Mia Ross - Finding His Way Home

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.