Книга - Mending Her Heart

Mending Her Heart
Judy Baer


After quitting her high-powered job, Catherine Stanhope heads home to Pleasant, Minnesota, to rest and regroup. When she arrives at her late grandmother's house, Hope House, she finds a handsome caretaker and his adorable nephew fixing up the place. This is not what she had in mind! Catherine is thinking of selling Hope House and starting fresh.But Will's determined to honor her grandmother's wish to restore the beautiful Victorian mansion to its former glory. Can he convince Catherine that together they can turn this house into a home - and turn their partnership into true love?












Charley slid into his seat at the table and folded his hands. “Can I say grace?”


“You bet. Give it your best shot, buddy,” Will said.

Catherine listened in amazement as the child began to pray.

“Dear God, thanks for fish, especially salmon the way Uncle Will cooks it, and for cabbage even though it’s gross. And thank you for Jesus and my mom and my uncle and for Miss Catherine who’s come to help us fix up Hope House. And take care of Gram. You’re lucky you’ve got her now. Amen.”

Catherine didn’t even realize there were tears streaming down her face until Will touched a napkin to one cheek.

“He affects me that way, too, sometimes,” Will said so softly that Charley, who was busy eating, didn’t hear.

Everything Charley and Will did seemed to touch Catherine to her core. She looked down at the napkin in her lap. She didn’t want Will to see her face. She was a hairbreadth away from falling for these two charmers, and what a complication that would be.




JUDY BAER


Angel Award-winning author and two-time RITA


Award finalist Judy Baer has written more than seventy books in the past twenty years. A native of North Dakota and graduate of Concordia College in Minnesota, she currently lives near Minneapolis. In addition to writing, Judy works as a personal life coach and writing coach. Judy speaks in churches, libraries, women’s groups and at writers’ conferences across the country. She enjoys time with her husband, two daughters, three stepchildren and the growing number of spouses, pets and babies they bring home. Judy, who once raised buffalo, now owns horses. She recently completed her master’s degree and accepted a position as adjunct faculty at St. Mary’s University, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Readers are invited to visit her website at www.judykbaer.com.




Mending Her Heart

Judy Baer







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Weeping may tarry for the night,

but joy comes in the morning.

—Psalm 30:5


For my mom. I love you.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


Goodbye, Gram. I love you.

Catherine Stanhope turned away from the grave site, her heart aching, unable to watch the ornate silver casket being lowered into the ground. Now the last living Stanhope, she felt truly alone.

As she turned away, consumed with grief and loneliness, she stumbled on a patch of rough ground and pitched forward. She would have fallen flat on her face but for a pair of strong hands that quickly circled her waist.

“Are you okay?” Will Tanner studied her with dark, compassionate eyes.

“Fine, considering the circumstances.” Her voice was faint and monotone.

She stared down at her feet as if they belonged to someone else. She’d worn ridiculously high heels to the funeral even though she knew full well that she’d have to make her way across the cemetery to the elaborate Stanhope family headstone that towered over the rest of the graveyard’s modest rows of tombstones. She wasn’t thinking ahead. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all. The sudden death of her grandmother Abigail had come as such a shock that she was still reeling.

Instead of letting the man go, Catherine gripped his arm even tighter to balance herself, kicked off her shoes, picked them up and sighed. “Sorry. Thank you.” She smiled imperceptibly. “Gram never liked high heels. She always told me I’d break an ankle in these things some day. I certainly don’t want it to be today.” Her grandmother had always been practical and no-nonsense.

“That sounds just like Abigail,” he agreed pleasantly.

Catherine looked at him curiously, studying the fine planes of his face and thick, expressive brows. Since she’d arrived in Pleasant, Minnesota, she’d been inundated with the funeral details that left her sad and exhausted. She hadn’t made the connection between Mr. Will Tanner and her grandmother until meeting him in the mourners’ gathering room before the service. “How long did you say you’ve been working for my grandmother?”

“Nearly six months.”

An unexpected wave of envy swept over her. Tanner, a virtual stranger, had spent more time with her grandmother than she had in recent weeks.

She was responsible, she knew. Gram had called her a dozen times asking when she was going to take time away from work to come home for a visit.

She’d always given the same answer. “I can’t get away, Gram. I have trial dates set and a desk full of cases to address. Why don’t you come to Minneapolis? We’ll go out for dinner every night. You’ll be able to browse all the bookstores and libraries you love. It would be good for you to get away, too, you know….”

Gram had come, of course, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing matched a visit with Abigail Stanhope at Stanhope House—or Hope House, as the locals called it. Being surrounded by family art, heirlooms and history or sitting on the back porch sipping tea with the woman who’d raised her, were opportunities Catherine had taken for granted until it was too late. The regret tasted bitter in her mouth. And it only deepened the grief that already overwhelmed her. All she could do was steel herself against the pain.

“Shall we go to Hope House, dear?” Emma Lane, her grandmother’s best friend, was waiting for them by the last few of the parked cars. “Are you ready?”

Catherine had chosen to stay with Emma the past two nights rather than spend them alone at Hope House.

“People are coming by. The church ladies are serving lunch at the house. Your aunt Ellen and uncle Max went ahead to welcome the guests.”

Catherine pressed her thumb and forefinger together over the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache that was lurking behind her eyes. “Yes…but I’d like a few minutes to myself first.”

Emma, with whom Catherine had ridden from the church, looked concerned. “Of course. I’m sure they’ll realize they need to plug in the coffeemaker….”

“You can go back to Hope House and do what needs to be done, Emma. I’ll drive her back to the house,” Tanner offered. “That will give Catherine as much time as she needs.”

Catherine shot him a grateful glance. The past few hours had been a maelstrom of emotion. Add to that the traumatic and stressful days she’d had at work preceding her grandmother’s passing and Catherine felt emotionally battered and utterly weary. Right now ten minutes alone was like hitting the mother lode.

After Emma had gone, Catherine turned to Will. “Thank you for giving me a few minutes to collect myself. I really haven’t had time to process any of this.” It was as if she’d been walking in a dream…no, a nightmare…since Emma called. She flashed back to three days earlier.

“Catherine? This is Emma Lane.” Catherine had grown up eating gingersnaps out of Emma’s fat ceramic cookie jar, a rotund brown chicken with a red comb and orange beak, and playing in the gazebo in the Lanes’ backyard.

Emma sounded as if she’d been crying. “I hate to disturb you so early in the morning, dear, but your grandmother has suffered a stroke. She called me last night to say she wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed early. I can’t say why, but I woke up at 5 a.m. with Abigail on my mind. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t shake the urge to get up and go to her place to check on her.”

Catherine felt her stomach plunge as if she were barreling downward on an out-of-control roller-coaster ride.

“It was as if God Himself prodded me to get up, so I did. I have a key to the house because we occasionally check on each other’s plants and furnaces.” Emma’s voice quavered. “I found Abigail unconscious on the floor between the bed and the bathroom.”

“No…” The wail Catherine heard was her own.

Emma paused to regain her composure. “I called 9-1-1 and went with her to the hospital. She’s gone, Catherine. She never woke up.”

Catherine stumbled again, the pain in her heart threatening to bring her to her knees.

Tanner took her arm. Catherine stiffened but didn’t withdraw as he steered her toward a nearby garden bench, one of several scattered throughout the cemetery. A small bronze plaque on the concrete base said, “Donated by the Stanhope Family, 1996. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God: trust also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you may also be where I am. John 14:1-3.”

She sank onto it gratefully. “I’m sorry I’m holding you up. It’s very kind of you to stay with me.”

“I’m happy to do it. Anything for Abigail and her family.”

As she studied him from her perch on the iron frame, he rested one hip on the arm of the bench, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled slightly. “I can see you are full of questions about me.”

