Chapter Eight
“You certainly made that job fast and easy,” Willa said. “Thanks, Max!”
“I have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?” She hung her apron on a peg near the door.
“Will you walk with me? Outside?”
“I wish I could, but I have to tuck Frannie in for the night, and sometimes, it takes a while.”
“There are blueprints in my truck. I can look them over while you’re upstairs.”
She glanced toward the window, where darkness had made the glass seem like a black mirror. “Well, all right, if you’re sure you don’t mind waiting . . .”
“Not at all.” He’d wait until midnight if it took that long!
A few minutes later, he’d spread the drawings on the kitchen table, and kept them flat by placing a big glass saltshaker on one corner, the pepper on the other.
“What is this?” Dan asked, leaning over the plans.
“Albertson gave these to me at our meeting today. It shows the layout of the homes that he wants us to build in Frostburg.”
“Half-acre lots?”
“Quarter acre.”
“Clever man, that Albertson, calling the development Royal Valley Overlook.”
Max had to agree. The name drew a picture of expansive vistas, and while it was true that most lots would have views of Big Savage Mountain in the Allegheny range, buyers would live in very close proximity to their neighbors.
“Frostburg is a college town. Students cannot afford single-family homes.”
“True, but Albertson believes their parents can.”
Dan only shook his head.
“We will give them their money’s worth. We always do.”
“And make money ourselves?”
Max peeled back the top sheet and exposed the job’s projected cost-to-profit numbers.
“Do these figures consider materials? Wear and tear on our vehicles? Time spent, driving to and from the jobsite?”
Max thought he understood his partner’s lack of enthusiasm for the project: His unpredictable wife would be alone for a minimum of ten hours, every workday.
“Willa will look after Anki.”
“She is a hard worker, I will grant you that. But she cannot be in two places at once.”
In other words, she couldn’t take care of Anki while working for Emily. He needed to find a way to ease his partner’s mind, because this contract would keep their employees working for at least two years ... important, since every man had a wife and children to provide for.
“We can alternate days, overseeing the job. And ... and perhaps we can ask Willa to adjust her hours at the clinic. Or, I am happy to run the site while you manage the schedule, from here at our office. One way or another, we can make sure Anki will never be alone.”
The man’s fist hit the table hard enough to overturn the salt and pepper shakers. Max righted them and dusted black and white granules from the drawings.
“If only she would stop behaving like a spoiled child!”
It wasn’t the first time Max had heard such a complaint, and unless Anki’s condition improved dramatically—and soon—it wouldn’t be the last.
“Every day, I pray, Max. I have prayed until my knees are callused. Yet every day, she is worse, not better.” Dan slumped into a chair, held his head in his hands. “I do not know what to do.”
Max searched his heart, hoping God would deliver words to comfort and reassure his friend. A verse from Psalms came to mind: O God, do not remain silent. But memorized Scripture was the last thing Dan needed to hear right now. Max knew this because after the fatal buggy accident, after the deadly house fire, and a hundred times in between, he, too, had questioned God. The lesson—if he could call it that—wasn’t terribly satisfying: Faith is the ability to trust that, in the end, the Lord will make things right; from God’s viewpoint, heaven is the end. Not an easy concept for mere humans, who yearn for here-and-now physical and emotional comforts, to accept.
“Together,” Max said, placing a hand on Dan’s shoulder, “we will help Anki.”
If the words sounded this trivial and hollow in his own ears, he could only imagine how empty they’d sounded to Dan.
Willa came into the room, and instantly, the atmosphere lightened.
“Frannie is asleep?” Max asked.
“Amazingly, yes.” She glanced at the blueprints. “Your next job?”
Dan said, “It is. And we will need your help.”
Laughing, Willa said, “My help? I can sketch a bit, but I doubt I could draw house plans. And I don’t know a thing about house building. Why, last time I tried to hammer a nail, it bent sideways, and I smashed my thumb!”
