She watched Brady run his fingers over the surface of the rock slabs

An unexpected warmth flowed along Audrey’s arms at the thought of those long fingers doing the same thing to her skin. Maybe she had stayed in the sun too long that morning and baked her brain.

She felt as if she was experiencing Brady overload. She’d caught herself snatching glimpses of him ever since they’d arrived at the store, glimpses she didn’t dare make in the car because he would have noticed.

Each time she looked at him, the more attractive he became.

The archetypal sexy carpenter. She wondered if he looked as good as she imagined in nothing but a pair of jeans and a tool belt.

But she couldn’t risk getting too involved, not when it could put everything she had and was trying to build at risk.

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to share my second Harlequin American Romance novel, Her Very Own Family, with you. The backdrop of the story is a place familiar to me—the gorgeous northeast corner of Tennessee. The area is verdant, mountainous and filled with soothing creeks and rushing rivers.

The beauty and calm of the setting are just what Audrey York needs when she arrives in tiny Willow Glen. Audrey came to life while I was pondering how someone would respond if she were caught up in a scandal not of her making. How could she start over when the scandal made national news? Could she escape the guilty-by-association way people looked at her and find a man to see and love the real her?

This book is the result of all that pondering, and it is Audrey’s journey to letting go, trusting, forgiving and finding love with a hunky carpenter named Brady Witt, who has his own past to overcome on the road to love.

I hope you enjoy Audrey and Brady’s story. I’d love to hear what you think. You can e-mail me through my Web site at www.trishmilburn.com.

Happy reading!

Trish Milburn

Her Very Own Family

Trish Milburn

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Trish Milburn wrote her first book in the fifth grade and has the cardboard-and-fabric-bound handwritten and colored-pencil-illustrated copy to prove it. That “book” was called Land of the Misty Gems, and not surprisingly it was a romance. She’s always loved stories with happy endings, whether those stories come in the form of books, movies, TV programs or marriage to her own hero.

A print journalist by trade, she still does contract and freelance work in that field, balancing those duties with her dream-come-true career as a novelist. Before she published her first book, she was an eight-time finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart contest sponsored by Romance Writers of America, winning twice. Other than reading, Trish enjoys traveling (by car or train—she’s a terra firma girl!), watching TV and movies, hiking, nature photography and visiting national parks.

You can visit Trish online at www.trishmilburn.com. Readers also can write to her at P.O. Box 140875, Nashville, TN 37214-0875.

To Shane,

who has been my own real-life hero for nineteen years.

And to Jennifer and Jeanie. Thanks for introducing me

to the world of romance fiction way back when.

Writing groups and friends mean a lot to a writer,

and I’m very fortunate to have great wealth

in this area. Although I can’t name everyone,

I want to thank three groups in particular for their

unceasing support and wonderful friendship.

Here’s to you, Music City Romance Writers,

Wet Noodle Posse and Romance Bandits.

Finally, huge thanks again to the ladies

who are my partners in my career—

my fabulous agent, Michelle Grajkowski;

my wonderful editor, Johanna Raisanen;

and senior editor extraordinaire, Kathleen Scheibling.

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 One

Audrey York scanned the grocery’s shelves, familiarizing herself with the offerings. While they were more limited than what she was used to, that was actually okay with her.

She wheeled her cart into the next aisle and nearly collided with an older man who was staring at the shelf in front of him with what could only be called frantic confusion.

“Which one is it?” he mumbled. “There are so many.” He reached for one kind of cherry pie filling, then another, then back to the original before dropping his hand in defeat.

“Can I help you?”

He jumped as if he hadn’t noticed her or the rattling cart containing her groceries. His eyes, which looked on the verge of tears, glanced from her to the shelf then back to her.

“I don’t know which one to get. My wife always buys the groceries.”

Poor guy. He was clearly out of his comfort zone. She examined the choices. The Glen Grocery might not carry fresh herbs, but it did offer half a dozen types of cherry pie filling.

“What is it for, pie or cobbler?”

“Cobbler. Her cobbler’s the best.”

Audrey smiled then picked up a can. “Then I’d suggest this one.”

He accepted the can as if it were the Holy Grail. “Thank you.” He placed it in the cart alongside a package of chicken thighs, a bag of potatoes, another of flour and a loaf of plain white bread.

Audrey watched him as he moved on up the aisle, something about the helplessness in his eyes tearing at her heart. She fought the urge to give him a hand with the remainder of his grocery shopping. Instead, she continued with her own, sticking to necessities to keep her final bill as low as possible. She didn’t need the fudge-covered Oreos anyway.

By the time she finished her tour of the rest of the store and headed to the cash register with her purchases, the older man was exiting the front door. As she began piling her items on the conveyor belt, she noticed the checker watching the man with a sad expression on her face. She shook her head and echoed the “poor guy” sentiment Audrey had thought a few minutes before.

“He seemed a little lost,” she said to the young woman whose short, choppy magenta hair seemed out of place in quaint little Willow Glen. A quick glance at her name tag revealed her identity as Meg.

“He is,” Meg said. “He and his wife were married for more than forty years.”

His sadness suddenly made sense. “She died?”

“Yeah, about a month ago. He had family visiting for a while afterward, but now he’s alone. I think this is his first trip to the store by himself.”

Tears stung Audrey’s eyes. She looked toward the ceiling to close off her tear ducts, a trick she’d learned from her mother.

“That’ll be $53.76,” Meg said, dragging Audrey back to the present.

After paying and placing all her bags in her cart, Audrey headed outside, hoping the bright spring sunshine would burn away the sorrow she’d felt for the older man.

She stuffed the groceries in the trunk of her Jetta, forcing her mind to focus on the endless list of tasks waiting for her when she got home. She liked staying busy even if she had given up a faster-paced life in Nashville for a more soul-nurturing existence in the mountains of East Tennessee.

As she started for the driver’s-side door, she noticed the older man again. When he wiped his cheek, it tugged at her emotions. She wanted to help him, but what good could she do? Bringing back his wife wasn’t possible, and most people hated pity from others. Not to mention she was still wary about meeting new people, something she’d have to get past if she wanted to make a success of her new life here.

Still, she found herself walking across the parking lot toward him, hoping she’d come up with something to say by the time she reached his side.

“Excuse me,” she said as she came within a few feet of him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

The man made one more quick swipe at his right eye before facing her.

“I’m new to Willow Glen, and I was wondering if you could tell me if there is anywhere nearby where I could get some nice picture frames, bigger ones.” She held her hands about two feet apart.

“There’s a Wal-Mart down in Elizabethton.”

She shook her head but kept a smile firmly in place. “I was hoping for something a bit more unique, hand-crafted if at all possible.” She was a long way from needing the frames for her wildflower photos yet, but it was the first thing that had tumbled out of her mouth. And it proved a nice, neutral topic.