She was full of questions, but she didn’t realize it was quite so visible. Gram had told her she’d found a caretaker and groundskeeper for Hope House. That had been a great relief to Catherine. Hope House was far too big a project for an elderly woman alone. But Gram hadn’t said that the hired man looked like an Adonis—tall, strong, athletic, dark-haired and staggeringly handsome. That, no doubt, she’d wanted Catherine to see for herself. Gram enjoyed surprises and he was certainly one.

A rabbit hopped in front of the bench and paused to stare at them with a curious eye. Neither of them moved until the rabbit grew bored with them and bounded off.

It was soothing to sit here beneath the canopy of trees and be with someone who demanded nothing of her.

Ironic, she thought, that even now, despite the loss of her beloved gram, she felt more like herself than she had back in Minneapolis in the vortex of complex legal issues that had been her life. Here, at least, she knew that Gram was now where she’d longed to be for years, ever since Catherine’s grandfather Charles had died. Gram looked forward to heaven the way some people look forward to monetary reward or success. Heaven, for Gram, was the priceless inheritance and ultimate success.

A finger of sadness moved through her gut as her thoughts hopscotched over the events of the past few weeks. Now she would never get the chance to tell Gram that she hadn’t lost her mind by quitting her lucrative and prestigious job at the law firm. She longed to tell her grandmother why she’d so suddenly left her job, put her home on the market and decided to come home to Pleasant to regroup and consider her options. There was the offer to teach at the law school, of course, which was practically a done deal. She had only to sign on the dotted line. Then a former client now in state government had dangled a political-appointment carrot in front of her, and a friend in Maine had called seeking her expertise. She’d been counting on Gram to affirm her next move, whatever it might be.

Abigail Stanhope had been her wisest champion and most loyal confidant since the day Catherine had arrived as an orphaned little girl on Abigail’s doorstep. The idea of life without her grandmother was impossible to comprehend.

Of course, Catherine thought bitterly, this season in her life seemed to be one of relinquishing things—job, home, and now…

“Catherine?”

She started at the sound of Will Tanner’s concerned voice and brushed a hand across her eyes to push her long blond hair away from her face. “Sorry. I drifted off, didn’t I? Shall we head back to your car?”

“Have you had enough time?” His voice was so gentle that it made her want to cry. His chiseled features were inked with concern.

“I don’t think there is enough time,” she said with a weak smile.

He took her elbow and guided her toward his vehicle. Unconsciously she moved closer to him, unexpectedly hungry for human warmth and tenderness.

“I’ll bet I know where Abigail went first when she got to heaven.” His voice softened into something that sounded both sad and amused.

“I don’t understand.”

“She told me that the first thing she wanted to do when she got to heaven was to go to the information booth and ask all the questions she’d been saving up. Why God made wood ticks, for example.”

Catherine felt a bubble of laughter well in her chest. “That sounds just like Gram. Did the two of you talk about those things a lot?”

He paused before answering, as if carefully considering his choice of words. “Your grandmother introduced me to God. Most of our conversations were either about faith or the house. Those were her favorite topics.”

“I see.” She was taken aback by the admission. Gram and Mr. Tanner had shared a very personal and meaningful experience, then. This employee-employer relationship ran much deeper than she’d first assumed.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, really, knowing Gram. She ran everything in her life through the filter of God. What would He think? Want? Encourage? That’s how she lived her life. Gram never cared what other people thought. If God was good with something, that was all she wanted.

“Abigail also told me that you recently quit your job,” he added casually.

“She did?” Catherine didn’t know quite what to make of the fact that Gram had told him about her life.

He smiled again, wistful this time. “We spent a lot of time drinking coffee at her kitchen table. I would remind her we needed to be working, but she would insist that civilized people took regular breaks.” He chuckled a little. “She made me very civilized.”

That, Catherine knew, was exactly how Gram functioned. She should have been the one spending these last days with Gram, not some stranger. It was her own fault. She was the one who’d put off coming home.

“If only I’d come home a few days earlier! I was almost ready to leave the Cities when Emma called. I was able to pull on clothes, throw already-packed suitcases into my car and be on the road in less than thirty minutes.”

“So you’d been planning to come to Pleasant anyway?”

It was what she’d always done whenever she needed to recharge. She’d already stored her personal belongings in a storage space and arranged for a Realtor to begin showing her house once she vacated it. There was nothing to stop her from leaving the city for as long as she wanted.

“Yes.” She’d assumed there would be a time when she and Gram could curl up in massive wingback chairs, sip peppermint tea and discuss the twists and turns her life had taken, as they had done so many times over the years. Then Gram would pray for her. That was what Catherine found herself most hungry for right now. She closed her eyes and sighed.



Will studied Catherine Stanhope intently. He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful.

Abigail had warned him that her granddaughter was easy on the eyes. He just hadn’t known how easy. Will immediately chastised himself for being so crass at a time like this, but he knew if Abigail were here she would have been tickled by his surprise. “See? I told you!” she would have chortled gleefully.

But she was gone and her granddaughter felt frail and fragile against his side as they walked slowly to his pickup truck. Her long honey-gold hair tumbled over his arm in a glistening wave and her profile, when he glanced at her, seemed carved from porcelain, smooth and pale. Long black lashes fanned over her cheeks and tears hung from them like dew.

He felt as if he’d been punched in the belly with a battering ram at the idea of losing Abigail. What flood of emotions must this woman be feeling?

Although he knew better, Will had somehow assumed that Abigail would be around forever; that her indomitable spirit would allow her to survive no matter what. They’d had dinner together just two nights before her death. While Will made ribs on the grill, Abigail had whipped up a batch of her special slaw. They’d finished with coffee and huge slices of coconut cake and watched the sun go down together. And now she was gone. He couldn’t get his head around it, at least not yet.

He’d been proud to say, “I work for Abigail Stanhope.” Present tense, he thought. That wasn’t right anymore. He’d worked for Abigail. Past tense.

If only there were something he could do for Abigail’s granddaughter to ease her pain, Will thought helplessly. The only thing he knew to do was to show her that Abigail’s wishes for the house were being carried out even after her death. Perhaps that would be a comfort to her, but now was not the time.

“This is your vehicle?” Catherine asked, forcing him to study the beat-up club-cab truck he used for construction jobs. It never occurred to him to back his sporty Camaro out of the garage anymore. Pleasant was a pickup truck kind of place and he liked it that way.

“Sorry.” He saw her distressed expression and, feeling a flicker of annoyance, opened the door and began to brush nails, paint-chip samples and bits of molding off the front seat. “I didn’t realize I’d be having a guest on the way home.” The only other person he’d ever apologized to for the state of his truck was his sister-in-law, Sheila. “I am a groundskeeper and carpenter, you know.”

“I’m sorry. That sounded snippy. I’ve been around too many people who think of cars as status symbols. Gram would have scolded me roundly for that.”

She looked embarrassed. Will appreciated that. Snobbish women like his sister-in-law turned him off. He didn’t want Catherine to be one of those because he was drawn to her, even under these difficult circumstances.

He helped her into the cab, pulled out the seat belt for her and then circled to the driver’s side of the truck. For some reason he felt as if his life had just become terribly complicated.




Chapter Two


Catherine didn’t speak as they drove through town but reclined against the seat back, vacantly watching buildings go by. Stanley’s Meat Market, Wilders’ drugstore with its original soda fountain and the Stop-In gas station. The doors were open on several of the rooms at the Flatley motel, being aired out for the next guests.

They pulled up to the front gate of the Stanhope mansion, an impressive three-story structure with wide porches, ornate gingerbread trim and white lace curtains blowing in the windows. There were cars everywhere, parked down both sides of the street and in neighboring driveways. More cars, it seemed to Will, than there were in the entire town of Pleasant. Abigail had been a well-loved woman.

The geraniums in the huge metal vases that flanked the stairway and the front door were a vibrant red. The variegated hostas Abigail loved so much marched, lush and beautiful, around the foundation of the house. Will had stripped and repainted every baluster with care and was pleased with the results. The porch railing looked brand-new. Abigail had loved it…. Will fought back the emotion swelling in his chest. At least she’d had the opportunity to enjoy it before she died.