Max smiled. “Help with Anki,” he explained. “Once we begin, our days will be long . . .”
“Oh. Right. I get it. And you don’t want her to be alone.” She met Dan’s eyes. “I’m happy to step in whenever and wherever I’m needed.”
He still looked troubled. “There are only so many hours in a day, and you are only one woman.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” she teased.
Her joke fell flat, and cringing slightly, Willa slid the salt and pepper shakers aside and rolled up the drawings. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but as far as I know, only one thing is written in stone.” Snapping the rubber band into place on the tube, she added, “The Ten Commandments.”
Dan’s brow furrowed.
“If we’re all willing to be flexible, things will work out. Emily won’t mind if I ask her to make a few changes to my schedule. She’s been an absolute doll, helping me with my classes.”
“I do not want my private business spread throughout Pleasant Valley,” he thundered.
“Don’t worry, Dan, I promise to explain things in a way that doesn’t give away too many details.”
Interesting choice of words, Max thought, because in this case, a few details might be just enough to tell the bigger story.
“I suppose I have no choice but to take you at your word.” Dan filled a glass with water, and after gulping it down, said, “There are many things to do in the morning. I am going to bed. And pray that sleep comes quickly.”
“I’ll pray for that, too,” Willa told him.
“As will I.”
Dan responded with a grunt, then fixed his gaze on Max. “You have many things to do tomorrow, as well.”
The not-so-subtle hint wasn’t lost on Max or Willa, who didn’t talk as Dan’s footsteps squeaked up the stairs and across the floor above them. When all was quiet, she whispered, “Lord, bless him with a good night’s rest.”
“Amen. If anyone needs it, it is Dan.”
She opened a sideboard drawer and withdrew a clean apron. As she unfolded it, Max said, “What do you need that for?”
The rules were clear: Modest clothing honored the Lord and protected men from impure thoughts. He couldn’t speak for others, but he had better things to think about than what might be hidden under dresses and aprons.
“I need the pockets.” She clicked a switch on the palm-size receiver in her hand, and a dozen tiny red lights flashed. “I only use this when Frannie is in her crib, and I need to step outside. The transmitter is upstairs. If she fusses, even a little bit, I can hear it, and get to her before she disturbs Dan and Anki.”
Willa held the unit to his ear, and he heard Frannie’s steady, soft breaths. Oh, what a sweet, peaceful sound!
“Once she’s down for the night, she rarely wakes up, but why take chances, right?” She dropped it into her pocket. “Dan and Anki have been good to Frannie and me, y’know? I don’t want to disturb their rest if I can help it.”
“Yes, of course.”
Willa grabbed her shawl, and while draping it around her shoulders, said, “Where’s your jacket?”
“In the truck.” He picked up the roll of blueprints and opened the door. “The better question is, what about you? Is that flimsy thing going to keep you warm out there?”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll just have to come back inside, won’t we?”
She said it so matter-of-factly that Max had to agree.
He eased the door shut behind them and led the way down the porch steps. “Looks like the clouds have lifted.”
“I love nights like this, when the moon is just bright enough to make everything look ... creepy. One of these days, I’m going to paint a scene just like this one.”
“This is the first time I have heard anyone refer to moonlight as creepy.” Grinning, he shrugged into his jacket. “I did not realize you were a painter.”
“Not in the league of Rembrandt or Van Gogh, but I can hold my own with any kindergarten class in the state!”
“It has been my experience that when people say such things about their talents, it is because they have talents.”
“Is Rascal home alone?” she asked, walking beside him.
“He is.”
“I feel bad for the poor thing. He seems to love people. It’s a shame that he has to spend so much time alone.”
“He has the run of the house, and once I’m home, he doesn’t leave my side.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Was she . . . was she judging him? For the way he cared for his dog? Max didn’t quite know what to make of that.
“Dan is pretty worried about Anki, isn’t he?”
“Seems so,” Max said.
