“I like what being with you does to me, Ana.”

Rock shifted, tugged her closer.

“But you want to own me?”

“No.” He stepped back, ran a hand through his hair. “I’m saying…you’re the one, Ana. You’re the one who’s changing and reshaping me.”

He felt her hand on his arm. “I don’t want to change you. I just want to understand you.”

Rock put his arms around her again, savoring the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of holding her. “I’m not explaining this right,” he said. He urged her close, then lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss held all of his dark secrets, all of his fears and worries. As his lips moved over hers, he felt those secrets and fears being shifted into something good and right, into something full of light and hope.

LENORA WORTH

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream full-time. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.

“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

The Carpenter’s Wife
Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In God is my salvation, and my glory;

the rock of my strength,

and my refuge….

—Psalms 62:7

To my nephew Chester Howell, with love

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

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Rock Dempsey loved Sunset Island.

He loved the way the small island off the Georgia coast lay tossed like a woman’s dainty slipper near the mainland. He loved the way the island sat at the mouth of the Savannah River, the land caught between a glistening oval-shaped bay and the ever-churning Atlantic Ocean. He loved having the sunrise to the east over the sea, and the sunset to the west over the bay.

As he stood in the middle of his workshop, with the ocean breezes coming through the thrown-open doors from the ocean on one side and the bay on the other, Rock decided a man couldn’t ask for much more in life.

Unless that man was pushing thirty-five and his whimsical mother was still asking him when he was going to settle down and produce a passel of grandchildren for her to spoil.

“Roderick, I could die and go to heaven without even a memory of a sweet baby to carry home with me,” his mother, Eloise, had told him in a gentle huff just that morning when he’d stopped by for breakfast.

They had this same conversation at least once a week. It was never a good sign when his mother used his given name in a discussion. But then, his brothers Stone and Clay had to hear it from Eloise, too, each time they came to visit.

In her mid-fifties and long widowed, Eloise Dempsey kept close tabs on her three sons, properly named Roderick, Stanton and Clayton, but affectionately nicknamed Rock, Stone and Clay. She fretted that none of them had yet to make a lifetime commitment to one woman. If Rock blamed their artistic mother and her flighty ways for her sons’ obvious fear of commitment, he’d never say that out loud to Eloise. She’d had enough heartache in her life, between being disinherited and then losing the man she had loved—and had given up that inheritance to be with—to the sea in a terrible storm. Even if she had sacrificed quality time with her sons to become one of the most famous sculpture artists in the South, Rock was trying very hard to come to terms with his lovable mother’s flaws. And his own.

Rock reminded himself that Eloise was trying, now that she’d found success with her art, to make things up to her children. Still, the memories of eating TV dinners and going to bed tired after watching over his two younger brothers always left a bad taste in Rock’s mouth.

Growing up, he’d often dreamed of a traditional family, with a mom and dad who were devoted to family and children, with good, home-cooked meals and nights spent together watching a movie or sharing a supper out on the shore. Rock and his brothers had missed out on those things. While their mother pursued her art, they had had to find odd jobs here and there to make ends meet. The islanders had been kind and watchful, and Eloise had continued her work, unaware and undisturbed, while her children had the run of the land.

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the hiss of her welding torch, late into the night. The glare had always been too bright for Rock, but the sound of it never went away. If he looked north toward what the islanders called the Ankle Curve, he could just make out the turret of the rambling Victorian beach house where his mother had lived and worked for so many years. He could still see her there, in the big barn settled deep in the moss-covered trees that she used as a studio, bent over yet another bust shaped from clay or an aged cross forged from wood and stone. His mother’s hands had created beauty.

But he’d missed those same hands tucking him in at night.

Not wanting to dwell on his mother’s shortcomings—or his own in the love department, for that matter—Rock turned back to the cabinets he’d been restoring for Miss McPherson. Now, there was an available single woman. She was in church every Sunday, tithed regularly, cooked everything from Brunswick stew to clam chowder and had a smile that lit up a room. Too bad she was pushing eighty.

“One day I’m going to get up the courage to ask Miss Mac why she never married,” Rock said to the gleaming oak cabinet door he’d just finished vanishing.

“Do you often talk to your cabinets?” a soft feminine voice said from the open shed doors.

Rock turned to find a petite, auburn-haired woman staring at him, her green eyes slanted and questioning, a slight smile on her angular face. He stood there like a big dummy while she walked into the quiet cool of his work shed, her crisp white cotton shirt and polished tan trousers giving her an air of sophistication.

Coming out of his fog, Rock grabbed a wipe rag and ran it over his hands. “I’m afraid I do tend to talk to my creations. A bad habit.” Tossing the rag aside, he leaned back on the long, dented work table. “What can I do for you?”

She pushed at a wave of burnished hair that kept falling over her chin. “I’m Ana Hanson. I just moved into the Harper house—soon to be Ana’s Tea Room and Art Gallery.”

“Oh.” Trying to hide his surprise, Rock pushed off the table to extend a hand. “My mother told me about you.”

And had urged him to get to know the single newcomer to the tiny island a little better. “Ana will be lonely, Rock. Invite her to church, at least. Just as a way to break the ice.”

“Well, don’t look so glum,” the woman said, her head tilting in defense. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Despite his mother’s very obvious suggestion echoing through his head, Rock tried to stick to the here and now. He felt horrible at the way he’d sounded. “No, no. It’s just—I had expected—I thought you’d be older, more like my Mother’s other eccentric friends.” Feeling more foolish with each word, he quickly added, “Mom said you needed some new cabinets?”

Ana nodded through an amused smile, causing the same silky length of curls to fall right back across her face. “Yes. As you probably know, the Harper house needed major renovations. Some of the preliminary work in the upstairs apartment has been done, thanks to my sister—she’s a Realtor and has all kinds of connections with carpenters and contractors out of Savannah—but I wanted someone local and more accessible to help me renovate the kitchen and main dining area.”

“And that’d be me?” Rock grinned, glad that at least his mother’s bragging often brought him new customers.

“You come highly recommended,” Ana said as she ran a hand over a newly restored pie safe. “That’s one reason I waited before finishing this part of the project. Your mother suggested we might work together on this—that you’d understand…what I expected…as far as cabinets and bookshelves go.”

“That’s just my mother talking,” Rock responded, noting that the floral scent of Ana Hanson’s perfume managed to find its way to his nose over the smell of sawdust and varnish stripper. “She thinks I inherited some of her artistic ability.”

“I’d have to agree with Eloise,” Ana replied, an appreciative expression on her face as her gaze moved over the many cabinets, armoires and chests Rock had either built from scratch or restored. “She seems to be a good judge of talent.”

“How do you know my mother?” he asked, curious as to how Ana had found her way to Sunset Island.

“I worked at an art gallery in Savannah,” Ana explained. “We exhibited some of your mother’s work. I got to know her when we held a reception in her honor.”

