Repairing His Heart

Prodigal son Scott Barrett is back home in Barrett’s Mill—with plans to atone for his past mistakes and restore his future. But the quiet Virginia village feels like a different place since his return. The old cottage and chapel are crying out for repair—much like Scott himself. Luckily, sensitive artist Jenna Reed offers to help. Jenna sees Scott without judgment—though she reveals little about her own troubled past. As they work together to renovate the chapel, Scott begins to earn her trust, and soon he’s envisioning life with the beautiful Jenna. Can the love of a good woman finally make him whole?

Barrett’s Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love

“You’re way too easy to talk to.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. It must be the overalls.”

The sound of his own laughter surprised him. Scott marveled at how quickly she’d found a way to make him want to laugh again. “Must be. Well, that, and you ask a lotta questions.”

“Creative people are curious by nature,” Jenna informed him. “It comes with the territory when you hang out with me.”

Translation: This is who I am—take it or leave it. He admired her sassy attitude more than he could say. “Thanks for the warning. Ready for a refill?”

“Actually, what I’d really like is to see the chapel.” She tilted her head. “Do you have time to show it to me?”

He couldn’t think of anything he’d like half as much as spending some more time with the perky artist. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”

“Sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem on first glance.” Meeting his eyes with her direct, unflinching gaze, she smiled. “I prefer to see for myself and make up my own mind.”

He sensed she was referring to more than decrepit old buildings.

MIA ROSS loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at miaross.com.

Visit the Author Profile page at www.millsandboon.co.uk for more titles

Finding His Way Home

Mia Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

—Hebrews 11:1

For brave souls everywhere making the most of their second chances.

Acknowledgments

To the very talented folks who help me make my books everything they can be: Elaine Spencer, Melissa Endlich and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired.

More thanks to the gang at Seekerville (seekerville.net). It’s a great place to hang out with readers—and writers!

I’ve been blessed with a wonderful network of supportive and encouraging family and friends. You inspire me every day!

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

William Henry Barrett. Cherished on earth and in heaven.

Hands folded in front of him, Scott Barrett stared down at the granite headstone that marked his grandfather’s resting place in the Barrett’s Mill Cemetery. Solid and straightforward, in Scott’s mind the stone and its message couldn’t have summed up Granddad any better. A kind, hardworking man all his life, Will had given everything he had to his family and the sleepy Virginia town that bore their name.

And now he was gone.

Out of necessity, over the years Scott had learned to mask his emotions behind a cool facade that gave nothing away. But now, facing up to the consequences of bad choices he’d made long ago, a wave of remorse threatened to overwhelm him. If only he’d taken the high road, he lamented silently, he would’ve been able to get here in time to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, some mistakes took root in your life like weeds and spoiled what might have been a good thing if you’d tended to it properly from the start. That lesson, among many others, had been drummed into his head every day for the past three years. From his childhood through graduation day, his mother had complained to him and his four brothers that Barrett men never learned anything the easy way. And he was Barrett to the core.

Granddad had accepted that, Scott recalled as he sat down on the freshly turned ground in front of the stone. He’d seen all that in his headstrong grandson, and more.

I’m sad to see you go, he’d said the last time Scott left their tiny hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains for some vague destination. But I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.

Leaning his head against the marker, Scott followed his memories back in time and dredged up a visual of Granddad, smiling and waving as he drove away. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I missed out on seeing you again, Granddad. I got home as fast as I could.”

The warm spring breeze ruffled through his hair, and he felt a small measure of calm settle over him. Even though he knew it was unlikely, he chose to believe it was his grandfather reaching down from heaven to let him know he understood.

“Scott?”

An unfamiliar voice jolted him from his brooding, and he looked up to find a stranger looking down at him. A very pretty stranger, he noted with surprise. Dressed in a pink tank top and faded overalls spattered with every color imaginable, she had dark, curly hair and eyes that made him think of a flawless summer sky. She was holding a spade and a bushel basket filled with flowers, and she set them next to Granddad’s grave as if she meant to stay.

In the interest of avoiding trouble, he’d developed a habit of ducking his head and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. But this was another place, he reminded himself, and here that kind of behavior would come across as rude. Recalling the manners his mother had insisted they all learn and use, he got to his feet and did his best to put on a friendly face. “That’s me. I’ve been gone awhile, so I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Jenna Reed,” she replied, offering a slender hand covered in flecks of purple and green. “I moved here last summer and started up Reed’s Artworks. You may have seen my sign out on the highway on your way into town.”

That explained her unusual clothes, and he tried to sound friendly. “I did, actually. How’s business?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she said breezily, as if they’d known each other for months instead of mere seconds. “Up and down, depending on the day.”

Like his life, Scott added silently. Meeting this lovely, outgoing woman in a cemetery had to qualify as an up, though. Maybe it was a sign of better things to come. “Yeah, I hear you. How’d you know who I was?”

“I’ve gotten to know your family since I’ve been here, and I recognized you from the picture of you and your brothers on your grandmother’s mantel.”

“How’s she doing?” When he realized he’d just admitted he hadn’t gone to visit her yet, he mentally cringed. Acting without thinking had gotten him in a world of trouble, he cautioned himself. Now that he’d escaped the worst of it, he really needed to work on being less impulsive.

“You know Olivia. Everything’s fine, even when the rest of us think it’s falling apart. At the end, she was the most positive one in your whole family. I’ve never seen anyone so strong.”

“Yup, that’s Gram.”

The conversation stalled right there, and he searched for a way to grind his rusty social skills back into gear. Then he remembered the shovel and flowers and nodded toward them. “Whatcha got there?”

It wasn’t smooth, but judging by her quick smile, she either didn’t notice his floundering or didn’t mind. “Flowers for Will from the Crossroads Church. We thought he should have them year-round, so I volunteered to plant some perennials that will come up every spring.”

“That’s nice of you.” He couldn’t imagine why she’d do such a thing for someone she wasn’t related to. In the world he’d been living in, it was everyone for himself, and people didn’t help anyone else unless there was something in it for them. And then, out of nowhere, he heard himself ask, “Want a hand?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He couldn’t believe what he’d just done, but there was no way he could change his mind without looking like a total jerk. It wasn’t as if he had anything pressing to do this morning, so he picked up the shovel and got to work turning the soil back for a small garden.

“Let’s make an arch,” she suggested, pointing in a semicircle. “That will look nicer, don’t you think?”

It didn’t matter much to him, since he thought the flowers were more than enough, but he appreciated her asking for his input. It had been a long time since he’d been treated with the kind of respect this perky stranger was showing him. “Sounds good.”

“Your grandmother has the prettiest gardens,” Jenna commented while she set peat pots of various flowers into a pattern that seemed to make sense to her. Apparently not satisfied, she rearranged them several times until she finally quit and sat back on the heels of her sneakers. “What do you think?”

“Pretty.”

Angling a look up at him, she gave him a teasing smile. “The flowers or me?”

He caught himself smiling back, and alarms started clanging in his head. Another hard-won lesson had taught him that women were nothing but trouble, and pretty ones were the worst of all. He had a feeling the worst of all were the artistic kind with freckles sprinkled across their noses.

Being drawn to her so quickly baffled—and worried—him, and he firmly put his conflicting reactions to her aside as he got back to his digging. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her watching him, studying him like some new species she’d discovered under a microscope. His movements allowed him to glance over at her every shovelful or so, and at one point he met those amazing eyes head-on.

Setting down the pot she was holding, she gave him a gentle smile. “Did you want to ask me something?”

A lot of somethings, he thought, but one zoomed to the top of his list. He plunged the shovel into the ground and leaned on the battered red handle. “How much do you know about me?”

“More than you’d like, I’m guessing.” Another smile, this one tinged with compassion. “We all make mistakes, Scott.”

“Most folks don’t make the kind that land them in prison.”