“I feel so helpless. I wish I knew what to do for her, what to say, to make her happy.”
“As I told Dan, we can pray. There is little more we can do.”
“I disagree. Emily could probably help her. There are hundreds of medications on the market designed to control depression.”
“She is in God’s hands.”
“That’s just silly, Max. God blessed Emily—and doctors everywhere—with the talent and know-how to care for people like Anki. Who’s to say He isn’t just waiting for one of us to use our heads for something other than to hold up our hats, and take the necessary steps to get her the help she needs?”
She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, that much was sure!
“I just have to think of a way to tell Emily, without telling her, you know, because—”
“Because Dan specifically told you not to.”
“No, what he said was, he didn’t want their business spread all over town. Emily is legally bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. And even if the oath wasn’t in play, she’s a good person. She’ll keep things to herself for no reason other than it’s the right thing to do.”
“You should discuss it with Dan first.”
“Mmm-hmm . . .”
Max didn’t like this turn of the conversation. Yes, Anki needed help, and while it was possible that Emily could provide it, Dan was the head of the Hofman house, and such decisions should be his, and his alone. It didn’t set well with him, knowing that Willa seemed bound and determined to interfere . . . even if it was for good reason.
She stopped walking and wrapped the shawl tighter around her. “Would you just look at that! If I had my paints and brushes, I’d do my best to capture that on canvas.”
Max followed her line of vision, where moonlight skimmed the mountaintops, glowing bright on the highest peaks and fading as it slipped into rocky outcroppings.
“So you really are a painter?”
“Well, it’s fun to pretend. Sometimes.” Ducking deeper into the shawl, she said, “I’ll bet the mountains are even more beautiful, covered with snow.”
“Beautiful, yes, and dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“Icy roads. Livestock trapped in snowdrifts. The weight of it making roofs collapse.”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s too bad. But ... why not appreciate the beauty of it now, before all that ugly stuff happens, right?”
He had to agree. Why not focus on the good, rather than the bad?
They walked to the end of the drive, where Willa peeked into the mailbox. “Nothing,” she said.
“You seem surprised. But why, when the mailman makes his rounds in the morning?”
“I keep hoping . . .” She closed the door. “See, when I first got to Pleasant Valley, Dan sometimes asked me to check the mail after supper, to see if a neighbor might have left a little note, asking Anki to set aside a jar of apple butter or preserves from her shop.”
Max couldn’t remember the last time Anki had spent any time in her shop. It was one of Dan’s main complaints, because he didn’t know what to do with the products that lined the shelves ... shelves he’d built at her request.
“When was the last time he got a note?”
“A long time, I’m guessing. I never found one.”
“Does Dan still ask you to check?”
Willa shook her head. “No.”
Her voice had gone from lively and musical to quiet and dull. She spent a lot of time with Anki. It must be hard, he thought, watching the woman sink deeper and deeper into despair. Max slowed his pace, hoping words would materialize . . . words that might bolster her spirits. Unfortunately, none did.
“It’s just all so . . . weird.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been fooling myself, I guess. Here I was, going around thinking I’ve been a friend to her. Not just because that’s part of my job, but because I genuinely like her. At first, I did all the cooking and cleaning. The yard work. The laundry. So that she could rest. Relax. Enjoy the weather. Or read. Bake. Anything that would shake her out of the doldrums. But even with all that extra time, she just . . .” Willa exhaled a breath of exasperation. “Then I thought . . . maybe by doing too much, I was making her feel useless in her own home. So I held back a bit. Found excuses to ask for her help: Frannie was teething; the wicker laundry basket gave me a splinter; I had a headache . . .”
“Did she help you?”
“Sort of. She put time into things, but if she finished a chore—which was rare—I had to redo it.” Another sigh. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wished her parents were still alive. Maybe they could talk some sense into her.”
She picked up the pace again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble on and on. It’s just . . .”
