The Sweetest Gift

“Hey, insult me and I won’t fix the fence.”

“My dog isn’t the one getting out.” She pushed open the screen door to join him on the back deck. “I almost have your tea ready. It’s brewing right now.”

“Brewing? You don’t use the mix?”

“From a can? Don’t insult me. When I promised you tea, I meant the real thing.” She led the way to the back of the property, where a few boards leaned against the fence beneath the shade of a giant maple.

“The real thing? I don’t know.” He hefted the awkward boards as if they weighed nothing at all. “I think that’s too wholesome for me. I need the fake stuff with all the chemicals and artificial flavors, or I could go into shock. Then who’d fix your fence?”

“I’m a nurse practitioner. I’d save your life.”

“Great. You’d revive me so I could go back to work.”

“I’d revive you because I took an oath. And because you’re my new quiet neighbor. The one who won’t play loud music at night.”

“Are you hinting at something?” Acting as if puzzled, he hauled the hammer from his battered leather tool belt. “I’ll have to remind my fellow biker gang members to keep it down when we gather at midnight to shoot off our illegal firearms.”

Oh, he thought he was funny when he was no such thing. The tea was probably ready, so she headed back to the house. “Can I get you anything? I have cookies.”

“Cookies are too sweet for me. They might ruin my sour disposition.”

“How about a lemon?”

The little spaniel skipped after her, clearly in love with her owner and, to Sam’s shock, Leo took after Kirby, too, his tongue lolling, his gait snappy, that sappy loving look in his big eyes.

“Hey, get back here!” he commanded, and the dog gave him a sad expression. It was an embarrassment, that’s what. “Oh, don’t complain. Come here.”

He didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Kirby was nice and seemed lovely, but she was a woman. Like half the people on the planet.

He shoved a bunch of climbing rose canes aside. Yep, she was a woman. Flowers and tidy weeded flower beds and those little figurine things stuck here and there. A birdbath and stepping stones with designs on them.

He was glad he was in charge of his own destiny. Being alone was a good thing. He didn’t need anyone and he didn’t need ceramic stepping stones.

As he dug through his bucket for the right size of galvanized nails, he heard her phone ring inside the house. He could see her kitchen through the big back window. Tidy and cozy and as ruffly and bright as a magazine cover.

It looked homey. There she was, leaning against the white counter, the phone tucked against her shoulder, talking while she poured sparkling tea into a tall glass.

She sure made a pretty picture. His chest ached with the power of it. He supposed it was the image she made, standing there like an advertisement for all that was good in the world. Clean counters and polished wood and every knickknack in place. With a smile that shone as genuine as the sun.

Not that he believed in that kind of goodness anymore.

Goodness? No. God? Yes. Peace? Yes. That’s what he believed in.

After too many years as a soldier and then as a corporate pilot flying head honchos anywhere in the world they needed to go, he just wanted a home. Peace and quiet. To be content and enjoy his life. Just him and Leo.

He drove the nail in sure and deep with one whack of the hammer. Pinned his elbow on the board and drove in a second nail. A third.

“That was my sister.” She came up from behind him, her steps hushed in the soft grass. Ice cubes rattled as she set down glass and pitcher, both topped with sliced lemons.

Thoughtful.

“I’ve got to run in and help her with the coffee shop. She’s shorthanded. Do you need anything else? I’ll leave the back door unlocked. Just help yourself.”

“Sure, okay.” He didn’t look at her as he drove another nail home. “I’ll lock up when I finish.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”

“I’ve got to ask you something.” He nailed the next board into place. “This has really been bothering me. I’ve had some neighbor disasters, too.”

“You’re worried about me?”

“Are you a partying kind of girl? I’m praying that you’re a quiet sort of woman who doesn’t play music all hours of the night. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Funny.” She slung her slim black purse over her shoulder. “Give my regards to your biker friends.”

Her wink made him chuckle, and it warmed him down to his bones. One thing about Kirby—he liked her sense of humor.

But that was all.

She swept away from him, like grace and spring and peace all rolled up into one perfect human being. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Not by a long shot. But she was fine.

Very fine, indeed.

Chapter Four

Her house was dark—not surprising considering the late hour. The green glow from the clock on the stove, showing 3:15, cast enough illumination to guide her around the corner of the island. She padded on bare feet to the cupboard and reached for her favorite oversize mug by feel.

As she flicked on the cold water faucet, she swore she could smell the faint hint of Sam’s woodsy scent, and it was pleasant. The image of him working on her backyard fence shot into her mind. The afternoon sun had burnished his broad back and his arm muscles had flexed while he drove the nails home.

Fixing her fence for a glass of iced tea. What kind of man did that?

A man who named his ferocious-looking dog Leo, that’s who. A man whose aunt sang his praises as if he were perfect in every way.

You’ve thought about him enough today, okay? Kirby popped open the microwave door, and the interior light burned like a beacon in the darkness as she placed the cup inside. She loved the embossed image of a wet, rumpled cartoon cat in a puddle that said Nothing Is Ever Simple.

That was her life slogan. She shut the door, hit the two-minute button and listened to the machine whir. Sam. There she was, thinking about him again. And what was wrong with that? Everything.

Especially having a conversation about him with herself at three in the morning.

The light from the microwave showed her tidy sink and counter. After coming home from helping out at the coffee shop and having dinner with her sisters, she’d expected to find Sam’s glass and tray left on the counter. But no, he’d rinsed the dishes, put them in the dishwasher. All by himself.

Okay, that was a bonus requirement. One that wasn’t on her list. Maybe she should add it. Right under “man of faith,” she would add “does dishes.” Not a bad attribute for her future Mr. Right to have.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the fence repair was perfect. Through the night shadows around her back porch light she could just make out the unbroken row of boards that proved Sam Gardner completed even small jobs with care.

All those jokes he’d made about being a biker or in a rock band made her smile, even in the lonely night. He was probably a pretty good plumber. And he was here to stay.

She could see his house perfectly through the spreading branches of the lilac trees outside her kitchen window. His windows were dark, his house silent.