As he helped Catherine out of the car, she looked at him again, with those sad gray-green eyes. When she grabbed his forearm to steady herself, Will felt an unexpected frisson of energy make its way up his arm. Was he feeling electricity between them?

You’re just plain stupid if that’s what you think. He was merely a convenient pillar to lean on. He could have been made of wood or plaster for all she cared. He felt closer to her than she to him only because Abigail had talked so much about her.

“Thank you,” she said softly. She tipped her head to look at him and he saw gratitude in her eyes.

Well, maybe she cared a little.

“I’m very sorry about your grandmother. She was one of a kind.”

Catherine smiled faintly. “She certainly was. I still can’t believe it’s true.” She looked at the massive home before her, its gleaming windows and glossy gray porch floor sparkling back at her. “Maybe once I’ve been inside I’ll realize she’s gone.”

I wouldn’t count on it, he thought grimly as he followed her into the house. This place was as alive with memories of Abigail as a house could possibly be.

Still carrying her shoes, Catherine stared up at the mansion that was her childhood home. This was where she belonged right now, she realized, as she was swept up in an overpowering sense of rightness, of home. This was the repository for her family’s history, this quaint step-back-in-time place. It was particularly true of her great-grandfather, Obadiah Elias Stanhope.

Obadiah had come from Illinois in the late 1800s and opened a small bank on Main Street. A savvy man who wasn’t afraid of either risk or criticism, Obadiah had, during the Great Depression, amassed a number of failing banks and invested prudently. Thus the Stanhope banking fortune was born and the Stanhope name embedded in the very fabric of the town. He’d built a mansion for his beloved wife and son and, eventually, daughter-in-law, Abigail. Now she, Obadiah’s great-granddaughter, was the only remaining Stanhope. What might Obadiah have expected of her? He was a man of grand ideas and splendid schemes. A weighty blanket of duty and obligation settled around her shoulders like a thick wool cape, unwieldy, confining and fraught with responsibility—the very things she’d tried to leave behind in her law practice.

She could see people milling around inside the house, holding coffee cups and plates of food. Mr. and Mrs. Flatley, owners of Pleasant’s only motel, were there, awkwardly balancing plates of food on their knees. Even the gentleman from Stop-In station was there, though Catherine knew he was relatively new to town. Others were on the wide expanse of porch, including Stanley Wilder and his wife, who ran the drugstore. In fact, everyone who’d ever lived in Pleasant seemed to be present. Aunt Ellen, her mother’s sister, was pouring coffee from a silver server and her uncle Max was handing around a tray of dainty sandwiches that the church ladies had provided. It was a party Abigail would have enjoyed.

“Ms. Stanhope?” A deep male voice rumbled near her ear.

A large, gray-haired man came into her line of vision. “I’m Dr. Benjamin Randall, Abigail’s physician. She was a wonderful woman, your grandmother, good to the hospital and very gracious to me. This is a great loss for everyone who knew her. My condolences.”

As the big man’s intent blue eyes bored into her, Catherine was suddenly overcome with a shortness of breath. She opened her mouth to respond, but when she took one step forward, it was as if she were being moved by puppet strings. Confusions overtook her. Then someone cut all the strings and Catherine slipped to the ground in a dead faint.

She awoke to the anxious faces of Will, Emma, Uncle Max, Aunt Ellen and several of her grandmother’s friends peering down at her as she lay on the lumpy horsehair couch Abigail had insisted was Obadiah’s favorite. There was worried muttering in the background.

“Sorry, I…I…” she began. Then a plastic dump truck landed on her chest. Following it was the face of a small boy with shaggy brown hair, deep brown eyes, round pink cheeks and a hopeful expression.

“My dump truck always made Grandma Abby feel better,” he said with sublime innocence. “You can play with it if you want.” Then he smiled at her, the sweet, trusting smile that children usually save for the people they love most.

The wall around her heart softened and she reached her hand out to the boy. Before she could speak, a familiar but frowning dark figure swooped down on the child and picked him up.

“This isn’t the time or place, little buddy,” Will Tanner said to the child. “It’s very nice of you to offer to share your dump truck, but I don’t think Ms. Stanhope is in the mood right now. Let’s get you a soda.”

“But Grandma Abby said if everyone would put their problems in my truck and send it to the dump, they’d all be happier,” the young voice piped. “Don’t you want that lady to be happy?” His words grew farther away as he was spirited into the kitchen. A hint of laughter spread through the room.

Emma, looking relieved that Catherine had stirred, helped her to her feet. “That’s Will Tanner’s nephew, Charley. He’s only eight and hasn’t quite grasped the fact that Abigail is gone. He was only trying to help.”

And he had, Catherine thought. He’d interjected some lightness into the dark moment. She was grateful for something tangible to do away with the disconnected feelings she was experiencing. The child was right, too. She’d love to send her current toxic troubles to some faraway place. He’d also reminded her that she did have control over how she responded to what was before her. She’d have to thank Charley later—and find out exactly why he was calling her grandmother “Grandma.”

She was not the only one in this room who was grieving. Besides, Abigail would have expected her to recognize that, Catherine reminded herself. Just because she was steeping in a brew of vulnerability and grief, she still had responsibilities. She had people to greet. What she couldn’t do for herself, she would do for her grandmother. That included being a gracious hostess for those who’d come to pay their respects.

She rose from the couch with a weak smile. She was accustomed to hiding her emotions from a jury. She could do it here, too. “No harm done. I haven’t eaten much today. I was just a little faint, that’s all.” She waved a hand toward the milling guests. “Please, keep visiting. Don’t worry about me. I want this to be a celebration of my grandmother’s life.”

Reluctantly at first, and then with more gusto, the guests began to talk among themselves, telling stories about Abigail and even erupting into laughter at the memories. Catherine made her way to the vast dining-room table where a buffet was set up and picked up a sandwich so she’d have something in her stomach. Then she moved from group to group accepting the sympathetic comments and gestures of affection the people of Pleasant had to offer.

“Catherine!” Mrs. Margolis, her third-grade teacher, grabbed her by the hand and embraced her in a hug that nearly suffocated her. The dear woman still wore White Shoulders perfume after all these years. Eddie Henke, the milkman, looked distraught. Abigail had befriended him many times and he wanted to tell Catherine about each of them.

One by one, people approached her to tell Catherine the ways that her grandmother had blessed them—making donations to the park fund, paying doctor bills, buying braces for a needy child. But as she moved toward a group of people from Gram’s church, she was brought up sharply. “Catherine, we have to talk.”

The tone of Aunt Ellen’s voice brought her to a halt. Automatically, Catherine steeled herself. She loved her aunt even though they rarely saw eye to eye. This was the one conversation Catherine had hoped to avoid today, but there was no way to stop the inevitable.

“So,” Ellen said, “I hear you left your job in Minneapolis.” Her face puckered as she said it, as if the words were distasteful. Ellen was pencil thin and dressed to the nines. Her hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob, looked like a piece of architecture. She was wide-eyed and unlined thanks to the nips and tucks she used to fend off old age. Unfortunately Ellen had also removed much of the personality from her own features. She was still beautiful, though, as had been Catherine’s mother, Emily.

Her mother’s sister was a force of nature, Catherine had learned long ago, accustomed to getting her own way and not a terribly gracious loser when foiled. The only person she’d ever seen stand up to Ellen and win was Abigail. It was back then that Catherine first understood the power of a mother lion fighting for her cub.

“That’s right. My plans are fluid for the time being. There’s no hurry for me to go back.” She chose not to mention the job offers she’d had. She didn’t want Ellen’s input right now, and because Catherine was leaning toward teaching, she would have the rest of the summer at Hope House. “I can stay in Pleasant as long as I need to.” Catherine could tell her aunt didn’t think that was fortunate at all.

“What about your home?”