“Well, I’ve fiddled with a few here and there, though I mainly make furniture now.”

“Really? Then it’s my lucky day.” She extended her hand. “I’m Audrey York. I’m fixing up the old Grayson Mill, turning it into a café.”

“Nelson Witt. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand, the calluses on his weathered palm revealing he did indeed work with his hands. “The old mill, huh? That’ll probably take a lot of work.”

She laughed. “You’re right there. I think I’ve already swept out enough dirt to create a new county.” Her mood lifted when she saw a hint of a smile on Mr. Witt’s gray-stubbled face. Despite everything that had happened in the past year to sour her outlook, it still felt good and natural to help people, to bring some happiness into their lives.

“Guess I could put together some frames and bring them out there sometime.”

“That would be great.”

“When would be good for you?”

Audrey detected how he leaped on the opportunity, probably looking for anything to keep his mind off the absence of his other half. “I’m there pretty much all the time except when I’m running errands.”

“You staying out there?”

“Yeah. I’m turning the loft into my living area, and the bottom level will house the café.”

“I’d say something about wondering if that was safe, but I know you young people think yourselves invincible.”

“Considering I’ve lived in the city and been flying across the continent nearly every week for the past five years, this feels as safe as Mayberry.”

“Well, then, when I finish the frames, I’ll run them by.”

“Thank you.”

After a couple more minutes of talking, Audrey headed back to her car, her heart lighter. She’d probably had no more than five minutes of conversation with Mr. Witt, but she already really liked him. And if she could help ease a little of his pain, then it was a good day.

Not to mention she yearned for new friends here, craved them. The past year had left a yawning, dark hole in her life, and she couldn’t wait to fill it.

AUDREY SPENT the rest of the morning cleaning, burning useless debris and adding to her list of needed supplies while trying not to think about how much those supplies would cost. When she stopped long enough to fix a late lunch of grilled chicken and pasta salad from the grocery’s deli, she heard gravel popping on the lane leading back to the gristmill.

She stepped out onto the small porch attached to the front of the mill. Eventually, it would be the attractive entrance to her café, but now only a cheap folding lawn chair and an upturned five-gallon bucket she used for a table occupied the space. She shaded her eyes against the sun and saw Mr. Witt stepping out of his truck.

“That was fast.” She smiled wide, happy to see this potential friend so soon.

Mr. Witt shrugged. “They don’t take long to make. Thought I’d whip together some samples, see if you like them,” he said as he lowered the tailgate of his pickup.

When she saw the size of the wooden crate he pulled toward the back of the truck, she hurried to help him. “Here, I’ll get this side. I’m not much for watching other people do my work.” She added the last, hoping to forestall any argument that he was still capable of carrying a heavy box. She figured he’d had enough reminding today that things weren’t as they’d always been.

Audrey backed her way toward the mill, Mr. Witt following. Once inside, she guided the crate onto the bench stretching along the length of one wall.

“I haven’t been in here in years,” Mr. Witt said as he scanned the interior. “I remember coming here with my daddy when I was a boy.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Even though you could get cornmeal in the stores, he always liked what came from the mill better. I remember sitting on the creek bank, just watching the wheel turn round and round.”

“That’s one of the things on my extensive to-do list,” Audrey said. “I want to get the wheel operational again. I think it’ll add to the atmosphere.”

Mr. Witt looked around at the mill’s silent gears and aging wood. “Hard to imagine this place as a restaurant.”

“I admit, it’s got a long way to go. But as it happens, you’re my first dining guest.” She extended her arm to point out the small table in the corner, covered with a white cloth and with a vase of daffodils. Her attempt to add a little cheer to the place. “I was about to have lunch, and I’ve got plenty to share.”

“I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I have to eat anyway, and it’s the least I can do for you bringing these frames all the way over here.” Plus, if Mrs. Witt had always done the grocery shopping, chances were she’d also done the cooking. That led Audrey to believe Mr. Witt might not have been eating properly since his family’s departure. Something about him brought out her protective instincts.

“It’s not too far,” he said as he took a seat. “I just live a couple miles down the road from your lane.”

Audrey slid onto the chair opposite him. “Oh, so we’re practically neighbors.”

Mr. Witt shared tales of his youth in Willow Glen as they ate their lunch, making Audrey laugh with the accounts of some of his mischievous antics.

“I think by the time I got out of school, the teachers were ready to throw a party.”

“I can’t imagine why. Doesn’t everyone bring snakes to show-and-tell and put scarecrows in their teachers’ cars?”

Mr. Witt chuckled at the remembered scenes. “But, Lordy, I got payback when I had my own son.”

“Wild one, huh?”

“Whoo-ee. Put me to shame. But he turned out all right, so I guess no harm came of his escapades.”

“You only have the one?”

“Yeah, just one son. Betty…” Sadness drifted across his face at the name. “Betty and I had two children. Brady’s the oldest. He runs the construction company now, even opened a new office where he lives down in Kingsport. Our daughter, Sophie, owns a bridal shop in Asheville, North Carolina. She’s got two little girls who I’ve been known to spoil from time to time.”

“I bet you do.” Audrey smiled, glad the topic of his grandchildren had pushed away the incredible ache it was painful to witness.

“Does your son have children?”

“Goodness, no. That boy doesn’t slow down long enough to date a gal for more than a month at a time. Say, maybe I should fix the two of you up. You’re a pretty girl, hardworking.”

Audrey wadded her napkin into a ball and tossed it onto her empty plate. She tried to push away an ache of her own by changing the subject. “I think my only dates are going to be with a broom and a paintbrush for the foreseeable future.”

“All work and no play…” he teased.

“Opens my café and adds to my dwindling bank account sooner.” She took a drink of her water.

“He’s a good-looking boy.” The hopeful tone in his voice nearly made Audrey chuckle.

“Must take after his father.” She patted his hand. “Let’s take a look at those frames.” And steer clear of the topic of dating. She didn’t have the time or the inclination.

Yes, she got lonely and missed being held. But Darren, the man she’d thought she’d marry, had shown her that might never be possible.

Not when any interesting, or interested, man found out who she was.

BRADY WITT HUNG UP the phone in his office, trying not to worry that he couldn’t reach his dad. He’d made attempts all day with no luck. Maybe his dad was out in his shop. Though with the way Nelson had been acting when Brady left, he couldn’t imagine it. With his wife’s death, the life had seemed to go out of Nelson Witt, too.

“You okay?”

Brady looked up to see his business partner and best friend, Craig Williams, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, just can’t get in touch with Dad.”

“He could’ve gone into town.”

“Maybe, but I’ve been calling all day. If he hit every business in Willow Glen, it might take him a couple of hours. And that’s if he spent an hour hanging out with the other old coots at Cora’s Coffee Shop.”