“I try not to judge people based on what they might have done before, but on what I see in them right now.” Pausing, she gave him an assessing look. “I see a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong crowd. He owned up to his part in what they did and took his punishment for it. Now he’s come back to his hometown, where people care about him, hoping to put his life back together. How’m I doing?”

Those warnings in his mind blared again, but quieter this time. Despite his misgivings, Scott allowed himself a slight grin. “Fine. Makes me wonder how someone as young as you would come by that opinion, though.”

“Just how young do you think I am?”

He wasn’t touching that one, so he said, “Well, I’m twenty-seven, and I’m thinking you’re a couple years younger than that. How’m I doing?” he added, echoing her earlier question.

“Fine,” she parroted him with a little smirk, then got serious. “You’re not the only person in the world who’s had to shake off their past and start over again, y’know.”

With that, she took a trowel from her basket and began digging in the earth he’d turned. It struck him as an odd thing to say, but she didn’t volunteer anything more. Taking her silence as a hint that she was done discussing that topic, he began shaping the crescent she’d requested. “So how do you like it here?”

“It’s a charming little town, and the people are really nice.”

He’d known enough women to hear a qualifier in there somewhere, and he nudged. “But?”

After hesitating for a few moments, she sighed. “I’ve been here almost a year. The summer art fairs will be starting up soon, and I’ll be on my way.”

Her tone had a tinge of resignation in it, and he frowned. He’d just met her, but the thought of this cheerful painter being unhappy bothered him for some reason. “You don’t sound thrilled with that.”

“It’s the way it is,” she replied with a shrug. “I’ve learned that things go better for me if I’m not in one place too long.”

Scott understood that philosophy all too well. It had governed his life for years, and at first it had been fun. The excitement of drifting around the country, working at this job or that one, following the good weather, had given him some great memories. Then, one steamy Houston afternoon, the thing he valued most had been wrenched away from him.

That fateful day, he’d lost his freedom. It had taken him a long time to get it back, and he’d die before he would let anyone take it from him again.

* * *

Jenna knew a mess when she saw one.

Wearing tattered jeans and a well-loved rock-concert T-shirt that hung loosely on his tall frame, Scott Barrett definitely fit the bill. While they worked, she noticed he was careful to keep his distance from her. She’d never been to prison herself, but it wasn’t hard to imagine why he’d become so guarded about his personal space. There was something about him that spoke to her, though, and it was more than the slightly shaggy brown hair and determined set of his jaw. When he glanced over at her, she finally pegged what had snared her attention.

His eyes. Dark and wary, they connected with hers for a moment before flitting away. It was as if he didn’t want her to catch him observing her. She did a lot of portrait work for clients, and it had made her adept at reading people. Her instincts told her he wasn’t eyeing her in a creepy, stalkerish kind of way. Because she moved around so much, she knew how it felt to be an outsider in a community, but for him it was different. He should have felt at home here in the place where he’d grown up, but he didn’t. Knowing that made her feel sad for him, and she hunted for a way to ease his mind.

Hoping to draw him out a little, she attempted to resuscitate their lapsed conversation. “So, it must be nice to be back in your hometown.”

“Didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he muttered, stabbing at fresh ground with the spade.

He was digging outside the area she’d shown him for Will’s garden, but out of respect for his current attitude she chose not to point that out. Instead, she tried again. “I’ve lived in lots of different places myself. I think Denver was my favorite with the mountains and so many interesting spots to paint. How ’bout you?”

“I liked Texas. Till they told me I couldn’t leave,” he added with a wry grin.

The dark gallows humor caught her by surprise, and she couldn’t help laughing. “I can’t believe you can joke about that.”

“You give a man enough time alone with his thoughts, one of two things happens—he either goes crazy or he comes to terms with what happened. I’m not the loony-bin type.”

“I’m glad,” she said reflexively, getting a questioning look in reply. “I mean, for your family. They’ve all missed you so much.”

“I missed them, too.” Staring at his grandfather’s marker, he sighed. “More than you could possibly know.”

He had the same rangy, muscular build as his brothers, but there was something different about him she couldn’t quite identify. An artist as much by nature as profession, she’d always been inquisitive about everything and everyone around her. What made them unique, what made them tick. While she recognized that Scott was an individual with his own qualities, she couldn’t help comparing him to the Barretts she’d gotten to know. There was no denying he had his own vibe, and she searched for a way to define it.

Out of nowhere, it hit her: he was wounded. Judging by his pragmatic way of looking at life, it wasn’t from being locked up, at least not entirely. Since they’d just met, she didn’t want to pry into what was certainly very personal business, so she tamped down her curiosity and turned her attention to the cluster of forget-me-nots she was planting.

They didn’t talk at all, but he seemed to understand where she needed the soil dug out and stayed a few shovelfuls ahead of her while she worked. When she’d planted the last of the flowers, she stood and wiped the dirt off her palms onto her overalls. Holding out a hand, she smiled. “Thanks for the help, Scott. It was great to meet you, but I should be getting back to my studio.”

After hesitating for a moment, he gently took her hand, shaking it as if it was made of glass. Those dark eyes connected directly with hers for the first time, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t make herself look away. There was that pain again, but now it was joined by the hopeful look of a lonely little boy who thought maybe—just maybe—he’d found a new friend.

While she knew it would be completely insane for her to get involved with this guy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed her. With every instinct screaming for her to back away and leave him be, she heard herself say, “All this digging sure is thirsty work. Can I buy you a glass of iced tea at The Whistlestop?”

At first, he didn’t react at all. Then, slowly, as if something that had been frozen was thawing a bit, a slow grin worked its way across his chiseled features. “You’re not from the South, are you?”

“Chicago. Why?”

“Around here, we call it sweet tea. And you don’t have to buy me any, ’cause I’ve got a gallon jug of Mom’s at the house. No one makes it any better.”

A quick glance around showed her nothing but trees and gravestones. “I don’t see a car or a house for that matter. How far did you walk to get here?”

“Over that hill,” he replied, pointing to a modest rise that led into the nearby woods. When she hesitated, he frowned. “Unless you’d rather not be alone out in the boonies with a guy you just met. I’d totally understand.”

“It’s not that,” she assured him quickly, relieved to see some of the tension leave his face. “It’s just that I’ve been all over the area painting landscapes, and I didn’t realize there was a house over this way. It’s so overgrown, I figured it was all woods and deer trails.”

“It is.” Chuckling, he picked up her empty basket and balanced the shovel on his shoulder. “That’s what I like most about it.”

When he stepped back, she realized he was cueing her to walk in front of him. A Southern gentleman in raggedy jeans and a faded T-shirt, she mused with a little grin. That was the last thing she’d expect to find in this tall, quiet man clearly laboring to steer his life back on track.

Intuition told her there was a lot more to Scott Barrett than his good looks and cool reserve. Peeling away those layers would be fascinating. Or dangerous, that irritating little voice cautioned her while she and Scott walked side by side toward the top of the hill. Harsh experience had taught her that the male species was like that, which was why she resisted getting tangled up with anyone in particular. Her gypsy lifestyle enabled her to stay clear of the doomed cycle she’d watched her hopelessly romantic mother go through over and over like a hamster on a wheel. Always frantically running at top speed, never getting anywhere.

Determined to avoid that sort of endless heartache, Jenna had chosen to live each day as it came. When circumstances allowed, she shared those moments with someone. When that wasn’t reasonable, she enjoyed them on her own. As an only child, she’d grown up appreciating her own company, so solitude didn’t bother her. To her mind, it was better than throwing everything you had into a relationship only to wind up bitter and lonely in the end.

It was a beautiful day, she chided herself, not the time for serious thoughts. As she and Scott made their way through the sunlit hillside meadow, she took a deep breath of air scented with honeysuckle and the wild roses that rambled alongside the faint path that wound through the tall grass. Spots of color here and there showed her patches of fresh buttercups and lilies of the valley, along with wildflowers that ranged from periwinkle blue to deep, vibrant pink. A hawk soared into view overhead, sailing effortlessly on the warm spring breeze in search of his breakfast.