“Ah, that explains it, then,” Rock said, turning to put away his tools. “My mother’s reputation precedes all of us.”

“You sound almost ambivalent about that.”

He whirled to find Ana’s luminous green eyes on him.

“It’s a long story, but yes, I guess it still surprises me that she’s so famous.”

“She has a lot of talent.”

“Yes, she does. I can’t argue with that.” He shrugged, brushed wood chips off the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Look, I love and respect my mother. And her designs are beautiful. But she works too hard—she’s almost obsessed with it.”

“Most good artists are that way, don’t you think?”

Rock studied her for a minute, wondering if this cute woman was just like his mother. Would Ana Hanson put work above all else in her life? Probably, since she seemed anxious to make her tea room a success. “I guess you’re right. And since you worked in an art gallery, you probably appreciate art more than I do. So why don’t we stick to a subject I know best—cabinets. What do you have in mind?”

Ana had a lot of things in mind, but she didn’t think Rock Dempsey wanted to hear about her hopes and dreams for this business venture. Should she tell him she’d had to sell practically everything she owned to make the down payment on the Harper house? Should she explain to him that, since college, her dream had been to own some sort of gallery? Should she go into detail about how her sister, Tara, had suggested Ana use her talent for cooking along with her good eye for art to come to Sunset Island and open a combination tea room and art gallery?

Ana watched as Rock busied himself with cleaning his workspace. He seemed on edge, resistant to her. Maybe because his mother had sent her to him. Did Rock think Eloise was up to more than just securing him another paying customer? Well, Ana could certainly nip that little concept right in the bud. She didn’t have time for matchmaking, even if Eloise meant well.

Ana had to get her tea room ready for the grand opening in a few weeks. And that opening depended on how quickly Rock Dempsey could help her.

“I have several ideas,” she said in answer to his earlier question. “I want to build some cabinets and buffets in keeping with the Victorian flavor of the house. It was built around the turn of the last century.”

“I’m familiar with the history of the Harper house,” he said, smiling. “It’s been vacant on and off over the years. When we were little, my brothers and I used to sneak in there at night, mostly to scare each other and see who would be the bravest by going into a dark, deserted house.”

Ana decided Rock Dempsey seemed the type to brave any situation. He was the standard tall, dark and handsome, with fire-flashing deep blue eyes. But his face had an interesting aged look that spoke of wisdom and gentleness, the same tanned richness of the priceless wooden furniture he worked hard to restore. Did Rock need a bit of restoration himself, maybe?

“So, who was the bravest?” she asked.

He shrugged, grinned. “Well, none of us was very brave. I think I managed to sneak in a back window once, but, of course, Stone and Clay decided to come around front and jiggle the door, shouting ‘Police,’ which naturally made me run away in terror—terror that my mother would ground me for life, rather than fear of authority.”

Ana started thumbing through a design book. “Sounds as if you and your brothers had an exciting life growing up.”

“We had our moments,” he said. “We’ve always been close—or…we were growing up. I guess we’ve drifted apart lately, though.”

“That’s too bad,” Ana replied, thinking of the tenuous relationship she had with her sister Tara. Tara was hard to read at times, a type-A personality with a lightning temper and bitter memories. Ana harbored some of that same bitterness, directed toward her sister at times, toward herself at others. But she didn’t want to think about that right now. She had to get back to work.

“So, anyway, I thought you might come by the house later today, if possible, to look at the kitchen and dining room. It’s been completely over-hauled—painted, new flooring, but I held off on the final plans. I want it to be perfect.”

Rock handed her several more design books. “Okay, then. Why don’t you glance over these—there are several Victorian reproductions and some original restoration projects in there—and I’ll meet you at the house, say, around four?”

“That would be good. I have some errands to run, but I should be back in plenty of time.” She extended a hand. “Thanks…Rod—”

“It’s Rock,” he said, wincing. “My mother’s choice of given names for her sons has left us the laughingstock of the island, I’m afraid.”

“I like your name,” Ana said, acutely aware of the strength and warmth of his big callused hand.

“Well, around here, everyone calls me Rock,” he said. “Or…Preacher Rock.”

Ana jerked her hand back. “You’re a preacher?”

“Just on Sundays,” he said, a teasing light making his dark eyes go as blue as the ocean at night. “I got the job by being in the right place at the wrong time, or something like that.”

“You’re going to have to explain.”

He walked with her out into the oak-shadowed yard, then pointed to the tiny whitewashed church sitting like a child’s playhouse a few yards away from his cottage and workshop. “Reverend Palczynski was the island preacher for over forty years. He lived in this cottage, preached every Sunday in the Sunset Chapel. Then one day he came out to the workshop to get his volleyball equipment—he loved to play volleyball—and fell over dead right underneath this great live oak. He was ninety.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“Yes, goodness is a perfect word for Reverend Pal—as we all called him. He was a good man. I happened to come along and find him. Tried to save him, but he was already gone by the time the paramedics got here. He died with a smile on his face, but his death left a great void on the island.”

“And you filled that void?”

Rock nodded, glanced out to the beach in the distance. The roar of the ocean ran through the delicate tropical breezes that moved around the palm trees and great oaks. “One of the paramedics suggested I take over, since I’d always helped out at the chapel, doing odd jobs around the place, building cabinets and such. And since I have a reputation for being a philosopher of sorts, word got out. The town gossip, Greta Epperson, wrote about it in her society column in the Sunset Sentinel, and next thing I knew I was standing before the church elders, being blessed as their next preacher.”

Ana laughed. “Your mother warned me people on the island do things their own way.”

“Yes, that’s true. We march to the beat of a different drummer, I think. And Greta captures it all in her column each week.”

“Do you regret being…coerced into becoming a preacher?”

“No, not at all. You see, I believe no one can make me do something I don’t want to do in the first place. It seemed a natural transition, since I worked out here—I already rented this space from Reverend Pal, anyway.”

“So you moved right on in?”

The look he gave her made Ana’s heart lift like a surprise wave coming through still waters. His eyes were filled with a quiet determination and a firm challenge.

“I’ve been known to move right in on a situation, yes.”

She whirled, headed to her car. “Then, I’m sure I can count on you to deliver my cabinets and shelves in a timely manner. I’d like to open by mid-May.”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you,” she heard him say from behind her.

She also heard the crunch of his workboots on the shell-scattered drive. “I don’t have time to mess around,” Ana explained as she opened her car door and tossed the design books on the seat. “This is my last chance.”

“Last chance for what?”

He was right there beside her, holding the car door open.

Ana slid behind the wheel, then looked up at him through the open window. “My last chance to make it. I’ve wanted this for a very long time. I don’t intend to blow it.”

“Got a lot invested in this, huh?”

She nodded, tried to relax. “Yes, time, money, commitments to several artists, your mother included. I don’t want to let anybody down.”

