How in the world was Mara supposed to stand up in front of Maple Valley’s town leaders and make an eloquent speech asking for grant funds if she couldn’t, well, stand?
“I can’t wear these shoes, Jenessa.” She closed the passenger-side door of the newspaperwoman’s classic convertible and took a wobbled step onto the curb. “High heels and I—we don’t go together.”
No matter if they did look perfect with the gray pencil skirt she wore—also on loan from Jenessa—and her own blue scoop-necked sweater.
Jenessa moved around the car to join Mara on the sidewalk under the glow of a brass streetlamp. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for the shoes. They’re a hundred times better than those canvas things you were wearing earlier, and they’ll give you confidence when you’re up in front of half the town.”
“Heels only give confidence to women who can actually walk in them.” And were that many people really going to be here this evening? Was that why they’d had to park almost two blocks from the restaurant hosting tonight’s gathering? Someplace called The Red Door—probably the lit-up building down on the corner. The one surrounded by vehicles.
“I didn’t realize there’d be a crowd.”
“There’s not much for weeknight entertainment around here.” Jenessa shrugged. “Town meetings are basically social hour.”
A breeze danced through the quaint town center, swaying the nimble limbs of the saplings that dotted the square and twirling an empty flower basket that hung from a lamppost. The white, burnished light of a full moon backlit the wispiest of clouds in a midnight sky.
A gorgeous night after a frenzied day.
It’d been eight hours since Jenessa had swept into the Everwood and announced that she’d secured Mara a spot on tonight’s agenda. Mara still hadn’t caught her breath. She’d gone from getting Lucas, Jenessa’s friend, checked in to preparing a presentation for the meeting. She’d reread all the Maple Valley brochures in the lobby display case, practically memorized the town’s event calendar, and practiced at least a dozen different introductions.
But what would a well-worded introduction matter when she didn’t have an operating budget or business plan yet?
“I’m not prepared for this,” she said, teetering as she stopped midway down the sidewalk. “Shouldn’t I wait until the next town meeting? How can I get up there and ask for ten or twenty or thirty thousand dollars when I can’t provide a revenue and expense chart or—”
Jenessa laced her arm through Mara’s to steady her. “I’m telling you, Mara, these people—the mayor and all the rest of them—they aren’t going to care about charts or spreadsheets. Facts, numbers, and logic aren’t the key to winning this crowd over. It’s all about your joie de vivre and town spirit.”
And her shoes, apparently.
Jenessa had insisted on accompanying Mara to the meeting. She’d stopped at the Everwood an hour ago to pick up Mara, but when she’d seen the basic khakis and button-down Mara had been wearing, she’d insisted on a wardrobe change. And she’d just happened to have the skirt and heels with her.
Just happened. Right.
They drew closer to the lights of The Red Door. From the outside, it was obvious the historic building had once been a bank, with its white block cement walls and the words FIRST NATIONAL BANK etched in stone above the bright entrance. The inside must have been renovated.
“Come on,” Jenessa said, tugging her along. “I told Sam to save us a couple seats, but we’re going to be late if we don’t pick up the pace. We spent too much time dawdling at the B&B.”
Because Mara had been stalling . . . hoping Marshall would show up.
She’d barely seen the man since their little adventure in the den this morning. He’d spent most of the day working in the lobby.
This afternoon, though, he’d slipped a paper underneath her bedroom door. A to-do list, just like he’d promised, with a scribbled note at the bottom. “See? No willy-nilly-ness. Going into town to take care of Item #3 now.”
Item #3: Replacing the front door the storm had ruined.
It’d made her laugh at the time, but that was hours ago. She would’ve thought he’d have returned in time for the meeting.
That is, if he meant to return at all. Maybe the enormity of what they’d set out to do had finally dawned on him, and he’d hightailed it. The thought stung more than it should. It wasn’t like they were dear friends. And the Everwood wasn’t his responsibility, after all.
“Now, you’ll remember everything I said?” Jenessa’s voice cut in, her purse bumping against her hip as she power-walked down the sidewalk. “About all the fairs and festivals and other town events Maple Valley hosts every summer that bring visitors to town? Actually, make that spring, summer, and fall. We even have a few winter shenanigans. We had an ice maze a couple of years ago, and there’s always a Christmas festival too.”
“I’ll remember.”
“And remind them how much we need the Everwood. We have antique stores and cute landmarks coming out of our ears but not one hotel.”