“I put my condo on the market this week. No use doing things halfway.” She’d already emailed her housekeeper to store the few things that were left. Then she’d texted her Realtor to tell her the house would be ready to show next week. When she was ready to move on, there would be nothing tying her down.

“It sounds like you’re burning bridges. You’ve certainly made sure you can’t go back. What are you thinking, Catherine? Yours was a very prestigious job.”

“I suppose, if that sort of thing impresses you.” And that was just the sort of thing that did impress her aunt. Conrad, Connor & Cassidy—the Three C’s as the staff called them—had a highly regarded reputation. “To me it was just my work—family law.”

“But you held other people’s lives in your hands!” Ellen pointed out. “You had the ability to change their futures. That’s very important.”

Too important, sometimes, Catherine thought. She didn’t want to be responsible for the world. She didn’t want to be accountable for anything right now. She’d never been completely comfortable with courtroom drama. Nor did she want to carry the burdens of other people’s heartbreak on her shoulders. One of her last cases had proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. A custody case, it had involved all the drama, intrigue and heartache of an afternoon soap opera—deception, trickery, deceit and revenge. Sadly, a small child had stood at the center of the swirling controversy. That was what had bothered Catherine most.

“It also wears a person out emotionally,” Catherine said to Ellen. “It’s difficult to stay aloof from the issues and the people involved without becoming calloused.”

She didn’t want to be a cynic who kept people at a distance, avoided personal relationships and concentrated only on the work. She hadn’t liked the person she was becoming.

Impulsively Catherine threw her arm around her aunt and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Even that didn’t stop Ellen from expressing her opinion. “It sounds like a disastrous decision to me,” she said. “Throwing away a lucrative career…and for what?”

Some things just never change, Ellen’s quest for income and status being one. She and Uncle Max had been kind to want to adopt her, Catherine thought, but it never would have worked.

“I like to think of it as an opportunity,” Catherine said frankly, “a chance to reinvent myself. There’s a profession out there that doesn’t drain my energy and steal my spirit.” Like teaching, perhaps.

Emma and Will approached at that moment, saving her from any more of her aunt’s comments. Ellen walked away, shaking her head.

“Don’t mind your aunt,” Emma said gently, obviously having overheard the conversation. “Her intentions are good. She has different values, that’s all. You’ve always been a sweet girl with a very tender heart. Your grandmother wondered how you could be in such a ruthless occupation. Apparently you couldn’t after all.” Emma eyed her as if she were x-raying her soul.

“I still remember the day you came from your aunt and uncle’s to live with Abigail. You were a tiny, lost child with a pink backpack, clutching a teddy bear with a red scarf and one missing ear. Your eyes were so big that they took up most of your face.”

Catherine glanced at Will, unsure if she was ready to have him hear this, but most likely he’d heard it all from Gram. “Yes. Initially I’d stayed with my mother’s sister, Ellen, and her husband, Max.”

“But your grandmother never liked it much. She told me that Ellen and Max were too…what was the word?” Emma looked around to make sure they weren’t within hearing distance. “They were too restless to have a child. I never really understood what she meant by that.”

Catherine, however, understood perfectly. “Max and Ellen are entrepreneurs. They love to travel. Max does business all over the world and Ellen accompanies him. It’s an opportunity for Ellen to take photos across the continents. She’s built up a fairly serious reputation as a photographer. By choice, they’ve never had children.”

“It’s probably for the best if they couldn’t stay home,” Emma said, her tone disapproving. “Children need a stable environment.”

“That’s what my grandmother thought, too.” Catherine ran her fingers through her hair. She’d given thanks to God countless times that her grandmother had held fast and insisted on legal custody. Even now, today, she and her aunt were on opposite ends of the spectrum. The conversation they’d just had was proof of that.

Catherine shrugged. “It all worked out, I guess. It’s probably the reason that I specialized in family law.”

“More than worked out. It seems to me it was a big success.” Will glanced at Emma. “This gives me hope.”

Emma nodded in understanding, leaving Catherine in the dark as to what they were talking about.

Before she could ask him what he meant, a bear of a man bore down on them and Catherine threw out her arms. “Jerry!” At that moment he picked her off her feet and gathered her into his arms.

Will and Emma backed away as Catherine greeted her old friend.



Will watched Catherine talk to the newcomer with sudden animation and felt oddly protective. She was spectacularly beautiful, in a tense, agitated kind of way. Will couldn’t fault her for being a bundle of nerves. Losing Abigail had knocked him for a loop and he couldn’t imagine how it might be for Catherine.

She was too thin, and her high cheekbones were more prominent than they might have been had she been carrying another ten or fifteen pounds. For some odd reason, he had an urgent desire to cook for her. Perhaps because he couldn’t think of another thing to do for this woman whose suffering was written across her face.

He rarely felt helpless. Having lived and seen a lot of life had taught him to survive. He was confident about most things he faced, but Catherine was something else. Like his late friend and mentor, Abigail, he was rarely wrong about someone’s character. Beneath her shell of self-sufficiency, Catherine Stanhope was fragile and vulnerable.

Emma, who was acting as hostess, flitted over to him. “She reminds you of Abigail, doesn’t she? Independent, smart, self-reliant….” Emma made a tsk-tsking noise with her tongue. “She was even more so before…” Her voice trailed away.

“Before what?”

“I’m not quite sure. But I do know something has changed her. Abigail told me that a case had affected Catherine deeply and she was having a hard time getting over it. Catherine’s always been very open and forthright, but she has walls up now. I can’t explain it, but it feels as if she holds people at bay sometimes.”

He tensed involuntarily. He preferred people who were honest, not guarded or secretive.

“I know this has been hard on you, Will.” Her grandmotherly concern was evident. “You and Abigail were very close. She loved you like a son. I’m sorry for your loss, as well. Are you okay?”

“I must admit I’m a little poleaxed by what’s happened, but I’ll be fine.” He drew himself to his full six-foot-two height and rolled his shoulders to relax them before giving Emma a lopsided grin. “Which reminds me, I’d better go find Charley before he gets into some mischief.”

“That’s a darling boy you have.”

Will didn’t comment. His mind was too busy digesting the fact that not only was Catherine an attorney, but that she had been at the center of a custody case as a child. Could she help him with the problem that was currently knocking at his door? And of course there was the even bigger question. Would she?




Chapter Three


Catherine gazed up at her old high-school classmate, Jerry Travers. He was a big teddy bear in a bow tie.

“Catherine, I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

“Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate everyone’s kindness. How’s life going for you?”

“Same old, same old. Deeds, contracts, wills, estate planning and, fortunately, very few criminal cases. That’s the blessing of practicing in Pleasant. Most of the work is, well, pretty pleasant.”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“I’m busier than I used to be, of course,” Jerry added.

“You are?” She studied his profile, the prominent nose, strong chin and high forehead. He looked little different than he had in high school.

“Dad is trying to retire. Emphasis on ‘trying.’ He’ll never give up practicing law altogether, but he does need to cut back. He had a minor heart attack last winter and my mother is adamant about getting him to slow down. I’m trying to carry a bigger load and make it look like it’s easy so that he’ll get the idea he can take a few days off here and there.” He took a sandwich off a tray someone brought by. “How about you? How’s the legal profession treating you?”

“I resigned from my job.”

“No kidding?” His dark brows raised with astonishment. “I thought you had some peach of a career on tap…at least that’s what your grandmother always said.”

“I suppose I did, but I needed a break,” Catherine responded vaguely. She wasn’t ready to go into detail about her life choices quite yet.

“How long will you be staying in Pleasant?”

“Probably several weeks. My time is my own right now.”

“Abigail always hoped you’d come back here, you know.”

Surprise rippled through her. “To practice law? What about the esteemed firm of Travers & Travers?”

Jerry chuckled. “Oh, them. More than once Abigail asked Dad if he’d hire you if you came home.”

“She did?” Catherine was taken aback. Her grandmother had had dreams for her she’d never voiced. What else didn’t she know?