He leaned in, his big body blocking out the sun’s bright rays. Ana got a whiff of aftershave mixed with turpentine. And got nervous all over again—her heart was doing the wave thing in rapid succession now.

“Then, I won’t let you down,” he told her.

Ana waited a couple of beats before stammering, “Th-thank you. I’ll see you at four.”

He smiled, then slowly stood back from the car. “See you then.”

As Ana drove away, she heard the echo of his words. “I won’t let you down.”

She’d heard that one before. Many times.

But this time, she prayed it was the truth.

Chapter Two

“So you’re meeting Ana at four, then?”

Rock’s mother fluttered around her kitchen, adjusting a set of wind chimes here, fixing a fresh bouquet of lilies there. She smiled and hummed as she fussed and fixed, the constant breezes flowing through the many open windows causing strands of her grayish-white upswept hair to pull away from the elaborate shell-encrusted silver combs she used to hold it off her face.

She had always reminded Rock of an elusive butterfly, never settling on just one blossom.

“This is just work, Mom,” Rock replied. “Don’t go reading anything else into this. It’s strictly business.”

“Business which I sent your way,” Eloise reminded him as she poured him a glass of mint-flavored sun tea. “Want another sandwich?”

“No, but thanks for the meal—and the business. It’s not every day I get two meals and a huge project from you.”

Eloise stopped fidgeting. “I’m trying to make things up to you, Rock, on both scores.”

Rock nodded, wished he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. “I do appreciate your efforts, Mother. I can always use the steady work. And…as long as you’re willing to feed me now and again, I can work on…my other issues, too, I suppose.”

“Good,” Eloise said as she swished back to the sink, her multi-patterned cotton skirt lifting out like soft handkerchiefs around her ankles. “A minister shouldn’t have issues.”

“Ministers are only human,” Rock replied. “And in spite of my faith in God, I still have questions that only He can answer.”

“Well, one day you shall have all your answers,” his mother said, smiling. “Rock, you know I’m so proud of you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m proud of all my boys.”

Eloise got a faraway look in her crystal blue eyes.

“Haven’t heard from Stone lately, huh?”

“No. But you know Stone. He doesn’t allow for much chitchat. And he’s so busy.”

“I know. Amassing his fortune.”

“Don’t be bitter, Rock.”

“I’m not bitter. Stone has his life and I have mine. I’m content right here on the island.”

Eloise pulled dead heads off a nearby pink begonia. “Stone was never content living on the island. Savannah suits him much better.”

Rock took a long drink from the tea, the sweet mint taste going down smooth in spite of the turmoil he always felt when talk turned to his brother, Stone. “I’m sure it does. And we all want Stone to be happy.”

“That’s exactly what I want—for all my sons. At least Clay seems to be thriving with the police department in Atlanta.”

“Clay has always been a happy-go-lucky, hardworking fellow.”

“He has a good heart.”

“I couldn’t agree more. In fact, I think Clay got the heart that Stone never had.”

Eloise gave him a mock glare. “Stone has a heart. He just doesn’t like to show it. I only want all of you to…find love, the kind of love I had with your father.”

Not wanting to get into a long discussion on that topic because talking about her late husband always seemed to upset Eloise, Rock said, “So is that why you’re throwing me at your friend Ana Hanson?”

Eloise reached for a yellow watering pitcher sitting in the bay window over the sink. Outside, a seagull cawed noisily in a low fly-by. “Who said I was throwing you at her? I just suggested you’d be perfect to help design her tea room, is all.”

Rock chuckled. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me she was young and pretty…and apparently single?”

His mother gave an eloquent shrug, her dangling turquoise feathered earrings brushing against the crocheted lace of her cream-colored linen tunic. “I figured if I told you about Ana, you’d clam up like a crab in a sand hole and refuse the job.”

“I never turn down paying customers.”

“Even cute…available ones?”

“Okay, I might have been a little hesitant if I’d known Ana was close to my age and single. But I have to admit, she is very pretty.” He finished off the tea. “She is single, right?”

“Very much so,” Eloise replied, her smile widening to reveal an endearing gap between her front teeth. “So, is that or the fact that she is attractive, smart, capable and…available going to hinder your working for her?”

“Probably,” he said. “But then, it might just make it interesting, too. As Auguste Renoir said, ‘Why should beauty be suspect?”’

“That’s the spirit,” Eloise replied, clasping her hands together. “Well, then, if you don’t want some fruit and yogurt for dessert, I’ll go back to my own work.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Got to get moving.”

Eloise whirled by, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Rock watched as his mother moved gracefully over the steps leading from the wraparound porch and walked down the path to what had once been a horse stable, her soft leather walking sandals making very little noise.

The gardens were in full bloom—the fuchsia bougainvillea, the rich red hibiscus trees, the crape myrtle and azaleas all splashing together like a bright abstract painting underneath the Spanish moss of the ancient oak trees. And his mother in her feathered turquoise jewelry and flowing broomstick skirt fit right into the picture. Beautiful.

That made him think again of Ana Hanson. His mother had left out one trait he thought he recognized in the petite auburn-haired dynamo—ambition. And he remembered another favorite quote from a long-dead philosopher: “Beauty and folly are generally companions.”

She’d come here for companionship. For the warm ocean breezes and wonderful, salty mist of the sea. She’d come here to put down roots and settle in like the sea oats that flowed in wheat-colored patterns down on the dunes.

“I’m going to be a success,” Ana promised herself as she glanced around the large near-empty kitchen of her tea room. “I have to make this work.”

“I think you’re off to a good start,” Jackie Welsh, her just-hired assistant said as she passed by and grabbed her purse off the counter. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to begin training Tina and the other servers.”

“Thanks,” Ana told the tall brunette. “I appreciate your help so much.”

She’d hired Jackie a few days ago, and already they were able to read each other’s minds. She’d need that kind of connection when things got to hopping around here.

Glancing at her watch, she mentally went over her to-do list while she waited for Rock Dempsey. The two-bedroom upstairs apartment was done. Everything was unpacked and in place, and the entire staff had been hired. Over the next month or so, they’d help set things up and learn the menus and recipes by heart. Next week, the furnishings for the shop and tea room would start arriving. She’d have plenty to keep her busy then. Especially if Rock was here every day, measuring and building.

Just thinking of his big, muscular frame in the middle of her dainty treasures made Ana smile. It felt good to smile. She’d been so focused on this venture over the past few months, she’d forgotten how to relax. But now, she was here at last. Here in her own place, with her own living quarters—no roommates, no rent to pay—just a big mortgage that her sister had helped finance—she had no one to answer to except herself. She’d finally accomplished her dream.

Now she had to make that dream work.

She envisioned the wicker bistro tables she’d found at a clearance sale sitting here and there in what once had been the parlor of the house. She saw intimate groupings out on the long porch, where diners would have a clear view of the glistening bay down the sloping yard to the dunes. She’d put some nice cushiony rocking chairs out there, too.