Craig ambled in and sank into one of the chairs opposite Brady’s desk. “Why don’t you take some time off? Go spend it with your dad.”

“I just did that.”

Craig shook his head. “You were dealing with the funeral and the aftermath. I’m thinking you go up and keep him busy, take him fishing, get him in a new routine that won’t remind him of your mom so much.”

Brady leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I don’t think he’s interested in fishing or anything else for that matter.”

“Your parents were so close. That’s why you should go. Left to themselves, sometimes older people don’t last long if they lose their spouse. I saw it happen to my grandma.”

The thought of losing his father so soon after his mom sent a sharp pain through Brady’s chest. But how did you force someone to learn to live again?

“Just a couple of weeks,” Craig said. “We’ve got things under control here. And if you still feel like you can’t do anything after that, then you come back and let time do its thing.”

Brady glanced at the calendar. “I’ve got to finish the bid on the Lakeview project.”

“I can finish it up, get Kelly to help me. Be good experience for her. Plus, it’s not like you’re headed to the wilds of Tibet.”

Brady considered Craig’s words for a moment before nodding. “Okay.” It did make sense to give Kelly, their architecture intern, experience in all aspects of the business.

And honestly, Brady’s heart wasn’t in his work anyway. He couldn’t turn off the anger or pain about his mom’s death. Or the concern about how suddenly old and empty his father had looked in the days after the passing of the love of his life.

Maybe time alone with his dad would do Brady some good, too.

For the hour it took him to drive to Willow Glen, he tossed around ideas in his head, things to do with his dad. Fishing, going to visit Sophie and her family, yard work, watching some baseball, maybe even some renovation on the house.

When he pulled into his dad’s driveway, he noticed the truck wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen the truck in town or in the parking lot of Witt Construction’s main office. It was after five. Where could his dad be?

Even though he knew he wouldn’t find him, Brady did a walk-through of the shop and the house. He’d been in the house while his parents were away from home hundreds of times, but today felt different, emptier. He half expected to step into the kitchen to see his mom at the stove making dinner, an apron tied around her waist and her cheeks pink from the heat. But the kitchen proved even quieter than the rest of the house. His heart ached to know his mom would never again playfully smack his hand away from whatever she was cooking.

He left the lingering presence of his mother behind and stepped out onto the porch.

However this trip turned out, he was getting his dad a cell phone and teaching him how to use it.

“You looking for your dad?”

Brady glanced to his left to see Bernie Stoltz, his parents’ longtime neighbor, in his garden.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

“He’s probably still out at the old Grayson Mill. He’s been spending a lot of time out there with the lady who bought it.”

Shock squeezed the air from Brady’s lungs. His mother had been gone barely a month. Who was this woman attracting his dad’s attention? What did she want from him?

He tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice when he spoke, though. “Someone bought the old mill?”

Bernie leaned on his hoe. “Yep. I hear she’s planning to turn it into a restaurant.”

Brady had a million more questions, but he’d save them for his father. Bernie was a nice guy, but he tended to be a bit gossipy. And despite Willow Glen’s laid-back atmosphere, one thing that had supersonic speed was the gossip chain. Not much else to do in a one-stoplight town.

“Interesting. Well, I guess I’ll run out there and see if I can catch him.”

He waved to Bernie as he headed for his truck, not inviting further conversation. On his way to the mill, he tried not to jump to conclusions, but he knew how quickly some women leaped on newly widowed men, especially ones with money. His surging suspicions brought an image of Ginny Carter to the surface, but he flung it away with a growl.

At the very least something was odd. Only a few days ago, his dad had been walking around in a daze, weighed down by grief. Now he was spending his free time with some unnamed woman at a run-down gristmill.

When he drove within view of the old building, sure enough, there was his dad’s truck under the shade of a big sycamore tree. He rolled to a stop and caught sight of his dad poking his head out the front door of the mill. By the time he stepped out of the truck, his dad stood on the small porch.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” his dad said.

“I’ve been calling you all day.”

Nelson Witt’s gray eyebrows raised. “So you drove all the way up here to check on me?”

“Partly. Decided to take a couple weeks of vacation.”

He saw his dad frown. “I suppose Bernie told you where I was,” Nelson said, almost his old self again.

“Yeah. He said you’ve been spending a lot of time out here.”

“It passes the days.”

There might be hints of his dad’s normal self resurfacing, but it was going to be a long time, if ever, before the soul-deep sorrow went away.

“So, you’re helping the lady with a little work?” Brady nodded at the wood chips and dust coating his dad’s shirt and jeans.

“Yeah, doing some odds and ends now, but she’s going to have me make the tables and chairs for the restaurant eventually.”

Brady eyed the exterior of the old mill. “She really thinks people will come out here to eat?”

“They’ll come. Audrey’s smart, got a business plan, lots of great ideas.”

Brady didn’t know what he thought of his father’s glowing report. On the one hand, it was great that he had a project, something to keep him occupied. On the other, well, he just needed to meet this Audrey for himself to make sure nothing was fishy, that she wasn’t a gold digger looking for someone to bankroll her pet project.

“She around?”

His dad nodded toward the gravel lane leading back to the main road. “She’s gone into town to get some paint. Should be back soon.”

“Well, let’s see what you’re working on,” Brady said as he walked toward the porch.

His dad showed him the benches extending along one wall that he’d reinforced. The railing he’d built around the mill’s large gears to keep anyone from stepping too close and getting hurt. And how he was cutting out a section of wall next to the waterwheel so that a large window could be installed, affording a view of the wheel and the creek beyond.

“Sounds like Audrey’s kept you busy. I hope she’s paying you well.”

His dad made a dismissive wave. “We’ll get to that. It’s just good to have something to do, get away from the house.”

So this Audrey was enjoying the fruits of his dad’s labors without paying him. That wasn’t exactly a point in her favor.

He only half listened as his dad kept talking about Audrey’s plans for the place, all of which seemed expensive and quite possibly ill-conceived. Yes, Willow Glen got a bit of tourist traffic because of the surrounding mountains, but an out-of-the-way café seemed a risky proposition. He just hoped that a bit of carpentry help was all she’d talked his dad into. He’d hate to be put in the position of questioning his dad’s financial decisions. That would go over like firecrackers during a church sermon.

The sound of a car coming up the lane drew their attention at the same time.

“That sounds like Audrey now,” his dad said. “Come on. I think you’re going to like her.”

That remained to be seen.

When they stepped outside, the mysterious Audrey was hidden by the open trunk lid on her car. He followed his dad as he headed toward the vehicle, a nice blue Jetta not more than a couple of years old. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

“We’ve got some more company we can put to work,” his dad called to her.

“That right?” came the muffled voice from the back just before she closed the trunk.

