The Carpenter's Daughter (7 page)

A blush made a slow trail from her neck to her cheeks. I tried not to chuckle. She glanced anywhere and everywhere but at me before she began packing away her tools.

Door closed. Huh. Where’d I go wrong?

Mack clumped up the two stairs and through the front door opening. I slouched against the island frame. Opportunity deflated by the second, and he could be the final pin.

“Did you get done?” he asked Sarah.

“Yes, sir.” She straightened from picking up a stray Wonder Bar. “Walls are ready for your electrician.”

“Thanks.” Mack’s gravelly voice paused. “I’m sorry about the mix-up. You did a good job.”

Those blue eyes grew, and her lips parted. “Thank you.”

Her glance caught me for a tiny moment before returning to the floor. I thought she might have been smiling under the cover of her hat. Wished I’d seen it.

Mack kept a look fixed on her, a hint of appreciation tipping his lips. He caught me looking and smothered his approval. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jess.”

“Yes, you will.” I couldn’t help an all-out smile. “Have a good night.”

Mack scowled and walked away.

How about that? This day had presented all sorts of interesting quirks. Keeping my chuckle under my breath, I turned back to our newly discovered Hammer Shelia. An unnamed black-and-white flick rolled through my head, one where two gunslingers stepped off ten paces and drew. I rested my right hand on my hammer, still hanging in my tool belt, and bit the inside of my lip.

Yep. Could be a good idea. Worth a shot. “I don’t suppose you brought a roofing gun of your own?”

“No.” She dropped the remaining tools in her box, along with her belt, and looked back to me. “Sorry.”

I cloaked my hopeful eagerness with a shrug. “Just thought I’d ask.”

My silence served as bait.

“Are you behind?”

“Not really, but it’s supposed to be a scorcher tomorrow. I’m going to keep working for a while, and I thought maybe…” Catching her eye, I held on to the last vowel as if it were a lure.

A smile bloomed full, along with a rose on her cheeks. “I’m pretty good with an old-fashioned hammer.”

Snagged. “Are you sure?” Like I was going to let her wiggle off the hook. Sounded nice though, and it kept the smile on her face.

“Sure.” She bent to take up her tool belt again. “I haven’t anything else to do.”

I waited, trying not to look like a little boy on the winning soccer team while she fastened her tools around her waist. We made our way outside and up the ladder, and I ripped open another package of shingles.

Setting half of the stack in front of her, I hiked an eyebrow toward my hat. “So, how good are you?”

Sarah mirrored my expression. “Do you honestly expect me to answer that?”

I laughed. “Let’s see it.”

“I’m not a circus monkey.” She ironed her features, but amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“Certainly not.” I set aside my nail gun and snagged the good ol’-fashioned hammer out of my tool belt. “How about a race?”

She snorted. “I think the nailer would be faster.”

Raising my eyebrows, I challenged her in silence, and she smirked. “All right. Ready, go.”

Her hammer popped from its loop, and she somehow managed to grab a shingle and a nail nearly simultaneously. She had one nail completely sunk and another started before I hit my knees. I snagged my hammer and set my rhythm to match hers. She stayed ahead of me though. Competitive drive aside, I was pretty sure losing this draw would be the most fun I’d have all summer.

Or maybe not. A guy could hope.

We covered the remainder of the east facing eave as the sun tapped the horizon. Perfect timing. We still had enough light to clean up.

“I think it was a tie.” Sarah swiped her forehead.

Generous. She’d kicked my tail.

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “I won.”

“How do you figure?”

“I got you to do half my work.”

“Nice.” Trying to look irritated, laughter bubbled from her mouth instead. It sounded like a light spring rain against the covered porch at my parents’ home. Or the rustling of trees in a summer breeze below Avery’s back deck. Or the swishing grass on the Sandhills in late spring.

Favorite places. Favorite sounds.

I plopped down next to her, and she didn’t hide under the bill of her hat. “So, I think I owe you dinner or something.”

Her back jolted straight. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Dang. Wrong turn again.
Thought bubbles, please. I need a little help.

I leaned back on my elbows and watched her. Alarm melted into confusion. Maybe she was as bad at this as I was. If that was the case, persistence might be worth the risk. I got her on the roof, didn’t I?