Glancing down at the big bay, Ana saw a sailboat glide by like a giant blue and white butterfly. Maybe she could go sailing herself soon. It had been a long time since she’d sailed out on the water with the sun on her face.

A knock at the stained-glass front door caused her to jump. Not one for woolgathering, Ana scooted across the room, her espadrilles barely making a click on the polished wooden floors. Adjusting her clothes and hair, she opened the door to find Rock standing there in jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with Save the West Island Lighthouse Summer Jam Session.

“Hi,” she said, smiling as she ignored the way her pulse seemed to quicken each time he looked at her. Then she pointed to the image of the old West Island Lighthouse on his shirt. “You, too, huh? Eloise told me several islanders are working to renovate the lighthouse. And I read about the jam session in that Greta woman’s column. That should be a challenge, from what I hear—raising funds for renovation.”

He entered the room, ran his gaze over the pale cream painted walls and the feminine wallpaper border that depicted shoes, hats and purses from the turn of the century. Then he turned to her.

“I like a good challenge.”

“Well, then, you’ll love the job I have for you,” she replied, her nerves stretching as tight as the rigging on a sail. “I hope…I think I have everything in order.” With a wave of her hand, she strolled around the empty rooms. “As you can see, the walls and floors are done. And I’ve ordered some armoires and side-buffets for displays. They should be here any day now. The major appliances are all brand-new and industrial size—those will be installed this week. Mainly, I need you to take a look at the kitchen cabinets and tell me if they can be salvaged. And I’d like you to maybe redo the walk-in pantry and build some functional shelves in the kitchen, too.”

Rock stood listening, his gaze once again moving over the central hallway and two long open rooms on each side of the front of the house. “The original parlor and dining room—this will be the restaurant area?”

“Yes, diners will be seated in both rooms, but our artwork and other wares will be displayed on the walls and all around the dining tables. Then we have a room in the back for private parties, which will also display a collection of antiques and art. The cash register will be here in the vestibule by the front door. I found an antique counter in an old drugstore in Savannah. It’s being shipped.” She pointed to an open door off the rear of the hallway. “And I have a small office right across from the kitchen. There’s a bathroom back there, too.”

He nodded, made notes on a small pad. “You seem to like the Victorian era.”

“I do,” she said, grinning. “I’ve always loved old things, all periods of history. Maybe because I read a lot growing up—stories of long ago, all about valor and romance.”

“Oh?” He stopped writing and glanced up at her. “I’d figure you’d have been too busy chasing off boys who wanted their own valor and romance, to sit around reading books.”

Blushing, Ana shook her head. “My sister got all the boys. I got my romantic ideas from books.”

He stopped scribbling to stare at her. “I reckon you do look like a Jane Austen kind of girl—all Sense and Sensibility.”

Unsure if that was a compliment, Ana replied, “I’m a little old-fashioned and sensible, but I try not to live in the past.”

“‘The tender grace of a day that is dead…will never come back to me.”’

Stunned, Ana shrugged. It was as if Rock had hit on her deepest, most bittersweet memories with the precision of cupid’s arrow. “That’s…very melancholy.”

“Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” Rock explained. “This house has a tender grace. Maybe it will bring you a little romance…and some comfort.”

Comfort? Was that what she’d been seeking all her life? Ana pushed at the dark memories blocking out the rays of hope in her mind. “Romance I doubt. But I guess I could use some comfort. Anyway, I love this house. And I’m thrilled to be here on the island. We used to vacation here with my parents. I fell in love with Sunset Island and I’ve always wanted to come back.”

“You came from Savannah?”

“Yes. We lived out from Savannah, near Fort Stewart. My parents still live there in a house on the Canoochee River. Tara—that’s my sister—and I attended college at Savannah State.” She stopped, took a breath. “I was a senior when she was a freshman. She got married a year later and never finished college. After I graduated, I moved to Savannah to work in the art gallery.” She lowered her eyes, stared at an aged spot in the floor, memories as rich as the lacquer on the wood coloring her mind. “Anyway, now I’m here. I’m moving forward, even if I do like things from the past.”

Ana quieted, thinking she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of this. And maybe she was. She still had hurtful memories from her college days, memories that had colored her whole adult life and her rocky relationship with her younger sister. But she was determined to make a new start, with both her life and her sister.

“The past can be good,” Rock said, his keen eyes sweeping over her face. “As long as we keep it in perspective.”

“Oh, I keep it in perspective, all right. I don’t want to ever go back there.”

“Bad memories?”

Ana looked up at him, saw the sincere curiosity in his beautiful eyes. “Some.” Lots. But she wasn’t about to tell him any of that. She ruffled her hair with her hand. “Do you want to see the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

She started toward the back of the house, heard him behind her, then willed her heart and her head to stay calm. Ana reminded herself that she’d given her heart to a man once, only to have it returned bruised and battered.

She would never make that mistake again. Even if this handsome preacher named Rock did cause her to think of romantic things like strolling on the beach at sunset and intimate dinners by candlelight.

Ana would stick to her art, her cooking and her books. Those were safe, tangible things.

Love wasn’t safe. That “tender grace,” as Rock had quoted, would never come back to her again. She was all business now. And all on her own.

If only Rock Dempsey’s eyes would stop looking at her with that anything-but-business gaze.

This woman meant business.

Rock had measured, suggested, tested, rearranged, gauged and decided on what could be done for the beautiful old cabinets in the long, sunny kitchen. A good stripping of old paint, some new hardware and a lot of wood restorer and varnish would make them shine like new. That part had been easy.

But testing and gauging Ana Hanson—ah, therein lay the challenge of this assignment.

She had been hurt somewhere in the past. Maybe during her childhood, maybe during her college years. But something had left her unsure and unsteady, even if she did try to present a calm, capable facade to the world.

Rock had no doubt she was capable. She seemed as intent on making her tea room a popular tourist attraction as his mother did on creating intriguing artifacts from rocks and stones. That ability to focus should serve as a warning to Rock. Ana held many of the traits he’d seen too many times in his mother—that tendency to shut everything out, that need to finish the work, create the next sculpture piece, or, in Ana’s case, create a haven for fine art and good food.

There was nothing wrong with that. But Rock wondered if Ana was pouring all of her strength into this new venture because she was running from the past. Running from herself, just as his mother had done most of her life.

Turning to see where she’d flittered off to this time, Rock found Ana standing on a footstool wiping one of the big bay windows in the front parlor. He almost called out to her, but then the way the last of the sun’s rays were gleaming all around her from the open west window on the other side of the room caused him to stop and just watch.

She stood in the soft wind, her dark red hair shining in the soft afternoon sun. Her skin was glistening with a golden creaminess. She’d changed clothes since this morning and now her long floral skirt moved around her like a flower garden.

Rock took this picture in, and realized it had been way too long since he’d been out on a date with a pretty woman. And taking old Miss McPherson to the seafood market once a week didn’t count.