The world seemed to slip into slow motion as each detail in front of him came into supersharp focus, none of them what he’d expected. Brady stared, at a loss for words and vaguely aware that his mouth might be hanging open. Instead of a woman more his father’s age, a tall, leggy blonde stared back at him, surprise written across her lovely face.

Looked like today was going to be full of surprises.

Chapter Two

The buckets of paint nearly slipped from Audrey’s hands, but her brain reengaged in time for her to adjust her grip.

“Audrey York, this is my son, Brady.”

Good heavens, if Brady Witt did indeed look like his father had at the same age, the recently departed Betty had been a very lucky woman. Tall, nicely toned, natural tan, angular features. His sandy-brown hair was a touch long and a bit messy, like he didn’t have the time for a haircut or just didn’t care.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Let me take those,” Brady said as he reached for the paint cans.

“I’ve got them, thanks. But there are a couple of bags in the backseat with dinner in them.” Thankfully, she had extra.

As she turned away and started toward the mill, she exhaled slowly, trying to get her hammering pulse under control. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a good-looking man, far from it. So why did this one in particular cause her pulse rate to go supersonic?

Long days and little sleep, that’s why. Not to mention the stress of wanting to get the café up and running and lots of work standing between her and opening day. Of course, the fact that Brady Witt was drop-dead gorgeous could have something to do with the fact that her brain synapses were misfiring.

She told herself not to care how she looked in her sweaty tank top, cargo shorts and work boots, but she couldn’t help smoothing her hair once she’d placed the paint cans inside. Then she shook her head at her silliness. She didn’t have to look polished and professional anymore, and that’s the way she’d wanted it. Willow Glen was the antidote to all the disappointments in her old life.

“You can just set those over there.” She indicated the table as Brady and Nelson came in with the bags.

“Dad’s been telling me all about your plans for the place,” Brady said. “Seems like quite a job for one woman.”

“Well, your dad has been a big help.”

“So I hear.”

She glanced up at Brady as she pulled the sub sandwiches and chips from the bags. Was that suspicion in his voice?

No, it couldn’t be. He had no reason to suspect her of anything. She’d be glad when she stopped hearing and seeing accusations and suspicion everywhere she looked.

But even after they all sat down to eat, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her for some misstep, some clue that would shine a bright spotlight on everything she wanted to leave behind.

“So, what gave you the idea for this little venture?” Brady asked.

It didn’t take a top investigator to figure out that he didn’t think it would work. But that was okay. She had enough belief in the project to counter any naysayers.

“I came up here last year, did some hiking along the Willow Trail, canoed along the creek. That’s when I saw this old mill, and my imagination just started leaping with ideas.”

She didn’t much believe in fate or destiny anymore, except what you made for yourself, but something about the sight of this old mill when she’d floated by that day had spoken to her, called her name, begged her to save it. At the time, she’d taken photos of it to preserve the piece of history. Only later did actual preservation of the building occur to her as a way of guiding her life in a new direction.

“How do you plan to get people out here?”

“Advertise in tourist publications, build a spur trail from here to the Willow Trail, construct a take-in/takeout point for canoeists on the creek here, maybe even rent canoes at some point. Trust me, I thought about this a long time and didn’t jump into it lightly.”

She detected surprise in the widening of Brady’s greenish-gold eyes, and satisfaction bloomed inside her.

“Dad said you had a business plan. Looks like he was right. Well, good luck with everything.” He broke eye contact and glanced down at the crumbs of his meal.

He might mean it, but it sounded more like a throw-away comment, something you say to someone you don’t know and don’t plan on getting to know. The detachment irritated her.

“Thank you.” She stood and gathered all the sandwich wrappers, chip bags, napkins and paper plates from the table then deposited them in the trash can. “Well, I need to get to some paperwork.”

The chairs scraped the rough wooden floor behind her.

“We’ll see you bright and early in the morning,” Nelson said, as he did every afternoon when he left for the day.

“Actually, Dad, I thought we might go fishing tomorrow.”

“Fishing?” Nelson looked at his son as if the suggestion made no sense. “I’m in the middle of a job here.”

“I’m sure Ms. York can spare you for a few days,” Brady said.

“Certainly,” she said with forced brightness as she turned to face them. “Spend some time with Brady.”

“I can spend time with Brady here,” Nelson said. “I’ve got to get that window area finished then start work on the tables. And with one more set of experienced hands, the work will go faster.”

Brady shifted his stance like he wanted to argue, but he kept quiet. She’d give just about anything to peek inside his brain for two minutes.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” she said to Nelson. “You’ve been a dear so far, but—”

Nelson shook his head and waved off her objection. “No. Once I start something, I finish it. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he patted her on the shoulder and headed outside, leaving her and Brady to stare after him.

She didn’t meet Brady’s eyes, but she felt his gaze on her.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “Guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

She uttered a “good night” and watched as he disappeared out the door, too.

So he was coming back with his dad. Fantastic, an entire day, maybe days, of him watching, suspecting. Oh, yeah, this was going to be all kinds of fun.

WHEN BRADY WALKED into the house, his dad wandered out of the kitchen holding a glass of milk.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?” his dad asked.

“What?”

“How you acted with Audrey. You were nearly rude.”

“I wasn’t rude.”

“You know I’ve been helping her out, and right in front of her you say you want me to go fishing instead.”

“I thought it’d be nice, that’s all.”

Nelson raised one eyebrow. “You do remember I’ve been catching you in lies since you were able to talk, right?”

“It’s nothing, okay? I was just surprised you’d been spending so much time with her and hadn’t mentioned it.” Brady tossed his bag on the couch.

“I’m thankful she’s given me something to do. It’s not like I’m dating the girl. She’s young enough to be my daughter.”

Brady didn’t respond, didn’t know how.

His dad caught his eye just as he took a drink of his milk. Nelson lowered the glass. “That’s what you thought, isn’t it? That I’d taken up with someone already?”

Brady waved away the accusation. “No, of course not.” The lie gnawed at his gut.

Anger replaced the sadness in his dad’s eyes. “Don’t you ever doubt how much I loved your mother. She was my one and only.”

Brady shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I know that, Dad.”

“Well, if you know that, why the suspicion?”

“It’s not your actions I’m worried about.”

“What, you think a pretty young girl like Audrey would be after an old codger like me?” He gave Brady a raised-eyebrow look that said the very idea was the height of unlikely.

“You have a TV. You know it happens. Young women hooking up with older men for their money.”

His dad actually snorted, the closest thing to a laugh Brady had heard from him in a long time, since before his mom’s stroke.

“I’m old, not stupid.”

“What do you really know about her, anyway?”

“I know she moved here from Nashville because she wanted to get out of the city. That she’s excited about this project, is enthusiastic, a very hard worker, is addicted to the Food Network and is missing it. And she was a friend to an old man when he needed one.” His dad shook his head. “I even joked with her that I was going to try to fix the two of you up. Looks like she was right.”