He spotted something and dived, arcing back into the sky with a small rodent clutched in his claws. Impressed by his hunting display, Jenna watched him until he banked in midair and sped off into the distance with his prize.

“Amazing, huh?” Scott asked in a tone laced with the same respect she’d felt for the hawk. “I’ve always wondered what they see from up there.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, but what does he think of us?” When she gave him a blank look, he went on. “I mean, does he think we’re interesting, like we do with him? Or does he think we’re nuts, racing around all the time and not accomplishing much of anything?”

“So you’re the philosophical type,” she teased. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“I don’t know. Is there?” Raising an eyebrow, he gave her a mischievous grin that made her laugh.

“Don’t you be trying that on me, Barrett. I’ve met all your brothers, and I’ve seen enough of that troublemaker smile to know better.”

“Busted.” Still grinning, he said, “But to answer your question, I guess I was always the thinker in the family. Greg and Connor are the responsible ones, Paul’s the jock, Jason’s the clown and I’m the serious one.”

If that was the case, how on earth had he landed in such a bad situation in Texas? she wondered. She’d never ask him that, of course, but she couldn’t help wondering, just the same.

“Her name was Kelly,” he said, completely out of the blue. “And yes, I was in love with her, and yes, she used that against me. She asked me to pick her and her brothers up at the bank.” Pausing, he grimaced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, she neglected to tell me they’d be coming out carrying a bunch of cash that didn’t belong to them. By the time I knew what was happening, we were on the run from the cops.”

“With you as the innocent getaway driver.” Jenna filled in the blank tersely. “Nice girl.”

“Well, not so innocent,” he corrected her in a tone devoid of emotion. “I could’ve climbed outta the car and left them to the cops, but I didn’t. I tried to talk them into surrendering, but that went about how you’d expect. By the time the police caught up to us, I was pretty much as guilty as they were. I told the detective I had no idea what they had planned for that bank, but Kelly and her brothers claimed otherwise. It ended up being their word against mine, and there were three of them.”

When he stopped talking, Jenna tried to come up with some encouraging words. He’d been through a lot, and she didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he already did by saying the wrong thing. “Well, now you’re here, at home with your family. You can put all those bad times behind you.”

He didn’t respond to that, but from his sigh, she knew he wasn’t buying her upbeat assessment of his situation. For some reason she didn’t begin to understand, she really wanted to prove it to him. The question was, how?

As they crested the hill, that dilemma was blown from her mind as she took in the view down in the shallow valley. She knew she was standing there like some kind of moronic statue, but all she could think of to say was “Wow.”

Chapter Two

Although his trek down memory lane hadn’t been all that pleasant, Scott was amused by Jenna’s awestruck reaction to where he was living. Built in 1866 when the old sawmill was put into service, the original Barrett farmhouse wasn’t much to look at these days, with its sagging roof and sad excuse for a front porch. But the timbers holding it all up were solid Virginia oak, and they’d still be standing for many generations to come.

Nearby, in a partially overgrown clearing, a tiny chapel with half a roof was losing its battle against the encroaching trees. He’d hacked some of the worst offenders down, but he had a lot of work ahead of him yet. And that didn’t count shoring up the building itself. To most folks, he was certain the place would’ve looked like a lost cause right out of the gate, but it suited Scott perfectly. It gave him plenty to do, tucked away in the woods with only the wildlife for company. Considering people’s varying responses to him since his return, he actually preferred hanging out with the animals.

Angling a look up at him, his pretty guest said, “I wish I’d known about this spot sooner. With all the different colors and shafts of light coming down through the branches, it would make a great painting.”

“Most folks’ve forgotten all about it,” he acknowledged.

“How did you end up here, though? You’ve got family in town and over in Cambridge. Why aren’t you staying with one of them?”

Her forthright manner caught him off guard. He’d grown accustomed to people who kept their mouths shut and their heads down. The few old acquaintances he’d seen since coming back to Barrett’s Mill were polite but understandably reserved with him. This slender woman looked him straight in the eye and spoke openly to him. He wasn’t sure if that appealed to him or not, but it made her different, that was for sure.

“I like it out here,” he replied finally. “It’s quiet.”

She laughed at that. “This whole town is quiet, but I guess I understand you wanting your privacy. I’m the same way.”

He wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but since she seemed to accept his explanation, he decided to go along. And since she’d offered something personal about herself, he felt it was only fair to do the same. “Actually, Granddad left me this place in his will. There’s three acres here that connect to the back of the sawmill property. There’s the house and chapel, with a small trust fund to restore them, and I get to live here as long as I want. It’s not a fortune, but I don’t need much.”

“That sounds like Will,” she commented with a fond smile. “Taking care of someone but making sure they have to work for it. He gave you a lifeline but arranged things so you’re able to keep your dignity.”

What was left of it, anyway, Scott added silently. He wasn’t comfortable voicing that thought, so he settled for something a little safer. “Yeah.”

She gave him a long, curious look, and he braced himself for what might come out of her mouth next.

“You said something about sweet tea?” she asked as she began walking again.

“Yes, ma’am. Not that way, though,” he cautioned before she reached the front porch steps. “All those boards are rotten, and you’ll go straight through. I already rebuilt the ones out back, so they’re much safer.”

“How come you did them first?”

He didn’t answer, and when she rounded the corner of the house, she paused with a sigh. “Oh, I see why.”

Behind the cottage, Sterling Creek wound its way through centuries-old trees on its way to wherever it was going. Sunlight dappled the water, giving the stream a sparkle to go with its cheerful sound. He wasn’t normally big on landscaping and such, but sitting on the rough-hewn stairs and listening to the water brought him the kind of peace that had eluded him for more years than he cared to count. It hadn’t escaped him that he’d finally found that calm here in the woods surrounding the hometown he couldn’t wait to escape from when he was younger.

“This section of the creek was pretty much clogged up when I got here,” Scott explained as he went ahead to open the door he’d cobbled together from scrap wood. It didn’t have much style, but it was a big improvement over the old one that had been rotting on the hinges. At least it kept out the bold raccoons that had been trotting in and out as if they owned the place. “I spent a few days clearing it out so the creek would run like it used to when I was a kid.”

He cringed at the nostalgic twinge in his voice, but Jenna eased his concern with a smile. “That’s really sweet. It sounds like you have great memories of this place.”

“Some of my best,” he confided, following her inside. Grateful that he’d bothered to wash the dishes this morning, he reached into the small fridge sitting on the counter and brought out a jug of sweet tea. “My brothers and I spent a lot of summer days hanging out at the swimming hole upstream with our friends.”

Sitting in one of the two seats he had to offer, Jenna gave him a cute smirk as she took the glass he handed her. “I’m guessing some of those friends were girls in bikinis and cutoff shorts.”

“A few,” he acknowledged with a grin of his own. “We were the Barrett boys, after all.”

“I’m well aware of your killer reputation.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glanced around the kitchen. “So what are your plans for this room?”

Torn back to the studs, it wasn’t much to look at right now, and he appreciated her not mentioning it. “Once I get the framing done, there’s some scrap oak at the mill I can use to make bead board like the kind that used to be in here before the termites shredded it. It’ll take a while, but I want to keep things as original as I can.”

“Because that’s how it was when your grandfather grew up here.”

That she’d picked up on that detail absolutely floored him, and he stared over at her in disbelief. Apparently, she understood his response because she explained, “When Paul and Jason were rehabbing the mill so they could reopen your family’s furniture business, they said that kind of thing a lot. Your brothers put in a ton of work, but they never complained because it was all for Will.”