“You hungry?” he heard himself saying.

Ana turned, almost too fast. She nearly fell off the stepstool. Rock wasn’t fast enough to catch her, and he was glad. That would have been a classic romantic way of getting her into his arms—too obvious.

But since he didn’t want to look unchivalrous, he did step forward. “Steady there.”

“I’m fine,” Ana said, stepping down from the stool to turn and stare at him as she pushed her hair away from her eyes. “I must have misunderstood you, though. I thought you asked me if I was hungry.”

“No misunderstanding. I did—ask you that, I mean.”

She stood there with her hands on her hips, an almost doubting glare on her pretty face. “Why did you—ask?”

So she was the suspicious type. “No particular reason, other than it’s getting dark and…I only had a sandwich for lunch. I was thinking about fried catfish out at the Sunken Pier. Ever been there?”

“No.”

“No, you’ve never been there, or no, you aren’t hungry, or just plain ‘no, I don’t want to have dinner with you, Rock’?”

“No to the first, yes to the second, and…I’m not sure to the last part.”

He crossed his hands over his chest, his trusty pocket notepad clutched in one hand. Then he leaned forward, offering up what he hoped was his best smile. “Why aren’t you sure? It’s just a meal. We can go over the cabinet plans again.”

She frowned, looked around. “I guess we do need to finalize everything—set your hours, your fee, things like that.”

“Exactly. A business dinner.”

“Strictly business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way.”

He liked the trace of disappointment that had scurried through her green eyes. But he wouldn’t dare tell her that since she’d walked into his shop this morning, he had at least thought of having things another way—besides the strictly business way, that is.

“I’ll freshen up and get my purse,” she said, clearly as confused and unsure as she’d been two minutes ago. “We won’t be late, will we? I have so much paperwork—contracts with food vendors, inventory sheets to check over—”

“I’ll have you home at a reasonable hour, I promise.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay, then.”

“You know, Mark Twain said principles have no real force except when one is well fed.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “And you are clearly a man of principle.”

“That I am. And manners. My mama taught me both.”

“That I can believe,” she said, her expression softening. “I trust your mother’s opinion and her good judgment of character, even if you are her son and she has to recommend you on that basis alone. I think I’ll be safe with you.”

“Completely.”

But as Rock watched her hurry up the narrow staircase, he had to wonder how much he could trust his mother’s judgment. After all, Eloise had brought Ana and him together for her own maternal reasons.

And now Rock was worried about those reasons and about how being with this shy, old-fashioned woman made him feel.

The real question was—would he be safe with Ana Hanson?

Chapter Three

“And that’s how it got its name,” Rock said, waving a hand in the air toward the old partially sunken pier just outside the wide window.

Ana watched as he smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. They held that distant darkness that seemed to flare like thunderclouds now and then. He looked down at his plate, then shrugged. “There’s a lot of history on this old island.”

Ana laughed, then nibbled the remains of her baked trout. “So you’re telling me that pier used to be completely safe and sturdy, until twenty years ago when a hurricane came through and almost swept it into the sea? And because of that and the restaurant’s legendary name, no one wants to fix the pier now?”

Rock nodded, grabbed a crispy hush puppy, then chewed before answering. “The first restaurant got washed into the ocean. That was the original Seafood at the Pier fine dining establishment. It had been here since 1910. But after the hurricane, the only thing left was that part of the pier that’s sticking up from the water now. A good place for pelicans and egrets to perch. The owner’s son decided to rebuild under a new name—thus The Sunken Pier Restaurant. Been here and been going strong ever since, through storms and summer tourists alike, frying up fish and steaming up shrimp and lobster, oysters and clams—whatever bounty the sea has to offer.”

Ana stared out the window at the ocean. Dusk had descended over the water in a rainbow of pastel hues—some pinks and reds here, and a few mauves and blues there. The water washed against the ancient remains of the old pier, slapping against the aged wood pilings in an ever-changing, but never-ending melody of life. And what was left of the pier looked somehow symbolic of that life. The thick beams and timbers lay at a haphazard angle, crossways and sideways, like a pile of kindling, stopped in time in mid-collapse.

Ana thought that her own life seemed like that—at times she felt about to fall apart at any minute, but at other times, she dug in, refusing to give up in spite of being beaten down at every turn.

She looked back over at Rock. “I guess I can understand why they left it that way. It’s a reminder of sorts.”

“Exactly,” he said, bobbing his head, a bittersweet smile crinkling his dark-skinned face. “My mother even did a sculpture based on that pier. She called it The Resurrection because the crossbeams of some of the pilings made her think of a cross. She made it out of wood and iron, with a waterfall flowing through it to represent the ocean and life.”

“Where is this sculpture now?” Ana asked. “I imagine some collector snatched it up right away, but I don’t recall seeing it in any of the trade catalogues or art books.”

Rock’s eyes darkened again and the smile disappeared from his face. “You probably never saw it because it wasn’t for sale. But someone acquired the piece, anyway, many years after she’d finished it. Locked it away in a garden behind his fancy mansion up on the bluffs.”

Sensing that Rock didn’t approve of this particular art collector, Ana leaned forward. “Isn’t that a good thing? That your mother sold the piece, I mean?”

He lifted his chin. “Normally, yeah, that’s good, selling a fine piece of art. But she didn’t get a very good price for what she had to give up.”

And that’s all he said. Wondering why he insisted on talking in riddles, Ana watched as he took a long swallow of his iced tea. “Rock,” she said, “did I ask the wrong question?”

Rock glanced over at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there. “No, nothing like that. Let’s change the subject.”

Ana again got the impression that Rock somehow resented his mother’s art. Maybe because it had taken his mother away from him and his brothers? It was a known fact in local art circles that Eloise Dempsey was a woman driven by her talent, a woman who had worked long and hard to become a successful force in the art world. It was also known, from various interviews and articles written about Eloise, that her relationship with her three grown sons was difficult. And even though Eloise knew exactly what to say in order to protect her privacy, she still managed, when necessary, to get a good sound bite on the evening news.

Deciding to venture forth, Ana said, “You know, Rock, I’ve read articles in the trade magazines about your mother. Being an artist is never easy. The art demands a lot, but you and Eloise seem so close. She brags on you—on all of her sons—and she did recommend you to me.”

Rock held his tea glass in one hand while he watched the waves crashing against the seawall and pier outside. “We’ve managed to stay on good terms over the years, in spite of what the media might say. And in spite of what the world doesn’t know or see.”

Thinking he wasn’t going to elaborate, Ana could only nod and sit silently. She didn’t want to appear nosy, yet she yearned to understand what had brought that darkness to his beautiful eyes. “It must have been hard on all of you, losing your father when you were so young.”

“It was tough,” Rock finally said. “For a long time, we didn’t understand why he had to die out there doing what he loved best, shrimping.” He glanced out at the water again. “But then ‘deep calleth unto deep’ or so the scripture says.”