Willa kicked at a rock on the walk, sent it flying in a high arch. As it nestled into the dew-sparkled grass, she said, “I understand Anki had a sister?”
“Yes. A twin.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was shunned. A little more than a year ago.”
Willa gasped. Stopped walking. “I don’t use the word ‘hate’ often, but I hate that word. Why was she shunned?”
“A fellow moved to Oakland. Englisher. Visited the shop, often enough to turn Abigail’s head. She was told to choose ... him or the Plain life.” Max shrugged. “She chose poorly.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You know what shunning is, right?”
“Of course I do. It’s when the community boots a member out, lock, stock, apron, and kapp, and cuts off all communication with family and friends. She must have loved him a lot. Must have believed he’d make her happy enough to make the sacrifices worthwhile.”
“Her choice did not make her happy.”
“Oh really.” She faced him, head on. “And just how do you know?”
She sounded miffed. Looked it, too, standing straight, arms crossed over her chest.
“If you weren’t allowed to talk to her, weren’t allowed to see her, how can you—how can anyone—know that he didn’t make her happy?”
“Have you heard the old saying, ‘Bad news travels like wildfire’?”
“Of course I have.” She clucked her tongue. “The Amish don’t have a copyright on adages, you know.”
He bit back a chuckle. Did she have any idea how cute she looked, all fired up like that?
“Well? How did you find out?”
“The bad news reached us, delivered by the friend of a friend, just about six months ago.”
“So . . . do you mean to say that Anki got the news ... right before I arrived? Why didn’t someone tell me!”
A beam of moonlight that had sneaked between the clouds lit her face, and seeing her wide, worried eyes, Max wished he hadn’t brought up the subject.
“Well, you can’t just drop a bombshell like that without finishing the story! What happened to her?”
“Abigail . . . She . . . took her own life.”
Willa gasped again. “What! Why? How?”
“We will never know with any certainty why, but ... she slit her wrists.”
“Oh no. Poor Anki. No wonder she’s such a mess. Twins are connected, heart and soul and mind. She probably feels as though part of her died when . . .”
She shivered, head to toe, and Max had a feeling the chill air wasn’t the only cause. “And you know what? Suicide tendencies can be hereditary. I need to do a better job, a whole lot better job, taking care of Anki. I can’t replace her sister—no one can—but I can be her friend. I can—”
“If you ask me, you are already doing far more for her than anyone in her life.”
“No, no . . .” She shook her head. “In college, I took a few psychology classes, so I can make a few wild guesses about what she might be feeling. Guesses. Nothing more. Anki needs professional help. Which is why she needs to talk with Emily. Before it’s too late.”
“Too late? For what?”
Willa stopped walking again, pulled the shawl higher, and shivered again. Max slipped out of his jacket, draped it over her shoulders.
“Goodness, that feels wonderful,” she said. “Thanks, Max. I’ll give it right back, soon as I warm up a bit. We don’t want you catching a chill. You have a big new job and can’t afford to start off on the wrong foot ... a sickly foot!”
“I appreciate your concern.” And he did. “But . . . too late for what?” he repeated.
“Like I said, I’m not an expert. Far from it. But here’s how I see it: Anki is like someone in a leaky rowboat. She only has one oar. And while the boat is filling with water, she’s paddling in circles. If she doesn’t get help . . .”
“She will sink.” Nodding, Max said, “Now I understand. But Willa, she is Dan’s problem, not yours.”
Willa hid behind her hands, as if unable to believe he’d say such a thing. When she came out of hiding, her big eyes flashed with indignance, and unless he was mistaken, she intended to tell him why, right now!
But just as she opened her mouth, a cat bulleted past them. It startled him. Startled Willa more, and she practically leaped into his arms.
“What’s chasing it?” she asked, clinging to him. “It’s running like its tail is on fire!”