Brady tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

“That it’s a bad idea.” With that, Nelson sat his empty glass on the end of the kitchen counter and headed down the hallway toward his bedroom.

Brady stood in the middle of the living room, wondering how he’d managed to handle this whole situation so badly. All he wanted to do was make sure his father was okay, that he wasn’t duped. But somehow he’d turned into the bad guy. Just great. That should make the next two weeks freaking wonderful.

AFTER YET ANOTHER dreadful night of sleep, Audrey was on the steep, A-shaped roof, nailing down new pieces of silver tin roofing by six the next morning. The gentle breeze in the surrounding forest and the trickling of the creek next to the mill should have soothed her, but even they couldn’t smooth her ragged edges. By the time Nelson and Brady showed up, her mood still hadn’t improved.

“Lord, girl, what are you doing up there?” Nelson asked as he looked at her with his eyes shaded by his hand.

“Roofing. I’ve got to get this done before the electrician shows up in case it rains.”

“How in the world do you know how to roof a building?”

She hesitated as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. How to answer? “I volunteered for Habitat for Humanity after Katrina.” True. No need to mention the missionary trips to developing countries when she’d helped build homes for the poorest of the poor.

Nelson pointed toward where she kneeled. “Brady, get up there and help her.”

“No, really, I’m fine.” The last thing she needed while perched on a roof was Mr. I’m Watching You by her side, no matter how good-looking he was.

As if to spite her determination to work alone, however, she moved her foot and accidentally sent her hammer sliding down and off the edge of the roof onto the ground below. She bit down on the expletive, not wanting to utter it in front of Nelson.

She glanced at Brady to determine his reaction. His face was hidden from her, however, as he bent to retrieve the hammer. Nelson shook his head as he headed indoors.

Audrey directed her gaze at the tree canopy above and took a few deep breaths, told herself that everything would be fine. All she needed to do was let Brady get to know her a little so the suspicion she’d seen in his eyes the day before disappeared. Maybe it was just a small-town suspicion of newcomers and nothing more. She’d have to overcome that to make her café successful, so she might as well start tackling it now.

Brady appeared at the top of the ladder, hammer in hand.

“Thank you,” she said as he handed it to her.

Without asking, he stepped onto the roof and slid one piece of tin after another into place while she hammered.

“I can do that for a while if you like,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Actually, physical labor felt good, cathartic even.

A couple of minutes went by before he spoke again. “Did the tin do something to tick you off?” he asked, a touch of teasing in his question.

She stopped, realized thoughts of the past had caused her to start hammering harder. She leaned against the roof and wiped the sweat off her forehead again. “I just want to get done.”

“Won’t do you any good if you beat a hole through the roof.”

Audrey stared down at her boots, frustrated that the past still had the ability to make anger pulse through her. She didn’t want to be that angry, disappointed person anymore. She took several seconds to cool off and catch her breath then went back to hammering, though less violently this time.

“So, how’d you and my dad meet?” Brady asked.

She swallowed her instinctive aversion to questioning and replied in an even tone, “At the grocery store. I helped him find something he was looking for.”

“And that led to him working out here every day?”

Audrey glanced at Brady. “You’re the inquisitive sort, aren’t you?” she asked, keeping her question light, not accusatory.

Brady sat back and propped one forearm on his upturned knee. “I’m just looking out for my dad.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Why?”

“Because he seemed like he needed it.” One glance at Brady told her that he had, indeed, simply been concerned for his recently widowed father’s welfare. She remembered how lost Nelson had looked in the grocery store and understood Brady’s concern. Just because the concept of a close relationship with a parent wasn’t within her current realm of possibility didn’t mean they didn’t exist anymore. Even she had once enjoyed such a relationship.

Nelson wandered outside to dump some wood scraps into the burning barrel. Neither she nor Brady spoke until the older man stepped back inside.

“Listen, I’m not sure what you were thinking, but I’m not out to get anything from your dad. He’s a nice man, and I’ve liked having him around. And he appears to like coming out here.”

Brady stretched his legs out and leaned back on his palms. He stared toward the gentle flow of the creek. “I’m sorry. He was just acting so different from the last time I saw him.”

“But that’s a good thing.”

Brady looked at her, questions written all over his handsome face.

“When I met your dad, he was standing in front of the cherry pie filling in the grocery store, totally overwhelmed by which one to buy. He was on the verge of tears. It made my heart break. He looked so relieved when I helped him pick a can for cobbler.”

Brady lowered his head, as if he were trying to see his dad through the tin of the roof. “Mom’s cobbler. It’s his favorite dessert.”

“I didn’t know about your mom then. I thought your mom had sent him to the store to do the shopping she normally did.” She told him about her conversation with Meg the cashier and her subsequent encounter with his dad in the parking lot. “I was only trying to help him in that moment. But once he came out here with those picture frames, he seemed to want to talk. The more we talked and I told him about my ideas, the more of his sadness drifted away. I mean, I still see it sometimes, but I honestly think it’s good for him to stay busy. It keeps his mind on something other than how much he misses your mom.”

And Audrey was the expert on staying busy to keep other thoughts at bay.

“I know. That’s part of the reason I came up here. I was worried about him. He hasn’t been the same person since Mom died.”

“That’s understandable. They were married for a long time. This isn’t something you get past in a few days.” She remembered the deep sorrow that had cloaked her own mother in the weeks following the unexpected death of Audrey’s father.

Brady glanced up at her. “You say that like you know from experience.”

She swallowed and shook away the unwanted memory. “Just common sense.” She lifted the hammer and moved toward the top of the roofline. “We should try to finish this before it gets too hot. I’m already sweating like I’ve been jogging across Death Valley.”

The old keeping-busy philosophy at work. If she filled her mind with roofing and painting and electrical wiring, she didn’t have to remember the father she’d lost. Or the mother she’d walked away from.

AUDREY YORK MIGHT NOT be after his father’s money, but she was definitely hiding something. Call it gut instinct, but he’d seen something in her eyes, almost a touch of fear. Fear that he’d find out something she wanted to keep hidden? He shook his head, realized yet again that he was comparing her to a bad memory. His brain knew all women weren’t like Ginny, but his gut kept missing the memo.

But he had to give credit where credit was due. She was indeed a hard worker. She was slicked with sweat, cuts and scrapes covered her hands and knees, her hair was coming loose from her ponytail, and she didn’t pay any of it a moment of attention. Her single-minded focus stayed on getting this roof completed in record time.

He paused for a moment to watch her hammer. Even disheveled, she was a beauty. And she acted like she was either unaware of that fact or didn’t care. Before his work pants became uncomfortable, he pulled another piece of tin into place.

“Dad said you moved from Nashville. Did you run a restaurant there?”

