Paula was alone in their main living area slipping out of her shoes when Colt knocked. She noted with a sweeping glance dark shadows underscoring his eyes.
“Come in.” Paula eased the way by holding the door with her stockinged foot. She gestured toward the sofa. “Did you reach Pastor Custer?”
“Not yet. There won’t be anyone in the church office until tomorrow morning. But I left my number and a message to call me.”
“Make yourself comfortable while I check on Joy. I think she’s changing her clothes.”
Paula was nearing Joy’s door when it flew open. She popped out and angled Colt a happy grin. “I thought I heard voices. Did Mom show you the quilt?”
“Not yet. I’ll get it,” said Paula. But before changing direction, she warned Joy in a whisper, “He looks tired. He might rather do this another time.”
“You think?” Joy scratched her head, then trotted to Colt’s side. “Mom’s worried you’re not up for this. You could stretch out right here on our sofa, and take a nap if you want to, Dad. We’ve got all afternoon to look at the quilt.”
Paula crimped her mouth at Joy’s transparent ploy. She gathered the quilt off the foot of her bed and hurried back before the little matchmaker took further advantage.
Joy met her dark glance with an innocent, “I was just telling Dad we could do this later.”
“Yes, I heard,” interrupted Paula. Attention shifting to Colt, she added, “But as long as you’re here…”
“See?” said Joy, pointing as Paula held up the quilt for Colt’s review. “A handprint from everyone in the family and some friends, too.”
Colt whistled appreciatively. “That is nice.”
Pleased, Joy snatched the quilt away and spread it over Colt’s lap. Colt touched a tiny handprint. “Is this yours?”
“Yep. J-O-Y, see?”
Paula retreated to a nearby armchair as Joy showed off the identifying names embroidered beneath each hand. It was a lengthy acquainting that followed. But in so doing, Joy brought Colt up to speed on her family, hand by hand.
Colt fingered the neatly melded strips bordering the blocks.
“This piece here is cut from my homecoming gown,” offered Joy.
“Since when do junior highers go to homecoming?” asked Colt.
Joy giggled. “I meant as a newborn. The gown I wore home from the hospital. See this white satin scrap? It’s from the angel costume I wore one year in the Christmas pageant.”
“Good casting,” said Colt.
Joy wrinkled her nose. “Uncle Jake didn’t think so. He said I was a wild child with my hair standing out in every direction.”
“It had nothing to do with your curls,” Paula spoke up. “It was your antics on stage.”
“I was little. So what if I picked the poinsettias?”
“And scattered the petals,” said Paula.
Colt’s hand crept to his shirtfront, bracing his chest wound as he laughed. Nor could Paula hold back a smile. Feeling better for it, she filled in the blanks as Joy traced the assortment of fabrics that bordered the quilt blocks.
“The gingham print is from Gram Kate’s favorite apron. This pink is from a nightgown the girls and I bought for Mom’s birthday one year,” she said, pointing. “The white here was snipped from Dad’s Sunday shirt. See this plaid flannel scrap? It came from Jake’s favorite work shirt.”
Glancing up, Paula found Colt’s gaze had shifted from the quilt to her. “Are you bored yet?” she asked, cheeks heating.
“Not a bit,” he claimed. “I like knowing the roots of things. Carry on.”
“That’s about it. Just a few snippets from Joy’s outgrown baby dresses. That and some hand-me-downs from my sisters and assorted family members.” Paula brought her summary to a close.
“If this quilt is any indication, I’d say love has you covered, Joy,” said Colt.
“I sure do wish there was something of you in it, too, Dad,” replied Joy.
“Then thread me a needle and I’ll help quilt it.” Colt looked to Paula for permission. “Is that okay with you?”
“Certainly.” Covering her surprise, Paula retrieved from her bedroom her tin of sewing widgets and the lap frame as well.
Colt garnered a thimble from a package of assorted sizes and shed his tie. He propelled the quilting needle with the thimble and tunneled the point toward himself, gathering stitches.
Paula’s hair grazed his cheek as she leaned in to verify she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. His lashes caught the light in their upward arc. Battling rogue memories of times past when touching had been savored, sweet and deliberate, she focused on his stitches. “Very nice. You’ve had some practice.”
“When push came to shove, a stint at the quilting frame was Mom’s spin on time-out.” Colt’s gray eyes glimmered at the memory.
“Who’d you push?” asked Paula.
“C.J. When he wasn’t pushing me,” Colt said.
Seeing his mouth twitch opened another floodgate. Paula got to her feet and crossed to adjust the air-conditioning.
“I can hear Mom as if it were yesterday. ‘Keep your hands to yourself, Colton Jacob,’” Colt was saying.
“Colton Jacob?” interrupted Joy. She tipped her face. “You and Uncle C.J. have the same first name?”