Again, the stab of guilt hit Scott hard, and he did his best to roll with the unwelcome sensation. In an effort to stall long enough to regain his composure, he spun the other chair around to straddle it and faced her across the table. He swallowed some of his tea and rested his arms over the back of the chair, rolling his glass back and forth between his hands.

“I wish I could’ve been here. Y’know, to say goodbye.” When it occurred to him he’d just confessed his deepest pain to a stranger, he growled, “You’re way too easy to talk to.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. It must be the overalls.”

The sound of his own laughter surprised him. Far from the cynical snort he’d adopted, it had a lighthearted quality that appealed to him. Beyond the pleasant sound of it, he marveled at how quickly she’d found a way to make him want to laugh again. It had been a long time since he’d had a reason to do it, and he had to admit it felt good. “Must be. Well, that and you ask a lotta questions.”

“Creative people are curious by nature,” she informed him with another smirk. “It comes with the territory when you hang out with me.”

Translation: this is who I am, take it or leave it. He admired her sassy attitude more than he could say, and he couldn’t imagine any grown man with a pulse choosing anything other than to accept this bright, engaging woman just the way she was. “Thanks for the warning. Ready for a refill?”

“Actually, what I’d really like is to see the chapel.” She tilted her head in the questioning pose that seemed to be part of her personality. “Do you have time to show it to me?”

He had nothing but time these days, and he couldn’t think of anything he’d like half as much as spending some more of it with the perky artist he’d stumbled across in the cemetery. Since it didn’t seem wise to tell her that, he set his glass on the table and stood. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”

“Sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem on first glance.” Meeting his eyes with her direct, unflinching gaze, she smiled. “I prefer to see for myself and make up my own mind.”

He sensed she was referring to more than decrepit old buildings, and an odd sensation fanned through his chest. Since he’d never experienced it before, he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant. As Jenna walked past him, something coaxed him to fall in behind her, eager as an old hound dying for some attention from her.

Pathetic, he admitted with a sigh, but true. The problem was, the last time he’d let a woman lead him around, she’d landed him in the worst mess of his life. That betrayal had taught him that trusting his heart was foolish, at best. So while he might enjoy Jenna’s bubbly company, for the sake of his sanity that was as far as he could allow a friendship with her to go.

Logical by nature, he knew his stern resolution to keep things light should have eased his concerns. Instead, he had the sinking feeling that choosing to follow the safe route with Jenna would cost him the chance at something amazing.

* * *

Quite simply, the sight of that forgotten church broke Jenna’s heart.

Without maintenance, the clapboards had rotted and fallen away in many spots, and those that remained were a pale dried-out gray. It struck her as being the color of surrender, and it had absolutely no business being on God’s house. The steps weren’t good for anything but kindling, and what was left of the roof looked ready to collapse at the slightest hint of a breeze.

“It’s looked better,” Scott commented wryly, bracing his hands on either side of the door frame to haul himself up to the gaping front entrance. “I found the front doors, but they’re toast. They have a nice arch to them, though, and I’ll build new ones to fit after I get the roof squared away.”

Offering her a hand, he helped her climb up into the entryway. Once inside the single room, she stood there for a few moments to let her eyes take it all in. She’d anticipated a complete disaster and was pleasantly surprised to see that while it was in deplorable condition, the small church had been swept clean of debris. Here and there, she noticed a fresh beam or piece of lumber shoring up the weaker sections.

Some people might have considered them a futile attempt to halt the decay, but to her eyes they looked hopeful. The way Scott did right now, she added with a little smile. She got the feeling he wanted her to approve of what he’d accomplished so far, and she was more than happy to oblige him. “You’ve been busy in here. I can already imagine how it’ll look when you’re done.”

“Really?” The eagerness seemed out of character for him, and he quickly reverted to the more casual indifference she’d picked up on earlier. “You’re the first one besides me to see it this way. I figured you’d say something polite and leave it at that.”

She was about to respond when a glint of something at the front of the church caught her artist’s eye. Moving carefully around the holes in the floor, she walked toward a section of wall sporting a faded painting of Jesus and some of his followers on a wood panel. It was classic Americana, more cute than beautiful, but it was the raised nature of the panel that had her curiosity humming.

Scott sauntered up behind her, and she asked, “Did you notice this up here?”

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “Why?”

“Not the painting,” she clarified, nudging the frame away from the wall to reveal a shard of something that looked suspiciously like red glass. “This.”

“There’s no opening on the outside, so I didn’t even know it was there. Hang on a sec.”

He hurried over to a battered toolbox, and she couldn’t help noticing that while it looked ancient, every tool was laid precisely in its place. It reminded her of her mammoth selection of paints, all arranged in order up the spectrum, and the paintbrushes of various styles she kept beside them. It seemed she and this handsome hermit both treated their tools like precious gems. Interesting.

Using a metal pry bar, he worked his way around the bottom half of the frame, then climbed on a ladder to do the top. When there were only a few points still attached, from his perch he instructed, “You hold the bottom, I’ll steady it up here so we don’t damage anything. Ready?”

Grasping the bottom near the corners, Jenna braced herself for the weight. “Ready.”

Once they’d lowered it to the floor, she stepped back for a look at what they’d uncovered. She thought her jaw might have actually hit the floor, but she couldn’t help herself.

Scott let out a low whistle. “That’s incredible.”

Jenna couldn’t do anything more than nod. There, set into the wall of the decaying old chapel, was a stained-glass depiction of what could only be the Garden of Eden. Some of the lead dividers holding the glass shards in place were cracked or missing, leaving gaps in the colorful design that managed to shine through decades of grime. Going closer, she gently brushed away some of the dirt, admiring the depth of the greens and blues. It was humbling to consider the tremendous patience it must have taken some long-ago craftsman to fit together the tiny pieces that made up the birds and flowers.

“Who did this?” she asked in a reverent whisper.

“I dunno. Gram might, though, or know how we can find out. We should ask her.”

“I can’t believe it’s mostly intact, after all this time.” Glancing around the abandoned church, she added, “It’s like getting a gift from God, isn’t it?”

Scott didn’t respond to that, and out of the corner of her eye she caught his grimace. Turning to face him, she asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m just thinking we should figure out how to get this thing outta here before the roof caves in on it.”

“Good point.” Instinct told her there was more to his reaction than he was letting on, but it wasn’t her place to force him into discussing something he was clearly intent on keeping to himself. In the past year, she’d learned the Barrett men were stubborn to the core. They didn’t do anything against their considerable will, and she doubted that anything she might say would change this one.

Outside, they pulled a few of the old clapboards from the structure and discovered that whoever had covered the window had nailed up a piece of wood to protect it. So with Jenna inside steadying the fragile piece, Scott used a circular saw to cut out a square slightly bigger than the glass. Then she ran out to hold the frame while he made the last cuts, and together they lowered it to the ground.

Tufts of grass stuck through the open spots, completely ruining any aesthetic effect it once had. Jenna plunked her hands on her hips in disgust. “Well, that’s heartbreaking. I’ve never done stained glass like this, so I have no idea how to go about matching those colors.”

“Whattya mean?” Scott asked, clearly confused.

“We need to restore this and hang it back where it belongs,” she explained patiently.

“Why?”

“Because that’s how it was meant to be.” His baffled expression made it plain he still wasn’t following her line of reasoning. Reaching for an explanation he might understand, she said, “It’s like you making bead board for the kitchen. They have this really cool invention now, y’know. It’s called Sheetrock, and it works great for building interior walls. You can paint it and everything.”

“All right, you got me,” he relented with a chuckle. After a moment, he sobered, and that lingering sorrow clouded his face. “I’m sure Granddad would want the chapel the way it used to be. The problem is it’s gonna take most of my budget to fix the structural stuff, and I don’t have a lot of cash to throw around for doodads. How much do you think it’d cost to restore this thing?”

