Charlotte Carter - Home to Montana

He wrestled the new steps into place and tightened down the bolts. The newly cut wood smelled clean and fresh. He could understand why a man would want to work with his hands building things. Things that lasted.

Alisa stepped out onto the porch and hesitated a moment checking out Nick’s work. Then she let her gaze travel to Greg and Rags who were romping through the high grass.

“Greg! Time to come in.”

The boy circled around before racing Rags back to the diner. He slid to a stop, breathing hard. Rags dropped to the ground panting. Both boy and dog had worn themselves out. At least momentarily.

“I was worried about you,” Alisa said. “You were late getting home.”

“I was playing with Rags.”

“So I gather. Come on in. You can have a snack before you do your homework.”

“It’s Friday, Mom. I don’t have any homework.”

“Well, come in anyway, honey. I’ll find you—”

“I can’t, Mom. Nick said I could help him put sealer on the step.”

Her gaze dropped pointedly to Nick, who was squatting on the bottom step. “He did?”

He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “The bare wood has to be sealed or it will absorb rain and snow. You’d have to replace the steps all over again in a couple of years.”

“I know that.”

Nick grinned. “Of course you do.”

She glowered at him. Nick figured she didn’t like to be teased, but it was kind of fun anyway, seeing her get all flustered. Her cheeks turned pink with a blush.

“If he’s going to help,” Nick said, “might be good if he changed into old jeans and a shirt. Sealer can get pretty messy.”

Greg snatched up his backpack. “Can I, Mom? Can I?”

She sighed in defeat. “I suppose.”

“Thanks, Mom.” The boy leaped up the steps and burst in through the door.

Resting her hand on the railing, she shook her head and frowned. “It’s all right if he helps you some, but I don’t want my son to get...attached to you.”

A sharp pain of regret stabbed Nick in the chest. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t be around that long.”

Her gaze skittered away from Nick. “I know. That’s exactly why I don’t want him to get too friendly with you.”

“Guess your husband would object, too.”

Her gaze snapped back to him. She bristled. “I don’t have a husband.”

“I wondered about that.” It didn’t seem right that such a good-looking woman didn’t have a husband. A father for her son. “Guess the guys around here are all blind and half-stupid for not latching on to a good thing when it’s right in front of their noses.”

She brought herself up to all of her five-feet-five height and lifted her chin. “Mr. Carbini, I’ll have you know I am not the kind of woman who latches on to any man who just happens to be handy. Nor do they latch onto me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see that Greg changes into something appropriate for painting the porch steps.” Doing an abrupt about-face, she marched into the diner.

Thoughtfully, Nick tilted his head. She was one proud lady. Chances were good all that pride was hiding one giant hurt that hadn’t ever healed.

If Nick knew for sure who had done the hurting, he’d be happy to take the fellow into the woodshed and do a little attitude correcting on Alisa’s behalf.

Except chances were also good that she wouldn’t appreciate him being the one standing up for her. Not if she knew about his past.

Nick got back to work, and it wasn’t long before Greg reappeared at the back porch.

“I’m ready!” He wore jeans with a tear in them, a faded blue T-shirt and an eager smile.

“Okay, Greg. Let’s see if your mom has a can of sealer and some paintbrushes in the equipment shed.”

Nick hadn’t put Rags back on his leash after Greg went inside to change. Now the dog trotted beside the boy, probably in the hope a suitable fetch stick would appear.

“You know where your mom keeps the paints?”

“In the back.” The boy dashed ahead, Rags on his heels.

Nick sauntered after them. Gallon paint containers lined four shelves across half the back wall. Scanning the labels, Nick found what he was looking for, a half-full can of sealer. He pried open the lid.

“Looks good. Now, how ’bout brushes?”

Greg picked out a couple of nice, wide brushes, and they carried the paint and brushes back to the steps.

While Nick was stirring the sealer, Greg said, “Want to hear a joke?”

Nick lifted his brows. “You sure it’s a good one?”

“Yeah, everybody laughs. Why did the elephant paint her toenails red?”

Suppressing a groan, Nick said, “I don’t know, kid. Why did the elephant paint her toenails red?”

“Because she wanted to hide in a field of strawberries.”

Nick’s groan escaped, followed by a chuckle. “That’s pretty good. Now, how ’bout we get to work.”

Starting Greg at one end of the upper step, Nick showed the boy how to brush on the sealer without letting it drip. He started on the other end working toward the middle.

As he worked, he remembered as a kid he used to tell silly jokes. He was pretty shy, and telling a joke helped him not to feel like a dork.

“Okay, I’ve got a joke for you,” Nick said, pulling up an old groaner from deep in his memory. “Knock knock.”

Greg grinned. “Who’s there?”

“Woo.”

“Woo who?”

“Now don’t get so excited. It’s just a knock knock joke.”

Greg laughed out loud. “That’s a good one, Nick. I’m going to tell that one to Mom.”

“You do that, son.” Nick smoothed the sealer across the step. He’d like to see Alisa laugh. Her smile would light up the whole Bear Lake valley like the sun rising over the mountains.

Idly he wondered when he had stopped telling jokes and became a loner instead. Maybe when he and his dad moved away from Bear Lake.

* * *

On Friday nights, Alisa let Greg stay up later than on school nights. After he put on his pajamas, he came and plopped down on the couch next to her where she’d been trying to read a book.

“You wanna hear a joke, Mom? Nick told me a new one.”

She tensed and closed her book. “Nick told you a joke?”

“Yeah. While we were painting the steps. I think he likes me.”

Swallowing hard, she finger-brushed his hair, trying to tame the cowlicks. “Of course he likes you. Everybody likes you.”

Squirming away, he looked at her with troubled eyes. “If everybody likes me, how come my dad didn’t stick around? How come he left before I was even born?” His chin trembled ever so slightly.

“Sweetie, your father—” A man she’d come to think of as no more than a sperm donor. “—He didn’t leave because of you. He left because he didn’t want to take responsibility for anyone except himself. He was too selfish to be a good daddy. Because of that, he’s the one who missed out on seeing you grow into such a smart kid. A handsome one, too.”

Greg wrinkled his nose. “Nick is a responsible man, isn’t he? I mean, he’s fixing the steps for Mama and all.”

Mentally, she grimaced. Her son was already falling under Nick’s spell. “Greg, honey, Nick is just filling in for Jake. He’ll be gone soon. You know that.”

“Well, he might stay.” His lower lip pushed out. “If he liked it here a lot, he’d stay, wouldn’t he?”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and she hugged her son. “If he leaves, it won’t be because of you. I promise.” It will be because a drifter can’t stay in one place too long. It’s part of their nature.

Greg pulled away from her. “So do you want to hear the joke he told me?”

“Sure. Let me have it, munchkin.”

To her dismay, it was one of Nick’s old knock knock jokes from their grade-school days. She laughed but her heart wasn’t in it. Hadn’t the man learned anything new in the last twenty years?