onto a waiting-room sofa.
“If God continues to bless us like He always has,” she muttered to herself, “we’re in a heap of trouble.”
The next afternoon, Guy climbed down Shorty’s stepladder and flipped the switch by the kitchen door. The ceiling fan overhead whirred to life, sending a gentle rustle of cool air through the room. Guy folded the aluminum ladder, leaned it carefully against the wall, and gave the shiny silver chain that dangled from the new light fixture a tug. The bulbs glowed inside their tulip-cup houses, spreading much-needed illumination across the kitchen countertops.
One last touch and the job would be finished. He fished in the pocket of his Hearth and Home apron, drew out a small, faceted glass prism, and clipped it to the end of the pull chain. He stepped back to admire his work. Perfect.
“Thanks.” It was a grumbled gratitude, but sincere nonetheless. “Sarah’s been after me and Abby for a year to hang that thing. Now she can enjoy this nice breeze in the kitchen all summer.” The grouchy old man who’d met Guy at the door yesterday was still front and center but he’d softened a bit. It was clear it would take a lot of effort to win his approval.
But from Shorty’s observations, it would take even more to earn Abby’s. To quote Shorty, his daughter was “madder than a wet hen.” Twenty-four hours earlier she’d learned Guy’s identity from the store manager instead of from him directly. When he’d mentioned the situation to his sister on their nightly call, she’d burst into snorts of laughter.
He could just imagine Casey wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes as she administered a dose of sibling wisdom.
“I adore you, big bro, but in some areas you’re pretty dense, which is why Dad’s going to give me your job one day.” Her chuckle carried over the phone line. “Just because your five sisters think you hung the moon, it doesn’t naturally follow that every woman will love you like we do.”
He shook off the memory of the wisecrack. He didn’t expect every woman to love him, but something about Abby Cramer made him want to be liked, at least a little bit.
The front door creaked open, a signal that she was home much earlier than the day before. Guy made a mental note to oil the hinge, and then quickly changed his mind. Until she’d forgiven his failure to disclose, he probably needed a warning sign that she was in the house.
“Hey, Daddy,” she called.
“In the kitchen, baby girl.”
Guy lifted the stepladder, carried it through the entry leading to the darkened garage and pulled the door closed behind him. He’d noted earlier that the fluorescent ceiling bulbs were burned out, the overhead door opener was broken and the ventilation was insufficient for the cans of paint stacked on the ancient cinder-block shelves.
“What’s he doing here again today, Dad?”
Abby’s voice carried through the hollow-core door. Guy grimaced at the question that sounded more like an accusation.
“He came back to help me hang the ceiling fan.” Guy smiled as Shorty defended his presence.
“Looks to me like he did more than help. You let him take over another one of our projects.”
“That’s not quite true. I gave all the instructions and handed him the parts and he managed the rest without too much difficulty. He has apprentice potential, but not much.”
“Well, nothing’s wrong with the apprentice you already have, Daddy. Me.”
Guy heard the possessiveness in Abby’s voice, recognized it as the same tone Casey took with their father when she was vying with her older siblings for a share of his attention. Guy’s natural reaction when Casey got that way was to tell her to suck it up and wait her turn. Somehow he didn’t think that was the correct approach with Abby, an only child who’d probably never had to compete for her father’s time.
He heard the rumbling of Shorty’s lowered voice and stepped closer to the door. Eavesdropping. Casey would call him a jerk and pinch him till he yelped.
“Honey, you have zero time for all the repairs and improvements this house needs and I thought it would be nice if your mama came home to find some of those things finished. I wouldn’t admit it to him just yet, but he seems like a nice enough Christian fella. If he wants to help an old man out, what’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t you see what he’s up to, Daddy? That horse’s behind is just doing all this to stay on our good side so we won’t sue his store over Mama’s accident.”
“So what if he is. He’ll find out soon enough that we’re not that kind of people. Besides, as much as I love Dillon, it’s nice to have some conversation with a guy who’s not wearing a drool bib. Now, come hug your old man and tell me what you’re doing home so early.”
Guy stamped hard on the wooden step and rattled the loose knob to announce his approach. The brown eyes that greeted him were…different. Her mother’s eyes. Stern. Abby had actually called him a horse’s behind! Worse yet, she seemed determined to remain angry with him, something he’d rarely experienced, and couldn’t accept.
“How do you like the fan?” He used the cajoling tone that never failed to work with his sisters.
She turned her face toward the slowly rotating blades, giving him a moment to appreciate her clear skin, the natural blush of her cheeks that were round, like her son’s.
Abby studied the new fixture. Except for the twinkling piece of stained glass dangling from the end of the chain, it looked just like the picture on the box.
“Not bad,” she muttered. Not exactly praise for a job well done but it was the best she intended to give under the circumstances. Abby knew she’d never be able to speak her mind with her father sitting there like this interloper’s begrudging champion.
“Dad, would you mind getting me a change of clothes for Dillon?” She needed to get him out of the room. “That little pair of denim overalls and a clean T-shirt would be nice.”
“Where is he? Is anything wrong?”
“Everything’s fine,” she assured her father. “The day care called and he got fruit punch down the front of his shirt today. I thought I’d pick you up first then we’d change Dillon at the day care and go to the hospital before dinner.”
“Sure. That’ll be a nice surprise for Sarah.”
“Speaking of nice surprises,” she turned to Guy. “That certainly was a breathtaking arrangement the store sent yesterday, and I noticed you personally signed the card. Of course, you hardly know our family, or you’d understand we’re simple folks. The five-dollar bouquet we took her made my mother just as happy.”
“Abby’s right. My bride has always appreciated small pleasures. A good thing since that’s about all we’ve been able to afford most of our lives. So she was tickled pink by that big crystal vase of flowers.” Her father held out his hand. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Guy accepted the grip. “Absolutely. We need to get started on that list if you want everything shipshape before Mrs. Reagan comes home.”
“I’ll just get Dillon’s things together, then.”
When