“Did he die in a storm?”

“Yes.” Rock nodded toward the toppled pilings. “The very same hurricane that took that pier.”

Ana let out a little gasp that caused him to look across the space between them. “I’m sorry, Rock. Is that why you don’t want to talk about the sculpture?”

He sighed, kept staring at her, his eyes now as dark and unreadable as the faraway waters over the distant horizon. “It’s not the sculpture, Ana. It’s the fact that my mother designed it out of grief and sorrow and made it into a beautiful symbol of redeeming love. She didn’t sell the sculpture. She gave it to…someone who doesn’t really appreciate it.”

“Can you tell me who?”

Rock set his glass on the table, then folded his hands together across the white linen tablecloth. “I can tell you exactly who, and exactly why. My mother gave that sculpture to my brother Stone. And she gave it to him as a way of asking his forgiveness. Stone took the sculpture, but he has yet to forgive my mother…or me.”

Ana had many more questions, but decided they had to wait. She wouldn’t press Rock into talking about his obviously strained relationship with his middle brother, Stone. From what Ana knew, each of the three Dempsey brothers was successful in his own right. But Stone Dempsey was probably the most successful, business-and money-wise. She’d read somewhere a few years ago that Stone had bought Hidden Hill, a big stucco and stone turn-of-the-century mansion sitting atop the highest bluff on the island, not far from the West Island Lighthouse. But the mansion was crumbling around its foundations, from what Ana had heard. Which meant Stone had to have a lot of money to pour into restoration and renovations, at least.

Did Rock resent his brother’s success?

As they strolled along the shoreline heading back to Rock’s car, Ana couldn’t picture this quiet, talented man resenting anyone because of money. Rock seemed content enough. He had a lovely cottage near the Ankle Curve and he had his little church. He had his own talent, too. His cabinetry work was exquisite. His restoration of old pieces was precise and loving. Based on his ideas, he would turn her kitchen into a functional, but charming, workplace.

So what was eating at this gentle preacher? Ana wondered.

“I guess you’re wondering why I said that about Stone,” Rock told her as he took her hand and guided her a few yards away from the pier and the restaurant to a craggy rock that looked like a readymade bench.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, taking in their surroundings. Seagulls lifted out overhead, searching for tidbits from the diners strolling along the boardwalk and dunes. “I have…a very delicate relationship with my sister, so you’re allowed the same with your brother.”

“Stone…is bitter,” Rock said. “He blames my mother for our being so poor when we were growing up. You see, she gave up her inheritance to marry our father. His name was Tillman. Everyone called him Till. Till Dempsey, a kid from the wrong side of Savannah. He had the audacity to fall in love with the beautiful debutante from one of the oldest families in Savannah.” He pointed to the big curved rock. “And he brought Eloise here to propose to her. It’s an island tradition.”

A marker sign standing beside the rock stated that this was the Wedding Rock, a place where down through the centuries, sailors and fishermen had proposed to their true loves before heading out to sea. The sign also said that often couples got married here in front of the rock, their faces turned toward the ocean as they pledged their love.

“My parents were so in love, they didn’t care about all that old money back in Savannah. But when my father died, my grandparents tried to make amends. They wanted us to come live with them in Savannah, but on their terms, of course. My mother refused to conform, so we stayed here in what was once the family vacation home, the house she lives in now—the only thing she accepted from her parents—and that was just so we’d have a roof over our heads. Stone got angry with her for refusing their help and their money, and I guess he never got over it. I tried to make him see that we didn’t need them, but he was just twelve years old—you know, that age where peer pressure makes life so hard.

“The other kids teased us because we wore old clothes and couldn’t afford the things they took for granted. Stone resented our mother for that. I rode him pretty hard back then, trying to make him see that we were going to be okay. But we weren’t okay, really, and I guess I wasn’t the easiest person to live with. Stone hasn’t forgotten. It’s not something we like to talk about.”

Ana finished reading the historical marker, then turned to Rock. “If you don’t like talking about this, why did you bring me here to this particular restaurant?”

“The food is good,” he said with logical clarity.

“But the memories—”

“Won’t go away,” he finished as he tugged her down on the smooth surface of the rock. “The memories are scattered all over this island, so I quit fighting them long ago.”

Ana settled down beside him, then held her face up to catch the soft ocean breeze. The wind felt cool on her heated skin, felt good blowing over her hair. “So we both have painful memories. Why is it so hard to let go, Rock?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes open and honest. “I read a quote once about old memories and young hope. I guess we cling to the sadness of the past in hopes that something better will come along and change the future.”

“You have a good memory for quotes, at least,” she said, smiling. “I like that.”

“Really?” He lifted a dark brow, tilting his head toward her. “Most women find my quotes—and me—stuffy and old-fashioned.”

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl, remember?”

“Yes, I do recall.” He leaned back against the veined rock. “And I apologize. We didn’t get to discuss business very much.”

“We’ll have tomorrow for business,” she said. Then she ran a hand over the gray-blue rock formation. “The Wedding Rock—very romantic. I bet there are a lot of memories here.”

He nodded, his eyes shimmering a deep, dark blue. “And young hope for new, better memories to come. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this spot.”

Wondering why he had taken Ana to that sad, old pier, Rock walked Ana inside her house, then checked around to make sure everything was intact.

“We rarely have any crime here on the island,” he told her, hoping to reassure her. “We have a two-man police department and I think they mostly play cards and watch television all day. Or rescue a cat from a tree here and there.” Then he grinned. “Besides, you strike me as a capable, independent woman.”

“I already have a security system in place,” she told him as she hit buttons on the code box on the hallway wall. “I learned the hard way in Savannah—my apartment got robbed once.”

Rock waited, wondering what he should do or say. He was uncomfortable now that he’d revealed some of his family secrets to Ana. But she didn’t seem to be holding that against him. Thinking it might be best if he just went on home, he said, “About those plans—I’ll come by first thing in the morning with some sketches and ideas. I think we can have your cabinets renovated and your pantry shelves built right on time.”

“Good,” she said as she automatically checked the phone sitting lonely and misplaced on the hallway floor. “Oh, I have a message. Do you mind if I check it?”

“Go ahead. I need to be going, anyway.”

He was about to leave, but she held up a hand while she waited for the recorder.

A feminine voice said, “Hi, Ana. It’s me. Listen, I really need your help. I have to do some extensive traveling this summer—we’re working on buying up a big spot of land near Atlanta for development. This just came up and I’m still trying to sell that land I own over near Savannah, so I was wondering if…well, I might need your help with the girls. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

Rock watched as Ana’s expression went from mild interest to a keen awareness. She seemed to stiffen, her eyes glazing over with what looked like dread. “Everything okay?” he asked, to break the silence that creaked through the old house.

