Home to Montana

“Mama remembered your family.”

He snorted a disparaging sound. “And she still hired me?”

“She remembers you being a nice kid.” So did Alisa, although she wasn’t about to admit that.

He looked at her again and shook his head. “I’m sure if I’d stuck around here a few years longer, I would have remembered you. You’re not a woman a man would easily forget.”

But boys rarely remembered skinny girls with stringy hair and massive gaps between their front teeth, which Alisa eventually eliminated with braces.

She stepped aside, trying to put more space between them. Far enough so that she couldn’t feel his eyes skimming over her face making her cheeks flush and her breath catch. “Well, help yourself to whatever tools you need to fix the steps. Just be sure to lock up the shed when you’re done.”

“You got it.”

Exiting as quickly as she could, she hurried back to the diner. Not a woman a man would easily forget. Did he mean that? Or was he simply being polite? A throwaway compliment?

What difference would it make either way? She liked her life the way it was. Things were comfortable. Predictable. Perfect for her.

During the prelunch lull, she found her mother at her desk in the kitchen working out her order for the next day from the restaurant supply delivery service.

“I wish you hadn’t hired that man,” she said.

Mama glanced up at her. “What man?”

“You know what man I mean. Our new handyman.”

“Ah, you mean Nick. Why should I not have hired him?”

“Well, because...” Unable to think of a logical reason, she plopped down in the chair beside the desk.

“Because he makes you nervous?” Mama provided.

“Of course not. It’s just that... Well, he doesn’t really have any construction experience. He won’t have any idea how to fix the steps.”

“He’s a smart man. He’ll figure it out.”

Leaning back in the chair, Alisa sighed.

“What is it, my little princess?” Mama asked softly, using the words Alisa’s father had called her. “Is it that you are attracted to Nick?”

“Certainly not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “He only showed up yesterday. He’ll be gone soon. Why would I be attracted to a man like that?” Another drifter.

Looking at Alisa with a mother’s probing eye, Mama said, “I think you are afraid to feel something for a man.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Ever since Ben, you will have nothing to do with any man. You ignore them. Or you put on a phony smile and laugh off their advances. You’re thirty years old. At your age, you should be thinking about—”

“Mama, I’m perfectly happy just as I am. I don’t need a man. I’ve got Greg and I’ve got you. That’s all the family I need.” Her voice shaking, she stood. “As for the men around here, they’re either married, divorced or can’t manage an intelligent conversation for more than two seconds.”

“Larry Cornwall is a smart man. He has a college degree.”

“He’s a jock, Mama. He talks about fullbacks and tailbacks and running the end around something. He spends his spare time watching reruns of college games. That hardly makes for an intellectual conversation.”

“So you say. But it may be that Nick Carbini is different than other men you have met. Maybe there’s a reason God brought him back home.”

“Don’t count on it. Besides, drifters don’t have a home.” Without saying another word, Alisa marched out of the kitchen. What a ridiculous thing for her mother to say. That she was afraid of men? Not for a moment. She could do anything a man could do. Chop wood. Plow snow from their parking lot. She could probably fix the porch steps if she were so inclined.

It was just that Nick made her...nervous.

She’d strayed from God’s path once, which left her with a heartache and a child born out of wedlock. Although she would never regret having Greg, she had no intention of making that mistake again.

Which was precisely why Nick made her so nervous. If she weakened even a little, she might not be able to stop from making another serious error in judgment. A woman didn’t fall into a man’s arms simply because she was attracted to his dark good looks and the hint of loneliness in his eyes. That would only lead to heartache.

* * *

Wood rot was the problem on the bottom two steps. Not simply the bolts that held the step in place loosening.

Nick had found some wood that matched the existing steps and cut it to length. There had even been a jar full of the bolts in the shed that he needed. Now he was drilling holes for the new bolts.

“Hey, mister.”

Silencing the drill, Nick looked up. “Hey, Greg. You can call me Nick, if you want.”

“’Kay.”

“How was school?”

“Same ol’. What’re you doing?”

Nick sat back on his haunches. “Fixing these steps. They were wobbly.”

The boy eyed the new wood. “Can I help?”

Nick gave some thought to whether Alisa would approve or not. “Maybe when I put the sealer on the new wood you could help.” A boy needed to feel useful, not ignored.

The youngster shifted from one foot to the other, then eased over to Rags, who was tied up a few feet away. “Maybe I could play with Rags while I’m waiting.”

Nick’s lips twitched into a smile. “I think Rags would like that a lot.”

“Great.” He tossed his backpack aside and dropped to his knees, roughing up Rags’s coat and scratching him behind his ears. Eager to return the greeting, Rags licked Greg’s face, which resulted in high-pitched giggles. Unhooking the leash, Greg said, “Come on, boy. Let’s find a stick.”

Smiling, Nick watched the two of them race off, Rags in the lead, happy at last to be able to run free.

He’d never had a dog as a kid. The closest he’d come to having a pet was a goldfish he’d won at a school carnival. The poor fish—he’d named him Oscar—hadn’t lasted long. One morning Nick had found him on the floor. Oscar had apparently jumped out of his bowl during the night. Nick had wanted to bury him in the backyard, but his dad made him flush the fish down the toilet.

It didn’t matter. Either way, Oscar was dead. Nick wasn’t allowed to cry.

He wrestled the new steps into place and tightened down the bolts. The newly cut wood smelled clean and fresh. He could understand why a man would want to work with his hands building things. Things that lasted.