“I didn’t see anything.” But then, Max was only aware of Willa, pressed so close that he felt her heart, beating hard against his chest. His arms automatically went around her, and without thinking twice about it, he pulled her closer still. Eyes shut tight, he inhaled the faint scent of bath soap, clinging to her smooth cheek. In his mind’s eye, he imagined pulling out the pins that held the loose bun in place and filling his hands with her hair. Would it feel as thick, as silky, as it looked? He’d seen it glisten in the sunlight. Would it shine as brightly in the moonbeams?
She ended the idyllic moment by stepping back, just enough to allow him to skim both palms from her shoulders to her fingers. “Willa! You’re ice-cold. We should go inside, where you can get warm.”
“Good idea. But . . .” She looked up, met his eyes, and smiled. “But let’s not go inside just yet, okay? I’ll grab that box of fudge. And a quilt. We can enjoy both, and the view, from the porch swing.”
And just like that, she darted away, leaving behind nothing but the memory of her sweet-smelling warmth. He followed, and while waiting for her to get the blanket and the candy, Max sat alone, staring at the door, willing her to walk through it, and return to his side. She was gone all of a minute, and he missed her for every second of it.
“Hold this,” she said, thrusting the white box into his hands. Sitting beside him, she unfolded the quilt, gave it a flap, and tucked it around them. “There now. That oughta keep us warm!”
“Your energy alone will accomplish that,” he agreed.
She reached across his chest, opened the box. “Fudge?”
“No, thanks. I am still stuffed.”
“Which reminds me, before you leave, I’m gonna pack up some stew for you to take home. Pie, too. There’s plenty. Don’t worry, Dan won’t mind. He isn’t overly fond of leftovers, so he’ll be happy the food isn’t going to waste. And tomorrow, after work, all you’ll have to do is heat it up, and voila, supper!”
“I have a question for you. . . .”
“I’m an open book.” She took a big bite of fudge.
“How do you manage it? Caring for Frannie, running the Hofmans’ house, looking after Anki, working at the clinic, studying to become a nurse . . .” Turning slightly, he looked into her face. “Two questions.” He held up a forefinger. “When did you decide to go back to school?” The index finger joined it. “Do you ever sleep?”
“Nursing assistant,” she corrected. “I decided the first day I worked with Emily. Such fulfilling work. I’ll be able to help her so much more once I’ve earned my certification. And to answer your second question, of course I sleep. Although I’ll admit, I’ve never needed the prescribed eight hours. What about you? I’m guessing six hours. Five, even.”
“Close enough.” He slept reasonably well ... when nightmares didn’t wake him.
“Hmm . . . Why do I hear a ‘but’ in that answer?”
“I, ah . . .”
“You sleep well, bu-u-ut . . .”
“But sometimes, I have dreams.”
“Unhappy dreams?”
He looked toward the mountains, where the clouds now hid the peaks. Hid the moon, too. “You could say that, I suppose.”
“I’m a good listener . . .”
“So you said.”
“Okay. I can take a hint.” She patted his hand. “No more sad talk. So tell me, what’s your happiest childhood memory?”
Leaning back, he stared at the porch ceiling, where the white-painted beadboard reflected golden lamplight, glowing from the other side of the window.
“We did a lot of fishing, my brothers and I,” he began, “using poles handcrafted by my father.”
“Was your dad a carpenter, like you?”
“He was.”
“Your brothers, too?”
“Taught us everything he knew. About woodworking. About fishing. About life. I miss him, still.”
“Sounds like he was a wonderful man, a wonderful, loving father who left you with lots of wonderful memories. I sorta envy that.”
The comment reminded him that, some time ago, Willa had told him she’d never known her father.
“I’m sorry you lost him, Max.” This time when she patted his hand, she bumped the fudge box. “Give me that,” she said, relieving him of it. “Holding it outside the quilt is making your hands cold.” She put it on the low table on her side of the swing. “How about if I brew you a cup of tea?”
“No, but thanks.” Because to make the tea, she’d have to leave him again.
