Glynna Kaye - At Home in His Heart

“Like what?”

She ran her finger down the list. “The toilet runs excessively. Wastes water. We have to remember to jiggle the handle to get it to stop. Wasps built a nest on the porch, above the front door. Not good. And the outlet in the kitchen where we plug in the coffeemaker is dead.”

She motioned him to follow her to the front room where she demonstrated a creaking floorboard. “Obnoxious, isn’t it? And there’s a crack in the window of the bedroom we use for storage, the miniblinds on the front window are stuck half-opened and the dead bolt on the back door is almost impossible to latch.”

“That all?”

“Oh, and the kitchen faucet drips.” She glanced again at her list. “Several other things, but they can wait.”

“Who took care of this stuff for you this time last year?”

“What?”

“Who did your maintenance work before I came back to town?”

“Well, I have the past few years.” She stuffed the notebook back in her purse. “Or at least I’ve done what I could or hired someone to do it.”

He raised a brow, his expression mildly amused as he studied her. “And now suddenly—?”

Her face warmed. Was he intimating that she’d abdicated her responsibilities so she could coerce him into spending time with her?

“You’re raising the rent. It seems only right that more property upkeep should be included. With every passing year more things go wrong, more expensive things. Like the window air-conditioning unit last summer. Tearing out and upgrading the sidewalk so no one would trip and sue us. Roof repair. Replacing the furnace which also, incidentally, heats the upstairs.”

He looked round the room, all evidence of previous amusement vanished. “Maybe it’s time the society found a more adequate facility. This is an old house. Old plumbing, old wiring, old roof. Maintenance comes with the territory.”

“I understand that.” How dare he suggest they vacate the premises because she was asking for reasonable accommodation? “But I also understand from Meg and Kara who worked with you on the parsonage remodel that you’re quite capable at that type of repair work. You could do it at a fraction of the cost it would be for us to hire someone.”

He was silent a long moment, as if weighing the value of her requests. Was he thinking he owed her husband to help out his widow? Or that as luck would have it, a premature passing had saved his buddy a lifetime of heartache? She hated not knowing how much he knew about her and Keith.

At long last he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He was agreeing? Without further argument? If he was in such a willing mood, maybe she should have read the whole list to him. Who knew when there might be another opportunity like this?

“Thank you,” she managed, deflated that the need to defend the historical society’s rights had evaporated so easily.

“You’re welcome.” He took a few steps toward the kitchen, then paused to look at the crowded display cases and antique furniture. At the framed photographs, maps and documents lining the walls. Then he did an appraising once-over of her. A look that left her, of all the ridiculous things, wishing she’d combed her hair before leaving the Warehouse. Applied a little lipstick.

What was her problem tonight?

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He gave the room another sweeping glance, then focused dark, considering eyes on her. “But you need to get a life.”

What?

She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I told you not to take it wrong.”

“And how could I take a comment like that right?”

He shrugged and moved again toward the kitchen with her hot on his heels. “Don’t you think common courtesy demands you elaborate after saying something as judgmental as that?”

He halted in the arched doorway between the two rooms and again turned, his gaze solemn. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Now I’m a mind reader?”

He waved a hand, indicating the museum as a whole. “Grandma says you and Gina have practically lived at this place. I know I see your car here frequently.”

“So?”

“So, do you think Keith would have wanted you to seal yourself up in this tomb? Digging through musty old stuff that belonged to dead people?”

With a gasp, her gaze flew to the photograph of her husband on the wall, his medals in the frame beside it. Hands on her hips, she stepped to within inches of Bryce. “I happen to appreciate history—and love some of those dead people.”

He didn’t so much as flinch. Just stared down into her eyes, some elusive emotion she couldn’t pinpoint flickering through his own.

Mesmerized, her heart rate quickened. She shouldn’t have moved in so close. To where she could feel the heat emanating from him. See the rising and falling of his chest. The pulse at his throat. Smell a faint, shower-fresh masculine scent.

With an abrupt movement, he broke eye contact and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t referring to Keith. My apologies.”

Then he swung around and headed to the back door.

For a moment she almost followed him. Almost let him have a piece of her mind. But what good would that do? His poking his nose into her business had started when she’d first met Keith—and it didn’t appear to have let up. Chasing after him now would only hand him another opportunity to voice judgment on her personal life.

A place where his observations weren’t welcome.

“That man infuriates me, Meg. He’s just so, so—”

“Buff?” Her high school teaching colleague laughed as she refilled their glasses with icy, homemade lemonade. Sandi had stopped by after work late Saturday afternoon to pick up Gina.

Memory rushed against her will to the imposing, well-built man. Solid as a rock. “Very funny. I’m thinking more along the lines of mulish and interfering.”

“Are you kidding me?” Meg’s eyes widened as she placed the pitcher on the kitchen table and sat down across from her. “Are we talking about the same man? The Bryce Harding I know is a big lovable, huggable bear of a guy.”

“How would you feel about your Mr. Buff if he’d tried to stop your husband from marrying you? He had it in his head I was going to ruin Keith’s life. Even emailed him from overseas on our wedding day. Can you believe it? Keith showed it to me at the reception. Thought it was funny.”

“What did it say?”

“Last chance, bud. Bus departs at two.”

Meg let out a gleeful yelp, then clapped her hand momentarily to her mouth. “Sorry. But Sandi, that’s no big deal. That’s how guys talk to each other. They can’t express their feelings well. Half the time they can’t even identify for themselves what they’re feeling. That was just Bryce’s way of saying ‘hey, dude, gonna miss ya.’”

“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.”

“Hey, don’t you remember?” Meg’s eyes continued to dance. “At my wedding reception, right before we cut the cake, one of Joe’s old navy buddies snuck up and clamped a fake ball and chain around my hubby’s ankle. That’s just guys.”

“I remember. But this is different. Way different.”

“You’re blowing a joke out of proportion, Sandi. Seriously. Bryce is one of the good guys.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew about him what I know about him.”

“Maybe the man you knew has changed. Joe said Bryce quit going to church with his grandma when he was in high school. But he goes now. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

She couldn’t tell Meg how Keith had worried about Bryce. About his wild ways. His hard drinking and hard partying. His superficial relationships with women. Keith had done his best to influence Bryce, to convince him he wasn’t really living unless he was living for God. But Bryce the Bullheaded carried on in the direction he was determined to go—and good-naturedly badgered Keith to join him on his journey.