Happily Ever After (12 page)

“Can I ride with you?”

Joe caught Liza’s smirk as Mona climbed into the truck. He chose to ignore her.

The ride home was long. The warm truck cab magnified his weariness, and sleep lay like sandbags on Joe’s eyelids. The river
had sucked the strength from his bones.

Mona lay slumped against the door, eyes closed. She looked exhausted and beautiful, with her hair drying in golden tendrils
around her face. Her windbreaker was glued to her arms and torso, and she had to be uncomfortable in her sodden jeans. But
a slight smile played on her lips, belying her misery. Something turned in his heart. The trip wasn’t a total loss. He had
that smile as a keepsake—and the delicious memory of her nestled in his arms, unloading her fear into his chest. He wanted
to hold her forever and decided he would, no matter where he went.

By the time they rolled into Deep Haven, the sun was a steadily falling crimson ball flecked with orange. It lit the clouds
over Lake Superior red-gold, and they seemed tufted against the sky. The energetic lake was throwing itself in mighty white
heaves against the jagged shoreline, and seagulls layered the far lighthouse like a gray-and-white blanket. Someone had tossed
a box of meat scraps on shore, and another gang of greedy gulls screamed and fought each other for the morsels.

Joe drove slowly along Main Street. The gas line at Mom and Pop’s gas and groceries stretched a half mile as pickups with
trawler boats and camping gear, headed for the northern lakes, filled up their extra tanks. The convenience store would be
sporting a full till this evening, by the looks of the patrons lugging out bulging bags of supplies, gas cans, and boxes of
live bait. Joe realized with a start that fishing season had opened. Maybe he should ask Gabe if he would like to catch some
walleye with him. Would his brother know how?If not, maybe he could teach him and be the big brother he should have been.

World’s Best Donuts had closed for the day. The dime store, however, pushed back the approaching twilight with a pale yellow
light, holding out for the last few anglers. Joe wondered what it would be like living in this slow, sleepy tourist town during
the winter, when the boom of vacation season died. He envisioned sitting with Mona in the Footstep, warming their feet in
front of a wood-burning stove, cups of coffee perched on the stumps she had varnished. The idea embraced him, and he was afraid
of how much he liked it.

Mona stirred next to him, rubbed her eyes, and sat up.

Joe gritted his teeth and pulled up to the drive. “Back to your place.”

An hour later Joe had peeled off his wet clothes, taken a hot shower, and changed into his Rip-torn jeans, wool socks, and
a Texas A & M sweatshirt. All his other clothes were filthy. He’d have to find the local Laundromat tomorrow.

Armed with a hot cup of decaf and a ham sandwich, he set the plate on a backless caned chair and settled into the sofa. He
knew he should be fleshing out ideas for what he’d seen today—opportunities to get back into the good graces of his employers,
tidbits that could pan out into treasures. But something about the way Mona had clung to him, trusting him with her pain as
if he were already a part of her life and her world, gave him pause.

Perhaps this wasn’t the right place, the right time.Maybe he’d chance going back empty-handed, and if he paid the price, then
perhaps Mona wouldn’t have to.Maybe she’d never have to answer probing questions or wonder at his motives. Maybe he could
leave in his wake just the memory of a man who’d rescued her from the Devil’s Kettle and helped her scrape together her dreams.

He rather liked the idea of being, rather than playacting, a hero. He rifled through his backpack and dug out a creased paperback.
He’d read Louis L’Amour’s

Joe was somewhere in the Yablonovy Mountains when a loud rap jerked him back to reality. “Enter,” he called, laying a thumb
over his last sentence.

The door opened and Mona leaned in on the knob.

“I’m doing laundry. If you want, you can do a load after I’m finished.”

“Just in time. I thought I might have to wear my long johns to church tomorrow.”

Mona rested her shoulder against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest. “Going to church?”

Joe nodded.

“Where?”

Caught. He fell into the snare without a thought. He’d been invited by Ruby to worship at the Garden.“Um, at a church north
of here.”

“Up the Gunflint Trail?”

Joe calculated his answer. The road leading to the Garden strayed off the old, half-paved logging trail that stretched north
from Deep Haven to the shores of Minnesota’s boundary lakes. “Yes. It’s off the Gunflint.”

“Oh, you must mean Gunflint Chapel,” she said.“We’ve worshiped there a few times. Cute chapel and the pastor is really nice.”
She paused. “At least the pastor who served there ten years ago. I liked how he led worship in his moccasins.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. That sounded like a church he might enjoy. He hadn’t spent much time in formal fellowship, preferring
to spend his Sundays with his Bible open in nature’s lap, listening to the birds sing their praises and letting his heart
hum along. But actual voices raised in praise had a joyous effect on him, and on occasion he longed for the oneness of corporate
worship.