“If you help me get it to and from my studio, I’ll do it for free,” she blurted impulsively. Busy as she already was, taking on another project—a free one at that—made no sense at all. But in her heart she knew it was the right thing to do. When he gave her a dubious look, she added, “For Will.”

While he considered that, some of the darkness lifted from his features, and he offered his hand to seal the deal. “For Will.”

They stood that way for a few seconds, hands joined as they stared at each other. She noticed a hint of warmth in the depths of his eyes, and Jenna felt herself inexplicably drawn to this broken man who was trying to rebuild his life much like the property he’d inherited. She couldn’t help wondering if Will had intended just that, giving his wayward grandson another path to follow than the errant one he’d chosen.

Thinking about the generous man still made her teary, so she pulled her hand back and tried to focus her wandering mind on what needed to be done. While she was mulling, she spotted an ancient Ford delivery truck parked under a nearby tree. Decades of use had left the burgundy paint dull and faded, and she could barely read the Barrett’s Sawmill logo on the door. “Don’t tell me you ended up with the old mill truck.”

“Yeah, it’s my turn. Paul used it when he first came back, then Jason. It’s not fancy, but it runs. Most of the time,” he added with a wry grin.

“My van’s over at the cemetery. If you can give me a lift, I’ll drive it back here so we can put the window in back.”

“Actually, the other day I found some old quilts in the attic of the house. We can wrap the window in those and lay it flat in the bed of the truck. It should travel well enough that way, then I’ll drive you back to get your van.”

His suggestion made the task easier for her but required more effort from him, she realized. She approved his gesture with a smile. “Works for me.”

He retrieved the blankets, and they worked together to cushion the priceless artwork for its short trip across the valley.

Once it was secured in the back of his truck, she strolled over to eye the area beneath the hole they’d just made. “I’m guessing there are pieces of glass in the cavity between the interior and exterior walls.”

Scott groaned. “Sure, tiny ones that broke when they fell outta the frame. You won’t be able to repair them.”

“But I can get the original colors from them,” she argued, refusing to let his pessimistic assessment drown her enthusiasm for this project. “If you want this place to look the way it’s supposed to, having an accurate history of the decor will be important.”

“Decor. You sound like my new sisters-in-law.”

Biting back a sharp comment, she deflected his criticism with her sweetest smile. “What a nice thing to say. Chelsea and Amy are two of my favorite people.”

After a moment, his bravado faded a bit. “Yeah, I can see why. I didn’t mean to insult your friends.”

He clearly meant it as an apology, and she decided to take it that way. “They’re both great people, and if you take the time to get to know them, you won’t be sorry. After all, they’re part of your family now.”

Her gentle suggestion seemed to curdle the air between them, and the wariness he’d shown earlier returned with a cool vengeance. “Thanks for the tip,” he replied in a tone edged with sarcasm.

“Oh, don’t even bother with that,” she scolded, glaring up at him. “Growl and sulk all you want, but I’ve dealt with way tougher customers than you. You don’t scare me for a minute.”

As he studied her intently, his expression shifted from detached to fascinated in a heartbeat. “Tougher than me? When?”

“That’s absolutely none of your business,” she informed him, pivoting on her heel to grab another crowbar from his immaculate toolbox. “Now, do you want to help me or am I taking this wall apart by myself?”

He didn’t reply, and it took all her willpower not to look over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. Doing her best to forget he was even there, she inserted the bar into the rough-cut opening and started prying the dry, cracked boards away from the studs. Before long, Scott appeared beside her, and she braced herself for an arrogant masculine lecture on what she was doing wrong.

Instead, he silently took a position on the other side and began dismantling that section. She’d never have pegged him as the kind of guy who’d let a woman take the lead in anything, and she was more than a little impressed by his accepting attitude.

Of course, he also had a peculiar knack for aggravating her, she reminded herself immediately. Since he was a Barrett, she felt safe assuming his mulish disposition was equal parts inherited and acquired from his punishing recent history. She’d always had a weakness for bad boys, searching for the good in them and more often than not ending up disappointed when she found there wasn’t enough to work with.

It was just as well, she knew. Once she finished her current backlog of projects, she’d be pulling up stakes and joining the circuit of art fairs that made their way through the region every summer. Her allotted year in Barrett’s Mill was almost over, and it was time to move on. Usually, she looked forward to packing up and heading someplace else filled with new people and experiences.

Unfortunately, this time she wasn’t as enthusiastic about her upcoming adventure as she’d been in the past. Sometimes being a gypsy was a lot harder than it looked.

* * *

When they pulled in at Jenna’s studio, there was a familiar beat-up SUV already in the gravel parking lot.

“Were you expecting my mom this morning?” Scott asked as they got out of her van.

“No, but I’m always happy to see her,” Jenna replied with a quick laugh. “When she drops by, she either has something yummy and homemade or a new customer for me.”

“Now I remember where I saw your name,” he said as he waited to open the car door for his mother. She was talking animatedly on her cell phone, so he went on. “Mom and Dad have a painting of yours in their living room.”

“I did the original for Will last fall,” Jenna explained with a melancholy smile. “His cancer got so bad, he really couldn’t move around on his own anymore. He missed going for his walks, so I went out to one of his routes and took some photos, then did up a landscape of the area for him. Your parents liked it so much I painted another one for them. Your dad told me whenever he looks at it, he feels like his father’s still here.”

Only he wasn’t, and Scott swallowed hard around the lump that suddenly clogged his throat. It frequently returned when someone mentioned Granddad, and Scott had no idea how to make it stop. Maybe it never would. Pushing aside the depressing thought, he said, “It was nice of you to do that for them. I know it’s a little late, but thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being so good to my family. Most people I know couldn’t care less about anyone they’re not related to.”

That earned him a long, assessing look. “I think you’ve been hanging out with the wrong kind of people.”

He gave a short laugh, then realized she wasn’t trying to be humorous. Seeking to cover his harsh reaction, he dredged up a crooked smile. “That’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”

“What’s obvious?” his mother asked through the window she’d lowered when he wasn’t paying attention.

“That it’s good to be home,” he answered smoothly, opening the door for her. Since her hands were empty, he assumed that meant she was bringing Jenna more work. Which was interesting if the lady was intent on leaving soon. Maybe there was more going on than he understood. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Kissing Mom’s cheek, he asked, “What’re you up to today?”

“Nothing much. Running around mostly.”

Dressed in her usual jeans and a simple blouse, she didn’t look like someone who ran herd over a large family and teen centers in both Barrett’s Mill and nearby Cambridge. Her dark eyes snapped with intelligence and the irrepressible humor that charmed everyone she met within ten seconds. More than once, Scott had wished he had more of her in him.

Turning to Jenna, she smiled. “I actually came by to ask you a favor. Before you answer,” she cautioned with a hand in the air, “take some time to think it over. It might not seem like much to you, but it could mean everything to someone else.”

“Someone young and in trouble, you mean.” When Mom nodded, Jenna’s eyes softened with compassion. “Fill me in.”

“Gretchen Lewis came to the Barrett’s Mill center yesterday after school. She and her father just moved here. He works at the power plant and also in one of those quick-stop marts out on the highway, trying to keep his head above water. From what I gather, his wife cleaned out their bank account before she took off for who-knows-where.”

Her tone made it plain what she thought of that, and Scott had to chuckle. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Mom. Tell us how you really feel about it.”

“I’m not one to judge,” she said, looking from one to the other with a determined expression. “But I was raised to believe that when things get tough, family pulls together, not away. That’s never more important than when you have children to consider.”

Glancing over at Jenna, Scott noticed her frown seemed deeper than it should have been for a teenage girl she’d never even met. His suspicion was confirmed when she quietly asked, “How old is Gretchen?”

“Sixteen,” Mom replied in the sympathetic tone that had guided Scott and his brothers through so many of their own problems. “She’s adorable and whip smart, but also timid as a mouse. She mostly keeps to herself, but I noticed her drawing and went over to see what she was working on.”