Her feet ached as she tried to match Jenessa’s pace. “I know.”
“And—”
“If we don’t slow down, I’m going to twist an ankle, and you’ll be stuck carrying me to that meeting.”
Jenessa laughed as she halted. “It’d be a grand entrance, at least.”
Mara slipped free of the shoes and bent to pick them up. “Ah, freedom.” Though the sidewalk felt like ice under her bare feet. But at least her leggings kept her calves from freezing, too. She caught up to Jenessa, and they hurried to the restaurant. “You know, I still don’t understand why you’re helping me.”
“Eh, I could use a good front-page story for next week’s edition of the Maple Valley News. A town newcomer out to save the spooky old B&B should do the trick.”
“Hmm, not as altruistic as I thought.”
Jenessa laughed and took the steps up to the restaurant entrance two at a time. But she paused at the top, fingers wrapped around the door handle. “Actually, if you want to know the truth, the day we met at the bakery, I saw you through the window before you came in. You looked lost. And lonely. And like you could use a friend. So here I am.”
Jenessa pulled open the door, but instead of the sound of voices and clinking dishes, it was the warmth of Jenessa’s honesty that drifted over Mara. Her kindness.
It reminded her of Lenora.
And it made Mara wish she hadn’t spent so much time living on the edge of Maple Valley without really being a part of the town. If she’d ventured in more often, maybe those five weeks without Lenora wouldn’t have felt so bleak. She might’ve found friends. Could’ve visited one of those cute little tourist spots she read about in the brochures.
Well, it wasn’t too late for that. As long as she could save the Everwood, that is, and secure her place here.
“I should’ve known you’d be barefoot.”
Mara dropped a shoe as she spun on the middle stair to see Marshall strolling toward The Red Door.
“I’ll go in and find our seats,” Jenessa said from the doorway.
Mara nodded and as the door closed and the restaurant chatter faded, relief skittered through her, as buoyant as the muted strains of music that floated from inside. “They’re Jenessa’s shoes,” she blurted when Marshall reached her. “Well, not so much shoes as deathtraps.”
Marshall crouched to retrieve the lone heel, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he rose. “Your deathtrap, ma’am,” he said with a gallant drawl.
The tips of his hair were damp and he smelled of cedar and soap. The slant of light from the restaurant angled over his bristled face, illuminating long eyelashes, the slope of his nose, and the faintest lines at the corners of his eyes.
And maybe too a hovering hint of tiredness.
“You’re here,” she finally said.
“The local hardware store didn’t have everything I was looking for, so I ended up going to Ames. Took longer than I thought. I would’ve called but I don’t have your number. I ran back to the Everwood to clean up, but you were already gone.” He rubbed his fingers against his temple as he spoke.
“You all right?”
“Just a headache.”
He must’ve raced if he’d managed to jump in the shower before catching up with them here. “You didn’t have to come, Marshall.”
“Of course I did. I’m your moral support. Your cheerleader.”
“Where are your pom-poms?”
“It’s more of a mental, internal cheerleading style.”
“I’m glad.”
“That I don’t have pom-poms?” He reached for the restaurant door behind her and held it open.
“No, that you’re here.” She ducked inside without looking back at him, half-embarrassed at just how much she’d meant those words.
But there wasn’t time now to think about it—the embarrassment or the fact that in just forty-eight hours Marshall Hawkins had somehow become a regular in her life, a source of stability. She had to focus on this meeting, which was apparently just about to get going. The music had cut off and the room was quieting.
She caught sight of Jenessa waving from a seat up front. But where would Marshall sit? The place was packed.
“Go on, Mara,” he whispered from behind her. “I’ll find a spot to stand.”
She looked over her shoulder. “But—”
“Good luck.” His voice was low and close to her ear. “And if you want my advice, skip the heels. Give the presentation barefoot. It’ll charm the audience.”
Marshall pressed through the throng of people packed into the restaurant, finding a spot along one wall, wishing he’d thought to grab something to eat back at the Everwood.
Every once in a while he’d get just lucky enough to fend off a migraine with food. Not often, but sometimes.
Maybe he could order a burger. This was a restaurant, after all.