She didn’t question his response. Instead, she snuggled close. “You already know that I was an only child. How many kids in your family?”
“Five. Two brothers, two sisters. I was the youngest.”
“Five,” she said, her voice softly thoughtful. “Wow. I’ll bet the house was bursting with laughter!”
“We had our share of fun, but we had our share of squabbles, too.”
“You squeeze that many personalities under one roof, occasional disagreements are bound to happen.”
Usually, talk of his family made him sad, left him regretting all the years he’d lost to senseless tragedy. Tonight, with Willa at his side, the memories woke good feelings. She was a remarkable woman, all right!
He nodded at Li’l Red, parked beside his pickup. “Is the truck giving you any problems?”
“Nope. Not even one. I love her!” She turned to face him and, one hand on his forearm, said, “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?”
Max chuckled. “That is not why I asked about the truck. In truth, I should be thanking you.”
She tucked her hands back under the quilt. “For what?”
“Let me put it this way: A good horse needs exercise every day. Food and water. A thorough brushing. Think of Li’l Red as a horse. By driving her, you’re keeping her healthy.”
“Hmm. If you say so.”
“I say so.”
The next moments slid past in quiet comfort, with neither of them feeling the need to speak. An owl hooted, hushing the cicadas’ song. Soon, the bugs would hibernate, and the nights would grow silent.
“I wonder what time it is. . . .”
He didn’t think it possible for Willa to move closer to his side . . . until she did.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Frannie is sound asleep and I’m enjoying myself, so . . .” She sat up suddenly. “What a selfish ninny I am! You have to get up early for—”
“Will you work here tomorrow, or at the clinic?”
“Both, but Emily won’t need me until noon.”
He got up then, and she darted inside.
“Where are you going?”
“To pack up the leftovers. What else?”
Leaning his backside against the counter, Max folded his arms over his chest, watching as she ladled stew into a deep bowl, and arranged three dumplings on top. Next, she positioned two wedges of pie on a saucer, and covered both with plastic wrap. After unfolding a big brown paper bag, she slid both into it and rolled down the top.
“There,” she said, handing it to him. “Tomorrow’s supper.”
“I will return the dishes.”
“Of course you will.”
She followed him to the door.
“No need for you to go back out there. Stay here, where it is warm.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she teased, “because you’re not the boss of me, Maximillian Lambright!”
He had a feeling that would be just as true if her last name was Lambright!
Side by side, they followed the flagstone path to his truck. Willa stepped back when he opened the driver’s door, waiting for him to lean in and place the leftovers on the passenger seat. Just as he prepared to slide in behind the wheel, she put herself between him and the seat.
“I meant what I said earlier,” she whispered.
Max chuckled. “You said a lot. Help a guy out, will you?”
Willa laughed, too. “This was a good night. A very good night. I liked talking with you. I hope we can do it again. Soon.”
Oh, I hope so, too, he thought.
She shrugged out of his jacket, and hanging it around his shoulders, said, “Thanks for the loan of the truck. For the fudge. For the coffee. For the jacket. It really did the trick. Seems you’re always looking out for me. One of these days, I’ll find a way to show you how much I appreciate you.”
“I like doing things for you.” I only wish I could do more!
Then, she was in his arms again—her choice, and not inspired by a terrified feline—and again, he pulled her close. He stood, heart hammering, pulse pounding as those long-lashed lids drifted shut, as she stood on tiptoe, as she leaned in . . . and kissed him.
Max had never been lost in the desert, but right now, with his lips pressed to hers, he knew exactly how those disoriented wanderers must have felt as those first sips of water quenched their thirst.
“That isn’t very romantic,” she said, halting the perfect, satisfying moment.
“Really? I thought it was pretty good . . .”
“It was.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “But you’re supposed to close your eyes when you kiss a girl.”
