Happily Ever After (7 page)

“Hmmm . . . lucky for me, I guess.”

Joe fished around at his feet and unearthed the perfect skipping rock. Winging it sideways into the water, he counted five
skips. “I don’t believe in luck or chance,”he said quietly.

Mona turned her head, her cheek resting on her knees. “No, I don’t suppose I do, either. But the other side is sometimes hard
to accept.”

The waves scraped the shore in syncopation. A seagull waddled near and ogled them with beady eyes.

“Other side?” Joe asked, shooting a glance at her.

“That God causes all things to happen, that everything filters through His hands.”

Joe saw pain flash through her green eyes. Hers wasn’t a throwaway comment. “The mystery of free will versus predestination.
You’re going to tie yourself up with that one, Mona. Either God is in charge or He’s not. We can go round and round about
the origin of evil, but the buck stops at God. The question isn’t who causes something to happen, but rather, whether you
see the outcome with His eyes or yours. Whether or not you trust He’s got it all in His hands.”

Mona rested her chin on her knees and gazed out into the dark lake. “Romans 8:28. ‘We know that God causes everything to work
together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.’ See, I know it by heart, and
I know He does take the bad and turn it into good. But you’re forgetting God also holds us accountable for our actions. If
it is Him doing it all, then by justice, He can’t hold us accountable.”

Joe smiled. Beauty and theological smarts too. Wow.“We are accountable because we are sinful. The unfortunate truth is that
Adam chose to sin, and so do we. But the good news is that God gives us a way out, through Christ. Accountability and forgiveness
in one shot. All we have to do is accept it. It’s pretty easy.”

“Or the hardest thing in the world,” Mona murmured.

When Mona sighed and climbed to her feet, Joe’s heart fell slightly. “Good night, Joe.” She trudged toward the road, leaving
a stinging wind in her wake.

Can you put a new plug in the corner?” Liza asked.

Joe’s gaze followed Liza’s pointing finger as he rubbed the handle of a screwdriver between his shoulder blades. “Yeah, I
reckon I can do that, but the wire will have to be external, unless you want me to open up the wall.”

“No, I just want a lamp on my desk. This corner is way too creepy. I can’t figure out why they’d put only one outlet in this
room.”

“’Cause this house was built before the advent of electricity?”

Liza hit him with her paint rag. “You’re probably right.” Laughing, she added, “But you have to admit, it does have character.”

“If you call a rotting roof and a saggy porch character, then I’ll agree.”

Liza scowled. “Think positively. Close your eyes and imagine what this place can be. It’s more than an old house. It’s a dream
come true.”

“How so?”

Liza bit her lip, her dark eyes running over him. “If you can keep a secret, I’ll let you in on a bit of history.”

“My lips are sealed.” He bit back a smile at her earnest expression and held up three fingers, like a Boy Scout.

Liza squinted at him a moment, then smiled conspiratorially. “Mona’s been saving for years for this place. It’s her dream,
more than anything else in the entire world.And it just has to happen. If it doesn’t, I’m not sure what it will do to her.”

Joe frowned. “Why?”

Liza shook her head. “You’ll have to ask her that, Joe.Suffice it to say this dream goes back a long way.”

Joe mulled over her words while walking to the window. The front lawn shone rich jade in the sun. Across the road, the lake
rolled against the shore in gentle rhythm. Seagulls waddled over the rocks, and the blue sky was smeared with wispy cirrus.
Determination swept through him like a wildfire. It must have shown in his face, for when he turned, Liza gaped at him. “Then
we better make sure her dreams come true, huh?”

Liza nodded.

A car door slammed. Joe glanced outside and spied Mona unlocking the hatch to a tiny blue Chevette. He’d seen the car on the
street yesterday but didn’t connect the ownership dots. Now, watching her lug something from the back, revived a memory so
profound, he gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned to Liza, forcing a casual smile. “Nothin’.Just Mona.”