Reaching into her oversize canvas bag, she pulled out a piece of paper folded in half and handed it to Jenna. When the artist opened it, Scott worried that her eyes might pop right out of her head.

“Wow.”

Holding it at arm’s length, she stared at it for several seconds and then passed it to him. He didn’t have much of an eye for art, but he instantly recognized the Crossroads Church, complete with its modest bell tower and open entry doors. She’d drawn it looking through town toward the old chapel, and he easily recognized the trees and charming old homes that stood on either side of Main Street.

The Whistlestop Diner appeared open for business, and further up was his sister-in-law Amy’s dance studio, Arabesque, complete with the unfinished section Jason was adding to the old building’s living quarters. There was the Donaldson house, the Morgan place and the town square with its old-fashioned gazebo. The detail was stunning, to say the least.

“If she can do this with a pencil and paper, imagine what she could manage with some real supplies,” he commented.

“My thought exactly,” his mother confirmed, giving Jenna a hopeful look. “I know you’re planning to leave soon, but I was hoping you might come into the center and give her some encouragement. When I complimented her, she brushed it off like she didn’t believe me. If that praise came from someone who makes her living as an artist, she might take it more seriously.”

Jenna hesitated, but something told him it wasn’t because she was reluctant to help. She’d put a lot of time and effort into Granddad’s painting, and that combined with her volunteering to plant flowers at the cemetery told Scott she had a generous nature. So what was holding her back now? It must have been something important—and very personal. Which meant it was none of his business, but he couldn’t help wondering about it all the same.

Mom didn’t say anything more, and he recognized the patient look on her face from the many times he’d been on the receiving end. While she waited, Scott realized she was treating Jenna with the same respect she had her own kids. Even when they’d messed up, the Barrett boys could always count on her to hear them out before bringing down the hammer. Because of that, she was the only person he could comfortably look in the eye these days.

And Jenna, he realized with a jolt. Why, he had no clue, but he couldn’t deny it was true.

When she glanced at the drawing again, Jenna finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. When would you like me to come in?”

“Thursday,” Mom answered in her usual brisk way. “She said she was coming back after school that day, and I’d love for her to meet you.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

“That’s what I like most about you, honey,” Mom approved, giving her a quick hug. “You don’t stand around hemming and hawing like so many folks. When there’s something that needs doing, you step in to take the reins and make things happen. Gretchen should be in around four. See you then!”

With a brisk wave, she was gone.

Chapter Three

“We can lay the window down over here,” Jenna said, sweeping a pile of crumpled sketches from a nearby workbench.

In one of its previous lives, her studio had been a garage with a lofted workshop space and small bathroom above. Cramped but functional, that was where she crashed at night. The place wasn’t large, but the yoga teacher who’d rented it before her had retrofitted the wide-open room with skylights and a bank of windows that let in a ton of natural light.

Unfortunately, they also revealed the general state of disarray she preferred to work in. Two landscapes in progress were propped on easels, with completed pieces protected in Bubble Wrap and stacked in one corner. In another, her pottery wheel held something that was beginning to resemble the terra-cotta planter a customer had requested for her front porch.

A fine coating of stone dust covered everything. After he set down the window, Scott drifted toward the garden sculpture she was working on. Tilting his head one way and then another, he finally admitted, “I give up. What’s it supposed to be?”

She heard that all the time from people who didn’t understand the artistic process, and she swallowed an exasperated sigh. “It’s for Lila Davidson’s rose garden. When it’s finished, it’ll be a girl gnome to match the boy one I made for her last year.”

“Yeah, she always did love her gardens. She reminds me of Gram that way.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned being fond of anyone outside his family, and she seized on the opportunity to encourage him to open up a little. “From what I hear, they’ve been friends a long time.”

“Lila’s husband, Hank, was Granddad’s foreman at the sawmill when I was growing up,” he replied as he carefully unwrapped the fragile chapel window. “The four of them were pretty close back in the day. Stood up at each other’s weddings, stuff like that. I’d imagine that hasn’t changed any.”

“It’s nice having lifelong friends like that.” When he shrugged, she sensed he wasn’t pleased about the direction the conversation was heading. Prickly didn’t begin to describe this man, she groused as she picked up two corners of one of the quilts while he did the same. Walking toward him, she tried again. “So, you must be glad to be back home with your old crowd.”

“I haven’t seen any of ’em.” Apparently, her shock was obvious, because he met her stare with a hard one of his own. “I’m not in the mood to see anyone from high school. Me being here is awkward enough for my own family, so it’d only be worse with anyone else.”

“You’re not giving them much credit. I mean, I know all about what happened, and that hasn’t stopped us from getting to know each other. If you gave them a chance, some of them just might surprise you.”

He didn’t respond to that, but his expression clearly said he doubted it. This guy would try anyone’s patience, and even a natural-born optimist like Jenna had her limits. “Well, it’s up to you. I appreciate you helping me get this window here. If you’ll just drive me back to the cemetery, I’ll be out of your hair and you can get on with your day.”

Once they were finished folding, he stacked the blankets on the floor and glanced around. Shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, he slanted her a hesitant look. “I’m not really in a hurry or anything. I wouldn’t mind seeing what kind of stuff you make here.”

So, she thought with a little grin, the hunky hermit wasn’t as averse to company as he claimed to be. Maybe he’d gotten so accustomed to keeping his guard up in prison he was having a tough time adjusting to his calmer, less dangerous surroundings. If that was the case, she was more than happy to help him make the leap.

“Since I’m a freelancer, I do a little of everything. Garden gnomes,” she added, pointing to the one he’d made fun of earlier. “Portraits, landscapes, pottery, whatever people want. This one—” she crossed to one of the easels “—is going to a client in Roanoke. Their golden retriever is getting on in years, and they wanted a painting of her with their grandkids to remember her by after she’s gone.”

Strolling over, Scott tapped the photo she’d clipped to the top corner of the easel. “They’ve probably got a hundred pictures of her just like this one. Why spend money on a painting?”

“You can’t get the same effect out of a camera,” Jenna explained patiently. “An artist can capture a lot more with different brush techniques and subtle blends of color. Photographs only show what something looks like, not how it feels to experience it.”

He took a few seconds to digest that, and a measure of respect crept into his eyes. “Y’know, I’m not the creative type, but I totally get what you’re saying. Where’d you learn that kind of thing?”

His question took her back to one of the happiest times of her life, and even though it hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, she smiled. “I went to art school for a year after high school. One of my professors was this tiny woman who was so old she’d actually met some of the artists we studied. Anyway, she taught me that true art is more than something to be displayed on a stand or hung on a wall. It should come alive and make you feel something. Exceptional pieces inspire you to see the world in a different way than you did before.”

“Interesting.” Looking around the room, his keen eyes landed on a smaller canvas hung for display instead of wrapped up for a customer. It was a watercolor of a yellow Cape Cod house with a white-railed porch running the width of the front. Accented by hanging flowers and others lining a walkway made of large stones, it had a cozy, welcoming look to it. “This is really nice.”

“Thanks. I painted that ages ago, when Mom and I were moving around a lot. It’s my dream house.”

Studying it for a few moments, he announced, “Hang a swing on the porch, it’d be just about perfect.”

“That’s a great idea!” She approved heartily. “I’ll add that in sometime along with one for that big tree to the left. I love swings.”

As he continued strolling along the outer wall of her workspace, he commented, “Most of these things are done or pretty near it. Where are you headed when you’re done here?”

His interest in her plans amazed her, since most of the guys she’d known were too consumed with their own lives to be curious about hers. “Usually I follow the art-show circuit because that’s where the business is. People are out traveling, hunting for unique souvenirs to take home with them.”

