Читать книгу A Place to Belong - Linda Goodnight - Страница 9

Four days later Redemption still buzzed with the tragedy. The rescue had been scaled back, renamed a recovery effort, and moved downstream.

“Horrible,” thought Kitty as she whipped sheets from the bed in Unit 7 and tossed them in with a pile of towels for the laundry. The unit had been occupied by a reporter who’d decided the story was over and rushed off to film tornado devastation up in Cleveland County.

Linens in arms, Kitty left the scrubbing for later and stepped out into the spring sunshine. The morning was golden, though the weatherman said more rain was coming. Her fingers practically itched to be digging in the planter boxes and tiny gardens around each unit, but the ground was too wet. She sniffed the scents of grass and damp earth.

Up on the highway a trucker geared down with a low whine, a sure sign he was entering Redemption, not leaving. Maybe he’d stop in for a room. She could use the income.

From the roof of Unit 2, the whoosh-bang of a nail gun told her Jace Carter was on the job.

Kitty turned toward the sound, dropping the linens in the laundry room on her journey.

Balanced on his knees atop the roof of Unit 2, the quiet carpenter placed a nail gun against a shingle and fired. Her motel was old and the roof of this room hadn’t withstood the test of last week’s downpours. The inside was a mess, too.

“Good morning.” She shaded her eyes against a stunning glare and looked up.

She could barely see him. Just the curve of his back and the rubber-gripped bottoms of his work boots.

With a skitter and crunch of feet and knees against old-fashioned asphalt shingles, Jace came into view. Moving with studied care and smooth athleticism toward the edge of the roof and the extension ladder, he lifted a gloved hand.

Backlit in sunshine, tool belt low on one hip, brown hair neatly spiked and gleaming clean, Jace wore old jeans and a white and gray striped shirt. She’d never seen him in anything but neatly pressed long sleeved shirts. He was, she realized, a good-looking man.

Kitty ground her back teeth, annoyed at herself and at Annie for putting the notion into her head.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and soft. “I hope the noise didn’t wake you.”

“No. Of course not. I’m an early riser.” She figured he knew that already as much as he’d worked here. When he made a reach for the ladder, she stopped him. “Oh, don’t let me bother you. I only wanted to say hi and ask if you’d like coffee or something.”

“Got my thermos, thanks.” He smiled, a slow, almost cautious response that crinkled the weathered edges of gentle hazel eyes.

“How’s it coming?”

Jace was an excellent builder, a restorer of antique homes and furniture. He had far better jobs than repairing her cranky old lady of a motel. Yet he never turned her down. She’d never wondered about that before, but after Annie’s comments, she did.

“The roof’s pretty old.”

Kitty gnawed a bottom lip. “You saying I need a new one?”

“I can make it work.”

She knew he could. Jace was a wonder with the historic buildings in Redemption. Though Redemption Motel was certainly not a turn-of-the-century Victorian bed-and-breakfast. It was an old relic of the fifties, cranky, bothersome and a ton of never ending work. And she loved it. More because of who it represented than what.

“I’ve been thinking of renovating.”

Jace shifted. The tool belt dangling on one hip clinked, metal against metal. “Yeah?”

“Thinking.” She laughed. “No money for serious renovations.”

Motel rooms in a town the size of Redemption didn’t bring in big money. If not for the long-term renters who put regular cash in the coffers, she couldn’t keep the doors open. Those and the huge Christmas celebrations, Victorian style, and the Land Run reenactment in April kept the motel afloat. She made enough to get by, but there was seldom any money in the bank for extras. Some extra cash would be a blessing.

“We could work something out. Take care of the major issues. Let’s talk about it.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t want anyone but you tearing into my baby.”

Jace was scrupulously honest, always did more than she paid him for, and his work was perfection. Her cranky old lady of a motel looked much better since he’d begun doing the upkeep.

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He hoisted a nail gun toward the graveled lot behind her. “You have company.”