“What’s your story, Sarah Sharpe?”

“My story?” Her eyebrows gathered, wrinkling the skin above her nose. She stared, and I stared back. Licking her lips, she relaxed a bit. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with who taught you to swing a hammer, and see how far you get before I finish my hamburger.”

Her brow wrinkled again.

Maybe I was coming on too strong. Oh well—no going back now. I could play it easy, and maybe she’d relax. “There’s a small-town grill by the Skyline Inn. Their burgers are great, and I’m starving.”

Sarah bit her bottom lip. I pretended not to notice. I hopped to my feet and gathered my gear, lowered my gun down to the ground, and then headed down the ladder. She had nothing to do but follow. We wound cords and replaced tools, and when the work was done, I walked her to her truck.

“It’s down on Highway 20.” I made my voice matter of fact. “Right by the motel. You can’t miss it.”

Her eyes held protest. But her silence hinted indecision. What was this girl’s story?

I opened her door, and she settled behind the steering wheel, still mute.

After shutting her in, I laid an arm across her open window. “You’re not going to stand me up, are you?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t agree to go.”

Yeah, I hadn’t missed that. But I’d determined to play it cool—all the way to the point where she said,
Thanks, but no thanks
.

“I guess I’ll have to wait and find out.” I bumped her door with a fist and walked back to my own pickup.

Sarah turned the engine over, and I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

Sarah

My stomach grumbled as I started my truck. I’d noticed JJ’s Grill as I pulled into town this morning—looked like a decent place to land for supper. And maybe the only place. Didn’t mean I was going.

Had I just been asked on a date? Didn’t sound like a date proposition, but this Jesse Chapman wasn’t a common guy. At all. Sticking up for a strange girl on the job? Hanging around me when there was still work to be finished? Not normal.

He couldn’t have been suggesting a date. Men didn’t date a woman who’d schooled them on a roof. Did they?

My mind ran circles, like a dog chasing its tail. Meeting him at the grill wasn’t going to alter destiny. It’d only be a burger with a guy from the crew. That wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.

I’d go. I was going.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Growling at my feeble brain, I shifted into drive and set the tires for the highway. One thing was for sure—I wasn’t going into anywhere without a shower first. Whatever this Jesse character was thinking, he’d have to wait for me to clean up. If I was going at all.

I showered at the motel, hoping the steam would evaporate the wispy daydreams that managed to invade my logic. Fancy thoughts of green eyes glued to mine, filled with admiration and… And nothing. The hot water wasn’t effective on my wild imagination, so I shut off the valve. My stomach complained of its empty condition as I dried my hair—a deviation from my wash-and-go routine. I’d seen a McDonald’s on the other side of town. I could go for a couple of McDoubles and call it a meal.

You’re not going to stand me up, are you?

That would be mean.

I walked into JJ’s Grill, reconsidering the McDonald’s option.
What on earth am I doing?
A rather round woman at the front greeted me before I could retreat. I was stuck.

“Are you going solo this evening?” She smiled.

Yes.
The word hung on my tongue, but Jesse’s voice came from around the corner.

“Dark hair and blue eyes?”

My mouth dropped open.

The hostess smiled, sending me a conspirator’s wink. “I don’t think this is who you’re waiting for, Jesse. She looks perfectly sane. And young. Not your type at all.”

Jesse made an appearance from the dining room. “Are you insulting me, Shelly?”

The woman smiled innocently. “And here I was all prepared for your usual crew of sweaty men with monstrous appetites.”

He smiled like a boy showing off a new toy. “Come on, Sapphira. I’m starving.” He gestured with his head toward the booth he’d already claimed.

Sapphira?

I followed him, hoping my face didn’t look as dumb—and flattered—as I felt.

Maybe this was a game. Who acted this friendly to someone they’d just met? Players. Desperate men.

I watched Jesse slide into the booth. Strong build. Deep tan. Amazing green eyes. Winning smile. Desperate? That couldn’t be right. What was he up to?

I didn’t play these kinds of games. I didn’t know the rules, and I’d be lousy at them even if I did.

“What can I get you to drink?” Shelly asked.

“Water’s good, thank you.” I slipped into the bench across from him, a mixture of unease and hunger turning my stomach.

