more about Ethan Cramer, maybe she and Amy wouldn’t have to tiptoe around him.
As Jase and Amy left the room and Sara picked up the spread, she realized she wanted to know more about Jase. But curiosity could get her into deep trouble.
Jase stepped out of the storage shed beside the winery the next day, toolbox in one hand, a toy store bag in the other. Earlier, he had seen Sara leave with Amy and guessed she was going to church first thing on a Sunday morning. She’d returned a little while ago and he had some repairs to make on the cottage, a few details he hadn’t noticed before she’d moved in.
He should stay away from her … he really should. Her husband had only been gone a year and she was vulnerable now, after losing her home. But there was something about Sara that made him want to be around her. Chemistry? Sure, that was part of it. He wasn’t in denial. She turned him on. A woman hadn’t done that in a long time. But there was something else, too. Something to do with the way she looked at the world.
Still, he was going to keep his distance. That was best for both of them. When he knocked on the door to the cottage and Sara opened it, she looked surprised. “Jase, hi. We just got back from church and changed clothes.”
Uh-huh, he’d been right. She’d changed into a flowered blouse and yellow shorts that complemented it. She’d braided her hair at both temples and looked more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old physical therapist.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Yesterday I noticed the screen door is off center a bit and the windows in the bedroom won’t open without a lot of effort. Do you mind if I fix them while I have the time?”
“No, I don’t mind. I did have trouble opening Amy’s window this morning. Come on in. We’re still trying to make it our own.” She pointed to Amy who was coloring on the coffee table. “She’s drawing some pictures to hang in her room. If that’s okay. I can get those sticky things for the walls so I don’t make holes.”
“Make all the holes you want. They can be patched.” He glanced at the bag in his other hand, leaned close to Sara and said in a low voice, “I have something for Amy. I know she lost most of her toys. Do you mind if I give it to her?”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to. I bought it last week after I knew you were going to move in.”
There was something close to admiration in Sara’s eyes, and he was surprised how that filled him with a sense of satisfaction.
“Can you come here a minute?” Sara called to her daughter.
Amy looked up, saw Jase and smiled shyly.
“I found a friend for you,” he said to her. “He barked at me when I passed him in the store.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “He did?”
Most kids were innocent. They could believe so easily. “Reach into the bag and see if he’ll come out and play.”
Amy checked with Sara. “Can I?”
“Go ahead.”
Amy reached into the bag and drew out a mop of a stuffed dog with black-and-white fur that fell down into his eyes.
“Do you like him?” Jase asked.
“Is he mine?”
“He can be if you name him.”
“He looks like Mom’s mop. Can I name him Moppy?”
“That works for me. I bet he can help you color.”
Amy ran over to the coffee table once more and set him there, right on her drawing. But Sara called her back. “What do you say to Mr. Jase?”
Amy glanced at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“I doubt if she’ll go anywhere without him. Someone donated a doll with a baby carriage, but she does love stuffed toys.” Sara came a little closer to him and whispered, “She lost her favorite in the fire—a teddy bear.”
Sara was close enough to touch, almost close enough to kiss. Absolutely crazy thought. That’s not why he was here. That’s definitely not why he’d asked her to stay. He had a debt to repay to her for giving him back his life. But she smelled so damn good, too. When he’d seen her for physical therapy, he’d figured out she must use some kind of strawberry shampoo or conditioner on her hair because it was her hair that smelled so good.
Backing away, he said, “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing. I’ll work on Amy’s bedroom window first.” He picked up his toolbox and went to the smaller of the two bedrooms, unable to shake the image of him running his fingers through Sara’s hair.
Ten minutes later, Jase had finished with the windows in the two bedrooms. He noticed Sara sitting at the kitchen table, several sheaves of paper in front of her. But he didn’t ask what they were. They were none of his business.
“I’m going to have to take the screen door off its hinges and plane the bottom section. The wood just warped. I could have an aluminum door put on if you’d rather have that.”
“I like the wooden one. I like the old-fashioned look of it. That’s what’s so welcoming about this cottage, the fact that it’s not a cookie-cutter image of all others.”
“I suppose you like the ivy, too? Dad’s been wanting the gardener to tear it all down for a while. They always have an argument about it.”
“I like the ivy, too.” She began mounding the papers and inserting them into an accordion file.
When his gaze fell on it, she explained, “This file of documents and receipts was in my car so it survived the fire. I was going to make copies. It’s ironic I was having trouble with my garage door opener so my car was parked in front of the house. Otherwise, that might have gone up in flames, too.”
“I guess that’s what optimists call a silver lining.” He went to the screen door and began loosening the hinges.
“I was just about to make lunch. Along with the clothes and furniture the volunteers brought, they stocked my refrigerator and freezer. Do you like stir-fry? You’re welcome to stay, unless you and your dad eat Sunday dinner together.”
Jase hesitated before answering and Sara took that the wrong way. Her face flushed a little. “It’s okay if you’d rather not.”
Glancing at Amy, seeing she was lost in what she was doing and not paying any attention to them, he said, “Most of the folks in Fawn Grove who have lived here all of their lives know my history with Raintree Winery.”
“Your history?” Plainly, Sara didn’t understand.
He didn’t confide in many people. He didn’t relive what he’d rather forget. That was true for childhood as well as some of his photojournalistic experiences. But Sara was living here and she might as well know the truth. It might make her feel better about Ethan’s attitude.
“As I mentioned, Ethan Cramer’s not my biological