“Well,” Mona continued, “I attend Grace Church, just up the road. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

Joe folded his book on his lap, dog-earing the page.“Thanks, maybe some other time.”

Mona frowned. “Are you reading?”

Joe smirked at her expression. “A man’s been known to do that now and again. Don’t tell anybody. I’d hate to let out our secret—that
we’re actually above primates in the evolutionary scale.”

Mona giggled, and it cheered him to hear it, especially after the day’s harrowing events. “What are you reading?”

She shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t think a man has to wear a six-gun to be a hero.”

“Well, what do you read?”

“Adventure, romance, intrigue. I love to read.”

“Who’s your favorite author?”

“Reese Clark.”

She wiggled her brows. “Actually, I’m in love with Jonah, his main character.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a real man.” She turned and shut the door, leaving him to restrain the strange leaping of his heart.

Mona hummed as she dug out the dirty clothes from her closet and tossed them into a laundry basket. She’d had to empty the
basket of a stack of old books, and as she did, she couldn’t help but open a few and dive into her favorite chapters. Thus,
sorting laundry took over an hour.

But Jonah was safer. Jonah always, without question, was honorable. He always let the heroine win, never stood in her way
yet stood beside her. He never let his ladylove suffer, he never betrayed her heart, and he would never, ever leave her. It
was always the women doing the leaving in the Reese Clark books.

Poor Jonah. It all started on his first adventure, when he worked as a dude rancher dodging unruly cattle and a nasty head
wrangler. He’d fallen in love with the ranch’s owner, and Mona had sobbed onto the pages when his love had died in his arms.

In Clark’s next book, she traveled south with Jonah to Mexico, where he saved a family from a flash flood and stopped a ring
of drug smugglers from destroying a village. In the end, his Mexican love had chosen another for her mate, and again Mona’s
heart broke for her favorite character.

Mona sighed as she propped the laundry basket on her hip and treaded down the stairs. Liza’s accusation smacked of truth—Jonah
was her dream man. In her mind’s eye, she conjured up his description—short hair, delicious blue eyes, and an embracing smile.

Mona skidded to a halt in the kitchen. She’d just described Joe! Her heart tumbled through her chest, and she battled the
thought. Joe was an irresponsible drifter with no real goals. So what that he acted as if her dreams mattered to him? He pushed
her to her last nerve with his goofball antics and his I-can-do-anything-better- than-you-can smirk. Joe was anything but
Jonah. Joe might be flesh and blood, but only Jonah could hold her heart without breaking it.

She opened her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling calm take root in her heart.

The rotting cellar door creaked when she opened it. The damp, dust-laden air filtered into her nose and Mona stifled a sneeze.
These catacombs of her home made her flesh crawl. Groping the wall, she found a light switch and flicked it on. The grimy
overhead bulb lit a dim orange trail down the stairs. Mona squinted into the shadows, gauging her steps. The floor seemed
muddy in the hazy lighting, not quite solid. Frowning, Mona eased down the stairs.

Her confusion slowly metastasized into horror.

A lake of water, ankle high, filled the basement. Rotting wood, cement chips, dirt, and scum floated along the floor. Standing
two steps from the bottom, she watched ripples lap at her feet and gripped the flimsy rail to keep from collapsing. Where
was the flood coming from? Was the house built on a swamp? From her perch, she examined the murky cellar, searching for a
leak. A dark gray swath in the far cement wall seemed suspicious. She focused on it and made out a thin waterfall skimming
over the top.

Mona flew up the stairs. Throwing her basket into the kitchen, she rushed outside, flicked on the backyard light, and sprinted
around the house.

What she saw nearly buckled her knees. The garden hose had been left running under her lilac tree, gurgling for hours as she’d
bounced down the Kettle River.

The sopping wet lawn glistened in the moonlight, and the foundation of the house was saturated. Mona squished through the
grass, wading to the faucet. The whine and rush of water stopped as she cranked it shut, but fury coursed through her in a
ferocious torrent. Joe!He was completely irresponsible, and now his foolishness had cost her a gigantic water bill and who
knew how much in home repairs!

Anger took possession of her as she scrambled, fell, and scurried up the stairs to his garage apartment. She didn’t bother
to knock; it wasn’t his place anyway. Bursting through Joe’s door, her frustration peaked. He lay relaxing on the sofa, calmly
reading a book while her life sank in a quagmire.

The expression on her face must have betrayed her emotions, for he sat up and went white. “What?”

She shook, rage devouring coherent thought. She pointed at him, her finger shaking. “You! You let the water run! My basement
is completely flooded!”