Though it didn’t look much like any restaurant he’d seen before—not considering the exterior. While a man behind a podium up front welcomed folks to the meeting, Marshall looked around. The place was remarkable—an inviting mix of exposed brick and wood, eclectic light fixtures, and long, yawning windows that overlooked the river on one side and the town square on the other. In one corner, a fire crackled behind a marble hearth.
“Used to be a bank.”
Marshall swung a glance to the man standing next to him. Oh, the cop who’d come to talk to Mara the other day. Was that really only yesterday? He fought the urge to rub his temple again. “Must’ve been gutted down to its studs.”
The man nodded, the look in his eyes one Marshall knew well—the practiced study of a policeman. Inquisitive with an edge of distrust. But his low voice was friendly enough. “Local guy named Seth Walker bought the place a few years ago. Shocked us all when we saw it for the first time after it opened.”
Up front, a man with white hair and matching bushy brows spoke in a booming voice. “Before we dive in tonight, I just want to remind everyone about the pet fashion show coming up next week. Every pet is welcome. Even that iguana of yours, Haddie Young.”
Somewhere near the front, a squeal rang out.
“A pet fashion show?” Oops, had he said that out loud?
The cop grunted. “Mayor Milt’s latest addition to the community event calendar. Nothing I love more than watching town newbies discover what a whackadoo place they’ve landed in.”
Whackadoo seemed about right. Earlier today when Marshall had been at Klassen’s Hardware in downtown Maple Valley, no fewer than four people had walked up to him to introduce themselves. Two of them had already known his name and all four knew that he was staying at the Everwood.
He might’ve done some investigating right then to figure out how news spread so lightning fast around these parts if not for the need to drive over to Ames. He’d ended up spending far too many hours roaming the aisles of a big box store . . . and before he’d comprehended what he was doing, he’d not only picked out a new front door but new shutters too. Then he’d gone and loaded his cart with primer and rollers and paint.
It wasn’t until he was halfway back to Maple Valley that he’d felt it—the first hint of a dull throbbing. And the sudden awareness of what he’d done. Blue paint. Deep blue. Like the shutters and door of Laney’s house.
“We’ll have a house just like Green Gables sometime, Daddy. Only I want a blue door.”
“Will we call it Blue Gables? Should I start calling you Laney of Blue Gables?”
His insides churned even now. He’d taken four ibuprofen an hour ago on an empty stomach. Stupid idea.
But at least he was here. He hadn’t given in to the oncoming migraine. Yet.
“. . . happy to introduce Mara, uh . . . Mara?”
Marshall blinked. Mara was first up on the agenda?
The man—the mayor, according to the cop—turned to where Mara had only just lowered onto a chair. “Hmm. I don’t know your last name, young lady.”
Even from here Marshall could see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Reminded him of the way she’d startled when their new guest first showed himself into the den this morning—Lucas Somebody-or-other. A flash of fear, then and now. There and gone in a moment.
He barely heard her soft response to the mayor.
Awkward seconds passed as Mara left her seat, her steps uncertain in those silly heels. Guess she hadn’t taken his advice. But she made it to the podium, opened her folder, shuffled its pages. Looked up. “Uh, hi, everyone.”
“Louder,” came a call from the back of the room.
Come on, Mara. You can do this.
Mara coughed, her knuckles white where she gripped the podium’s edge. “Hi, um, I’m Mara. I’m . . . that is, I . . . ” She swallowed. “I currently manage the Everwood Bed & Breakfast. I’m here to formally apply for funding from the Maple Valley Emergency Business Fund.”
At least she was speaking louder now. But she seemed stiff, unsure. He tugged at his collar. Was anyone else overheating in here? And was he just imagining it or was Mara scanning the crowd as if looking for someone? Looking for him?
“I know many of you probably haven’t been inside the Everwood’s doors in years. And to be honest, I don’t blame you.” The slight lilt in her tone did its job, drawing a smattering of chuckles from the townspeople. “But I don’t think the Everwood’s best days are behind it. I want to restore it and fill it with guests. I have a plan. And . . . and a partner too.”
Finally, Mara’s gaze landed on Marshall. And for one bewildering moment, everything else faded—his headache, the crowd, the simmering frustration that had begun on his drive back to Maple Valley when he’d realized how foolish he’d been to think the migraines and memories wouldn’t find him here.
What had Mara just called him?
Partner.
With patient deliberation, she closed her folder and toed off her heels. And the way she was smiling, looking at him like . . .