A slow grin edged across his face, and he cocked his head in a challenging pose. “You didn’t answer my question. Does that mean you’re thinking about staying in Barrett’s Mill awhile longer?”

“No,” she answered reflexively. When he lifted an eyebrow, she had to admit he’d nailed her on this one. She’d been in this particular town longer than any of the others she’d visited, and her mind recognized it was time to move on. The trouble was, the people in Barrett’s Mill had embraced her, making her feel welcome even though they obviously thought she was a nutty artist. “Okay, maybe I am, but only to finish the window for the chapel. It belongs there, and I’ll make sure it’s sound before I give it back to you.”

“And then?”

“I’m not sure,” she confided with a shrug. “I’ve got space reserved in a few art fairs, but none of that’s set in stone. I usually just start driving and pick a place that looks good.”

“Must be nice. I’m stuck here till my parole officer says it’s okay for me to leave.”

His envious tone told her the years he’d spent away from his Blue Ridge hometown were no accident. “Do you have somewhere else you want to be?”

“Anywhere but here. Ironic, huh?” he added with more than a touch of bitterness. “You want to stay, but you’re leaving. I’d like nothing more than to leave, but I’m staying.”

The upshot was they were both staying, at least for the near future. Of course, her ultimate decision had nothing whatsoever to do with Scott being here. The fact that they seemed to be developing some kind of friendship would only make it easier for her to work with him to finish her last job before leaving town.

So, in her usual upbeat way, she did her best to lift his spirits. “Life’s funny that way, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he muttered in disgust. “Tell me about it.”

* * *

“So tell me something,” Jenna began in the curious tone he’d quickly learned to be wary of. “Does anyone ever say no to your mother?”

He made a show of thinking that over, squinting up at the beams in the ceiling. Focusing back on her, he grinned and shook his head. “Nope.”

“I wonder what her secret is.”

Stepping closer, he leaned in and murmured, “We’re all afraid of her.”

Jenna laughed at that, and it struck him that she was one of the most cheerful people he’d ever met. With a ready smile and a dry sense of humor that mirrored his own, she was sweet and fun, with a heart open enough to care about a sad teenage girl and an ex-con who’d given up on having the kind of life he wanted more than anything.

Something deep inside him that had been dead a long time began rustling, as if it was waking from a long sleep to discover the sun was shining. Much to his dismay, a single morning with Jenna Reed had him rethinking his vow to be content with his own company.

Knowing how dangerous such sentimental thoughts could be, he firmly pushed them back down where they belonged. She was leaving town in a few weeks, and after that, chances were he’d never see her again.

Considering his disastrous track record with women, knowing they’d remain friends should have eased his worries. Instead, it made him wish things could be different.

“Ready to go?” Hoping to conceal his conflicting emotions from her, he leaned down to pick up the quilts.

“In a sec.” Leaving him by the door, she scampered up the open-backed steps that led up to the loft and came down with a glass dish. “Olivia sent some leftovers back with me after one of your family’s Sunday dinners a couple weeks ago. Her house is on the way out to the cemetery. Would you mind stopping there real quick so I can return this?”

Scott recognized a setup when he heard one, and he gave her a long, hard stare. Most people backed up a step or two when he did that, but this woman didn’t even flinch. She took it in stride, patiently waiting for him to answer her. He’d already told her more than he should have about himself, but he couldn’t seem to help going a step further. “It’s not that I don’t want to see her.”

“This isn’t about you seeing her,” Jenna informed him as if she had no clue what he was referring to. “It’s about me returning a dish. You don’t even have to get out of the truck if you don’t want to.”

“That’d look stupid, and you know it.”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, folks have plenty going on in their own lives without worrying about what you’re up to,” she retorted primly. “If you’d rather she doesn’t know you’re there, I won’t mention it. Go inside or don’t. Totally up to you.”

With that, she sailed past him and out the door to his truck.

“Do you always leave your door open like this?” he shouted.

“Just pull it shut. It’ll lock behind you.”

Outmaneuvered for now, he followed along and joined her in the cab of the ancient pickup. Mentally crossing his fingers, he turned the key and was relieved when the engine turned over with only a mild protest. As it settled into a throaty rumble, he pulled out onto the highway and headed for town.

Heading up Main Street, he was treated to the full-color version of Gretchen’s sketch and couldn’t help smiling. He hadn’t experienced spring in the Blue Ridge Mountains in a long time, and he had to admit it was even prettier than he remembered. A warm breeze wafted through the open windows, scented with a combination of various flowers and the barbecue cookers out back of The Whistlestop.

Originally built from an old trolley and section of track, the town’s landmark diner now boasted a modest-size dining room that served up some of the best food anywhere. He’d visited lots of places and eaten in dozens of restaurants, but for him Molly and Bruce Harkness’s down-home cooking still ranked at the top.

“I love that restaurant,” Jenna said, taking a long sniff of the air. “Not only can those two cook up a storm, they were my first customers when I came into town. Beyond that, Molly’s the best PR I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, she knows everyone hereabouts,” Scott agreed, recalling his grandmother’s old friend with a grin. “If she likes you, you’re golden.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

He gave a mock shudder. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

On the other side of the tiny business district, he took a right into his grandparents’ driveway. Well, Gram’s driveway now, he amended soberly. Granddad’s beloved blue sedan sat in its usual spot, its cover of dust showing it hadn’t been moved recently. Parking beside it, Scott said, “Someone should take that old clunker out and make sure it’ll run if she needs to use it.”

“Good idea,” Jenna agreed lightly as she reached for the handle. “I won’t be long.”

“Don’t be a goose. I’m going with you.” When he climbed out and walked around to open the passenger door for her, he found her smiling at him. “What?”

“You’re going to make her day, you know.”

“Or ruin it,” he parried, suddenly uncertain about his decision to tag along. Glancing at the old farmhouse, he still could remember racing around the yard with his cousins and climbing the tall oaks that shaded the front porch. With a collection of white wicker furniture and hanging pots of bright flowers, it invited you to come up and sit for a while.

Welcoming, he thought with a frown. The trouble was, he’d been gone so long he wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore. While he debated with himself, the front screen door creaked open, and his grandmother stepped onto the porch. She gave him a long look, and he fought the urge to squirm the way he had when he’d been a little boy caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“I’ve got fresh snickerdoodles and lemonade,” she said finally. “If you want some.”

His favorite childhood snack. He couldn’t imagine how she’d known to make it. Then it hit him, and he turned to Jenna. “You called her?”

“When you were hunting for those quilts,” she confirmed with a poorly concealed grin.

So, the sunny artist had a devious side, he mused as he opened Jenna’s door and walked up the front steps with her. Who knew? When he reached the porch, he saw tears welling in Gram’s eyes and stopped dead. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just so happy to see you. It’s been such a long time.”

She opened her arms wide, and the last bit of his misgivings evaporated as he went into that warm embrace. He’d dreamed of it so many times, he’d begun to believe the recurring image was simply the result of being homesick. But now, standing there with her, knowing she forgave him for the mistakes he’d made, he actually could believe that somehow, someday everything would be all right.

Chapter Four

Inside the Barrett house, things were right and wrong at the same time.

Jenna hadn’t been here since Will’s funeral, and it still struck her as odd that the dining room had gone back to its normal configuration. During the final months of his illness, Will’s hospital bed had dominated a corner of the large room, leaving space for the visitors Olivia coerced into dropping by so she and her husband wouldn’t feel so isolated. Its absence only reinforced the fact that Jenna never again would see the kind old man who’d found so much joy in a simple landscape she’d painted for him.

“So nice to have company during the week,” Olivia said, motioning for them to sit at the kitchen table. Donning a set of oven mitts shaped like sunflowers, she pulled a scrumptious tray of cookies from the oven in a cloud of cinnamon-sugary aroma. “Ever since Jenna called, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how you two could possibly have met. It must be an interesting story.”