She sure didn’t kiss like any girl he’d known! Not that he’d known many. His first experience consisted of a brief, chaste relationship that ended when the girl’s family moved to Ohio to save her grandfather’s ailing farm. With the second, things crossed the intimacy boundary, twice. But Max hadn’t been her first beau, and as he soon found out, he wasn’t her last: She left him to marry a wealthy widower in Lancaster, without even saying good-bye. In his mind, the heartache was penance enough, so he’d asked God’s forgiveness in the privacy of his mind instead of the bishop’s parlor.
“Next time,” he said, “I will close them.”
As if to test him, she stood on tiptoe again. He kept his promise, and quickly discovered how much more pleasant it felt when he wasn’t distracted by her big, beautiful eyes.
“Good night, Max. Sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
Once she reached the porch, he slid behind the wheel and watched the lights go dark, room by room. Secure in the knowledge that she was safe upstairs with Frannie, he closed the driver’s door and fired up the engine.
All the way home, strange emotions rolled through his mind. He thought about how effortless it all seemed to her ... cooking, setting the table, filling deep bowls with steaming stew ... Almost singlehandedly, she’d kept the conversation flowing, eliciting giggles from Frannie, chuckles from Dan, a genuine smile from Anki. He’d laughed, too. A man would have to be made of stone, he thought, not to react to her antics.
In his own driveway now, he threw the gearshift into park and let the truck idle as he stared through the windshield, remembering the scent and taste of her, the steady beat of her heart. He felt silly. Off-balance. Besotted. Grinning, he turned off the truck.
The instant he opened the front door, Rascal darted outside. “Good boy,” he said. “Go. Do your business, and I will give you a treat.”
The dog disappeared into the woods beyond the house. Max could hear him, digging and scratching for just the right spot to make his deposit. The mutt can make a major project of the simplest thing, he thought.
Rascal dashed toward him, tail wagging and dog lips drawn back in a jubilant, welcome home smile. It made Max think of what Willa had said, about the dog being too sociable to be left without human companionship for very long. The pup was well behaved and obedient. Lately, he hadn’t brought him to very many jobsites. But starting tomorrow...
Crouching to scratch his companion’s head, Max said, “I am happy to see you too, buddy. Are you ready for your treat?”
The dog bounced along beside him, and once inside, sat statue-still while Max grabbed a biscuit from the jar on top of the fridge. Lifting a paw, Rascal tilted his head, and while waiting for his master to deliver the treat, licked his chops.
Max licked his own lips, mildly surprised that he could still taste the fudgy sweetness of Willa’s kiss. You are imagining things.
As he hung the jacket on the hook near the door, he realized that her shawl still clung to its fleece lining. He pressed his face into the soft knit, inhaled deeply; her scent might not be there in the morning. He hung the wrap beside his jacket, then poured himself a glass of water. Carrying it to the parlor, he settled into his easy chair, thinking to read a verse or two of Scripture, just until he felt drowsy, before heading upstairs. Willa had wished him sweet dreams. She’d be in them. He was sure of it. So Max had no doubt that they’d be pleasant.
A disquieting thought popped into his head:
What if her ardent advances—welcome though they were—hadn’t been motivated by feelings for him, but by feelings of indebtedness? She was smarter than most men he knew, smart enough to understand that the Frannie-inspired alterations he’d made to Li’l Red had lessened the truck’s resale value. How many times since handing over the keys had he heard her say, “How will I ever repay you!”
Surely she didn’t think to do it by . . .
Max shook his head. No. That couldn’t be.
Unless ...
Had he said or done something to make her believe such a thing? If so, how would he prove her wrong ... and make it up to her!
She’d overcome hardship, without letting it harden her. It couldn’t have been easy, moving here, working two jobs, trying her best to blend into life in Pleasant Valley ... all while mothering Frannie and trying to help Anki.
A woman like that should never have to feel beholden to anyone, for any reason.
From now on, he’d do a better job of letting her know that she was enough. No strings attached. No reimbursement necessary.
Even if that meant friendship was all they’d ever share.