Audrey made one last strike of the hammer before shifting to the right and the next piece of tin. “No.” She paused to lift her sweaty face to what little breeze was stirring the air. She seemed to hesitate before continuing. “I was a fund-raiser.”

Fund-raiser to restaurant owner—odd transition. So was Nashville to Willow Glen.

“What about you?” she asked. “I hear you have a construction company or something.”

Brady noticed how she deflected the focus back to him, how she seemed unaware of how big Witt Construction was. Maybe he’d just acknowledge the small Kingsport location and see how she reacted. “Half of one. My partner, Craig, owns the other half.” He caught the quick, questioning glance she tossed his way. “That’s business partner, not partner partner.”

She laughed. “You guys are so overly sensitive about that topic.”

“Just clarifying.” Wow, she should definitely smile more often. It rocketed her from beautiful to stunning.

“What?”

The questioning look on her face told him he’d been staring again. She had that effect on him. “Nothing. I was thinking you seem to be in a safer mood now that you’re not trying to murder the tin with that hammer.”

She held up the tool in question and stared at it. “Guess I worked out most of the frustration I was feeling.”

He held up a hand, palm out. “Remind me to never frustrate you.”

Damn, he was flirting. He wasn’t here to get a date. He’d left a pile of his own work behind to make sure his dad was okay. But he’d done that and yet here he still was, working for no pay. Seemed his dad was no longer the only person on his mind.

Audrey shook the hammer at him in mock threat, then went back to her task.

Just because he wasn’t looking to hook up didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view while he worked.

They were putting the last piece of tin on one side of the roof in place when a racket and then a string of curses came from inside the mill. They nearly tripped over each other getting to and down the ladder. When they rushed inside, Nelson was holding his hand and still uttering a few choice words.

“What’s wrong?” Audrey rushed toward Nelson.

“Ah, I smashed my finger with the hammer.”

“Let me see.”

Brady watched as Audrey took his dad’s hand in hers, turned it over carefully and examined it. Something shifted inside him at the gentleness and concern. He didn’t think anyone could fake with that much authenticity.

“We need to take you to the emergency room, make sure you haven’t broken anything,” Audrey said.

His dad moved his hand out of hers. “No need for that. It’s nothing.”

“It’s turning a nice shade of eggplant,” she argued, her hands on her hips.

“Honey, if I’d gone to the hospital every time I smashed my fingers, I’d have funded an entire new wing by now.”

Brady smiled, glad to see more and more of the dad he’d always known coming back to the light of day.

“At least let me get you an ice pack.”

“Okay, if it’ll make you feel better,” Nelson said with a teasing smile.

“It’s supposed to make you feel better, you stubborn old man.” She shook her head, acting exasperated with him.

Brady tried to hide a laugh but didn’t fully succeed.

“What are you laughing at?” his dad asked. “You get over there and finish up what I started. And try not to hit your finger. She’ll be hauling us both off to the E.R.”

Audrey swatted Nelson on the upper arm as she headed for the cooler in the corner. After fixing Nelson an ice pack and sitting him in a lawn chair in the corner, Audrey pulled a couple of bottles of water out of the ice. She tossed one to Brady as he moved toward the window frame his father had been constructing.

Brady turned in time to see Audrey down about half her water before coming up for air. Condensation from the bottom of the bottle dropped onto her chest and rolled downward toward the scoop of her tank top. Brady’s skin heated, and he licked his lips before he could think not to.

“Ow.” Brady winced at the sudden pain in his leg and turned around to find his dad giving him the look he always used when he’d found Brady misbehaving. So the old man hadn’t missed his gawking.

“What?” Audrey asked as she rolled her cold bottle of water to her forehead.

“Nothing,” Nelson said. “Just giving the boy a little nudge.”

Yeah, if you called a kick to the calf with a steel-toed work boot a nudge.

Staring at warm, enticing female flesh wasn’t a problem after Audrey returned to the roof. Thing was, he was hotter now than he’d been sitting on tin with the sun beating down on him.

His dad walked across the room, moving to the open doorway in Brady’s peripheral vision.

“She’s a good girl. Don’t trifle if you don’t really like her.”

Nelson stepped outside without giving Brady the chance to respond that he had no intention of trifling. Dang, all he’d done was look. He was a red-blooded male, young, healthy, single. When a beautiful woman was nearby, he tended to notice. But anything beyond that with someone his dad considered a friend had bad idea written all over it. Because Brady wasn’t a long-term kind of guy—not anymore.

An engine started outside, and it only took a moment for Brady to realize it was his truck. By the time he reached the door, his dad was heading down the lane toward the road.

First his dad told him to steer clear of Audrey then he left the two of them alone. What was the old guy up to?

Chapter Three

Audrey sat back on her heels and watched as Brady deposited some useless bits of wood in the burning barrel.

“Where’d your dad go?”

He shrugged. “Heck if I know. He just took off.”

“That’s odd. Was he feeling bad?”

“No more than a throbbing finger. Need some help?”

She nearly declined, but honestly she was pooped and the initial tension between her and Brady had eased. At least the tension regarding his father. The other tension on her part wouldn’t fade unless Brady fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. “Sure.”

Brady climbed the ladder and made his way over to her side of the roof. “This may qualify as the fastest roofing job ever.”

“It’s only going to get hotter, and I don’t fancy roasting into a lobster up here or going broke buying sunscreen. The curse of the blond.” She gestured toward her hair.

After getting another piece of roofing in place and attached, Audrey lay back. “I am one hundred and ten percent wiped. I feel like I could lie in the grass and sleep for about two days.”

“We’re almost done. Come on.”

With a moan, she raised herself and got back to work. “This can’t be your idea of a good time on vacation.”

“It’s not really vacation. Seems like Dad’s doing okay though, so maybe I should just go back home.”

Audrey retrieved a nail and set it in place while trying to ignore the thought that she’d miss seeing his face. “Do you have something pressing at work?”

“There’s always something pressing at work.”

“Something your business partner can’t handle?”

He glanced over at her, gave her a half smile at the focus she put on the word business. “No.”

“Then maybe you should just hang out with your dad. I’m sure he enjoys being with you. And he might not say anything or act like it, but I suspect he needs the company when he goes home at night.”

“He seemed surprisingly okay last night, except for the scolding I got for being rude to you.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. “Scolding? At your age? How embarrassing.” She pressed her lips together to stifle a giggle at the image.

Brady snorted. “Guess I deserved it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand your wanting to look out for your dad.”

After all, there were people out there more than willing to bilk others out of their hard-earned money. She knew that firsthand.

THEY FINISHED attaching the roofing but left applying the sealant for another day and climbed down the ladder. Brady followed Audrey to the side of the creek, where she untied and removed her boots and socks then slipped her feet into the flowing water.

“Ah!” She flopped back into the grass, letting the water bob her feet. “I may never move again.”