“Dad always said yes, of course.”

“To pacify her, no doubt.”

“Not really. I believe he meant it.” Jerry turned an appraising eye on her. “He probably still would. My mother would be eternally grateful. If Dad thought he had a competent attorney in the office other than me, he might ease up finally.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to offer me a job,” Catherine said lightly. It was odd that right after she’d quit her job, other opportunities began to appear.

“Are you looking for one?”

“I’m considering doing some teaching. Of course, that was before Gram died.”

“You’d be good at it. You’d be good at anything you tried, Catherine. I know you’ve got your plate full right now. All I’m saying is that if you want to do some part-time work while you’re deciding your next step, Travers & Travers might be able to accommodate you. I saw you argue a case in the Cities, if you remember. I was very impressed by your skill and confidence. You left everyone else in the dust.”

“That’s very kind of you, Jerry…”

The big man snorted. “It’s not kind at all, Catherine. You’re one of the best. You’d be doing us a kindness by representing our firm.”

Jerry backed away when someone from the dining room called her name. “It’s great to see you again, Catherine. I’m so sorry about the circumstances. No pressure about my offer. I just wanted you to know that if time gets heavy on your hands, you have an option.”

“I appreciate the offer. I just…” She didn’t even get time to finish her sentence before another friend of Abigail took her arm and pulled her away.

When the last guest said goodbye, Catherine dropped into the nearest chair with a groan.

Emma patted her hand. “You’ve had enough for one day, dear. You’re white as a sheet. Why don’t you come back to my house tonight so you can get a good night’s sleep? I know you’d planned to stay at Hope House, but you can check out the place just as well in the morning.”

“I haven’t walked the grounds or been upstairs,” Catherine protested without much enthusiasm. “I really should…”

“Nothing will change overnight. It will all be here for you tomorrow.”

Suddenly, spending the night here felt like a very bad idea. Here at Hope House Catherine knew she would do nothing but think about what she’d lost, when all she really wanted was to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“I’ll take you up on that, Emma.”

She knew she’d be asleep before her head hit the pillow.



Catherine awoke slowly, the light of the sun filtering through the thick lace curtains and across her bed. She lay on her back thinking of the remarkable ceiling in her own bedroom at Hope House, which had been decorated with plaster swirls that had been piped on like frosting on a wedding cake. She’d taken the house for granted as a child, but its remarkable features struck her now. Although Emma’s home was lovely, it was a pale comparison to Hope House. Catherine had been living in a fairy-tale house back then and hadn’t even noticed. It would be painful to go back there without Abigail, but it had to be done.

Her limbs felt heavy and it took her some time to roll to her side and put her feet on the pink-and-blue Aubusson rug on the floor beside the bed. Gently she raised and lowered her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. Once her blood was flowing, she stretched broadly and stood up. Her body felt as if it had been beaten as her tense muscles screamed in protest.

After a quick shower, Catherine grabbed clothing from her bag and padded downstairs barefoot to find Emma in the kitchen whipping up a batch of pancakes. Coffee was brewed and fresh-squeezed orange juice was already on the table.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Emma.” Catherine poured herself some coffee. “I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in the big house alone last night.”

“It’s the least I can do, sweet girl. I hope you slept well.”

“Quite soundly. I suppose being exhausted from getting ready to move and then the tension of yesterday wore me out.”

“People always sleep better in Pleasant,” Emma said complacently. “No bright streetlights except a couple on Main Street and a street corner here and there, no traffic noise, no airplanes arriving and taking off, and all the gorgeous, mature trees—it’s like a cocoon, protected from the rest of the world.”

“I appreciate that, I…”

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Will Tanner strode in, dark hair still damp and curling from the shower, a night’s growth of beard shadowing his jawline. “Good morning, ladies. How are things today?” His gaze went directly to Catherine.



She looked as if she’d lost ten pounds overnight, he observed. Her cheeks were hollow and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She sat at the kitchen table in well-washed jeans that had seen better years and a simple white T-shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like a teenager. She’d tucked her feet beneath her and held a large coffee mug in her hands. She lifted it to her face to inhale the aroma and breathed deeply.

Will had never wanted to rescue someone from sadness so badly in his life. Except Charley, of course, but Charley was family. His sister Annie’s blood ran in his veins.

“Morning, Will. I thought you’d be by.” Emma held up a carafe. “Coffee?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Maybe a jolt of caffeine would take the edge off his fuzziness. He’d dreamed all night of Abigail and the plans they’d had together.

In the dream he and Abigail sat at her kitchen table as they always did, discussing the house and the forever-growing list of restoration projects he was to tackle.

“Will,” she would say, “promise me that whatever happens, you’ll finish this house.” Her expression was intent. “Don’t get itchy feet. Please say that you’ll stay here until it’s done.”

“Abigail, there’s no reason for me to leave you. The house will be done. I promise. I’m not a quitter.”

“Refurbishing this house is my gift to the Stanhope family. I married my husband, Charles, as a very young woman and it changed everything about my life.” Abigail’s eyes would flash with resolve and she’d squeeze his hand so tightly that it almost hurt.

Then she’d stare straight into his eyes and say, “The Stanhopes were generous to a fault. They helped to mold me into who I am today. I will be forever grateful for the way they took me in as a true daughter. And they loved Hope House, as I grew to.”

He was ready to reassure her again that he wasn’t planning to go anywhere when he woke and realized that Abigail was gone. By dawn he knew with complete certainty what he had to do. She’d given him not only a job but a place to live—a cozy apartment in the guesthouse, a stable home for his nephew, Charley, and as a result, a renewed purpose for his life. If ever he was to claim Charley as his own son, a real home was imperative. The town was safe, idyllic and friendly, perfect for a growing child, and their place was small but comfortable—no matter what his sister-in-law thought. He was tired of continually locking horns with Sheila on the matter. He had to restore the house as Abigail had asked. It was imperative that he make a home for his little boy.

Then an unsettling thought occurred to him. What had Abigail told her granddaughter of her plans? Catherine owned the house now. She could sell it or turn it into a gift shop or any fool thing she wanted.

Still, even in death, Abigail was a force to be reckoned with. He would do what he’d promised her.

He looked up to see Emma and Catherine staring at him expectantly. How long had his mind drifted?

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” He looked at Catherine. “Did you?”

“I think it felt less like sleep and more like a coma,” she admitted. “I was already on my way to Pleasant for some badly needed R&R…” As she said it, she looked troubled.

There was more to this woman than met the eye, Will sensed. He hoped he’d get to know her well enough to learn what made her tick.



Catherine felt uncomfortable beneath Will’s intent gaze. “Tell me more about what you did for Gram,” she suggested.

“I’m doing a lot of carpentry work right now, as you probably already know. It was your grandmother’s dream that Hope House be preserved for posterity. I’ve been helping her restore the place.”

No, she didn’t know. Catherine couldn’t recall her grandmother saying that to her. Of course, Gram had traveled to Minneapolis for their visits and Hope House was rarely a topic of conversation.

Now she knew why he seemed so at ease in this house. There was a time when she felt she was Abigail’s primary confidant. Will had been here for Gram and she hadn’t. She’d trade it all for an hour with her now.

“I live in the guesthouse,” he added as if it were an afterthought.

Catherine blinked. Gram hadn’t mentioned that either.

“I’m a relatively recent addition to the property.” Tanner looked amused by her surprise. “Six months, remember? Living in the guesthouse is part of my payment for my work. Abigail and I struck a deal.”

What exactly did that mean?

He thrust his hands into his pockets. “It was my understanding that she was going to surprise you when you arrived. From what I gathered, Abigail was sure you’d be pleased because you’d grown up here and your family home had so much history.”

He gave her a shrewd stare. “She thought you felt the same way about Hope House that she did.”