Like he wasn’t the fractured man he knew he was. A man who, at the merest hint of a headache, had already begun craving the numbing fog of a sleeping pill. Or, better yet, a few painkillers and a dark room.
He swiped at a bead of sweat on his forehead. Forced an encouraging smile and nodded at her.
She went on, a new confidence backing her voice. “I never meant to end up in Iowa. I’d never even heard of Maple Valley. But the first day I walked into the Everwood, I knew I’d found something special.”
On she continued, barefooted and poised. Telling of the Everwood’s potential, its unique allure and picturesque surroundings. She described the fiery colors of the grove last autumn, the snow-blanketed hills in the winter, the roses she couldn’t wait to see bloom around the arbor this spring.
And he was . . . entranced. Was this truly the same woman who’d panicked when she’d found him ripping out wallpaper this morning?
“Underneath its outdated trappings, the Everwood has a beating heart of hospitality and history in this community. It’s been a haven to me, and I’d like the chance to make it so for others.”
Soon, the questions began: Did she have any reservations booked for coming months? Could she get the Everwood fixed up in time for the Maple Valley Scenic Railway’s spring opening? How did she intend to compete with the Peony Inn in Dixon or the hotels in Ames or even Des Moines?
Every question she addressed with composure and calm. But each time her glance returned to him, he heard that word again. Partner. With every thud in his head, he thought of that blue paint out in his truck.
And no matter how many times he blinked, swallowed, or rubbed clammy palms over his torso, he couldn’t stop it from happening. The memory, banishing him from the present until he was back there again . . .
In Laney’s silent bedroom with her book in his hands. A paperback, cover creased and pages yellowed. His voice as ragged as his heart. “We started reading this during her first stint in the hospital. I wish we’d had a chance to get to the end before . . . ”
And Penny, from the doorway, “We did get to the end, Marsh. Then we moved on to Anne of Avonlea. You just . . . weren’t there for it. You were too busy calling other doctors and researching fringe medical trials and experiments.”
He’d never forget the look on Penny’s face when he turned—a ceaseless swirl of pity. And worse, accusation.
Partner. Penny was supposed to be his partner. For better or for worse. Instead, she’d left him at his worst. Found someone else who could be her better.
He jolted from his perch by the wall, pushed through the crowd and made his way outside. Cold air tinged with moisture hit his perspiring skin. One deep breath after another, one step after another . . .
He turned away from the lights of the town square, moving instead toward the river he’d crossed over on his way to the restaurant.
“Marshall Hawkins.”
He halted, lungs still heaving and head pounding. Footsteps caught up with him. He blinked, grasping for control, and gripped the hand stretched toward him before taking in the face it belonged to.
Of course. The cop. And he knew Marshall’s name. Had he taken down Marshall’s plate number yesterday too? Or maybe he’d just been hanging around the hardware store.
“Name’s Sam Ross. I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”
Marshall started walking again. “About what?”
The man strode beside him. He was nearly as tall as Marshall, and he didn’t so much as flinch at Marshall’s blunt tone. “Skipping small talk. Fine by me. I have some questions about you, the Everwood, Mara. Mostly, Lenora Worthington.”
“Doubt I’ll have answers. Is there a twenty-four-hour pharmacy in this town?”
“Come on, Hawkins, you’re a cop, a detective.”
“And you obviously did your homework.”
Gone was any hint of the friendliness from earlier at the restaurant. “Yeah, I did, so don’t tell me you don’t also have a sense that something’s up at that house. I met Lenora Worthington. I’m finding it hard to accept she’d just leave her business in the hands of a woman with no experience, who’s apparently taking it over and—”
Marshall stopped again. “Aren’t you the one who just yesterday told Mara the owner had most likely cut ties when she realized she was going to lose the Everwood to the bank? Now you’re trying to tell me . . . what?”
“That I’ve started looking into this. That I think there’s more to it. And if you don’t want to talk now, fine.” Sam Ross’s eyes hardened. “You can come see me at the station tomorrow.”
Marshall gave a curt nod. “Time?” He was being rude and moody and needlessly uncooperative—everything that drove him crazy when he was the one on the job. But his empty stomach roiled and he was too close to feeling too much.
“How’s 10 a.m.?”
“Fine.”
“There’s a pharmacy on the corner of Main and Betsy Lane,” Sam called after him.
But Marshall was already moving again toward the fingers of moonlight combing the ripples of the river. As if they promised any escape.