“You’ll move. The ants, mosquitoes and chiggers will eventually find you and have you for lunch.”

“Oh, fine, ruin the moment,” she said in a light, teasing tone.

This was definitely better than suspicion and animosity. So she was hiding something. Who didn’t have secrets? It didn’t mean it was anything aimed at hurting him or his dad. Roasting hot himself, Brady gave in to temptation and shucked his boots and socks, too. After rolling up his pant legs to the knees, he stuck his feet in the water and lay back in the grass only a couple of feet from Audrey.

“I haven’t done this in years,” he said.

She turned her head to look at him. “What, stuck your feet in the creek?”

“Yeah. That and just lie in the grass, looking up at the trees.”

Audrey let out a slow sigh as she returned her gaze to the sky above. “Guess we forget the simple ways to enjoy life when we grow up.”

“That why you bought this place? To enjoy life?”

“It just felt right. I woke up one morning and realized I needed a change.”

“Was your job boring?”

She didn’t answer immediately. He glanced toward her, but she was still staring toward the treetops high above them.

“I was between jobs. Seemed like the right time to ask myself what I really wanted. Only, I had no idea what that might be. I went for a walk one afternoon, and I somehow ended up at a bookstore. I don’t even know why I went in, but I found myself standing in front of the magazine section. I started flipping through different magazines, and this story about a woman who refurbished an old lighthouse and made a B & B out of it caused something to click inside me. Needless to say, not a lot of lighthouses in Tennessee. But that’s when I remembered this mill. I had no interest in a B & B, but I love to cook and thought, why not a café?”

She turned her head and met his eyes. “And that’s way more info than you asked for.”

“It’s okay. Saves me the trouble of asking more questions.”

She huffed out a laugh. “You have your dad’s sense of humor.”

“Really? I’ve been accused of having no sense of humor.”

“Everyone has one, some just deeper than others.”

He returned his gaze to the sky peeking through the trees. Something about her confession about her life unsettled him. Was it that she had indeed shared too much of herself with him? He’d turned into a surface-relationship kind of guy, much to his family’s disappointment. Nothing too serious. Not that he and Audrey had or would have a relationship beyond temporary coworkers.

“So why didn’t you hire roofers?” he asked.

“I like my arm and my leg, thanks. The cost of the electrician and the plumber is going to kill me as it is. Plus, I like to do things for myself as much as I can.”

“Hey, I bet you have contacts from being in fund-raising. Maybe you could find an investor for your business.”

“No.” She didn’t yell or snap, but he heard the strength and finality behind the single word even before Audrey suddenly rose to her feet.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you’re fine. Enjoy the creek. I just have a lot of work to do.”

The water sloshed as he lifted his feet out and stood, too. “Audrey, what’s wrong?” Had his bad memories caused him to say something he shouldn’t without realizing it?

“Time is money. I don’t need to be lying around surveying the past, not when I have a blue bazillion tasks with my name on them.”

He watched her retrieve her boots and socks and stalk off toward the mill. He searched back over their conversation but couldn’t figure out what had altered the mood so drastically.

Women. Their moods shifted more than a house built on clay.

BRADY PROBABLY THOUGHT she’d lost her mind, and perhaps she was a bit crazy when it came to asking for money for herself. She simply didn’t do it. She hadn’t even applied for a bank loan to finance the purchase and refurbishing of the mill. Instead, she had liquidated accounts and sold the possessions she could live without. She was doing this alone, even if she had to get another job to make her dream come true. Even if she had to make her last penny scream for mercy.

No one would ever be able to accuse her of being like her mother.

She sank onto the stairs leading to the loft and pressed against the pressure building behind her forehead. What she’d told Brady about why she’d left her life was only partially true. But she wasn’t about to tell him that she’d simply gotten tired of people always watching her, wondering if she would yet prove to be her mother’s daughter in action as well as genetics. Part of the allure of Willow Glen was that no one evidently knew who she was beyond her identity as the newest resident. And she hoped it stayed that way.

When she heard Brady step back into the mill, she rose and climbed the rest of the way up to the loft. Once there, though, she felt trapped with nothing productive to do. She’d already crunched the numbers half a dozen times, and she couldn’t really start refurbishing the living space until the plumber and electrician completed their respective tasks.

It was too blasted hot to apply sealant to the roof, and she was too antsy to spend time in the same room as Brady. She’d really like to grab her camera gear and head off into the woods to photograph some wildflowers, a hobby that never failed to bring her joy. After all, she had all those beautiful, handmade frames to fill. But with so much to do, she knew she wouldn’t fully enjoy the outing. Time was money, and she wasn’t exactly awash in either.

She walked over to the small loft door. It would eventually become a window overlooking a bend in the creek beyond the mill and the long line of weeping willows lining the bank. She envisioned a gazebo in that bend complete with a table and chairs for special, private meals for guests.

Inspired, she grabbed her notebook of ideas and started sketching the gazebo and the surroundings. She pictured it white in contrast to the greens of the trees shading it, covered in twinkling white lights, a quaint table with two chairs in its center. A romantic spot for couples on a special date. She smiled as she imagined marriage proposals being offered there by nervous grooms-to-be.

She might not be lucky in love, but she had a romantic streak several miles wide. And this gazebo idea had it humming. Even though she should be focusing all her energy on the mill and not adding even more expenses, she couldn’t dampen the enthusiasm. The desire to go buy twinkling lights, tulle for the gazebo’s ceiling and magazines with gazebo designs rushed through her, but she forced her attention back to her list of priorities. With the structural work progressing well, she needed to go buy the lumber necessary for the construction of the kitchen in the back corner next to the stairs. She estimated it was time to look at appliances, as well.

After all, she was at a standstill on the mill until the electrician came tomorrow morning. Maybe she could get some landscaping flowers for the area around the front of the mill, and a couple of hanging pots.

Okay, she had to stop her runaway brain before she imagined herself right into debt.

She grabbed her keys and purse and headed for the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she noticed Brady leaning against the railing around the mill’s machinery, wiping the sweat from his face with a paper towel. She swallowed when she saw how his damp T-shirt molded to his honest-work muscles. For a shocking moment, she pictured her and Brady in that fairy-tale gazebo before she looked away and mentally smacked herself upside the head.

“Where you off to?” he asked.

“Need some supplies. I think I’ll drive down to Elizabethton.”

“Mind if I ride along? The last piece of framing I have isn’t quite long enough. We could use it for a smaller window, but not this one. And since the old man left me without wheels…”

So much for the peace of a solo trip. She forced herself not to scream at his self-invitation. As if to spite her efforts to avoid him, now she was going to be trapped in a small, confined space with him for the twenty miles to Elizabethton and back.

“Sure. We’ll get enough to do the window upstairs, too, while we’re at it. And make sure we get the best lumber for the kitchen.”

“Do you have the measurements for the upstairs window?”