Will might as well have pounded a stake into her heart. Of course she loved Hope House! But her life was very different from Gram’s. What’s more, she’d been away from home except for summer breaks and visits since she was eighteen years old. She loved Pleasant and Hope House, but it was part of her past, not her future. Maybe it was a good thing that Gram hadn’t understood that. It might have hurt her to know they weren’t on the same page.

“How did you and my grandmother meet?”

“Through my cousin, who reroofed the house a year ago. She called him when she was looking for help with the renovating and he suggested me. I went uptown for supplies. I’m on my way to Hope House to work right now,” Will said. “Do you want to come back with me?”

“I’d like that. I’ll be right back.” She could feel Will and Emma watching her as she left the kitchen. It was as if they were worried about her. Especially Will.

That was puzzling. She’d just met the man and knew very little about him other than he was a very handsome man. And, of course, Abigail had liked him. She hoped Gram was right to put her faith in him.

She returned wearing the same jeans and T-shirt with a powder-blue sweatshirt. She’d pulled her long tumble of hair into a knot at the base of her neck. On her feet was a pair of her favorite flip-flops.

It occurred to her that for the first time in months she felt free.

No power suit and low-heeled pumps today. No arm-taxing briefcase full of legal papers, no court dates, no judges or bailiffs and no guards at courthouse security. And no way to mess up someone’s life. She was free. Even the tragedy of the moment couldn’t erase the relief she felt.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she said, “Sorry I’m so casual today.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re a beautiful woman, Catherine. Most ladies would give anything to look like you.” Then, to her delight, he blushed.

Catherine kept her eye on him as they said good bye to Emma and crawled into his pickup truck. He was extremely appealing, with that day-old growth of stubble on his cheeks. His dark hair was thick and rumpled and his eyebrows dark and straight over his remarkable eyes. He was tall and leanly muscled, dark-eyed and exuded an aura of strength—both physical and mental. No wonder her grandmother had been so cavalier when Catherine had asked about work around the house. Will had been her secret weapon against quickly growing grass and wood decay.

The thoughts of her grandmother brought tears to her eyes again. Abigail had been her entire family. Her absent aunt and uncle hardly counted. It was all gone now—Gram, her job, her condo…. Only Hope House remained to be dealt with.

This was a fresh start, something she’d been wanting for a long time. She was eager to take on a new opportunity but not when she was feeling guilty about it. About selling Hope House.

Pleasant was just what its name implied. As they drove down Main Street, Catherine watched the picturesque storefronts go by. The Nook, part gift shop and part quilt shop, had a colorful banner flying from the eaves that announced a sale. Across the street was an antiques store called Becky’s Attic, which was owned by a high-school friend of Catherine. Because it was near lake country, Pleasant had a steady flow of visitors all summer long that supported the shops and during long winters for ice fishing and sledding. A feeling of stillness washed over her as she viewed the unchanging storefronts and recalled shopkeepers who had been behind their counters since she was a child.

She also had a growing awareness of the man beside her. His physical presence was compelling.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“There are a lot of memories for me here,” she said softly as she shifted more closely to the truck door. Her attraction to him was disconcerting.

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Very.” She studied his profile as he drove. There was gentleness about his features that surprised her. She liked it. Maybe she was too accustomed to hard-edged attorneys. Even if her coworkers had had soft sides, they tried never to let them show.

“You’re lucky—about the good memories, I mean. I would have given anything to have grown up in a place like this.” He said it so emphatically that she stared at him quizzically.

“This is a perfect place for a child,” he explained. “He can have freedom to roam and yet enough people watching out for him that he can’t get into much trouble. You know that stuff about it taking a village to raise a kid? This is that kind of place.”

“A kid like you were?”

“Me? No. I was a little wildcat according to everyone who knew me. It would have taken an entire metropolis to do much with me. I was thinking about my nephew, Charley.” He smiled slightly. “You met him yesterday.”

“Ah, yes, the one who threw a dump truck on top of me.”

“Charley lives with me now, although my brother and sister-in-law would like to change that. His mom, my sister, Annie, had cirrhosis. She died about five months ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He looked pained. “It was difficult to watch someone throw her life away, but my sister couldn’t quit drinking.” He strained to get the words out, as if he didn’t want to talk about this but couldn’t help himself. “Charley had a tough life growing up with an alcoholic mom. My sister loved him, but she couldn’t keep her act together, even for him.”

They pulled into the driveway of Hope House before she could respond. Today she looked—really looked—at the yard and gardens. The lawns were lush green carpets, so soft-looking she yearned to walk over them barefoot. Not a leaf or a twig marred the expanse. The variegated hostas had tripled in size since her last visit and the beds of moss roses were bright and colorful as bags of jelly beans. What had this man put the plants and grass on? Steroids?

“The yard is spectacular. You’ve done an amazing job with the whole place.” The old porch swing she’d loved as a child had been restored and was piled high with yellow, blue and white floral pillows. Even the white wicker furniture, which had been hidden away in the storage shed, was now inviting instead of decrepit. “It’s as if you gave the whole place a facelift. I could really enjoy this spot if…” She paused.

“If your grandmother were here to enjoy it with you?” he asked perceptively.

“Yes.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, your grandmother is here. She walked me through every decision and every repair she wanted me to make. This place is Abigail.”

That wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear.

But the house wasn’t all she had of Gram, Catherine reminded herself. Abigail was still alive in her heart after all, and wasn’t that where it counted most? Surely she didn’t have to own Hope House to keep Gram’s memory alive.




Chapter Four


On the way past the mailbox, Will plucked the daily paper out of the cubby designated for the news. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring and opened the front door with a familiar hand. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was the owner of this house.

But inside, the house fairly crackled with her grandmother’s personality. It felt even more so today without all the people milling about.

Abigail Stanhope was colorful and her taste eclectic. There were original oils by American artists hung next to Catherine’s handprint from first grade and a collage of leaves she’d collected for a science class. Abigail had made sure their frames were every bit as elaborate and prominently displayed as the other paintings.

Tearing up, Catherine turned quickly away only to run face-first into Will’s warm, broad chest. He smelled like fresh air and wood shavings, a surprisingly pleasant combination. His compelling brown eyes flecked with gold were kind, compassionate and questioning.

“I’m so sorry.” She backed away from him, the stranger who, for some reason, didn’t feel like a stranger at all. “Thank you for bringing me home….” Even though it didn’t feel much like home without Gram present.

At that moment the front door opened and Charley raced in. “I saw you from Mikey’s house. His mom said I could come over as long as you were here.” He slipped his hand into Will’s. “Is it okay, Uncle Will?”

The expression of unadulterated love on Will’s face made Catherine’s own heart race. This, she thought, was how a child needed to be loved.

“Sure, kiddo, but you have to find a way to entertain yourself while I show Ms. Stanhope what Abigail and I have been up to.”

Will saw to it that Charley was ensconced with the box of toys Abigail kept there for him, then he beckoned her toward the stairs. “We started up here.”

She followed him up the long curving arc of the stairs, curious to see what her grandmother had hatched with this guy. A little paint, probably, and some new light fixtures. It was unrealistic to hope he’d repaired the claw-footed cast-iron tub in the hallway bath. The porcelain had been chipped ever since she was a child…and those awful, sticking windows…

When she got to the top of the stairs, Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. Jaw gaping, she stared at the chaotic mess before her.

Two-by-fours lined one side of a hall partially blocked by a table saw. There was a black, gaping hole in the plaster at chest height, and that old monster of a claw-footed tub was sitting upside down in the hall like an upended turtle.

“Watch your step. It’s a little crowded in here right now. As soon as the tub restorers come to pick it up, we’ll be able to maneuver better. I needed it out so I could tear up the bathroom floor.”

She glanced, horrified, at the gaping hole in the hallway wall. “Tear it up? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“You have to make things worse to make them better,” he said cheerfully. “The wood is soft around the tub from a leak. I’m replumbing, too. Those pipes are showing their age. Remodeling and restoration are always a mess, but when the results are good, it’s worth it. Sometimes life works out that way, too, you know. You think you’re in a real mess and it turns out to be the best thing for you.”

