Happily Ever After (13 page)

What had he just done? Looking at her as she smoothed her hair and straightened her sweatshirt, her eyes not meeting his,
his mouth went dry.

He’d just kissed Mona.

It was by far the sweetest kiss he’d ever shared. And he’d enjoyed it way more than a man without a future in Deep Haven should.

Liza banged through the back door. “There you are.What are you up to?” She braked, eyeing them quizzically. “Not working on
house repairs, I see.”

Joe gave Mona a tender smile. “Nope, other kinds of repairs.”

The silence between them was accentuated by the gentle wind singing through the trees and waves combing the shore. Liza scrutinized
the couple on the steps, grinning suspiciously, then went back inside. Mona rubbed her arms and stared at Joe. He saw her
confusion and offered a reassuring smile, one that might calm both their racing heartbeats. “Good night, Mona.”

She stuttered her reply. “G-good night, Joe. See you tomorrow.” Then she bolted toward the house.

He lingered on the steps, remembering the hope in her eyes, feeling the touch of her lips, and pushing back not just a little
panic. He had no business kissing her. Yet being near her unraveled his common sense and pushed him into the realm of hope.
Mona trusted him. That thought made something thick and warm spread through him.

Joe watched Mona’s light flick on in her room. He would stay until the job was done, but he was going to need a little help.

Mona slammed her fist into her pillow, hoping to fluff it into a more comfortable position. But when she plopped her head
back on it, she knew sleep was no closer than it had been three hours ago. Moonlight spilled through her window, streaking
across the wood floor. The wind tugged at the trees, and the branches moved in quick, stilted jerks across the window. By
the sound of the waves lunging at the shore, Mona guessed that a storm front was breezing in. Or maybe the storm she sensed
was only the turmoil in her heart.

She’d let Joe kiss her. So she’d been bereft, totally knocked off her feet by the horror in her basement. It didn’t mean she
had to go blubbering to her local handyman. He probably saw her for what she was—a desperately lonely woman who needed this
dream more than anything in her life. He’d probably kissed her out of pity.

Except . . . it had been such a gentle, impossibly tender kiss, with his fingers lightly brushing the sides of her face and
sending tingles down her spine. It didn’t feel like a pity kiss—it felt more like what had been written in his eyes when he’d
dragged her out of Devil’s Kettle. Emotions she couldn’t possibly put a name to if she wanted to keep her focus. Emotions
that were building in her own heart. Ones she’d have to exorcise—and fast. This accident was a case in point. Joe had surprised
her with his charm, and in a weak moment, she’d allowed herself to trust him and stopped hawking his every move.

Now, not only was her house floating on a virtual lake, her heart was poised to be crushed. It would do her well to remember
that Joe was a drifter. He was leaving in four weeks, if not sooner, and if she wasn’t careful, he would be taking her heart
with him.

Her throat grew raw. Did she want to destroy everything she had worked so hard for? Mona sat up, swung her legs off her bed,
and let the cold floor jolt the soft image of Joe and his glistening blue eyes radiating concern from her mind.

The Joe Michaels package was definitely alluring. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed his company, his teasing laughter, and his
ocean-deep eyes. And she was profoundly grateful for his hard work. But she couldn’t surrender to his charisma. God was giving
her so much with the Footstep dream. She simply couldn’t add love to her list of requests.

Still, Joe’s words stung. Not because he wasn’t right but because they would never, ever be for her. Why would the Almighty
grant even one, let alone three dreams for a woman who’d killed someone she loved?

Forgiveness was enough. It would always be enough. Her desires would stay safely locked away where they wouldn’t hurt a soul.

Cold tears swabbed her face, and hair clung to her wet cheeks. The storm breakers hurtled onto shore as Mona rocked herself,
reliving years of grief and wondering if she would ever break the bonds of sorrow.

Joe found Mona in her rumpled church dress, sitting cross-legged in the hallway. The phone lay in her lap, and she wore the
most mournful expression he had ever seen. He hunkered down beside her. “What’s the matter?”

Mona bit her trembling lip and shook her head.

Joe’s heart twisted. She looked brutal this morning—puffy red eyes, sallow face. And when he’d greeted her with a smile, she
merely offered a grimace in return. Obviously she’d had a hard night. He measured out a soft tone. “Please, tell me.”

Mona’s voice sounded weak. “The insurance company can’t come until next week. Why did I have to find a company with the nearest
branch office in Minneapolis?” She covered her face with her hands.