Colt nodded. “Colton was my mother’s maiden name.”
Joy made a curious face that bespoke the voids in her knowledge of Colt’s side of her family. “Tell me about my grandparents.”
“Sure. But first, thread yourself a needle, and help me out here,” suggested Colt.
“I don’t know how,” admitted Joy.
“You can learn, can’t you?” he challenged.
In the past, Paula had tried to interest Joy in sewing. Having failed at it, she was surprised to find Joy reaching for a needle.
Paula put on some music as Colt set about teaching Joy. Once Joy had learned the basics, he talked Paula into joining them. It was close quarters, complicated by Colt’s injured leg resting on the bulky ottoman.
Paula sat facing Colt. She started her needle on his side of the frame, working it back toward herself while he started his needle on her side of the frame and did the same. They traded needles and repeated the process.
Joy’s interest in needlework quickly waned. But her curiosity about Colt was insatiable. While his responses to her questions fell short of filling in the missing years, they did shed light on his professional life as an investigative reporter. Paula had been mistaken in assuming his scars were recent. As it turned out, he had received them years earlier while investigating some unsavory characters who were now serving time in a federal penitentiary.
“One man had guard dogs. Well-trained ones,” Colt added.
“They attacked you? Yikes.” Wide-eyed, Joy asked, “Were the men gangsters?”
“No. Just a couple of good old boys gone bad. How’s your online schooling coming along?” Colt changed the subject.
“I aced my creative writing test. My computer’s on. If you’re up to it, come on and I’ll show you,” urged Joy.
In their wake, Paula moved into the sunlight flooding through the window. At length, Colt returned alone and crossed to the window on his crutches. Paula glanced up from her quilting and found him looking on over her shoulder.
“Where’s Joy?”
“She’s finishing up something she’s writing, then she’s off for a swim,” he replied.
Joy sailed out of her room a short while later. Clad in a tangerine-colored swimsuit and matching sandals, she beckoned to Colt with a bejeweled finger. “Come sit in the sunshine, Dad.”
“Maybe I’ll settle for what’s coming through the window instead,” he replied.
Joy shot her parents an appraising glance that grew into a sly smile. She went her way, sandals slapping out a perky beat.
The pool was in full view of the window. Responding to his gentle chuckle, Paula asked, “What’s she up to now?”
“Come see.”
Paula shuttled the quilt and frame aside. She joined Colt at the window to find Joy orchestrating a game of follow the leader off the diving board.
“That’s my Joy. Never met a child she couldn’t coerce into playing with her.”
As Paula looked on, Joy executed a clumsy belly flop off the board.
“Ouch! That’s gotta smart.” Colt chuckled. “Better teach her how to tuck her head and go in clean.”
“She knows how. She’s testing their mettle.”
Together, they laughed as five kids followed suit, smacking the water one by one. The perfect jackknife Joy executed next was a good deal harder for the other children to copy.
“Say! She’s pretty good,” said Colt.
Hearing the pride Joy’s dive had surprised in him, Paula felt the tug of a bond as yet unexplored. The accompanying tenderness caught her off guard. Paula withdrew to her chair. But Colt lingered at the window, watching Joy. A hush fell between them. He remained there a long while.
So long, Paula was about to offer him a chair when he eased out a weary sigh and hobbled back to the sofa. The simple act of lowering himself to the cushions was an effort for a man on crutches. Shifting his injured leg to the ottoman appeared to be a job, too. And painful. He winced as he did so.
“Would you like a pillow for your foot?” asked Paula.
“No, thanks. I’m comfortable,” he claimed. Paula snipped off a new length of thread and pushed it through the eye of her needle. “You were limping before that car struck you. A previous injury, they said at the hospital. Was that career-related, too?”
“I like an assignment with some edge to it,” he conceded.
Paula watched him pass a hand over his scarred face. She was beginning to recognize the gesture as habitual. “So you’ve made a life of putting yourself in harm’s way for a by line?”
“Asks the woman who services high-rise signs for a living.”
“Jake and his crew do the sky work. I’m too claustrophobic to be much use at working be hind sign faces,” Paula admitted.
“So what’s your niche?”
“I bend neon, answer the phone and keep books.”
Colt’s smile warmed his worn demeanor.
“Does that make you upper management?”
“That would be Jake. I’ve got enough to do, raising Joy.”
“You’ve done a fine job. Though you might want to address that willful streak of hers. Did she get that from you?”
“Oh, sure. Blame it on me!”
Mingled laughter eased into a harmonious silence as Paula resumed quilting. The ticking of the nearby clock accompanied the whisper of thread through cotton layers. The refrigerator hummed in the galley kitchen. Music droned softly in the background.
At length, Paula looked to see Colt’s eyes drifting shut. Her muscles had grown stiff from sitting so long. She shifted her head first to one side, then the other.