Liza raised one of her thin black eyebrows and smirked. Joe ignored her, slipped the screwdriver into his back pocket, and
walked toward the front door.

Mona had pulled a stump of wood from her car and was rolling it on one edge up the front walk. Her blonde hair fell over her
face, and her jaw was set.

“Need some help?” Joe hollered.

Mona looked up at him, two hands balancing the stump. “Nope, I got it.”

“Okay.” Joe stuck his hands in his front pockets, rocked back and forth on the porch, and watched her wrestle the stump toward
the front steps. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from repeating the question as she let the stump rock back,
sat on it, and rested her arms on her knees, slouching. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her chest rose and fell with exertion.
The stump did look heavy. It was nearly a foot and a half in diameter and two feet high. A nice piece of oak, from what he
could see.

“Where’d you get it?” Joe asked.

Mona gave him a sidelong gaze, and he felt a jolt ripple through him. Why did her fir green sweatshirt have to make her eyes
sparkle so? He blew out an unsteady breath.

“Holland’s Sawmill. I plan on using it for an end table. What do you think?” She stood, gesturing at it like it was a prize
and she was Vanna White. “With a little sanding and a coat of varnish, it could be pretty.”

“You have vision, Mona. I’ll give you that.”

She beamed. “Well, I like to be original. I ordered an overstuffed sofa in a navy-and-green plaid for the dining room. I wanted
a place where folks could drop their worries for a moment, kick back, and bury themselves in a book.”

“It wouldn’t hurt if they bought the book, either.”

She chuckled. “Nope, nor a cup of cappuccino.” She motioned to the stump. “I thought it would give the store a rustic, at-home
feel.”

“Like bringing the wilderness inside.”

“Yup.” Mona squatted, wrapped her arms around the log, and strained.

“You aren’t serious, are you?” Joe leaped all five porch steps and landed at her side. “Let me help you.”

“Back off,” Mona growled through gritted teeth.

Joe recoiled. “Calm down, Mona. I don’t want you to spend the next month in the chiropractor’s office, that’s all. Let me
give you a hand.”

“No!” Mona dropped the stump and pounced to her feet, her face red. “I don’t want your help. I can do this.”

Joe eyed the stump. Fifty pounds, at least. “Mona.Don’t be silly. That thing is heavy.”

Mona swiped her hands together. Sawdust and chips of wood broke free. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have barked
at you.” Her tone softened. “I don’t want to get used to your help. I have to be able to do this on my own.”

“I’m not offering to marry you. I just want to help you lift the stump.”

Mona flinched. “You may not agree, but if I start depending on you, you’ll begin to think you’re indispensable.” Joe squinted
at her. “And what’s so bad about that?”

Mona pressed her lips together as if holding back a reply, one he all at once dearly wanted to hear. Sighing, she squatted
and wrapped her arms around the stump again. Joe watched, shaking his head as she rocked it 68 into her embrace then began
to mount the stairs with it. Her legs quivered. He tiptoed behind her, ready for a swift catch. She made it to the third step,
groaned, then finally plunked the stump onto the porch. Slapping her hands together, she sprinted to the landing and whirled,
beaming. “See?”

He’d never had to war with the idea of pulling someone into his arms to silence a victory dance. But, as Mona grinned at him,
her hands clamped on her hips, wood shavings layering her sweatshirt, and hair flopping over her face, that was exactly what
happened. Perhaps it was relief, frustration, or admiration, but suddenly he fought a barrage of furious impulses.

“Were you born stubborn?” he demanded. As her mouth opened in shock, he stalked past her into the house.

Mona stood up and stretched, surveying the two rooms that would be her bookstore and coffee shop. The ceiling had yet to be
patched, the floors sanded and varnished, the windowsills painted, and the walls papered. But she had four and a half weeks,
and it was doable. Finally, nothing stood in her way. The late-afternoon sun lit a path of orange along the wood floor, swirls
of dust waltzing in the tangible rays. Mona inhaled, feeling peace enter like a fragrance.