Joe jumped to his feet. “What? No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t deny it. When I let you water my tree, I didn’t know you were out to drown me!” She threw her hands in the air. “What
am I going to do now? The foundation is probably ruined, the cellar is a swamp, and I have four weeks until opening. There’s
no way I can repair this.” She closed her eyes, willing her pulse to a slower beat, her voice to a normal pitch.

“Mona, calm down. It’ll be okay. I’ll help you fix it.I’ll work round the clock. . . . I’ll even pay for it.”

She whirled, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the door behind her. The building shuddered. She got as far as the bottom
step. Sinking onto the hard wood, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

Joe scraped his hands through his hair, searching through the events of the day, desperate to make sense of Mona’s accusation.
Had he left the hose on? He closed his eyes, blew out a shaky breath. He’d been watering the poplar tree. Brian had arrived,
and Rip smashed Liza’s pottery. . . .

He trudged to the sofa and sank into it, anguish swamping him. Fired. Mona wanted him to leave. But without his help, she’d
never piece the Footstep back together. Just like her blind determination to jump across the river despite the obvious perils,
she was going to fire him without another helper in sight. Even if she did find another handyman, she would probably spend
all her time following him, ordering him around. Maybe she’d even wander down to the beach with him and challenge him to a
rock-skipping contest.

The thought made him burn. He leaped to his feet. No, he had to reason with her. For her own good, he had to stay.

He marched to the door and whipped it open. Determination fueled his steps, but he skidded to a halt on the landing, and his
pounding heart skipped a beat. Mona sat at the bottom in a crumpled mass, weeping, her agony audible. He stifled a moan and
tiptoed down the stairs.

Wordlessly, he sat down next to her on the steps. She had her arms wrapped over her head, and her entire body shook. She tried
to contain her sobs, but they hiccupped from her tiny frame. His heart wrenched, watching her emotions bleed. Tentatively,
he curled an arm around her. After a moment, she leaned her head against his chest. She sounded so broken, it brought tears
to his eyes. He wanted to soothe the pain away, tame her fears, and hold her until she could smile again. He rested his cheek
on her hair, his eyes burning.

When he felt her body stop racking, he cupped a hand under her chin so her swollen, red eyes lifted to his. He caressed her
cheek with his thumb, smearing her tears.“I’m not leaving, Mona. I am so sorry this happened, but I am not going to leave
you to chip away at these massive repairs and watch your dream die. I’ll even work for free. I don’t care what you say. I’m
staying.”

He saw argument, albeit weak, gather in her eyes. He put a finger over her lips to silence her.

She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“I forgive you.” He wove his fingers through her hair.

Her chin quivered, and he saw a fresh batch of tears glisten in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either. But we can pray and ask God for help. I know He can rescue you and the Footstep.”

To his profound surprise, she shook her head. “No. That would be asking too much. Maybe God doesn’t want this to happen. He’s
probably using all these repairs, even this catastrophe, to tell me to give up.”

Joe frowned. “Why would God do that?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “Because I don’t deserve His help. I don’t deserve this dream to come true.”

Joe gently drew her gaze to his again. Her eyes were tortured, and he recognized the familiar pain prowling in them. “You
don’t believe that, do you?”

She shrugged, tears spilling.

“Mona, God isn’t the great saboteur of dreams. He doesn’t give us a dream just to make it fail. He puts that dream inside
us for a reason, and He wants to help make it happen.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t deserve any of God’s goodness. I wouldn’t blame Him a bit if He yanked it all away.”

She frowned at him, biting her lip. Joe searched her face and saw only doubt. “Mona, have you ever heard this verse: ‘Take
delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires’? When we delight in Him, He wants to fill our lives with His
love, with our deepest longings.”

Mona’s expression abruptly changed. Flicking her tears with both hands, she squinted at him. “So you’re staying?”

The way she said it, her eyes flecking with hope, trust pitching her voice, entwined his heart. Suddenly all the reasons he
had for leaving, or staying, were muted by one thought: he was falling for this lady, hard and fast.

“I’m staying,” he affirmed softly. She smiled, and he couldn’t stop himself. She looked so beautiful and needy, and the vulnerable
way she gazed at him, as if longing to believe his words . . . it reeled him in. Cradling her face in his hands, he gently
kissed her. Her soft lips tasted of salt, and she trembled at his touch. Her response was everything he’d hoped for, tender
and yielding. He longed to linger, to pull her into his arms, but self-control forced him to draw back. He studied her face.
“As long as I’m not still fired.”

Shock washed over her beautiful face. Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

“Good,” he whispered, “’cause Rip and I weren’t looking forward to sleeping in the truck.”

“Mona?” Liza’s voice called from the house.

Mona pulled out of Joe’s grasp and scrambled hastily to her feet. “Out here!” she answered. She breathed out, a shaky breath
that spoke volumes for both of them.