part weightlifter and part legend with an artist’s soul.
“Call me Jonah,” he said. “When I hear Mr. Fraser, I think my dad is standing behind me. Besides, the little lady isn’t inconveniencing me or prying.”
“You truly are a kind man to say so,” Debra found herself saying. “Mia has better manners than that—”
“Reverend Fraser is your dad?” Mia interrupted, in direct contradiction.
What was a mother to do? Mia had a strong spirit and a stubborn streak, not unlike herself at that age. Debra caught Mr. Fraser’s—Jonah’s—gaze and watched his smile deepen until it warmed the cool depths of his eyes.
He was definitely a different kind of man than she was used to being around, but suddenly she was no longer intimidated by the rugged strength of him. Whatever else Jonah Fraser may be, she bet he was a teddy bear at heart because he turned patiently to Mia and his manner was genuinely kind. “Why don’t you come to Sunday service and I’ll introduce you to him? At least, I’m guessing that you’ll be attending with Ben and his family.”
“Ye-ah.” Mia rolled her eyes heavenward as if there couldn’t possibly be any other answer, so why did he bother asking?
It seemed like everywhere she turned, there was the conflict over Mia’s faith—and Debra’s lack of conviction. But what could she say to such a kindly meant invitation? “We’ll talk about Sunday later, Mia.”
“Mo-om!”
“We were going to take this visit one day at a time, remember?” Time for another change in topic. The trouble was, why did her first thoughts turn to Jonah and finding out more about him? “How long have you been making such beautiful furniture?”
“Oh, I’ve always been fairly handy.” He eased forward, his shoulder dipping slightly to compensate for his limp. “I’ve always worked with wood in one way or another—”
Mia broke in. “You didn’t want to be a minister like your dad?”
Debra inwardly cringed. Was Mia wound up today or what? “Mia, you know better than to interrupt.”
“It’s all right.” Jonah’s baritone rang with patience and good humor as he drew up a metal stool and eased his big frame onto it. “I thought very seriously about joining the ministry, but I didn’t feel a real calling to do it. There’s another reason, too. I like to write, but I’m not so good with talking in front of a crowd. If I had to talk to a congregation, I’d stammer and forget my sermon, and my looking like a fool wouldn’t help anyone.”
There was something innately noble about him. She could see it now, as his quiet tough-guy manner softened a bit. He radiated a subtle but unmistakable strength of character.
Drawn to him, Debra came closer and rested the hot mug on the table. She did want to know more about this man. Something told her he was interesting. His combination of brawny toughness and shy woodworker intrigued her. “You look like a man who could never be a fool.”
“Well, I suppose you mean that as a compliment and I thank you for it, but I’ve made mistakes like anyone else. Maybe more than most.” Sadness, or maybe it was regret, shadowed his expressive eyes. His face turned stony. “I wound up following a calling I was more suited to rather than following my dad’s path.”
“You have more courage than I did at the time. Instead of following my dreams or my calling, I followed my mother’s path in life. Same college, graduate school and then I went to work for my family’s company.”
“There’s no shame in that, none at all. Ben tells me that you’re in publishing?”
“Yes.” Was it her imagination or was he intentionally changing the subject? Well, she could do that, too. “Do you regret not following your father’s path? Or are you content with your choices?”
“Some days, yes. Some days, no.” His easiness vanished and he looked sad again. “Life never turns out the way you expect.”
“Or want.” They apparently had that in common. She felt so many emotions begin to work their way into words; emotions she’d not really taken out to examine in a good long time. “We get caught up in what we should do. What we ought to be. What we mean to do. It never turns out the way you intend.”
“That’s why I love my job here, working at building things. It’s nothing like real life with tragedy and things you can never reconcile. When I sit down to make a piece of furniture, there’s only the doing of it. The feel of the wood in my hands, rough at first, then the shaping of it, the sanding and carving and finishing. If it doesn’t come out as I intended, nine times out of ten it comes out better.”
“I wish life could be that way.”
“Me, too.”
Jonah wondered if she had any idea how transparent she was at that moment. Her icy career woman’s veneer was down and the wintry daylight burnished her with a silver glow. He could see the longing in her eyes for something—he didn’t know her at all, so he couldn’t guess at what that might be—before her practical side won over and the moment was gone.
It was a puzzle what a put-together woman like Debra, who looked like she had it going on, would have to regret in life. Ben hadn’t mentioned if Debra had a husband. Jonah didn’t see a wedding ring on her slender, manicured hands. Had she suffered through a divorce? A painful marriage?
It still amazed him that she didn’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter. She looked so young herself. Her heart-shaped face was luminous, reminding him of the female leads in those black-and-white movies—so radiant and serene, peaceful and timeless. What could a woman with so much going for her have to regret?
He thought of his own failures, of the men he’d failed. The remembrance settled like a weight on his soul. What would she think of him if she knew?
“Mom! Mom!” The girl had moved to the far side of the crib, kneeling down to inspect the turned legs. “I’ve got the best idea ever.”
Debra smiled and it only made her lovelier. “I live in fear of your best ideas.”
“But this really is the best one! You gotta come look. Please?”
Debra pushed away from the table. “I’m going to admire your handiwork again. How long does it take for you to build something like this, from start to finish?”
“As long as it takes to do it right.”
“You’re not a man who bills by the hour?”
“Only by the job.” What else could he say to that? He supposed a woman with her business background had a clear understanding of profit margins and whatnot, but he didn’t care so much. How did he say it was the reward of the job well done and to the best of his ability? It was something no one could pay him for. It was something he didn’t know how to explain.
Mia studied him over the top of the frame. “Do you make other stuff, too? Like beds?”
“Sure. I finished a bedroom set before this.”
“You mean, a bed and a dresser? Really?”
“Unbelievable,
