The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand
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the way he’d come to her rescue like some cowboy in an old Western movie, by circling her waist with his strong, capable hands and helping her off the roof...then breaking the awkward moment afterward with a disarming flash of humor.
She saw him moving at a faster clip toward the pines along the creek bank, and if she didn’t gather her thoughts, she was going to lose him.
She rolled down her window. “Hey, cowboy!”
He turned in surprise and waited as she drove up beside him.
“Nice night for camping,” she said with a smile.
“As long as the wind stays down.” A corner of his mouth kicked up as he glanced toward the black, roiling clouds rapidly building over the treetops to the west. “What brings you way out here?”
“I think you know,” she said dryly.
He studied her for a long moment then sighed. “You checked out my story.”
She nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “I have an old friend at the sheriff’s office, and he got right on it.”
Connor stilled. “And?”
“I really do need help now. When the college kids come back for summer break, I can probably hire one of them for the tourist season, but—”
“All right.”
“Though that’s six weeks away and by then you’ll be long gone anyway, so—” She faltered to a stop and stared at him. “Wait a minute. You’ll do it?”
“You were right. I could use the cash, so if you need help, I’m game.” He gave the sky another glance. “If this weather keeps up, I might need to pay for a place to stay that actually has a roof.”
Relief washed through her. “I open at ten on Saturdays, so can you come in tomorrow—say, nine o’clock? I could pick you up.”
“No need.” The soft rain intensified and he pulled up the hood of his coat. “I just hope you don’t come to regret this. You might if folks find out about who you just hired.”
“So as you can see, this cash register is really easy.” Keeley gave the drawer a firm shove to close it. “Any questions?”
“Nope.” But the store, with its thousands of frilly, sparkly, dangly things everywhere and the multitude of stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, made him want to go rope a steer. Bale hay. Anything that would be outside and far from town, where a man could drag in a deep breath and not inhale the scents of soaps and fancy creams and a forest of dried flower arrangements.
Why anyone would want a bunch of dead flowers instead of fresh ones, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I can tell you’re really loving this,” she said dryly. “So let’s get on with the tour, okay?”
He nodded and followed her into the storeroom, where deep shelving lined each wall from floor to ceiling. A worktable held a coffeemaker, gift wrap and a pile of shipping supplies. “I don’t suppose you’ve done much gift wrapping and shipping.”
“Nope.” He thought back over the difficult four years of his marriage. He’d hung in there, trying to make his son’s life normal and happy, but there hadn’t been much to celebrate with a wife who’d often met her girlfriends in bars, drank too much and didn’t always come home.
“Wrapping is easy.” She collected two gift boxes from the shelf over the table and pulled two lengths of bright pink paper from one of the rollers, then handed him a tape dispenser and scissors. “Just copy what I do, step by step.”
She led him through the process three times before she was satisfied, then showed him how to affix a Keeley’s Antiques & Gifts sticker and a bow on the top. “Easy, right?”
Bows and sparkly pink wrapping paper. What would his brothers think of him now? He thought longingly about stacking hay. Cleaning horse stalls. Wrestling calves for branding. “Uh...right.”
No wonder she’d seemed hesitant—even wary—when she’d first offered him a job. Desperate as she was to find help, even she must have seen that he wouldn’t be good at this.
“The shipping boxes are all stacked flat, but are super easy to make up.” She reached for one on an upper shelf and whipped it together in the blink of an eye. “You can use crumpled paper or the little air-filled cushioning pillows—in that box over there. No foam packing peanuts. I hate those peanuts.”
“What about sweeping around here? Mowing—and those maintenance projects you mentioned? I’d be better at that.”
“Yes, but you aren’t getting off that easy.”
Her eyes twinkled. “If I need to leave to check on my dad or need to run to an estate auction, for instance, I’ll need you to handle things here. I’ve already got a boy who comes to sweep and such after school. You’ll meet Bobby on Monday.”
He caught a flash of movement above head level to his left and spun around, expecting to catch something falling from a shelf.
A scrawny white cat glared down at him, its back arched and tail raised. With a torn ear and one eye closed, it looked like a pirate fallen on bad times. Its superior expression suggested that it knew Connor wasn’t much better off.
“Rags,” Keeley murmured as she deftly finished preparing and sealing another shipping box. “Any questions?”
“Rags?”
“The cat.”
“It looks...” He was at a loss for words. Maybe it was her prized possession, but it was the homeliest creature he’d ever seen.
“Worse for wear?” She smiled up at the furry beast, then reached into a dorm-size refrigerator under the counter, grabbed a can of cat food and pulled back the tab on the lid. She set it on the workbench. “He showed up a few weeks ago and I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He’s never let me touch him, but I’m working on it. Once we’re friends, I’ll catch him and get him vaccinated and neutered.”
“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Connor said dryly.
“Not his choice, given the feral-cat population around here.” She put the shipping materials away then turned to face Connor once more. “So—this is where my extra stock is. I’ve labeled the larger boxes clearly, and small items are in labeled plastic totes. If I’m not here and you have any questions, there’s a phone by the register and you can always call my cell.”
“I think I can handle it.”
She frowned. “Do you have a cell phone? In case I need to reach you?”
“Just a basic no-contract, prepaid phone I picked up in Montana. Text and calls, but no internet.”
“That works.” She reached for her back jeans’ pocket, took out her phone and punched in his number as he recited it to her, then gave him her number. “We’re all set, then.”
“You mentioned repairs.” He gestured toward a five-gallon pail strategically placed under a slowly dripping leak in the ceiling by the back wall. “Do you have a list?”
At that she rolled her eyes. “Sadly, more lists than I could keep track of. I finally had to start putting them all in a ring notebook along with a raft of estimates. Most of the jobs are big and will require more time than you’ll be here, or need to be done by someone licensed and bonded. I’ve got all that scheduled. But there are endless small jobs, believe me.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Three years. I’ve already done quite a bit to this place, but the building is older than a lot of my antiques, and it was empty for several years before I bought it. The repairs