor glanced around the spacious room. Paneled in dark wood and cluttered with twice as much heavy furniture as it needed, and stacks of magazines on every flat surface, the room was so full that he’d even missed noticing the fireplace at first.
Toenails clicked on the hardwood floor and a white-muzzled, overweight dog appeared at the end of the sofa. It swiveled its head toward Paul then took a long, hard look at Connor, its teeth bared and hackles raised.
The dog and Paul had such similar personalities that Connor nearly laughed. “Nice dog.”
“Be careful. Bart doesn’t like anyone but me.” From the tone in his voice, Paul was proud of it, too.
But just then Bart ambled over to Connor, sniffed at the hem of his jeans, gave a sigh of contentment and planted his rear on the floor.
Connor reached down to ruffle the shaggy hair on his neck and scratch behind his ears. The old dog flopped down to rest his chin on Connor’s running shoe. In seconds he was snoring, his flaccid cheeks whuffling in and out with each wheezy breath.
Paul eyed his traitorous dog, and the old man’s bushy eyebrows lowered. “I guess he thinks you’re okay,” he muttered.
“Have you had him long?”
“Twelve years. He was a rescue from the animal shelter. No one wanted him till I came along, and we’ve been pals ever since.” A glimmer of a smile appeared briefly at the memory. “You have dogs?”
“I did, when I was still on my dad’s ranch in Texas. It was a long time ago.”
“A ranch?” Paul’s aloof expression faded. “I thought maybe you were some tramp.”
From the kitchen came the sound of a strangled laugh, and Keeley peered around the corner of the door. “Dad—for heaven’s sake. I told you he’s camping while his truck is being repaired. That doesn’t make him a hobo.”
When she disappeared back into the kitchen, Paul gave him a narrowed look. “A real ranch?”
Connor nodded, relieved to finally find some common ground. “Real. Horses. Cattle mostly. Around four hundred acres of hay.”
“I read a lot of Westerns. Seems like a great life, out there with the wide-open spaces. Clean air.”
“That’s what I miss most. But it’s a hard life and a lonely one at times.”
The rich aroma of beef roast grew stronger now, coupled with the scent of biscuits and something that smelled suspiciously like apple pie.
Homemade apple pie? The very thought made Connor’s mouth water and stomach rumble. The food had been okay in prison, as far as institutional cooking went, but he could already tell that this meal would be unbelievably good. “I’m guessing your daughter is a very good cook.”
“She’ll do.”
“I heard that, Dad,” Keeley teased from the kitchen. “So beef pot roast for Connor but bread and water for you.”
Paul ignored her. “Now, my wife, Frances—there was a woman who could cook. She could make magic happen in the kitchen.” Paul settled back in his chair, his eyes closing as he drifted back through his memories. “Flakiest piecrusts and fluffiest biscuits you ever tasted. And her fried chicken? Whoo-eee. She could make a man almost cry, just by promising to make it for supper.”
Once again Keeley appeared at the door to the kitchen with a pot holder and a smile. “What Dad said is all true. Mom was a wonderful cook. Even using her recipe files, I can’t measure up.”
Connor’s estimation of Keeley moved up another notch.
Apparently the old man didn’t appreciate how much his daughter helped him, and he certainly didn’t consider his words before speaking. Yet she remained consistently kind, handling him with grace and a touch of humor. Traits so far removed from the party girl he’d married that he couldn’t even begin to compare them.
He could only hope that Marsha had matured during the time he’d been in prison. That she’d become a better mom, a stronger person...and that her latest conquest was a man who was good to their son. Shaking off his thoughts, he turned to Paul. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
Paul’s eyes opened and his smile faded as he came back into the present. “It’s been a long time. Fifteen years and four months.”
“It must have been hard, losing your wife so young.”
“Car accident. All three kids were in the car with her, but only she died.” Paul stood slowly, as if favoring a multitude of arthritic joints. “She took my heart with her to the grave, and then I had to raise those kids on my own. Hardest thing I ever did.”
At least he’d had the privilege of raising them, though from his sour expression he’d considered it far more work than joy.

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