“So…” Jesse folded his arms on the table and leaned in. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come. I thought maybe I scared you or something. I come on pretty strong. I’m a people person.”

Was that it? I looked at my hands, a smile threatening to spread across my lips in spite of my doubt.

“You’re not though.” His steady gaze held on me, like this situation was nothing out of the ordinary.

He made me jealous. And hungry.

“Not really.” My voice sounded strange, like I didn’t use it much. “I usually stick to what I know.”

He chuckled. “I could have guessed. Hiding on a roof to avoid strangers screams introvert.”

Did it scream
easy target
too?

“So, you’re a builder.” He leaned back, sprawling his arms across his side of the booth.

Conversation couldn’t hurt. It’d be better than sharing a meal in awkward silence. “My dad’s a contractor in Minden.” I twisted my fingers together in my lap. “I grew up with a hammer in my hand and a tape measure in my pocket.”

“And Homes For Hope managed to snag you?”

Did he have cue cards? How did he know what to say so quickly?

“Not really. My uncle worked with Mr. Mackenzie on several unrelated projects, and then on a few of the Homes For Hope houses after Mack became the regional supervisor. Dan was going to come—Mack asked him specifically—but a job came up that he and my dad didn’t think they could pass up.”

“But they could spare you?” Jesse shifted again, pressing an elbow on the table and dropping his chin in his palm like whatever I had to say was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Did he practice in front of a mirror?

I shrugged, words stalling somewhere between my brain and my mouth. I wasn’t about to explain to this man the events that had been pushing me over the past few weeks. I chose to avoid the question entirely. “Honestly, Homes For Hope didn’t need a framer on this job. The walls were already up. Most of the technical stuff was done. I’m not sure why I made the trip.”

“Maybe so I could meet you.”

My head snapped up, and my jaw hinged loose.

Jesse laughed. “Too bold.” His eyes did some kind of merry twinkle.

I was desperate to know what he was all about. If I could just find the same audacity that he seemed to have stored up in buckets, I’d ask him flat out why he was so friendly, what he wanted with me.

He moved the conversation along. “Sometimes there’s a local volunteer who can do what the masters are brought in to do. But to ensure everything passes code, Homes asks for a supply of professionals.”

“You work with Homes For Hope often?” Aha. I could do this. He talked. I answered. Like a ball game. I tried to relax against the seat.

One of his shoulders lifted. “Most of the year.”

Now I had the ball. “I didn’t know they hired masters outside of the supervisors.”

“They don’t.”

My turn again. Now what?

Shelly returned with my water, and a Coke for him. “What’s it gonna be, Jess?”

She was certainly personable with him. Was that what being a “people person” accomplished? How did I get some of that?

“The usual, Shell, and go heavy with the bacon.”

“Right.” Shelly turned to me. “And you?”

I hadn’t even opened the menu. Heavens, I was good at looking stupid. “The same, I guess.”

Shelly nodded and spun away. I waited for Jesse to toss a new pitch. He sipped on his Coke with his green eyes nailed on me. Weird.

I guessed this inning I was supposed to toss the first ball. I could do this. I had to, or he might stare at me all night. What was he looking at anyway? I wiped the bottom half of my face with a napkin and forced my brain to rewind. We’d been talking about…about him working for Homes For Hope, apparently for free.

“How do you live if Homes For Hope doesn’t pay you?”

He crossed his arms loosely and leaned on his elbows, his look indecisive. I’d thrown a curve ball, and he wasn’t swinging. I smothered a sigh. “I’m sorry. That was nosy.”

“Not at all.” That easy smile spread over his mouth again. “I just don’t want you to think it’s a big deal or anything. My dad was a contractor too, and my mom was a landscape designer. They worked hard their whole lives and were careful about the way they lived. They had a plan, a dream for when they retired. They wanted to be able to travel around doing relief work, using their skills to help people, and they wanted to be able to do it without asking for financial support. So they saved and invested to that end.”

That was the strangest thing I’d ever heard. “Did they do it?”

“They retired seven years ago, and yes, they did. They discovered that their ideas and expertise were best suited to Homes For Hope. For two years, they traveled and worked with Homes. One night they were on their way to North Platte for a build, and a truck hit them head on. Both were killed instantly.”