“If that’s the case, ‘better’ should be right around the corner for me,” Catherine muttered. She couldn’t imagine things getting much worse. She pointed at the maw in the wall. “What on earth have you done there?”

He looked insulted that she’d had to ask. “I’m putting the dumbwaiter back where it belongs.”

“What dumbwaiter?”

“The one that was in the house originally and was likely removed before you were born. The pulleys are still in the wall. I’ve got the architects’ original blueprints and I’m restoring things to their previous condition.”

Catherine looked around, stunned. “This will take forever to put back together!”

“Abigail gave me as much time as I needed to finish this. I figure a couple years, at least. That’s how long the lease runs on the guesthouse, too. We planned it that way.”

Catherine sat down on an overturned bucket. A splash of cold reality hit her. What had Gram been thinking, committing to him and to this project for that long? She hadn’t been thinking about dying, that was for sure.

But things had changed radically. Catherine didn’t want to be the bad guy, that was the very thing she’d thought she’d left behind with her career as an attorney. But she didn’t need this monster of a house once she decided how to move on with her life. Unfortunately, if she decided not to keep the house, it meant that she would have to fire Will Tanner and break the lease on the guesthouse.

But for now it was a moot question. This place couldn’t be sold now anyway, not in this condition. Any potential buyer would run screaming in the other direction the way the house’s second floor looked. She gazed at the wreckage. Will needed to put this house back together ASAP. It had to be done before she could move on with her life. That meant the sooner the better.



Obviously Catherine and Abigail hadn’t discussed the house much at all, Will thought. And from the look of it, the house was much more Abigail’s passion than her granddaughter’s. Still, Catherine looked as if she’d been slapped with a paintbrush when she’d seen the hall. And she’d never even heard about the dumbwaiter. Maybe that was a conversation Abigail had saved for him. They’d certainly spent enough hours talking about the house and their other favorite topics—God, faith and salvation.

Abigail had been the one to introduce him to Christ. She’d said He was her best friend and would be his, too. Will was in need of a friend right then, with his sister dying, Charley wandering around like a lost waif and his own brother and sister-in-law questioning his ability to raise the boy.

Faith was what had ultimately gotten him through Annie’s passing. Better yet, before she died, Annie had accepted Christ as her Savior, as well. The peace of knowing that was enormous for Will. It hadn’t been easy, her dying, but at least he knew they’d meet again. And she’d be free of the addiction that had haunted her.

Until he’d met Abigail, he’d known little about Christianity except what he’d read on signs outside of churches. Now it was alive to him and it had breathed new life into his soul. He couldn’t believe the blessing sometimes. Will felt humbled and grateful every day for his heavenly inheritance—and for Abigail, who’d pointed him in the right direction.

Then he glanced at Catherine. She was looking small and vulnerable in the wide, high-ceilinged hall. From the moment he’d met her he’d felt a little off-kilter.

She certainly wasn’t Abigail. She was considerably more reserved, almost cool, and didn’t seem nearly as impressed as he’d hoped with the work they’d done. Some sort of affirmation would be nice—or was it reassurance he wanted? Now that Charley had come to live with him, he was determined to provide the child with the home he’d been missing. Will wanted nothing more than to put down roots for a few years in the guesthouse. This sad but beautiful woman held the reins now. Could he trust her to do the right thing? He didn’t want to believe she’d stand in his way or suggest he leave the guest cottage… Surely not!

“I also tore out part of the wall in this bedroom,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything.

Catherine poked her nose into the wrecked and dusty space. “Why on earth would you tear out the wall of my bedroom?” The furniture was covered with tarps.

“Originally this was the master bedroom.” Will stepped into the room and began gesticulating with his hands. “Back in those days, however, the master suite was often made up of two adjoining rooms with a door or even a dressing room between them. The larger of the two rooms was where the woman of the house slept and her husband slept next door in the smaller room.”

“No kidding? I didn’t know that.”

“We checked some diaries Abigail found and we think that was the arrangement Obadiah and his wife had. Abigail wants…wanted…me to put the door back in so it is like the suite it was.”

He scowled a little, which did nothing to harm his looks. “I don’t know why people thought that was such a good idea. What’s the use of being married if you live in separate spaces? That’s an idea I’m glad we improved on.”

Catherine left Will and hurried downstairs to gather her thoughts. The house, the mess, Abigail’s wishes and her own confusion made her head spin. At the bottom of the steps she nearly tripped over a small army of soldiers assembled on the hand-tied silk foyer rug.

“Be careful, lady,” a small voice piped. “You’re knocking down the rebel army!”

She avoided as many of the rebels as she could but came down hard on a miniature cannon, twisting her ankle. To catch herself, Catherine reached for the nearest thing available, a free-standing coatrack where one of Gram’s straw hats hung. It and Catherine both teetered for a moment before falling into an ungainly pile right on top of the entire defending militia.

Miniature sabers and rifles poked into Catherine like needles, and as she rolled away to escape them, she managed only to embed herself on the rebel camp. Some of these soldiers were metal instead of plastic, and she felt as if she were rolling around on a bed of prickly jacks, the kind she’d played with as a child. “Ouch!”

“Kaboom!” Charley roared happily. “And a meteorite from Planet Zeus landed on them all, crushing the rebellion and killing a whole bunch of dinosaurs besides. Double kaboom!”

Then a small face with brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a fringe of dark hair appeared over her. “Are you okay, lady? You made a great meteorite.” The cherubic-looking little boy frowned. “But I think you broke the rifles off a bunch of my men.”

Then he brightened. “They need to go to the…the….” He looked quizzically at Catherine.

“The infirmary?” she suggested, struggling to keep a straight face. This was one cute, huggable kid.

“Yeah, that’s it. The in-fur-mary.” He scooped up a handful of the injured and swept them into a basket. Making a passable sound as an ambulance siren, he raced out of the room.

Catherine turned to the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs and soon it was Will’s concerned face that peered down at her. “Are you hurt?”

“Not so much that I have to go to the in-fur-mary,” she said, struggling to her feet.

Will reached out a hand to help her but turned his head toward the back of the house. “Charley, you get in here and apologize to Ms. Stanhope right now!”

Silence.

“If you don’t, these toy soldiers are going MIA, now,” Will ordered in a passable chief commander’s voice.

A squeak in the floor was the only sound of movement. Catherine got to her feet, wiped off a couple plastic soldiers that had imbedded themselves in the folds of her shirt, and waited.

Charley’s tousled head peeked around the corner of the dining-room door. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes danced despite the inevitable scolding that was about to come.

Catherine fought her urge to smile.

Will seemed to have no such trouble. He was fuming. “Please come over here and apologize. I told you not to set up camp where you’d be in the way.”

“I didn’t think anyone would mind now that Gram isn’t here,” the child said, looking repentant.

Gram? There he was again, referring to Abigail as his grandmother.

Charley scuffed the soles of his battered tennis shoes on the highly polished floor. “I’m sorry, lady. I didn’t mean to trip you. I’ll pick ’em up and take them outside.”

Will put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Charley, did you know that Ms. Stanhope owns this house now?”

The child’s eyes grew wide. “Gram gave it to you? You’re lucky…”

Catherine expected him to add “so now you much be rich” or some other childish leap of logic.

Instead he added, “…because you’re Gram’s real granddaughter. You’re not like me. I’m just her pretend grandson.” Longing filled his eyes.

Her heart melted in her chest at the child’s earnest statement. “Thank’s for reminding me of that. I had Abigail as my gram for a long time.” She reached out to touch the boy’s silken hair. “You’re a very sweet boy, Charley. Thank you.”

Will cleared his throat. “Charley, get this mess out of sight, will you? You can set up in the kitchen.” As Charley busied himself on the floor, Will took Catherine’s arm and led her into the sunroom off the main living room.