Ana sighed, clicked the delete button on the message machine. “That was my sister, Tara,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m about to be hit up to baby-sit all summer.”

“And open a new business, too? That might be hard.”

“Tara doesn’t stop to think about things like that. She’s a workaholic—so she expects everyone else to be the same. The only problem is, since her husband died, she’s poured herself into her work even more, and now, I’m afraid she’s neglecting her three daughters.”

“Reminds me of my mother—and Stone, too,” Rock said before thinking. “Not that he’s married with children. But he works 24/7. Guess he did get a couple of my mother’s traits.”

“Maybe we should introduce Tara and him,” Ana said with a skeptical smile. Then she added, “Don’t get me wrong. Tara loves her girls. It’s just been…hard on all of us since Chad died. I don’t think Tara even realizes that the girls are still grieving, too. They are acting out in all sorts of ways, but she can’t seem to connect on why.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rock said, coming to lean on the wall opposite her. “But it sounds very familiar. Our mother at least understood…when our father died. She tried to comfort us, but then she got caught up in her work and we somehow learned to fend for ourselves most days. I don’t know, though, if a child ever gets over that kind of grief.”

Ana nodded. “That’s the way it’s been with the girls lately. All teenagers now, too.”

“Wow. And she’s going to pass them off on you?”

“I love them. And Tara doesn’t trust anyone else. My parents are at that age where they travel a lot, when they aren’t sick or volunteering. The girls can be a handful, so they can’t keep them for more than a few days at a time. And Chad’s parents live out in Texas—Ana won’t let the girls go that far away over the summer. She’s there with them now, for a short visit, but I doubt the girls will want to stay in Texas all summer. That leaves me, I guess.”

“And me,” Rock heard himself saying. “Listen, Ana, this is small island. Everyone knows everyone. We all watch out for each other. We can help with the girls.”

She looked up at him, awe sparkling in her green eyes. “You’d do that…for me?”

“Of course. Mother would love it, too, I’m sure. They can swim, run around the village, learn to make pottery. There’s lots to entertain teenagers here.”

“You haven’t met these three yet—they are eleven, thirteen and fourteen—going on thirty.”

Rock leaned forward, taking in the sight of Ana standing there in the semidarkness, her fiery hair wind-tossed, the scent of the ocean still surrounding her. “If they are anything like their aunt, I can’t wait to meet them.”

Ana moved away, ran a hand through her hair. “Well, I have to think long and hard about this, but not tonight. It’s getting late. And we have lots of work to do tomorrow.”

Rock followed her to the front door. “Back to business, right?”

“Yes, business is what brought me here. But I did enjoy dinner.”

“Even though I told you all about the Dempsey family dysfunctions?”

“Every family has dysfunctions, as you can see from my sister’s phone call.”

“Maybe so. But, Ana, I want you to understand. I love my mother and my brothers—they mean the world to me. And since becoming a minister, I’ve learned we can’t control other people. We can only control how we react to them, and we have to leave the rest in God’s hands.”

She glanced down at the phone. “It’s hard to do that.”

“Yes, it is. But we can do the next-best thing. We love them—unconditionally, sometimes with trepidation, sometimes with a bit of anger and resentment, but always, knowing that if family needs us, we have to come through.”

“Like me, with my sister? I should tell her yes, bring the girls to me?”

“If that’s what you want to do in your heart.”

“I love those three. I’ve always wanted children.”

“You might be the best thing for them right now. A good, positive role model.”

“Me?” She scoffed, shook her head. “I’m just their old-maid aunt who loves art and reading and cooking. I’m the plain sister, Rock, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”

He leaned close again, one hand on the old brass doorknob. “Oh, I’ve figured out a lot of things about you, Ana. And I’m looking forward to working through the rest.”

He heard her sigh.

“The rest?”

“The rest of what makes Ana Hanson such an interesting, pretty woman.”

“Interesting and pretty describes my outgoing, dynamic sister, not me.”

“I don’t recall asking you about your sister. I’m only interested in getting to know you. And you are by no means plain.”

“Really, Rock, there’s not much to me.”

Rock reached up, pushed at a burnished curl clinging to her cheek. “There’s more than you know, Ana. Much more.”

Ana stepped back, away from his touch. “Remember, you were hired to work on restoring my cabinets, not me.”

Rock could tell she was scared, uncomfortable. He felt much the same way. And he still wasn’t sure where all of this might lead. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I’ve learned something about restoration over the years. Sometimes, if we keep polishing and pampering, we find true treasures underneath all the dirt and dust and neglect.”

“You’re talking in riddles again.”

“I’m telling it like it is,” he replied as he backed out the door. “You are a treasure, Ana. And somebody needs to show you that.”

She just smiled and said, “Thank you. You’re awfully sweet to try and make me feel better.”

Then she closed the door. Rock could hear the click of the lock, effectively shutting him out of her life for now.

“You should feel better,” he thought. “Someone needs to show you how special you are.” Rock decided that he was just the man for the job.

Chapter Four

“I invited Ana to dinner tonight—with you and me.”

Rock stared across the workshop at his mother. “That explains this surprise visit.”

Eloise rarely came to his workshop. She rarely left the compound of her home and studio. And she never cooked. Her groceries, housekeeping and other essentials, including real cooked meals, were now taken care of by a capable couple that lived in a small cottage near her property.

Rock had been pleased, but curious, when his mother had waltzed into the workshop this morning. Now he understood, of course. Eloise was up to matchmaking again.

“What if I have plans?”

“You never have plans, Rock. When was the last time you actually dated anyone?”

He had to stop and think. “I paid a visit to a single woman just the other night.”

Eloise lifted a finger, wagging it at him. “You’ve been watching wrestling on Saturday nights with old Miss McPherson again, haven’t you, son? That doesn’t count.”

“Okay, it’s been a while. But you know how it is, Mom. I work.”

Eloise picked up a plywood pattern. “Getting in your digs early today?”

“I’m sorry. Like mother, like son, I reckon. I guess I have been working too hard lately. What time is dinner? And what is Neda cooking?”

Eloise smiled at that. “Around seven, and we’re having a picnic out on the grounds—barbecued chicken, potato salad, the works. Ana told me once she loved picnics.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rock replied while he set his router flush with the base of a piece of wood, then lined up for the cut. Dropping his protective goggles on, he proceeded to cut the fresh-smelling walnut wood.

Eloise waited patiently, her hands folded over the front of her long linen skirt. When Rock had finished, she said, “Is that for Ana’s kitchen?”

“Yep. I’m having to replace some of the original wood—the back sections of some of the cabinets just aren’t sturdy anymore. Not to mention that most of the upper units need reinforcement.” He lifted his head toward the sections of what would soon be an island station in the kitchen. “Don Ashworth and his son, Cal, have been helping me with that monster. But they took the morning off—Cal’s getting his driver’s license.”