The headlights of Jenessa’s convertible revealed a tall form at work on the Everwood’s porch. Marshall’s back was rigid, his arms clutching the edges of a front door as he crossed the porch.
“Well, I guess you know where he disappeared to,” Jenessa said.
Mara unbuckled her seatbelt, Jenessa’s idling vehicle vibrating under her bare feet. This is why Marshall had walked out in the middle of her presentation? Because he couldn’t wait to install the new door?
“Thanks for the ride. And the heels and the skirt. I’ll make sure to get them back to you.” She slid on the shoes and refused to let herself wince. “And thanks for making that presentation happen. I can’t believe . . . ” That she’d done it. That it’d turned out the way it had.
That the plan Marshall had concocted last night had become even more of a reality.
“You did amazing tonight,” Jenessa said. “Seriously, I don’t know why you were nervous. Everybody loved you. And you have a check coming your way.”
Yes. Yes, she did. Except she’d had to make some steep promises. That’s the part that scared her.
“By the way, I’m free tomorrow morning. A perk of running the newspaper practically on my own—flexible hours. I’ll come out and help paint or clean or something.”
Mara shook her head. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need—”
“Hey, I was serious about being a friend. And don’t worry, there’s plenty in it for me, too. All I’ve got for best buds right now are Sam and Lucas. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em both. But a girl needs at least one good female kindred spirit, right?”
“And that’s what I am?”
Jenessa tipped her head. “I think you could be. We can test it out.” She grinned.
A kindred spirit. Mara liked the sound of that.
With a quick goodbye, she slipped from Jenessa’s car, zipping up the hoodie she’d shrugged into once she’d escaped The Red Door’s crowd. She’d heard someone talking tonight about coming snow. She could believe it, with the way the nighttime chill cloaked her as she made her way across the lawn.
Muscles in Marshall’s back strained as he held the new door under its frame as if assessing the fit. An electric drill propped near the threshold looked brand new. Had he bought it just so he could install those hinges for the door? How much of his own money had he spent today?
Questions that had plagued her ever since last night hobbled in all over again. What kind of man dropped everything to stick around and help a stranger fix up a rundown B&B? Didn’t he have a job to get back to? Where’d he been on his way to when he’d stopped at the Everwood in the first place?
And why had he ditched the meeting so abruptly?
He didn’t turn at the sound of Jen’s car rumbling away. Nor at Mara’s careful steps over the porch’s damaged stairs.
“You could give a girl a complex, you know,” she said to his turned back. “Walking out in the middle of my presentation. Pretending you don’t hear me now.”
He gave something of a grunt. Set the door down. Angled to face her.
And she saw what she hadn’t before the meeting. The shadows in and around his eyes were back.
But apology hovered there too. “Sorry about that.”
“Was my speech too boring?”
He pulled one arm across his chest, stretching muscle or maybe simply stalling. “You weren’t boring. You were great. You really were.”
She could see that he meant it, and she had the sudden desire to tell him everything. Not just how the meeting had turned out, but what had happened inside of her as she’d presented.
She’d discovered something tonight as she stood up in front of all those people. She’d finally figured out the answer to that question Lenora had asked her so many months ago, the one about what she used to dream of as a kid. As she’d talked about the Everwood and its place in the community, her own buried desire had come out of hiding.
She hadn’t dreamed of a career as a kid. She’d dreamed of a place. In those childhood years of moving from town to town, she’d longed for belonging. In her young adult years of nannying, sleeping in beds and rooms and houses that weren’t truly her own, she’d wished for a home.
Now she had the opportunity to stop wishing and start doing.
No, it wasn’t her name on the deed to the Everwood. But it was just like Marshall said—Mara was here, Lenora wasn’t. Nobody at tonight’s meeting had questioned Mara’s role at the B&B. Nor had they treated her as a stranger.
The Everwood could be her home. Maple Valley could be her place to belong.
But she couldn’t tell all that to a man she barely knew. Even if she had begun to feel an uncanny connection to him. In just a couple of days, he’d slid into life at the Everwood as if he too had belonged here all along.
“Aren’t you at least going to ask how it turned out?” she finally asked.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He turned away, combing his fingers through his hair, and when he faced her again, all the angles of his face seemed at once sharp and downcast. “I’m not a hero, Mara,” he blurted.
“What?” For the third or fourth time tonight, she kicked off Jen’s heels.