“Yeah.” She patted her purse where she kept her running to-buy list. “Right here with your dad’s specs for the kitchen.”

“She’s on the ball,” he said as he pushed away from the railing.

It was hardly a romantic compliment, but she couldn’t help how her skin warmed as she met his gaze. Seriously, she should have dunked her head in the creek instead of her feet.

“YOU DO KNOW that Christmas is seven months away, right?”

Audrey glanced up from her spot in the garden section at Lowe’s as Brady wheeled the cart with the lumber needed for the window up next to her. He looked so at home here, in the middle of a warehouse full of home-improvement ecstasy.

“They’re for the gazebo, not a Christmas tree,” she said as she placed several boxes of stringed white lights in the cart. At his confused expression, she flipped open one of the magazines she held and showed him a beautiful gazebo decorated for weddings. “Guys find these things cheesy, but women will love a romantic gazebo by the creek, a private dining area for couples.” She looked at the picture again and smiled at the magic the simple picture conveyed. “We might even have weddings there.” She was trying to cram as much happiness and positive energy into her life as possible, and what could be happier than a wedding?

She hadn’t planned to buy anything for the gazebo today. But when she’d finished ordering what she needed and found Brady busy at the contractors’ counter, she’d gravitated to the garden center, where her imagination got the best of her.

“Does your brain crank out ideas even when you’re sleeping?” Brady asked, sounding amazed and amused at the same time.

“As a matter of fact, it does.” She laughed and tossed the magazines into the cart. “I wake up in the middle of the night and have to jot them down before I forget them.”

They started down the aisle as Brady shook his head once. “Sounds like it makes for terrible sleeping.”

“I’m not a very restful sleeper anyway.”

At least not since her life had been turned upside down and inside out more than a year ago. That memory dampened her enthusiasm, so she headed for the outdoor part of the garden center, hoping that immersing herself in colorful, fragrant flowers would lift her mood again.

As they moved up and down the aisles, she selected several flats of impatiens in a variety of bright colors, a couple of gorgeous hanging baskets filled with purple petunias and a rose trellis for the bush she’d noticed at the back of the mill.

“You know, if you’re going to put that gazebo in the creek bend, you might want to make a stone path to it from the drive, for when the ground is wet.” Brady pointed out shelves filled with different-colored stepping-stones.

Another unexpected expense, the type she suspected Brady wouldn’t think twice about, but a good idea nonetheless. “So, what do you think, the gray or the red?”

Brady ran his fingers over the surface of the rock slabs in question, and an unexpected warmth flowed along Audrey’s arms at the thought of those long fingers doing the same thing to her skin.

Maybe she had stayed in the sun too long that morning and baked her brain. She felt like she was experiencing Brady overload. She’d caught herself snatching glimpses of him ever since they’d arrived at the store, glimpses she didn’t dare in the car because he would have noticed. But each time she looked at him, the more attractive he became. The archetypal sexy carpenter. She wondered if he looked as good as she imagined in nothing but a pair of jeans and a tool belt.

What was wrong with her? Hadn’t Darren’s desertion taught her anything?

But Brady wasn’t Darren.

Still, she couldn’t risk getting too involved, not when it could put everything she had and was trying to build at risk.

“The gray.”

“Huh?” Audrey zipped back from Fantasy World and stared at Brady, wondering what he was talking about.

“The stepping-stones.” He pointed. When she didn’t react, he pecked against the stone with his fingertip. “Hello?”

“Oh, yeah. I think you’re right. They’ll go better with the surroundings. That’s way down the list of priorities though.”

“Where were you a moment ago?”

“Sorry, brief side trip to la-la land.” Trying to dispel the jittery feeling threatening to overtake her, she took a few steps away from Brady and grabbed two pairs of gardening gloves hanging from a shelf. “You finished with your business?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, hello there,” a silver-haired lady said as she guided her cart up next to theirs.

“Hi, Miss Brenda,” Brady said as he gave the woman a quick hug. “How are you?”

“If I was any better, I don’t know how I’d be able to stand it,” she said with a big smile. She looked at Audrey. “Are you a friend of Brady’s?”

“This is Audrey York,” Brady said. “Dad and I are doing some work for her. Audrey, this is Brenda Phillips. She was my sixth-grade teacher.”

“Oh, you must be the little gal who bought the old mill,” Brenda said. “I’ve got to tell you, the ladies at church are already twittering about that.”

Audrey’s breath caught. But if this woman knew who she really was, why would she be smiling and acting friendly?

“It’ll be so nice to have someplace quaint to have lunch with the girls,” Miss Brenda said, giving Audrey’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You need to come to service next Sunday, meet all the ladies. Good way to start getting to know your neighbors and potential customers.”

Audrey managed a smile. “Thank you for the invitation.” Though the idea of stepping back into a church left her cold. Of course, that was due to what had happened with her mother and not the church itself.

“Well, I best be getting home.” Miss Brenda pointed at the items in her cart. “Sam is anxious to get these plants in the ground.” With another genuine smile and a wave, Brenda headed for the checkout.

“She’s a bit of a whirlwind, isn’t she?” Brady said.

“You could say that.”

Brady laughed a little at what must be her stunned expression then pushed their shopping cart toward the front of the store, too.

Audrey eyed the items in the cart. Boy, had she gone overboard.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make it all fit,” Brady said, guessing at her thoughts.

They did, barely. The trellis stuck out of the tied-down trunk, and flowers appeared to have taken root in her backseat.

Brady looked across the top of the car at her. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, but let’s do lunch on the cheap. I’m pretty sure I just heard my credit card whimper.”

“Pal’s, it is.” He bumped his knuckles against the car’s roof.

“Pal’s?”

He eyed her with disbelief. “You haven’t been there yet?”

“No, should I have?”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had a Pal’s chipped ham and cheese sandwich and seasoned fries.”

She uttered a little laugh. “Well, I certainly want to live.”

“Get in the car and drive, then, woman.”

Brady directed her to a spot on Elk Avenue. She laughed when she caught sight of the blue concrete-block building with a giant hot dog, fries and drink cup on the roof.

“Don’t let the outside fool you,” Brady said. “Eat Pal’s once and you’re a slave to it for life.”

Audrey gave the structure a doubtful look. “If you say so.”

They ordered on one side of the building then drove around to the other to pay and get their food. Her stomach growled when she handed the bag to Brady.

“See, your stomach knows good food is in the vicinity. Drive down the street. We can eat at the park.”

The park ended up being Sycamore Shoals State Park, complete with a reconstructed eighteenth-century fort. With the beautiful, late-May day as a backdrop, the slice of the area’s history captured Audrey’s fascination.

“I wish I’d brought my camera,” she said.

“You can come back when they’re doing garrison weekends. Seems more like you’re stepping into history with everyone dressed in costume.”

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