Unbelievable. Watching Jesse’s face, I found it both amazing and confusing that while he looked as though his parents’ death saddened him, he wasn’t angry. The pleasantness about him never left. I couldn’t reconcile the paradox.

Jesse took another swallow from his straw. “I was the sole inheritor of their trust.”

Dumbfounded, I had nothing to say. Who was this guy? Something was wonderfully odd about him. Hunger carved deeper.

Amazement overrode my hesitancy. Surely I’d misunderstood. “Now you do what they dreamed of?”

He nodded, and was saved from more explanation by the arrival of our food.

I continued to stare. “That’s really generous of you.”

“Don’t pin me as a saint or anything.” His eyes, serious and commanding, caught mine as if it was important I understood. The stiff air held for a moment before the intensity of that look melted back into the easygoing character I’d met. “It’s actually a pretty good gig. I get to travel all over and meet all sorts of people, and they’re almost always glad I’m there.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t understand. What about his plans? Didn’t he have any of his own dreams to chase? I reached for a fry for something to do as I laid out the pieces of the Jesse puzzle.

“Do you mind if I pray?” Unashamed, he waited with perfect ease.

“No.” What else did you say when someone asked that? Religion. So many rituals. So many rules.

His head dropped forward, and he plunged away. “Lord, thank You for the work You’ve given us today and the ability to do it. I ask that You would bless our food and conversation. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

Huh. Simple and to the point. Like he was talking to a friend. Not unlike Rick and Darcy. I squirmed. Jesse was not the clean, well-dressed, white-collared kind that couldn’t relate to my world. He worked right alongside me. He swung a hammer, wore a ratty T-shirt, and wasn’t offended by filth.

He was one of my kind.

But my kind didn’t need imaginary friends. We lived with grit, worked with our hands, and lived by a code not handed down from heaven.

And my kind didn’t work for free—not on a regular basis.

So, he was not my kind. That made more sense. He was, after all, living off a trust. Blue-collar people didn’t have those, let alone survive on one.

No, that wasn’t right either. He worked like a minimum-wage survivor—I saw him do it. Why would he do that? Easy street was a quick right turn on his life map. He didn’t need to be among the working lower-middle class.

What was the deal with this guy?

Jesse

I’d confused her. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed that, but she was sure-as-shootin’ confused. Was it my nomad life or…praying?

Praying. She’d looked a little befuddled before that—which was a normal response when people drew out my story—befuddled or gushy, the latter of which I found annoying. But Sarah hadn’t been all-out confused until I’d prayed.

Bummer. That meant more than likely she wasn’t a believer. My chest caved. Hardly seemed fair. Do you know how many women were
not
like the lovely Sapphira? Most of them, that was how many. I’d met the one unique girl I’d been hinting to God about, and though apparently available, she wasn’t for me.

I wanted to sigh. Rules.

No. Not rules. I fixed my posture as I ordered my thoughts properly. God wasn’t about a bunch of rules. He gave boundaries to keep His flock safe.

I could still be her friend. She seemed like she needed a friend. And I was fascinated. That was safe and not tipping over the boundary.

“So, Sarah.” I leaned back against the booth, settled in my mind about what this could and couldn’t be. “You’ve managed to pull my story out, and we haven’t even eaten yet.” I grinned, wrapping my hand around my juicy burger. “Not bad for an introverted carpenter girl.”

Her eyes rounded before she breathed a small laugh. “It was an accident. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

That made two of us. “Since you’re making such great strides tonight, how about you tell me about you?”

Blushing, she glanced away and then fiddled with a fry.

I took a healthy bite of my unhealthy greasy burger. I’d probably die before I was sixty-five, with my high-cholesterol diet. Then again, Mom was the most health-conscious person I’d ever met, and she died young just the same. Had nothing to do with clogged arteries.

“Um—” Sarah folded her bottom lip under her teeth. “I already told you pretty much everything. My dad’s a contractor. I learned how to build from him. I usually work with him. This”—she waved her hand toward the window, indicating the town in general—“was a…a new thing for me.”

I swallowed my oh-so-good beef, cheddar, and bacon. “That’s good. New experiences help us see past ourselves. And Homes For Hope is a good program. They really need skilled workers to come alongside the volunteers. It makes the work go faster, which gets people into their homes sooner.”