“Stiff neck?” Colt spoke up.
“Shoulders, too,” she admitted. “Did I wake you?”
“I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes.”
Colt hobbled onto his crutches and circled behind her armchair. By the time Paula ascertained his intention, it was awkward to protest. Colt kneaded with one hand the tender place at the base of her neck.
Her skin heated to his hands. “That’s good. Thanks,” she murmured and sat forward.
Colt supported his weight against the back of the chair, freeing both hands in an effort to give her stiff muscles his full attention. His thumbs were strong and unerring, his fingers intuitive as they moved over her shoulders and upper back.
Like a sanding block in a carpenter’s palm, his hands made dust of Paula’s composure. Every nuance of his scent—his soap, his shaving cream, the spice of his cologne—evoked memories. She came to her feet so quickly, the quilt and frame tumbled out of her lap. Tangling her feet in them, she fought for her balance on every level.
“Steady there!” cautioned Colt, reaching over the chair to lend his support. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Face averted, Paula swept the quilt and frame from the floor. “You’re free to run along home now.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just go!” Paula wheeled to face him with a fiery glance.
Colt’s startled expression shifted to one more discerning. Like a shadow passing over a field, perception gave way to silent compliance. He got his crutches beneath him and hobbled to the connecting door before turning back to meet her harried demeanor.
“What is it now?”
“About these mood swings of yours…” he began.
“Mood swings?” Emotional rope unraveling, Paula countered, “You’re calling me moody?”
“Yesterday, you were all thistles. Your chin climbed a little higher every time I opened my mouth. This morning, you were the sweet woman I’ve carried in my memory all these years. About the time I decide you’ve had a change of heart toward me, the wind shifts.”
“Oh. So you’re upset because I asked you to leave.”
“I’m not upset. I’m confused. What is it you want from me, anyway?”
“I want you to keep your word, Colton!” Paula lowered stinging eyes. “We agreed to be very careful with Joy, did we not?”
“Your rules, and yes, I did agree,” he admitted. “I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to spend time with my daughter.”
“Exactly! And nothing’s changed,” Paula retorted, “So just keep your hands to yourself, all right?”
“I will. I’m sorry if I offended you,” he added.
“Forget it.” Paula wanted to let the whole subject die a quick death.
A silent plea darkened his pewter-colored eyes as he searched her face. His hand moved over his scars again. His lips parted, and still he paused, as if choosing his words with great care. “Could I say one more thing?”
“About what?”
“About us.”
“There is no us.”
“Maybe not now. But if the weather should change and the temperature should rise…”
“Go home, Colt. Please?” she pleaded.
“Just humor me. What’s the harm in rethinking it?” he coaxed softly.
Paula bit her tongue to keep from being softened by his powers of persuasion. They traded a long glance, his tinged in regrets. His crutches, padded though they were, echoed across the floor of her heart like tramping feet.
Hot, isn’t it? She had only to say it and even now, he would turn back with the anticipated response. And then what? Paula raked a hand through her hair, torn even as the connecting door latched behind Colt. She locked it on her side. It was a good deal harder to lock down awakened desires that had slumbered so long, she had relegated them to her past.
It left her shaken. Not the fact that she had desires. But that Colt could still awaken them. The one who had battered and beaten her heart could not only hurt her feelings, but evoke a physical response. Sweet woman, indeed! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Too restless to sit and quilt, Paula went out doors. Seeing her, Joy climbed out of the pool.
“Where’s Dad?” she asked.
“He went to his room. My guess is he’s resting.”
“Can I go see?”
Paula started to discourage her, then gave it up. “Put on some dry clothes first.”
Joy bid her new friends goodbye and went inside. She had showered and changed by the time Paula returned to her quilting. But Colt didn’t answer Joy’s knock.
Disappointed, Joy retreated. “I’ll be in my room, if he calls.”
When the call came, it was a dinner invitation that included Paula. But wisdom dictated otherwise. Paula went for a walk instead. Along the way, she paced back over the years, trying to connect with the woman-child she had been when she first began mooning over a billboard, little knowing that handsome image would materialize into the flesh-and-blood man of her dreams.
But how could the power of that attraction span a dozen-plus lonely years and bushwhack her all over again?
Unable to explain her churning emotions Paula stopped for a bite to eat, then resumed her walk, arriving back at the lodge at dusk.
She settled in the tub for a long soak in lavender-scented water, then dressed for bed and crawled between the sheets to decompress with a suspense novel by her favorite Christian author.
But it wasn’t the story line running through her mind as she turned out the lamp and curled her arm around her pillow.
It was Colt’s soft plea, “What’s the harm in rethinking it?”
Was he bidding for reconciliation? If so, why? Did he still have feelings for her? Or was reconciliation a sacrifice he was willing to make in exchange for the chance to be an everyday father to Joy?