“Are you okay? Any puncture wounds from your battle with the soldiers?”

When she shook her head, he continued. “You’ll have to excuse Charley. He and Abigail really clicked when he came to live with me. He asked her if he could call her ‘Grandma,’ but she told him her favorite grandchild in the whole world called her ‘Gram’ and that he should, too. He has the same first name as her husband and she liked that. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? How could she mind an orphaned child, a child like she had been, seeking love?

“Charley came to me so eager for affection and Abigail liked having a child in the house. Frankly, Charley was fascinated with Abigail, and I took advantage of the fact. With his mother gone, Charley hasn’t had many women in his life and he adored her.”

“That’s fine, Will. He’s adorable. In fact he…” She’d almost said “looks a lot like you,” but stopped herself.

She didn’t even want to hint at the fact that Charley’s uncle was pretty adorable himself.




Chapter Five


The next morning the phone rang before Will had had his first cup of coffee. That alone was ominous.

“Hello?” he growled into the phone, hoping to frighten off whoever was calling.

No such luck. His sister-in-law Sheila’s voice came across the line. “How’s Charley?”

“Fine. Just like he was yesterday—and the day be fore.”

Will had to keep reminding himself that Sheila cared about Charley, too, even though she was making life miserable for everyone else. Maybe if she’d had a few kids of her own, she wouldn’t be so dead set on having Charley. But Charley wasn’t a toy for Sheila to play mother over…. Will reeled at that uncharitable thought. Maybe the reason he couldn’t understand Sheila was that she was a woman with a biological clock that seemed to have sputtered to a stop. Patiently he began to explain Charley’s day to Sheila, as she demanded to hear.

Later, Will glanced out the window of the mansion’s upstairs bathroom where he’d spent the past hour tearing out rotted flooring and his jaw dropped. Coming up the sidewalk was Catherine Stanhope. She was dressed in hiking shorts, a white T-shirt and tennis shoes. Catherine carried a lunch bucket and looked like one of the employees he managed on his construction crew—only prettier. Her expression was uneasy but determined, as if she were a round peg planning to insert herself into a square hole.

He suppressed a smile. That look of determination was one he’d seen on Abigail’s face quite regularly in the past weeks, ever since she’d made her final decisions as to what she would do with the house. Nothing and no one could get in her way when she wore that expression, and Will had a hunch that Abigail’s granddaughter was cut out of the same cloth. He hoped that he and Catherine would agree on the plans for the house. He didn’t care to butt heads with another force of nature like Abigail.

He was weary of women who didn’t understand his perspective—like his sister-in-law. Before Sheila had hung up this morning she had again harangued him about the fact that Charley was living with him instead of her and his brother, Matt, just as she had ever since Annie’s death.

To hear Sheila tell it, Will was utterly inept and ill suited to raise Charley. Sheila demanded custody of the boy, saying it was a travesty that the child didn’t have two proper parents—like her and her husband. Will didn’t consider Sheila a suitable parent. She was more like an absentee landlord.

They called him restless and a wanderer, which might have been true a few years ago, but now he was willing to be as rooted as a giant oak to keep his nephew with him.

Catherine, a big-time attorney, had practically landed on their doorstep, he thought. Maybe she could help him keep Charley. It had, at least, given him a sliver of hope.

Dream on. It’s never going to happen. She doesn’t have to bother with the likes of us. His fantasy was just that, a pipe dream. He redoubled his efforts on the floor.

Wood splinters flew as he worked and the squeal of nails releasing from old flooring filled his ears. It felt good to use his body rather than his mind. One of the things that he had found as a new Christian was the struggle to turn his concerns over to God and to leave them there.

“Trust Him, Will,” he could still hear Abigail say. “If you don’t trust Him, do you really believe in Him? Each time you experience a prayer answered, you’ll see His faithfulness and your trust will grow. Mark my words.”

Warm with exertion, Will wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his denim work shirt. He hadn’t needed to work out since he’d come to Abigail’s. She kept him so busy lifting, toting and digging that half the time he felt like begging for mercy.

He tested another board with the toe of his foot and grimaced. Another soft spot. That made it certain that the entire floor would have to go. He took a crowbar, wedged the flattened end beneath the end of the board and pried it loose. The visitor he’d spied out the window was forgotten for the moment.



The grating sounds emanating from the main bath made Catherine wince. It sounded more as if the man was tearing the house down than restoring it. It was a good thing she was here to oversee things and keep Tanner in line.

She smiled a little. The idea of someone like her keeping up with a powerful man like Tanner bordered on the ludicrous. Still, a big boat could be guided by a little rudder. That’s what she would have to be. Bigger didn’t have to be better.

She put the lunch bucket Emma had packed on the chair by the front door, mounted the steps to the second floor and followed the loud banging noises. What she found nearly took her breath away.

Will Tanner, wearing a T-shirt, denim jeans and a tool belt, was balancing precariously on the floor joists that had held the wooden floorboards in place. Beneath was the plaster that formed the ceiling of the room below. One mis-step and Tanner would land in the sunroom downstairs.

He looked up and grinned at her. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Fine, thank you. Could you please come over here where there’s a floor to stand on?” Even in her dismay Catherine couldn’t miss the sight of Will’s strong, well-built frame.

He bounced a little on the tips of his toes. “There’s something to stand on here.”

She reached out as if to stop him and nearly lost her own footing.

“Don’t worry. I’m accustomed to this.” He walked across the joists like a cat and stopped beside her. “Piece of cake. You don’t have to look so concerned. I do this for a living, you know.”

She was surprised at the nervous feeling in her stomach. “When will you start to lay the new floor?” By the look of it, the house would never come back together.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I think. Or the first thing the day after. Why?”

“Oh, no particular reason,” she said vaguely. “For now, is there anything I can do to help?”

The pressure on her felt greater because she’d recently been getting emails from the law school about faculty gatherings, workshops and the like. Although, because she would be part-time at first, she wasn’t duty-bound to attend any of them, she felt it would be a nice gesture. Even more, it would be a true step toward that other life she was seeking.

“I cut a hole in the wall in the bedroom. I’d like to get that door put in between the rooms as soon as possible.”

“Maybe I could help with that?”

He gave her a startled look but led her into the bedroom that had once been hers. “I don’t think I explained what I was planning last night. I found the studs in the walls, marked the position of the door and cut out the hole, but I haven’t taken down the plaster yet. You could do that. I don’t even have to put up a new header for the door because the original one is still there….”

Catherine had no idea what he was talking about. Her education had been broad and varied, but there’d been little opportunity to learn carpentry and construction.

“There are hammers and crowbars in the hall. Help yourself.”

And before she could say anything, Tanner strode out of the room.

Well, then…. She picked up a hammer and took a swing at the wall where he had marked the outline of the doorway. There was a satisfying crunch and chips of plaster flew. She hit it again, harder, this time. It was surprisingly therapeutic, as if the tension and grief she’d been carrying left her body, exploded out the head of the hammer and fell to the floor with the chunks and crumbles of plaster. She swung fiercely at the wall as a refrain formed in her mind. She took a swing for the Three C’s and all the stress and pressure the firm had provided her over the years. She took another swing for that dreadful woman who had lied to her about wanting custody of her son and one for the manipulation and deceit. One cathartic swing was for herself for so foolishly buying into that story. How naive could she have been? And take that, death, for stealing my grandmother away….



The hammering on the other side of the wall was unrelenting, Will noted. Catherine was really tearing into it. Too bad he hadn’t had her on his crew when he was running demolition jobs. By the rhythmic sound of her swings, she was a miniature wrecking ball in action. Good. That freed him to work on other things. What’s more, it would keep her busy and out of his hair.

Lovely as she was, he didn’t need her underfoot right now. She’d tire of this soon enough and move on, but for now this would keep her occupied. Will turned up the radio he’d brought from home and lost himself in the nasal twangs of Hank Williams, country-western-style loneliness, cheating hearts and lovesick blues.





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