Joe pinched his lips together, debating whether or not to reveal his morning’s activities. The yawning rumble behind him in
the front yard made his decision.

Mona jerked her head up. “What’s that?”

Joe put a calming hand on her shoulder. “The septic company. They’re going to clean out the basement.”

“What?” Mona banged the phone onto the floor and hauled herself to her feet. “I didn’t call them.”

Joe stood and braced himself. “I did.”

She shot him a look that made him wince. “I can’t afford it, Joe, especially a weekend call. I have to wait for the insurance
adjuster to arrive before I can spend one more nickel on this place.” She stalked toward the door.

He followed her, keeping his voice low-key. “I’m paying for it.”

She whirled; if she had fur and claws he would have thought her a grizzly. “Oh no you’re not. I already owe you more than
I can ever repay. You’re working for peanuts, and I don’t need your charity.”

She glowered at him, but her fury lost steam. He saw her turning over the words in her mind, and her eyes flickered with an
unknown emotion. Relief? Thankfulness? Anger? Joe didn’t want to know. He took a step closer to her. “Please let me help you,
Mona. I don’t want to see your dreams crumble.”

She went white, and in her eyes rose a desperation so vivid it masked all other emotions. He wanted to hold her then, like
he had last night on the porch, and like he did in his dreams. He wanted to smooth her hair and surround her with reassurance.
At that moment he didn’t care if his heart might be stripped in the process. The longing for her to reach out to him, to trust
him with her hopes, made his chest ache. What had happened to all that trust that had budded last night on his steps? Not
a trace of it remained in those tortured eyes. Couldn’t she just let him help, a little bit, without making it seem like a
federal crime?

Her next words drove a cold fist through those thoughts. “It’s a loan. I’ll pay you back if I have to wash dishes in some
greasy truck stop for the rest of my life.” Then she hustled outside, putting distance between them like a wide receiver pulling
away from the pack.

The sewer-truck hose snaked through the front foyer, along the wood floor that thankfully she hadn’t polished yet, through
the kitchen, and down the back stairs.Mona listened to the loud pumps slurp up water and scowled as the truck’s tires plowed
wide swaths into her front lawn.

The sight of a city septic truck at a Main Street business attracted a swarm of onlookers, and Mona spent most of the afternoon
fielding mindless questions and meeting neighbors. It seemed everyone wanted to know why the old Victorian was leaking.

Edith Draper surveyed the scene like a general, standing on the porch with her arms folded across her chest, her nylon-clad
legs pushed into sensible shoes under blue polyester stretch pants. Her eyes stayed pinned to the long plastic tube running
across the porch. Mona stood next to her, thankful for her stalwart presence.

Edith muttered something under her breath. The truck’s motor gobbled up the words.

“What did you say?”

Edith raised her voice and leaned close. “I said, no wonder Brian didn’t want to pay much for this house. He must have known
about the leak in the foundation.”

Mona looked at Edith. “It wasn’t a leak. Joe left the hose on. But back to the part about Brian paying for this place—what
are you talking about?”

Edith adjusted the hem of her pink acrylic sweater.“Brian Whitney. This was his grandmother’s house. When she died, her will
instructed the family to sell it and divide it equally. Brian put in a bid for the entire house, but it couldn’t match your
bid, so he lost it. I’m sure he received a portion of the proceeds, however.”

Mona felt sick. Why hadn’t Brian mentioned anything? He must have been assaulted by memory every time he walked into her home.
Pity pierced her heart. Poor man, losing his grandmother’s home just because he couldn’t top her offer. No wonder he always
seemed slightly jumpy when he was around her, always trying to impress her with his slick car and fancy duds, as if trying
to keep his dignity. At least he was making the attempt to befriend her.

Her gaze traveled to Joe, and she watched him talk to a maintenance man. His hands were in his back pockets, and he rocked
back and forth from heel to toe. He’d done a kind thing for her, and she’d treated him with all the warmth of a porcupine.
If only he didn’t have eyes that reached right into her soul or words that found the soft spot in her heart, where they could
twist and rip and scar.

After this morning, she longed to trust him with her dreams. But how could she count on a man whose worldly possessions consisted
of a ratty duffel bag and a sad mutt? The man looked poised to bolt every time he returned from one of his mysterious outings.
She often wondered if the roar of his rattletrap truck leaving the Footstep would be the last thing she ever heard from him.

Brian might have all the charm of a largemouth bass, but he was sticking around for the long haul, despite his pain. He was
a friend she could count on. Joe, however, was a supernova in her life—dazzling her blind for a moment before he fizzled out
and all went dark.