“You said it yourself last night and again this morning. You don’t know me at all.”
“You’re Marshall Hawkins. Thirty-five. Milwaukee.”
No reply.
“I thought you’d be slightly more impressed that I got the city right this time.”
“I’m sorry I left the meeting early. I had a headache. I needed air.” He hefted the door with a frown. “But Mara, you don’t know the kind of person I am. I don’t want you to think . . . ” He struggled to fit the door into place as the hinges refused to line up. He gave a frustrated push.
Where was this coming from? She leaned one hand on the wall. “That you’re a hero? Okay. Done. You’re being bested by an inanimate object at the moment, so it’s not the hardest thing to believe.”
He didn’t so much as crack a grin.
“If you’re not going to ask, fine, I’ll just tell you. The city council approved us for twenty thousand dollars. It’ll take over a fourth of it to get caught up on the mortgage, but that’s still almost fifteen grand left for paint and furniture and carpet and repairing this porch and paying you back for whatever you spent today and—”
“You don’t have to pay me back.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why are you arguing?”
She huffed. “Why are you?”
“I’m not—”
“And why aren’t you wearing a coat? It’s freezing out here.”
He’d finally fit the door into place, and now he turned, the lights from inside tracing his profile. She could see a hint of those lines etched around his mouth—the ones until now buried under his frustration. “I’m glad the meeting turned out well, Mara. Congratulations on getting the grant.”
At least he sounded sincere. “Yeah, well, I had to agree to some stipulations. For one thing, it’s not a straight-up grant. It’s more of a forgivable loan. I have to submit a business plan with specific project outcomes. The city council wants to review our progress”—and the clincher—“at an open house in three weeks.”
“Three weeks.” To his credit, he didn’t flinch.
“The depot and scenic railroad opens in April. Business at the antique stores picks up this time of year. There’s some spring festival coming up too. Basically, they want the Everwood ready for tourist season, I guess.”
“So we wow their socks off at an open house. In three weeks. And just like that, they forgive the loan?”
She nodded. Waited. Wished he’d assure her it was doable. Instead, his gray eyes strayed past her toward the sound of tires over gravel.
Moments later, a car door slammed and a form emerged. She didn’t gasp this time at the sight of Lucas Danby. No shudder, no instant fear of Garrett. Jenessa’s friend had left this morning soon after checking in, but it’d been enough time for Mara to get over his resemblance to Garrett.
And yet, she must’ve had some reaction just now because Marshall picked up on it. He took a step closer to her, a spark of concern filling his otherwise empty gaze.
“He just looks like someone I used to know,” she said, answering his unasked question. “That’s all.”
Lucas climbed the porch steps. He wore a stocking cap and a fatigue that seemed to weigh down his movements. Jenessa had told Mara this morning that he worked at the local apple orchard his sister owned.
He gave a simple greeting as he passed them, thanked Mara for the room, and disappeared into the house.
Marshall bent to retrieve his drill. “He’s a quiet one.”
“I don’t know if I remembered to tell him breakfast hours.”
Marshall pulled open the door then shut it, testing his work. “You’re not just going to serve him Lucky Charms?”
“I’ll have you know I make amazing blueberry muffins. With a lemon glaze and everything.” Wind rattled through branches and off in the distance, a squirrel’s climb pattered into the hush of the night. “Guess I’ll get inside. Thanks for the front door.”
Marshall nodded and she stepped inside, Jenessa’s shoes dangling from one hand. Just when she thought he meant to let her leave without anything further, she heard his voice behind her. “I’m sorry again, Mara. For . . . disappearing.”
She turned. “Well, you missed a riveting second half of the agenda. After voting on the grant, there was a huge debate about whether to plant pansies or anemones in the town square’s flowerpots this year.”
He closed the front door and turned its lock.
“And Marshall?”
He set his drill on the check-in counter and faced her.
“For the record, if you hadn’t shown up here, I might still be sitting around waiting for Lenora to return. There might still be a tree in the entryway. And I certainly wouldn’t have found the gumption on my own to start making things happen. You’re putting your life on hold to help me out.”
“Maybe I don’t have much of a life to put on hold.”
“I’m just saying, kindness is its own shade of heroism. And whatever else you are, Marshall, you are that—kind. And I’m grateful.” Without waiting to see how he took in her words, she turned and headed toward Lenora’s room.
Her room.