is the smallest on the street, but it’s so pretty here.”
“Our?” he queried. The word came out sharply.
“It’s my mother’s house,” she murmured, deciding not to mention her mother’s recent death. Of course, he could find out from anybody in town, but why would he? Whether he was a Good Samaritan or merely drumming up business, his only interest would be in her car. He was no threat and couldn’t have any interest in her personally. Still, she owed him no explanations.
He brought the big truck to a halt in the narrow drive, glancing around. “This is really nice.”
Kathryn couldn’t help smiling. She was proud of her flower beds, and she thought the green trim, which matched the shingles on the roof, made a pretty contrast to the white siding.
“About the car,” he said, abruptly switching subjects. “When should I drop off the estimate?”
She didn’t stop to wonder why he didn’t offer to call with the estimate. “I have to be at a client’s house every morning by ten and don’t get off until six.”
How she was going to get to her clients, she had no idea. Sandy had suggested she rent a car from a facility in Ardmore, but a quick telephone call had revealed that even a few days’ rental fee would consume more of her income than she could afford, and it wouldn’t fix her car. Maybe the agency for which she worked could offer a solution. Hopefully, one other than firing her.
Jake nodded. “I see. Okay, then.”
She grappled for the door handle, found it and let herself out of the idling truck. “Thank you so much for your help.”
Smiling in acknowledgment, he nodded again. She shut the door and stepped back. Within moments, he and his truck had disappeared the way they’d come. As Kathryn turned toward the house, she spied old Mrs. Trident glaring at her from the front steps of the house next door. Kathryn waved, but Mrs. Trident simply turned and went back inside.
She’d avoided the Stepp household since Kathryn’s father had stumbled up the wrong steps, drunk and belligerent, one night more than a decade ago. Soon after, realizing that Mia Stepp was never going to recover from her accident, he’d abandoned his handicapped wife and seventeen-year-old daughter, but that didn’t seem to matter to Mrs. Trident. In all those years, Kathryn hadn’t heard from her father until about six months after her mother’s death, when he’d sent a letter demanding that Kathryn sell the house and split the profit with him.
Kathryn started toward her own front door, sighing heavily, but as she traveled along the walkway flanked by daylilies and Shasta daisies, she felt a familiar sense of peace and belonging settle over her. This place had always been her sanctuary, the one safe spot in the whole world. She loved this old house. Living anywhere else seemed unimaginable. Somehow, she had to keep her father from forcing her to sell it. If only she could find that missing insurance policy.
Shaking her head, she pushed aside such thoughts and went indoors to telephone her employer and inform them of her changed circumstances. It wasn’t as if that insurance money could save her house, after all. She simply would not think of everything else it could do.
* * *
“Pretty!” Frankie declared the next morning, pointing to the wreath hanging on the front door of the Stepp house.
Frankie had said the word half a dozen times since they’d pulled into the driveway. While they waited for someone to answer Jake’s knock, Frankie gestured toward the prim white wicker rocking chair on the porch. The ruffles on its flowered cushions fluttered in the breeze.
“I know,” Jake said wryly, smiling down at his son, “pretty.”
The door opened, and Kathryn Stepp gaped at him with obvious alarm. “What are you doing here?”
Wearing a loose, flowered dress that hung almost to her ankles over slender bare feet, she folded her arms, trying—and failing—to fix a stern expression on her face. She looked like a girl playing dress up, a very pretty if somewhat bedraggled girl.
Jake removed his shades, tucked them into his shirt pocket and doffed his pale straw cowboy hat. “Morning.”
Frankie, who knew nothing but exuberance, lurched forward and threw his arms around her, bellowing, “Mording!”
After shooting a shocked, puzzled glance at Jake, Kathryn softened. She leaned forward slightly and returned Frankie’s hug as best she could, shuffling her feet to keep her toes from being squashed by his athletic shoes.
“Good morning. What brings you and your daddy here today?”
“We’re here to give you a ride to work,” Jake answered. Wasn’t it obvious? He removed a folded sheet of paper from his hip pocket. “The ride will give you a chance to look over this estimate.”
Her rosy lips turned down in a frown. “I’m not sure I have a job to go to. It depends on if they’ve found someone to replace me already.”
“Shouldn’t you find out?” Jake asked.
She turned her head, glancing into the room. For the first time, Jake looked past her. The living area was larger than he’d expected, with gleaming wood floors and a painted brick fireplace set against a sage-green interior wall. Colorful throw pillows and a basket of flowers in the center of the coffee table gave the room a cheery note. Clean and bright, the room felt peaceful and welcoming.
Frankie broke free of Kathryn and ran to climb up onto the sofa. “Look, Daddy! Pretty.” He patted a throw pillow.
“Very pretty,” Jake agreed, chuckling.
Kathryn waved a hand absently. “Uh, come in while I... Come in.”
She waited until he stepped inside. Then she closed the door and rushed off down a hallway on the right, calling, “Have a seat! Won’t be long!”
Jake removed his hat, but instead of sitting he waited until he heard a door close, then he glanced into the open doorway of what might have been a den but was now a bedroom. Curious, he walked past the hallway and through a dining area filled with dark, ornate furniture. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw Formica countertops, worn white in places, and rusty chips in the enamel on the sink. The appliances had certainly seen better days, and a few of the stenciled doors on the cabinet hung at a tilt that made him want to reach for a screwdriver and hammer. A vase of daisies stood on the windowsill above the sink.
Jake suddenly thought of his mom, how she had placed feminine little touches all around their Houston home. Those delicate, homey traces had gradually disappeared over the years after her death. Jake walked back into the living room and sank down in the easy chair, his hat in his lap.
“Mizz Kat’ryn gots lotta flowers.” Frankie pronounced flowers as flou-hers.
“Yes, she does.”
“I like flowers.”
“Me, too.”
“Mizz Kat’ryn gotta dog?”
“I don’t know.”
Frankie had been lobbying for a dog of his own ever since Tyler had gotten his pup a couple months earlier.