“Arrgh!” Joe’s cry from the kitchen shattered her serene moment.

“What is it?” Mona raced to the kitchen. The scene that greeted her scattered the lingering aroma floating about her heart
with the effectiveness of a stink bomb. Roaches, as thick and deep as a moving carpet, scrambled over her lemon-colored counters,
seeking refuge from Joe’s shoe. Mona stood paralyzed, watching roaches climb out of the depths of her house and envisioning
one of the monsters tiptoeing over a coffee mug. Worse yet, perhaps it would nestle into someone’s shirt collar and she could
invite the entire health department over to finish off the muffins as they shut her down.

“W-where’d they come from?” she stammered.

Joe shot her a sorry look and pointed to a gaping hole under the sink. Rotting drywall littered the floor around the open
cabinet doors. “You have a slight plumbing problem.”

Mona’s heart sank. She gripped the counter, crouched, and surveyed the black hole at the base of the pipes.

“How bad is it?”

The sensation of movement scuttling across her hand eclipsed his answer. Mona leaped to her feet in time to spy a confused
roach heading toward her shirt cuff. Screaming and shaking her hand, she danced into the center of the room, all her feminine
instincts boiling over. Then she spotted Joe grinning so widely, it seemed his cheeks would pop. She glowered at him. Great,
just what she needed after her triumphant performance with the tree stump. Now he’d conjure up all sorts of maiden-in-distress
images. Mona sucked a calming breath, peeled off a shoe, and began to whack at the odious insects, feeling a strange satisfaction
as she squashed them.

The screen door whined open, and Liza popped her head in. “What’s all the ruckus about in here?”

They didn’t need to answer. Liza screamed and beat a trail through the kitchen. Her boots crashed up the stairs. Mona caught
Joe’s bemused expression and flattened another bug with a satisfying smack! Then, to her amazement, Joe leaned over, took
off his boot, gripped it with his right hand, and began to parry and thrust, whacking the roaches like a fencer. Mona flicked
an eyebrow. Did he think this was funny?

To add injury to her horror, his filthy dog, Rip, scrambled into the kitchen through the open screen door, dragging the forest
with him, and went wild. He barked and growled at the intruders, hair spiking along the back of his neck. Mona groaned. These
two jokers were a pair of overkill soldiers invading her poor kitchen. It was a wonder they hadn’t attracted the entire neighborhood.

Liza dashed into the kitchen, armed with a can of Raid and the yellow pages. “I’m calling the exterminator,” she declared,
as if it were a novel idea.

Mona escaped into the front room, sat down on the walnut table, and stared at the hole in her ceiling. Just what a kitchen
needed, a mafioso family of roaches, extended relatives included. As exterminator charges totaled in her mind, despair gripped
her in a neck spasm.

Then Joe moseyed out of the kitchen, gripping the can of Raid like a six-gun. “I’m gonna git those varmints yet,” he drawled.
He had tied a blue bandana over his mouth, bandit-style, and his eyes twinkled under a masked grin. He seemed so hopeful,
so eager to help that she couldn’t help it—she laughed.

Joe lay on the sofa, his hands behind his head, watching shadows of the front-yard birch trees chase each other across the
ceiling, and letting the echo of Mona’s laughter fill his heart with delight. It was so unexpected, so hard earned, everything
he’d hoped it would be and more. Her laughter and the warm acquiescing smile that followed had seeded an unfamiliar longing
deep in his heart, and now he lay cultivating healthy sprouts of tenderness toward his new boss.

Despite Mona’s almost antagonistic response to his help, the need buried in her jeweled eyes called to him. She was afraid.
He could sense it in the way she burrowed into projects and focused like a sniper on her goals. It looked like determination,
but it could also be escape.

The yearning was so profound, he knew it was his answer. Mona’s dreams would come true if he had anything to do with it. He
just hoped it wouldn’t cost him the one thing he needed to bail his way out of trouble.