Kitty spun toward the sound of tires crunching on the gravel, a sound she acquainted with paying customers. “Come to the office when you finish. I’ll fix you a sandwich and pick your brain.”

“Can’t guarantee you’ll find anything.”

With a laugh and a wave, Kitty hurried toward the office and the slender man exiting a shiny navy blue sedan.

Jace squinted against the morning sun and watched a moment longer as Kitty’s energetic stride ate up the ground. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside and out. Delicate, feminine, but strong as a willow, she took his breath. Stole his brain cells.

A car door slammed and he heard Kitty’s lyrical voice speak to the newcomer though he couldn’t make out the words. A man of average height, on the skinny side and dressed in a business suit fell into step beside the cheery blonde proprietress of Redemption Motel. When they reached the office the man opened the old-fashioned screen door and waited while Kitty stepped inside. He followed and the door snicked quietly closed behind him.

A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sunlight that was Kitty Wainright and setting the parking lot and the motel units in shadow. Jace frowned, gut tightening in the weirdest way. He squinted toward the closed door.

Something bugged him. A fierce, nagging protectiveness welled in his chest. Miserable, hot.

He waited ten seconds. The cloud moved on and he huffed derisively. He’d lived so long on the dark side he was suspicious of everything and everyone.

He bounced the nail gun against his thigh before turning back to the damaged roof.

The suspicions were in his soul, not inside the office of Kitty’s motel.

“Ahoy, Jace Carter.”

Jace glanced down at the ragged figure of GI Jack and lifted a hand in greeting. The old man dressed in ill-fitting castoffs and an army cap that had seen better days was one of Redemption’s eccentricities. Many took him and his partner, Popbottle Jones, for bums. Considering their propensity for Dumpster diving, maybe they were, but Jace found them to be the most interesting bums he’d ever encountered.

GI Jack was an artist, a junk artist who could turn pop cans and wire or cast-off buckets and hubcaps into something beautiful. Jace got that. In a way, finding the worth in the worthless was what he did, too.

Next to the grizzled old man stood a candidate for world’s homeliest dog. Most everyone in town knew about GI 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 going to that out of guilt. He had trouble keeping his mind on the Lord with Kitty present and with the memories of her dead husband all around.

He waited, hat in hand, in the outer office. He’d learned patience the hard way, and waiting no longer bothered him.

“Jace, come on back.” She rounded the doorframe leading into the back with her usual sunny cheer. All smiles and smelling of roses like the rest of the place, Kitty motioned to him. “Did you finish the roof? I have a check for you on my desk.”

He stepped around the display case, avoiding Uncle Sam’s stare. “I didn’t come for that.”

“No?” She paused next to Dave Wainright’s flag.

“There’s damage on Unit 8.”

She made a small sound of dismay and bunched her shoulders. She was so cute when she did that. “Can you fix it?”

“Sure.” He smiled, wanting to reassure her. “No worries.”

Her smile returned, lighting him up inside. “Worry’s a sin.”

Right. And he was a sinner.

Kitty laughed, a merry sound like wind chimes. “I have trouble with that one.”

“Me, too,” he admitted, feeling ridiculously pleased to share such a thing with her. Fact of the matter was, he worried all the time. Though over the years he’d begun to feel safe, a man in his shoes knew not to get too comfortable or too close.

“I’m glad you came in. There’s a man in my office who wants to see you.”

“Someone needing a remodel?” It happened all the time. He’d be working on one project and someone would stop in and ask him to look at another.

Before she could answer, they stepped into the inner office. The skinny man he’d seen from a distance rose from a chair and turned toward him with a toothy smile.

“Well, there you are. The famous Jace Carter.”

All the blood drained from Jace’s head. His ears roared and he thought he might pass out, something he’d never done. Not even when he’d been bleeding to death on a cold concrete floor.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked, prayed he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

Fourteen years of clean living fell away as he stared into the face of Donny Babcock. A face he’d tried to forget. From a past that had finally caught up with him.