The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand
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concern.
She’d been stunned when Connor walked into her shop moments after she’d recklessly promised God—in prayer, which surely must be binding—that she’d trust Him and would offer a job to the next person who walked into her store.
But she’d expected a nicely dressed middle-aged woman to come in the door—her usual sort of clientele—not a tall, lean cowboy whose handsome, chiseled face belonged on a hero in a Western movie. And she hadn’t exactly expected he’d be fresh out of prison, either—no matter what the circumstances of his incarceration. Had Connor been completely honest with her?
She’d felt a shiver of instant attraction when he’d come into her store, and when he’d briefly held her in his arms while helping her down from the roof, her pulse had kicked into overdrive and her stomach had fluttered. She’d felt the warmth of an embarrassing blush rise to her face.
But whatever her foolish reaction might have been to this stranger, she would be stupid not to check out his story even further. His thick black hair, silvery blue eyes and strong jaw might be compelling, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy.
Keeley got back in her car and drove slowly past Red’s Mechanic Shop & Wrecker Service. The three garage doors were all open, revealing a trio of SUVs in the service bays.
Her heart dropped. Just as she’d feared, there wasn’t a pickup in sight. Had Connor lied about the reason he was in town?
Maybe he’d just been casing her store...
At that thought, she had to laugh.
With her current financial state, there would be little cash to steal, and what interest could he possibly have in costume jewelry, local artists and pretty little antiques?
She turned around, pulled into the parking area and went looking for Red. He was sitting with his feet propped up at his desk in the cramped office, his thick fingers stained black with grease and motor oil, eating a sandwich.
He waved her toward a chair filled with a haphazard stack of invoices. “So how’s that New Yorker running, missy?”
At thirty-one, she was still “missy” to the man who had been fixing her dad’s cars for forty years. She smiled. “Like a clock. You do great work.”
“It ought to last another hundred thousand, but I’m not so sure about your dad, though.”
“That he’ll last that long?”
“That he oughta drive that long. I hear he had a little trouble yesterday afternoon.”
She fidgeted with her keys. “Oh?”
“Millie Ferguson was closing up her shop and saw him make some pretty strange moves on Main.”
Keeley groaned. Knitting Pretty was across the street from her own shop and just a couple of doors down. Its bay windows offered Millie a stellar view of everything happening on Main. She never missed a thing, and she never hesitated to share it.
“How did you hear about that?”
“At the coffee shop this morning. Good thing no one else was on the street.”
“Did...she say anything else?”
He chuckled. “Only that she saw a handsome cowboy talking to you yesterday. And she said she’s gonna keep a sharp eye out for your dad’s car and stay out of his way.”
If Dad’s little accident was already fodder for the coffee-shop crowd, then the whole town knew. “I just hope no one razzes him about it.”
“I imagine they will. No doubt about it.” He took another bite and continued talking around the mouthful. “So what can I do for you?”
Well, this was awkward. “I, um... Nothing, really. I heard you towed in a pickup yesterday.”
He lowered the sandwich and winked. “The cowboy. Is he a close friend of yours, by any chance?”
She could see the Aspen Creek gossip mill churning if she didn’t make things perfectly clear. “Actually, he might work at my store for a couple weeks while he’s waiting for his truck. But I was just driving by and didn’t see it on any of your lifts.”
“It’s parked out back.”
Relief washed through her. “Thanks.”
“I’ll get to it as soon as I can. But maybe you’ll want him to stick around longer.” Red grinned and reached over to give her a pat on the shoulder with a beefy paw. “I’ve never been one to stand in the way of true love, you know.”
She cringed at the way he warbled out the last words.
Red had always liked to tease her whenever she’d stopped here with Dad as a little girl. Now she wished she hadn’t come by to snoop. “Nothing of the kind,” she said firmly. “He’s just a potential employee.”
Red gave her a knowing look as he took another bite of his sandwich. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Whatever you say.”
That meant the diner crowd would likely be hearing another chapter of her life the next time Red stopped in for his favorite rhubarb pie.
She was just climbing into her Honda SUV when Red came to the open door of his shop. “Your cowboy stopped by just an hour ago and fetched the rest of his camping gear from the back of his truck. If you need to find him, check out the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. But keep an eye on the weather, honey. Looks like more storms are rolling in.”
“Thanks, Red.” Turning for Dad’s two-story brick house on Cedar, she flipped on the radio and mulled her options as she drove through town. Okay, Lord. Unless You give me a big sign, I’m going to give that cowboy another chance to say yes.
As she pulled to a stop in front of her father’s house, her heart fell. “Dad? What on earth...?”
She shouldered on her Marmot rain jacket and hurried up the cement walk leading to his front porch, where Paul North sat on the porch swing in a wet short-sleeved shirt, huddled into himself and obviously chilled to the bone. “You’ll catch pneumonia out here. Why aren’t you inside?”
He shot an irritable glance at her. “Bart.”
“The dog?” She glanced around the empty front yard. “Where is he?”
He hiked a thumb toward the house. “He must’ve jumped against the door and shut it while I was getting my mail.”
Right. She shut her eyes briefly at the thought of her elderly father walking the two blocks to the post office then losing his keys. “You went in the rain? Without a jacket?”
“It wasn’t raining when I left,” he snapped.
“This is important, Dad. What if I hadn’t stopped by? What if it was colder outside? You could end up in the hospital.” She fingered through her keys and unlocked the heavy oak front door. “Do you remember where we put your extra keys after the last time you got locked out?”
“Of course I do. They’re gone.”
She went to the farthest brick pillar supporting the porch roof, felt for the single loose brick, retrieved the slim metal box behind it and held it up for him to see. “Right in here, Dad.”
He gave her hand a blank look then shrugged. “Then you didn’t put them back right the last time. Too far back.”
Stifling an exasperated sigh, she held the door open for him and ushered him inside. He’d locked himself out before—without the unlikely help of his crotchety, lazy old dog—hence the keys hidden at both the front and back doors. He was just seventy-three, but now the trick was for him to remember where they were.
One more sign that his independence was fading and her responsibility for him had to increase—despite his stubborn refusal. “You need one of those medical alert necklaces, Dad. Push a button and help is on the way.”
He