Eloise said, “Oh, I saw Greta Epperson at the town hall meeting about the lighthouse fund-raiser. She said rumor has it you and Ana were having dinner at the Sunken Pier a couple of nights ago.”

Rock lifted his gaze to the heavens. “Oh, great. I guess that news flash will grace the gossip page in this week’s paper. And it probably won’t matter that it was a business dinner.”

Eloise chuckled, then eyed the pieces that had yet to be put together inside Ana’s house. “Not to Greta. She loves trailing a good story and embellishing on the facts. And speaking of business, you’re doing a good job, according to Ana.”

“She hasn’t complained so far. Besides, she’s been busy training her staff and testing recipes. She’s got to get her menu down just right—she’s a stickler for details.”

“I want to hear the details of how things are progressing between you two, and I don’t mean the working relationship. I’d rather hear it from you than that pesky Greta.”

Staying tight-lipped, Rock picked up a hand plane and started passing it over a piece of wood he’d shaped into a crown molding. He wasn’t about to go into detail about Ana with his overly inquisitive mother.

Yet Eloise asked, anyway. “Do you like her?”

Pretending to misunderstand, Rock nodded toward the new cabinets. “This one—she’s coming along nicely.”

Eloise scoffed, kicked at sawdust. “You know perfectly well I’m not talking about cabinets. How are things with Ana?”

Rock stopped the pressure he’d been applying to the hand plane. “Things with Ana are…business as usual.”

He wouldn’t tell Eloise that the week he’d spent working for Ana had left him disturbed and excited. He liked knowing Ana was in the next room, working, sometimes humming, at her desk. He liked hearing her laughing and talking with her two capable sidekicks, Jackie and Tina. He enjoyed hearing the women talk about their families and their stressful days. He even enjoyed trying to figure out the secret codes women use to convey message. He suspected, from some of the sly, smiling looks the women gave him in passing, that some of those codes were used to throw him off. Or maybe drive him crazy.

But Rock didn’t ask for explanations. He worked silently, or with Don and Cal by his side. He worked steadily, since they only had a few weeks left before the opening. He couldn’t tell his mother that he went to bed each night with the scent of Ana’s floral perfume wafting through his senses. He couldn’t explain that when he went down to the beach for a midnight run, his thoughts always turned to the time he’d spent in Ana’s kitchen, measuring and hammering, tearing out and replacing.

And the whole time, he’d felt as if he’d been tearing away at his own old hurts and replacing them with something good and pure. Only, other than cooking him wonderful, dainty lunches so she could test her menu, Ana was keeping her distance. And keeping busy.

Which meant he couldn’t wait to see her tonight at dinner. But he didn’t dare tell his mother that.

Eloise was watching him in that calm, disconcerting way she had. It was the same way in which she’d stare at a piece of ancient wood or jagged stone and see things no one else could even begin to imagine. Rock wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

“Mother, I’ll be there. So you can quit glaring at me.”

“I love your face,” his mother said. “You have a noble face, Rock.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t want to talk to me, do you.”

“I’m busy, is all. Got to finish these pieces and get started on a few others. Time marches on.”

“You don’t like me interfering.”

“Never have.”

“I’ve tried to stay out of your love life, but there’s something about Ana.”

Rock wiped the sweat off his brow, then looked at his mother. “On that, at least, we can agree.”

“Then, you do…like her?”

“We’re not going steady yet, but yes, I like her.”

“So a mother can hope.”

The old anger surfaced as quickly and swiftly as a rebel wave hitting the shore. “Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?”

Eloise’s stark eyes opened wide. Rock saw the mist of tears there. “I know I failed you, Rock. I was…alone, afraid, obsessed with making a name for myself. I…believe God has given me another chance. I intend to see that chance through.”

“By pushing your oldest, bachelor son off on the first woman who shows him the slightest hint of attention?”

“You’ve dated other women, so don’t put yourself down.” She shook her head. “I’m just hoping and praying that you and Ana make a good match. I want you to be happy, truly happy, and Ana seems perfect for you. Everyone should have the chance to know pure happiness in their life.”

Rock saw the light leave his mother’s beautiful eyes, and he knew she was remembering. He hated himself for being harsh with her. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her. But he did give her his full attention. “I’d like that, Mother. I’d like to have that just once in my life.”

Eloise’s expression changed to a smile. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”

Ana stepped out of her car, a warm apple pie in one hand and her crocheted purse in the other. Closing the car door with a sandaled foot, she stared up at the imposing Victorian beach house that sat nestled underneath billowing live oaks across from the sandy curve of the shore.

The house was an aged white, battered from years of tropical winds and salty mists. Its shutters were a muted gray, its many lace-curtained windows thrown open to the sea. Around back, past the sandy, shell-covered drive, stood Eloise’s studio.

She heard laughter coming from the garden, so Ana headed through the carriage drive on the side of the house to find Eloise and Rock talking with another, older couple.

Eloise turned as she heard the crunch of Ana’s footsteps. “Ana! You made it.”

“And brought pie,” Rock said, his smile gentle, his eyes keen on her.

Ana managed a shaky smile, and wondered why she’d gone to such great pains with her appearance. Upswept hair, a sundress with brilliant tropical flowers splashed across its gathered skirts, a dash of lipstick and perfume. From the look in Rock’s eyes, she’d done a passable job, at least. That pleased and aggravated her at the same time.

But then, this past week had been full of such moments—sweet and torturing all at the same time. She had found herself, on more than one occasion, stopping to watch Rock while he worked. He’d looked like every woman’s dream in his faded T-shirt and even more faded jeans, his heavy work boots clunking on her polished floors, his dark, curling hair sprinkled with sawdust.

“Why do carpenters always look so yummy?” Jackie had asked just yesterday, grinning.

“And they are so good with their hands,” Tina, petite and buxom, had said through a sigh.

“Why don’t you two get back to work?” Ana had retorted, her own smile belying the stern tone in her voice. She had to agree with her new helpers. Rock looked good working, and he felt good each time his fingers brushed over hers in passing or his arm touched hers as they met in the doorway.

But what Ana had enjoyed the most didn’t really have anything to do with Rock’s physical appearance. It was his eyes, his facial expressions, that tugged at her heart and made her want to get to know him better. He’d go from intense concentration to thoughtful contemplation, his blue eyes changing color like a sea in the sun with each new calculation, with each touch of hammer to nail. Rock truly loved his work. And it showed in the beautiful cabinets he was recreating in her kitchen.

“Want me to take that?” he asked now, bringing Ana out of her thoughts.

She glanced down at the pie she still held in one hand. “Oh, yes. Thanks.”

“Smells wonderful,” he said under his breath, his eyes on her instead of the pie.

Ana allowed a little shiver of pure delight to move like falling mist down her spine. Rock flirted in such a subtle, quiet way, it sometimes took her a few minutes to even realize he was doing it. But he was doing it—flirting with her. And tonight, she intended to enjoy it.

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