Jack’s pets—mostly strays he’d gathered together over the years. This one was Biscuit, a dog of unknown origins. The only thing Jace knew for certain was that Biscuit was a brown canine with lopsided ears, oversize feet, and as shaggy as his owner. He looked as if his ears had been sewn on out of leftover parts by a blind seamstress. One flopped low on the side of his head and the other stuck straight up on top. But the dog’s tail swished the air with such joyous abandon anyone with a heart would forget his looks and be charmed.
Jace thought of the new puppy at home, a bundle of wiggling joy himself. He didn’t know why he’d let the local vet, Trace Bowman, talk him into taking in an abandoned pup. Jace was gone all day, but the pup was sweet company in the evenings. When Milo was older, Jace planned to take him along for the ride.
“Funny that drowning victim has never been found,” GI said without preamble.
Jace sighed and shot the nail gun again. The drowned man wasn’t his favorite topic. Besides the nagging feeling that he’d not done enough, he’d taken plenty of good-natured ribbing about his cameo shots on the TV news. “Big river.”
“That’s what Popbottle said. Lots of snags and undertows to drag a man down.” GI withdrew a half sandwich from his shirt pocket and took a bite. “The widow’s got a leak?”
“More than one.”
“You’ll fix her up. She’s mighty fortunate to have a good builder willing to rush over anytime she needs help.”
“Least I can do.”
“I figure you got bigger fish to fry than that old roof. Ida June does this kind of repair.”
Though past eighty, Ida June Click still worked around town as a handywoman. She was a dandy, too, in her pink coveralls and lime green tennis shoes. “Ida June’s getting a little frail to be climbing on roofs.”
“Ha! Don’t tell her that. She’ll challenge you to a roofing contest.”
“And win.”
“Yep. And win. She’s a whirlwind, our Miss Ida June. Reckon you could say the same for our Widow Wainright. Mighty pretty, too.”
Jace grunted. Hadn’t he been thinking the same thing? All she had to do was step into view to make his eyes happy. Not that he’d ever tell her that.
“Mmm-hmm.” GI’s gray head bobbed up and down. “Too bad she’s set on being a widow forever. Too young, if you ask me, to give up on life.”
“I doubt she’s given up.”
“Then I reckon you did?” GI cackled at the look Jace shot him. “All right, all right. A shame though, two handsome people, both single and of the same faith—”
Jace pulled the trigger on the nail gun to drown out the rest. After the torment of the last few days—the drowning, the TV picture and noticing Kitty too much—he wasn’t in the mood for reminders of his single status. If he ever was.
“Saw that car pull in. Oklahoma plates but not local.” GI tore off a bite of his sandwich and handed it to the dog. With delicate nips, Biscuit accepted the treat. “Wonder what he’s doing at the motel?”
Jace wondered the same. “Reporter maybe.”
“Doubt it.”
So did Jace. The drowning story was over for the most part and the news media had departed. “Could be doing a story on the upcoming Land Run celebration.”
In late April of every year, Redemption returned to her 1889 roots by throwing a two-day festival that brought tourists and vendors from all over the country.
“Maybe. Looks kind of slick to me. Like a salesman.”
“There you go then. Maybe he sells hotel products.” Jace shot another nail. “You know, shampoo and soap.”
GI scratched the dog’s lowest lopsided ear. “I saw some damage on Unit 8.”
Jace squinted south toward the mentioned unit. Kitty’s motel was old but she kept it up. Rather, he did. Kitty worked around the place, too. She planted pretty flowers and kept everything sparkling clean. There was a long-term renter in Unit 8, and the regulars were the motel’s mainstay. “Yeah?”
“Shingles are off.”
“I’m nearly finished here. I’ll check it.”
“Got nothing else to do, huh? Lazy bum.”
Jace chuckled. GI knew better. He was swamped. Always was. He had three other jobs waiting, two in progress, and four more calls to bid before the week was out. He also had his own historic house to finish, an ongoing project for the last three years. He could see the end in sight, though, and was eager to see his dream home come to fruition.
All of them would have to wait though until the motel was taken care of. He felt a compulsion to help anytime Kitty called. He’d begun working on the motel to honor her dead hero husband. Lately he wondered if he’d do the work just for the privilege of seeing Kitty.
“You looking for a job?”
GI barked a laugh. “Jace Carter is a funny man. Well, me and Biscuit got some stops to make. You come on out to the house anytime. I got a new project going. Petunia and Popbottle will be happy to see you.”
“Petunia misses me?” Petunia was the resident watch-goat. Last time he’d stopped by to visit she’d eaten his ball cap. The time before she’d nibbled some paint off his truck.
“The old girl loves you, Jace Carter. Bring her a snack anytime.”
Jace raised a hand as the eccentric old man shuffled away, lopsided dog at his heel.
He worked for another thirty minutes before checking the damage on Unit 8. Sure enough, a half-dozen shingles were missing. With a sigh, he headed toward Kitty’s office to let her know.
He didn’t particularly like entering the motel office, but he’d been there plenty of times. He stepped inside, heard the bell overhead jingle merrily, and looked around at the memorial to a man a hundred times better than he was.
Decorated in patriotic colors of red, white, and blue and smelling of flowers, the room was jammed with Americana and military memorabilia. A display case boasted bobblehead soldiers and eagle-topped pens. The walls were plastered with photos, including Uncle Sam who never tired of wanting someone. The pointing finger made him feel guilty.
If he’d been a man, he would have joined the army and fought for his country instead of wasting his youth in trouble.
A tri-folded American flag rested on an enclosed shelf on the wall behind the display. Given the photo of the serious-faced soldier next to it, Jace had long ago surmised the flag had been the one given to Kitty at Dave Wainright’s military funeral.
He nodded to the photo, offering his respect and waited for Kitty to hear the bell and come out.
Behind the inner office was the tidy cottage Kitty called home. He’d been inside plenty of times, mostly to discuss repairs of one kind or another, and he’d attended her Bible study on occasion. He’d stopped