The air smelled wet, and along the dark horizon something sinister gathered in the black rolling clouds. The choppy lake water
peaked white, and angry waves threw foam high onto shore. A greedy wind tugged at Joe’s baseball cap. He scraped it off his
head and threw it onto his sweatshirt, heaped on the sidewalk. Repositioning the shovel, he spaded another chunk of matted
grass, chopped it up, and turned it over. The welts in the grass where the truck had settled for most of the day appeared
fatal. But if he dug them up tonight and the approaching storm worked the soil, the ground would be fertile and ready for
new sod in the morning. He wanted Mona’s grass to be a beautiful, unscathed carpet by opening day.

Joe heard the front door open and glanced toward the house. Liza stood on the porch and held out a cup of coffee. Joe smiled
and waved. “Just a second. I’ll be right up.” He had to admit, Liza’s quirky humor and ready smile had softened all the rough,
hard moments of the day. Joe was thankful for her calming presence.

For some unknown reason, Mona had spent the day dodging him. When they did talk, her remarks were clipped and cold, and he
couldn’t help wonder where the delightful, teasing Mona had gone. Had he been blind, living in a dream the past week? She
hadn’t even mentioned their kiss, avoided him like he had leprosy, and made it plain she wasn’t going to get close enough
to let him wrap his arms around her again.

Well, he couldn’t blame her. And it was probably for the best—for both of them. A sour ball of regret settled in his chest.
It hurt that she thought he had flooded her basement. But it was nice of her to let him stay on, even if he did pay for the
sewage services. He knew she’d repay him if she had to sell the shirt off her back or her rusty Chevette, Noah. Why did she
call it that?And why would a woman nearly thirty years old drive a beater she probably bought in high school? He couldn’t
believe the clunker still puttered along, although on the occasions he heard her drive it, he recognized the death coughs
and fatal ticks of a car headed toward the junk heap.

Joe turned over the last shovel of grass, chopped it into chunks, and smoothed it out. He would rake it in the morning. Shouldering
the shovel, he swiped up his hat, plunked it on his head, grabbed his sweatshirt, and headed for the porch.

Liza sat on the top step, cradling a coffee mug. A wisp of steam curled off the surface. His stomach growled at the rich scent.
Hearing it, Liza cracked a grin. “I don’t think coffee’s going to silence that monster.”

Joe returned the smile and plopped down next to her. She handed him the warm mug. The drink soothed his tired bones. “Thanks,
Liza.”

She shrugged. “Actually—and don’t tell Mona I told you—she made it and suggested I bring it out here.”

“Really? I thought I rated lower than pond scum. I’ve been chilly all day from her frigid looks.”

Liza laced a strand of her long black hair between her fingers, examining it. “I know she can be cold when she’s frustrated
and hurting. Give her a chance to get her feet back under her. She’ll warm up.”

Joe took another sip of coffee. “I hope so. I can’t handle two storm fronts.” He gestured at the lake and the approaching
thunderheads.

Liza hummed agreement.

“Can you tell me something, Liza?”

“Maybe.”

“Why does Mona call her car Noah?”

“How did you know that?”

Joe stared at the lake. “She must have mentioned it.”

Liza rolled the hair around her fingers. “It’s a long story, but suffice it to say she drove her car into a pond.”

“What?”

Liza grinned. “Okay, I’ll tell you the story, but you have to promise, even under the vise of torture, never to reveal how
you found out.”

Joe crossed his fingers and held them in a salute.

“The way she tells it, she made a left turn onto what was normally a road and found herself afloat in an ark, drifting toward
the curb. She climbed out of the window, pushed her car to high ground, and hiked to Terrance’s office. Her father had to
bail them both out. The next morning, the sun was high and bright and baked the car like a fish on shore. She said she couldn’t
ride with the windows closed for three months.” Liza giggled and her eyes danced with glee.

Joe shook his head, smirking. “No wonder her car is frosted in rust. Why didn’t she buy a new one? That beater must be over
ten years old.”

Liza shook her head. “I’m not sure. Her dad bought her Noah, and maybe she just can’t part with it. And she’s always trying
to save money, you know.”

Joe sipped his coffee. “Her father sounds like a wise man. I’d like to meet him.”

The seagulls screamed from the shore, a loud cacophony with the charging waves. He shivered.

“You can’t,” Liza said quietly. “He was killed ten years ago.”