After pouring three glasses of lemonade, she set the plate of cookies down and joined them with an expectant look. Jenna waited for Scott to answer her, but he was too busy shoving cookies into his mouth. Deciding it was up to her, she said, “I went out to the cemetery to plant flowers for Will, and Scott was there. So I drafted him to help me out. It turns out he’s pretty good with a shovel.”

“And she’s pretty good at giving orders,” he piped up with a chuckle. “Worked out fine.”

Olivia turned an adoring look on him and patted his hand. “It can’t have been easy for you, but I know your grandfather was pleased to see you. Thank you for taking the time to go out there and be with him awhile.”

Misery swept across Scott’s face, and he fixed her with a pleading look. “I wanted to visit sooner, Gram. I just couldn’t.”

“Have you been avoiding the cemetery,” she asked gently, “or me?”

That tortured expression was back, only much worse than she’d seen on his face earlier. Jenna felt awkward being included in such a private moment, but she feared moving would distract him from forcing the guilt he felt out into the open. That was the first step in overcoming it, she knew, and instinct told her his compassionate but very pragmatic grandmother was the one to nudge him in the right direction.

“Both,” he confided in a hoarse whisper. After swallowing some lemonade, he rested his hand over hers. “I’ll always be sorry for that.”

“Oh, I hope not,” she told him briskly. “Such a waste of time, reliving the past over and over.” Dark eyes twinkling with her characteristic optimism, she punctuated her little lesson with a fond smile. “Those times are done and gone, and now that you’re home, there are plenty more good ones to come. You’ll see.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

It took him a few seconds, but he returned the smile, and Jenna got a glimpse of what this cool, distant man must have looked like years ago, before the consequences of his bad choices had all but shut him down. She sensed there was more to it than mere happiness, and she mulled that over while the three of them chatted about the latest goings-on around town. When she finally identified what had changed Scott’s mood, she couldn’t help smiling.

It was trust. So he was capable of it, after all, she mused with genuine interest. Prison hadn’t destroyed it, just sent it into hiding. Which, considering what he must have been through, was totally understandable. Knowing he still had the ability to believe in someone made Jenna want to find a way to make him trust her, too. She wasn’t sure why his opinion of her mattered so much, but in situations like this she always listened to her intuition. Even if what it was telling her didn’t make sense at the time, in the long run it was usually right.

“Here we are, rattling along, when we’ve got a guest at the table,” Olivia said, bringing Jenna back into the conversation. “How are things at your studio?”

No one wanted to hear her life was chaotic and she was way behind on her deadlines, so she smiled and gave her usual chipper response. “Just fine. Diane stopped in this morning and asked me to drop by the teen center later this week to talk to one of the new girls about art.”

“Gretchen,” Olivia commented with a nod. “Such a heartbreaking story with her and her father struggling the way they are. You’re just the kind of role model she needs.”

“I don’t think I’d be anyone’s choice as a mentor,” Jenna protested with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure Diane just wants me to tell Gretchen how talented she is, encourage her to keep practicing, that kind of thing.”

“Like that munchkin art professor did for you,” Scott suggested.

“In slightly less colorful language,” she clarified with a nostalgic smile. “Miss Fontaine was—what’s the word?”

“Nutty?” he asked in a helpful tone.

“Eccentric. Most creative people are.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Olivia confirmed with a nod. “My old friend Annabelle, God rest her, sang like an angel and could play a dozen different instruments. She also talked to the coatrack in her foyer like it was a real person and couldn’t remember what she was doing from one minute to the next. She was a gifted musician but madder than a hatter.”

They all laughed at that, and Scott polished off the rest of his drink before standing. “I hate to leave, Gram, but I have to drop Jenna off at the cemetery so she can pick up her van. After that, I really should get back to the house. If I don’t finish covering the holes in the chapel roof, that storm they’re talking about is gonna wreck all the new wood I put up inside.”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me for being busy. I’ve got things to do, too,” she assured him as she stood and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. All her grandsons towered over her, but Jenna thought it was adorable the way Olivia still gave them a quick peck whenever they were headed out. “If you’re interested, I’m making pot roast Friday night.”

Grinning, he cocked his head like a half-starved hound who’d just gotten wind of a free meal. “For me?”

“Well, it’s not for me,” she teased, then turned to Jenna with a critical look. “I noticed you’ve been losing weight again, dear. I think you’d better come, too, and have something that didn’t come out of a microwave. There will be plenty of food, so you two can split the leftovers.”

Scott eyed her warily. “You’re not trying to set us up, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided him. “I’ve invited everyone who’s got the night free, so there will be lots of other folks here.”

“You’re having a family shindig now?” he asked. “How come?”

“Because I feel like having company, and no one ever turns down my cooking.” She looked from him to Jenna. “Should I plan on seeing you two or not?”

Jenna had been planning to work late to finish up the doggy painting for her clients. But since she didn’t have a domestic bone in her body, she never could resist the lure of a home-cooked meal. “Sounds good to me. Six o’clock?”

Olivia gave her grandson a questioning look, and after hesitating, he gave in with a grin. “Works for me. While I’m here, I’ll tighten up that loose railing on your front steps.”

She beamed at him as if he’d just offered to build her a whole new porch. “That would be wonderful, honey. Thank you.”

“I’d imagine there’s a lot more jobs like that around here,” he commented as she walked Jenna and him to the door. “I know Paul and Jason have their hands full with the mill, so you go ahead and make a list. It might take me a while, but I’ll make sure everything gets done.”

“I’ll do that.” Pausing on the porch, she hugged him again, grasping his arms as she gazed up at him. “Welcome home, Scott.”

His sheepish grin made him look about ten years old, and he stooped to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Gram. See you Friday.”

Back in the truck, Jenna couldn’t help gloating a little. “So, that went well.”

“As blatant manipulation goes, it was a ten.” While he fiddled with the ignition, he sighed. “But I can’t blame you for taking a shot. I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own, but now I feel stupid for being so worried about seeing her.”

“Your grandmother is a very forgiving person,” Jenna reminded him gently. “Actually, your whole family’s like that. It’s one of the big reasons I enjoy spending time with them. They don’t expect anyone to be perfect, and that makes it easier for me to be myself.”

“Mostly, they don’t have patience for a lot of nonsense.” When the ancient truck finally let out a hacking cough and started, Scott pulled out of the driveway and headed out of town. “Mom sees right through that kinda thing, and she seems to think a lot of you. That’s good enough for me.”

“Good to know.”

“So, what’ve you got planned for Gretchen?”

“No plans,” she replied with a shrug. “I’ll let her run the show. If she wants to confide in me, I’ll listen. If not, that’ll be okay, too. She’s old enough to decide stuff like that for herself.”

Slanting her a look, Scott opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. His reserve came across to her as more of a habit than part of his real personality, and she seized the opportunity to take another whack at this very stubborn nut. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“None of my business.”

“That never stops anyone else,” she informed him with a laugh. “What did you want to know?”

Another hesitation, then very quietly he asked, “What happened with you and your mom?”

Jenna’s heart thudded to a stop. Of all the things he could have questioned her about, her mother was the last one she’d anticipated. In the past year, the only person she’d confessed her sordid history to was Diane Barrett, and then only with a lot of patient—and persistent—encouragement.

Keeping secrets, that one especially, had become a bad tendency for her. Gradually, she’d come to recognize that it served no purpose other than to lead her in never-ending circles back to a time in her life she was trying desperately to leave behind her. But Scott had been forthright with her about his own past, she reminded herself. It was only fair for her to do the same.

“It’s not a nice story,” she cautioned him.

“I kinda figured that when I saw your reaction to what my mom said about Gretchen’s mother taking off.” Pulling onto the graveled shoulder of the road, he swiveled to face her squarely. “You looked upset, but you covered it up pretty fast. It’s been bugging me ever since.”

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