Muriel Jensen - Man With A Message

“I feel that my life’s been very blessed,” Parker continued, “and that I have a lot of blessings to return. So I try to help those in need.”

Mariah yawned. “Yeah, well, some people are just in want, Parker, not need. It’s noble to help, but not to let yourself be used.”

“I know. I’m off men for a while. How ’bout you?”

“I’m off them forever.”

“That isn’t healthy. You want children.”

Mariah sat up to frown at her. “Park, have you missed the last year of my life? I’m not going to have children.”

Parker took advantage of the moment to place a pillow on the banquette and reach into a bamboo shelf for a folded afghan. She pointed Mariah to the pillow and covered her with the crocheted blanket.

“I know you’re not going to give birth to them, but there are other ways to get them. Just because Ben wouldn’t do it doesn’t mean you can’t do it on your own.”

Mariah was about to shake her head, then decided that would not be a good idea. She simply placed it on the pillow, instead. “I don’t want them anymore. It’s just all too much trouble. Children should have two parents, and men are just too determined to form a dynasty, you know?”

“Well, Ben was. But that doesn’t mean they all are.” Parker’s voice suddenly changed tone from grave to excited. “And a gorgeous plumber has just breathed life back into you! It could be fate has plans for him to give you more than simply oxygen.”

Mariah groaned and leaned deeper into the pillow. “Park,” she said, her sleepy voice muffled. “Don’t even start.”

She drifted off to her sister’s reply: “Sometimes, Mariah, fate moves whether we’re ready or not.”

HANK WHITCOMB HAD ARRIVED to work with the cleanup crew. Cam met him in front of the carriage house while carrying his tools back to his truck. He’d long ago walked Brian to the Lightfoot ladies’ residence on the other side of the campus, where they’d taken all the other children when the water cleanup had proved too noisy and disruptive for them to stay. It was 2:00 a.m.

Talking with him was a small, very pregnant dark-haired woman with a camera around her neck and pad and pen in the hand she held up to stifle a yawn. She was Haley Megrath, Hank’s sister, and publisher of the Maple Hill Mirror.

She and Hank came to his truck as he set his tools down on the drive.

“Hi, Cam,” Haley said with another yawn as she walked past him toward the steps. “You’d think people could have their crises during the day, when plumbers and reporters are awake, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, you would. Maybe the Mirror could launch a campaign toward that end.”

She waved and kept walking. “I’ll see what I can do. ’Night, guys.”

“I’ll wait for you and follow you home,” Hank called after her.

She turned at the top. “I’m fine. Go home to Jackie.”

“I’ll buy you a mocha at the Breakfast Barn on the way.”

She grinned. “Okay. Who cares about Jackie.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared inside.

Hank opened the lid of the truck’s toolbox for Cam. “One of our more dramatic messes,” he said with a laugh. “Hey, Freddy!” He patted the back window as Fred’s head appeared. The dog was barking excitedly. Hank leaned an elbow on the side of the truck as Cam put away his tools. “I hear you rescued Mariah Mercer from drowning.”

Cam shook his head. “That’s a little overstated. Brian—one of the kids—held her head out of the water. I just carried her to a bed.”

“Where you gave her mouth-to-mouth and she French-kissed you.”

Cam frowned. “No, she didn’t.”

“Yes, she did. Ashley told me.” Hank grinned. “She’s thrilled about it. She adores Mariah and thinks it’d be wonderful if she could find a husband.”

Cam gave Hank a shove out of his way as he dropped pipes into the back. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Mariah Mercer has designs on me. After she kissed me, she slugged me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Probably a reaction to the bump on the head, or something. No big deal.”

“So I can tell my mother you’re still on the market?”

Cam opened the passenger side of the cab to let Fred out, the gesture half practical, half vengeful. The dog leaped on him elatedly, then went right to Hank, who always had treats in his pockets. Fred backed Hank up to the side of the truck, his paws on his chest, alternately kissing him and barking a demand for treats.

Pinned to the truck, Hank reached into a pants pocket. “How big is this guy going to get?” he asked, quickly putting a biscuit in the dog’s mouth. “He doesn’t beg—he just mugs you for what he wants!”

“I’m not sure. I guess some Labs get to a hundred pounds or more. Jimmy didn’t tell me that when he sold him to me.” Jimmy Elliott was a fireman and another of Whitcomb’s Wonders.

Treat in his mouth, Fred ran off around the side of the carriage house.

“You must be beat,” Hank said. “You have a class in the morning?”

“In the afternoon. I’ll be fine. I’m a little wired, actually. Letty brought us coffee and I don’t think she bothered to grind the beans.”

Hank took a key out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Hank. “Why don’t you go take a look at the lake house,” he suggested. “You and Fred can even sleep there if you don’t want to go back home tonight.”

Cam tried to push the key away. “Hank, I appreciate the offer to buy your house. There’s not a place in town I’d like better. But I keep telling you—I don’t have the cash.”

Hank nodded. They’d argued this before. “We’ll find a way to keep the payments way down.”

Hank had married Jackie Fortin, the mayor of Maple Hill, a brief two months ago. In doing so, he’d acquired two little girls, ages seven and eleven, and infant twin boys. He’d bought the big house on the lake as a bachelor, but now found that the old family home Jackie occupied was closer to school for the girls, and closer to city hall for Jackie and for Hank, since the office of Whitcomb’s Wonders was located in its basement.

Cam had mentioned once at a party Hank had held how ideal he thought the house was, how warm and welcoming after his cramped apartment behind the fire station.

“We’ll put a balloon payment at the end,” Hank said, “and by then you’ll be a well-known developer. Since you have plans to save our colonial charm rather than replace it with malls and movie-plexes, you’ll be popular and make big bucks.”

“That’s a little optimistic.”

“It never hurts to think positive.” Hank took his hand and slapped the key into it. “Even though that hasn’t been your experience in the past. You have control now. You’re not dependent upon neglectful parents, and you don’t have to worry about a selfish wife. Do what you want to do.”

Cam was touched by his concern and grateful for his support. “You’re pretty philosophical for a NASA engineer-turned-electrician. You didn’t get zapped tonight while standing in all that water, did you?”

“No.” Hank grinned and braced his stance as Fred came running back to them. “I’m charged on life, pal…charged on life. Oof! Go look at the house. Fred needs room to run. And someday you’ll want to think about getting married again and having children.”

Well, he was right about Fred needing room to run, anyway. Cam closed the dog in the car, said good-night to Hank and the cleaning crew still working, waved at Haley, who photographed them, then headed for home. But somewhere along the way he took a turn toward Maple Hill Lake and Hank’s house on the less-populated far side of it.

He pulled off the road onto a private drive that led through a high hedge, and into the driveway of the two-story split-level. He would look through it as Hank suggested, get the notion of buying it out of his system. Then he could just settle down, keep working and going to school so that he could finally achieve the goal for which he’d come here. He wanted an MBA behind him before he bought the old Chandler Mill outside of town and turned it into office space and apartments.