At Home in His Heart

“Your husband was a handsome man,” one of the women from Utah said, nodding to the photograph of a uniformed Keith adorning the local veterans display at the Canyon Springs Historical Museum.

“He was a good one, too.” While bittersweet, Sandi always enjoyed pointing out the photos and memorabilia of men and women who’d served in the armed forces. Each time it renewed her determination that the exhibit would be significantly expanded—and dedicated to Keith Bradshaw.

His mother would be so surprised.

And so proud.

She’d finally realize her daughter-in-law had been worthy of her youngest son.

“Don’t know what this world would do without men and women willing to make a supreme sacrifice for others,” a second woman said softly. “And thank you for answering our questions about the area. I’m still amazed that this oasis of cool pines exists in Arizona. I had no idea.”

When they’d departed, the last visitors of the day, Sandi locked the front door then headed to the rolltop desk and pulled out a cash box. At a two-dollar donation per visitor, a “take” for the day of fifty-four dollars might seem, to some, time not well spent. Holiday-goers must have wanted to be outdoors enjoying the weather, just as a number of historical society members who’d declined to assist today had pointed out. But every bit helped keep the museum afloat, so she wouldn’t beat herself up about it.

She slipped the cash into a small plastic bag and stuffed it in her purse for a Tuesday bank deposit, then paused to let her gaze travel around the museum’s main room. Originally a living room when Bryce’s grandparents first moved there, it was now packed with mementos of Canyon Springs’s past. Her eyes lingered on the veterans display in the corner.

On Keith’s photo.

I’m going to make you and your mom proud. I promise.

“Come on, Gina,” she called as she slung her purse over her shoulder. “Gather your things and let’s get out of here.”

When Mae had returned with Gina after lunch—also bringing Sandi a still-warm gyro from a street vendor—she’d settled her daughter in the kitchen with books, games and crayons.

How she hated being in Bryce’s debt for helping her make up for the lost mom-and-daughter day. But when Mae offered to brighten Gina’s morning, how could she refuse? Even with that big boulder of a guy almost glowering at her, she couldn’t decline the offer. It was clear he thought she’d try to make his grandma feel bad about raising the museum rent, but he needn’t have worried about that. She knew who the guilty party was—and it wasn’t Mae.

“Come on, Gina. Let’s go.”

She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Crayons littered the white-painted wooden table. A ladder-back chair, Gina’s jacket draped over it, had been pushed to the side. But no sign of the six-year-old. She headed back to the front of the house, then through the adjoining rooms.

“Gina?”

Now where had she gotten off to? She glanced up the narrow staircase to the apartment above. Could she have gone to see Mae? She knew not to bother her. And wouldn’t Sandi have heard the old steps creak even if she’d attempted to sneak up there?

She returned to the kitchen. The glass-paned back door appeared slightly ajar. Ah. She opened it wide, expecting to see Gina on the porch.

Uneasiness niggled. Gina knew better than to wander off. They’d been over the stranger-danger stuff enough times. Sandi stepped outside and walked between the towering ponderosa pines to peek around both sides of the old stone house.

She raised her voice. “Gina!”

Just as she was about to scale the exterior wooden steps to Mae’s apartment, she heard a squealing laugh. Gina’s laugh. Coming from behind the old garage. With a prayer of thanks, she hurried to the back of the property.

Rounding the corner of the structure, she halted. There in a metal fishing boat mounted on a trailer sat Bryce and Gina—her daughter in the bow and Bryce in the stern—both laughing and rowing away with imaginary oars for all they were worth.

Gina spied her immediately and waved her ball cap. “Mommy! Look! Uncle Bryce has a boat. He can take us fishing.”

Fishing? That wasn’t something high on her list of favorite things to do. And what was this Uncle Bryce stuff again?

She turned to him and his face reddened. He must feel as silly as he looked. Although kind of cute, too. A grown-up guy rowing away with gusto against make-believe waves just to make a little girl giggle.

Laying his “oars” aside, he stood, then jumped out of the boat. Graceful landing for such a big guy. What was he? Six-two? Three? His dark eyes met hers with uncertainty. “She wanted to try it out. I hope that was okay.”

“Next time—” she folded her arms, keeping her expression as straight as she could “—don’t forget the life jackets.”

He stared at her a moment, processing her words, then a grin split the handsome, bearded face. “Yes, ma’am. My oversight.”

A smile tugged at her own lips as their gazes held a little too long. Heart quickening, Sandi turned again to her daughter.

“Let’s go, Gina.”

The little girl’s lower lip protruded. “I want to go fishing, Mommy.”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

“Davy’s grandpa and daddy take him fishing.”

“Maybe you can go with them sometime.”

Gina gripped the edges of the bench seat on each side of her. “I want to go with Uncle Bryce. He’s going now.”

“Now?” She glanced at Bryce for confirmation.

He nodded.

Helpless in the face of her daughter’s obstinacy, she gave him a warning look. Come on, big guy, give me a hand here since this is your doing.

Obediently, he reached out to Gina and she went willingly into his arms to be lifted from the boat. “I’m afraid I don’t have any little-kid life jackets, Gina. Just big people’s.”

He set her feet gently on the ground, but she turned to cling to his hand. “You can buy a little people one, can’t you?”

Inwardly Sandi cringed. Was her daughter drawn to him, to any man, because she didn’t have one in her life? A daddy?

“Gina, that’s enough. Don’t badger Mr. Harding.”

“But I want—”

“Gina.”

The little shoulders slumped, but she didn’t release his hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“What do you say I look around for a kid one, then—”

“That’s kind of you, Bryce, but you don’t need to do that.” And no way was she letting this stranger take her daughter out in a boat, Keith’s old buddy or not.

“You can come along, too,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I’d never take a kid in a boat without another adult as backup.”

“Thanks, but we have plans for the evening.”

Gina eyes brightened with curiosity. “We do? What?”