The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand
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annual Aspen Creek Antique Walk next weekend—the busiest sales days of the year and the crucial beginning of spring tourist season.
But her first hire had failed to show up. The second had found making correct change an impossible feat and saw customers as a bother when they interrupted her personal phone calls. The third had lasted two days and then walked out for good—apparently with a number of lovely antique rings and bracelets in her pocket.
And since then not one person had answered her advertisement in the paper. Not one.
Keeley shuddered, remembering all the reasons why she desperately needed help, and soon. Long-term. Temporary. Anyone. The first honest, dependable person she could find.
That brought her thoughts right back to the tall, dark and unwilling cowboy.
“So this guy stopped in. And?” Beth prompted.
“I’d just finished praying. I’ve been so frustrated trying to find a new employee that I just turned it over to God and promised to hire the very first person who walked in—if they wanted a job.”
Beth’s eyes sparkled. “And?”
“The cowboy came in to escape the rain, and it was such perfect timing that I thought maybe it was a sign from above. But he wasn’t interested.”
Beth’s face fell. “Too bad.”
“Exactly. I need to be here to run the store, but you know what it’s like with my dad these days. I might have to leave at a moment’s notice, if he needs me. Know anyone who wants a job?”
“Believe me, I would send them right over. It took me three whole months to replace my last assistant manager.” Shaking her head in commiseration, Beth set a small white bakery box on the counter by the cash register. “I brought this for Edna’s farewell, but she’s already gone. So if it’s any consolation, here’s something from Sweetie’s Bake Shop. Nothing like a nice sugar overload to lift your spirits, right?”
“At this point, I sure hope so. Can we share it?”
A heavy roll of thunder vibrated the oak flooring beneath their feet and Beth frowned. “I’d better get back to my store before the deluge starts again. Have you heard the severe-weather warnings on the radio?”
“Rain and more rain. A chance of flooding for the next five days. Just what we need.”
Beth laughed at that as she headed for the front door and picked up her umbrella. “I’ll be praying for you, Keeley. Hopefully your next applicant will be perfect.”
Keeley North hadn’t been kidding.
By five o’clock Connor knew that looking for a job in Aspen Creek and actually finding one were two different things. He’d walked every block, checking store windows for Help Wanted signs. If seasonal jobs had been available this spring, they’d already been snapped up.
The lodging situation wasn’t any better.
He hadn’t bothered checking out the B and Bs in the grand old homes, but even the handful of seedy strip motels in town were too expensive. At least the campground would be cheap. Set along the banks of Aspen Creek a mile north of town, according to the tow-truck driver, it was just five bucks a night and even included a building with showers.
He could pitch his one-man backpacking tent and manage on basic fare cooked over his camp stove for the next two weeks, no problem there. He’d already done the same and enjoyed the open sky for two nights on the road while on his way to Detroit. Even a primitive campsite was better than prison walls.
Now he sat hunkered over the classifieds and a cup of coffee in a truck-stop café at the south end of town, looking for any opportunities he might have missed. He’d passed some beautiful horse-breeding farms and training facilities on his way here—rolling hills, white fences, fancy barns. One, the Bar-B Quarter Horse Ranch about fifty miles back, had made him long to saddle a green colt once again. Those were the kinds of places where his background would be a perfect fit.
But none of them was advertising for help.
The only jobs listed were those he wasn’t suited for. Nurses. Home health aides. Day-care providers. A nanny for infant triplets.
The last one made him shudder.
He glanced heavenward, a rusty prayer forming in his thoughts. Then he just sighed, dropped a couple of bucks on the table and stood.
The kind and loving God of his childhood Sunday-school days sure hadn’t bothered to answer his prayers whenever he’d really needed help, and Connor hadn’t been on speaking terms with God for a long, long time. Why would He care now?
Connor shouldered his duffel bag and headed north on Main toward the campground, thankful that the rain had stopped.
He pulled to an abrupt halt.
Across the street, an old black New Yorker sedan pulled away from the curb and lurched to a stop in the middle of the street. Then the elderly driver laboriously backed up over the curb and swung across the sidewalk, apparently planning to execute a slow-motion three-point turn using the empty lot next to Keeley’s store.
But the car kept going back.
And back.
Until it bumped into a tall wooden ladder propped against the flat roof of the two-story building.
Then the car lurched forward into the street and lumbered away, the driver clearly oblivious to the destruction in his wake as the ladder teetered...then crashed to the ground.
Connor shook his head in disbelief. Did that old duffer even have a driver’s license? At least no one had been on the ladder, which now lay in splinters.
Movement at the top of the building caught his eye and he lifted his gaze to see Keeley standing on the flat-topped roof with a dumbfounded expression, a hammer in one hand and her other hand propped on her slim hip.
His heart took an extra beat.
“Dad,” she shouted, clearly exasperated. “Come back here!”
The car continued down the street at a turtle’s pace.
“Dad!”
The sidewalks were deserted; no other cars were coming down Main. Keeley’s attention swiveled to Connor. “Hey,” she called down to him. “Can you help me?”
Connor walked across the street to the empty lot and studied the splintered ladder. “I think this one is toast. Got another one somewhere?”
She mumbled something he didn’t make out and he couldn’t help but grin up at her. He couldn’t see what she’d been working on, but she was the cutest handyman he’d ever seen, bar none.
“I’ll take that as a no. Want me to call 9-1-1? The fire department or the police?”
“Oh, no. Please no,” she said fervently. “I’d never hear the end of it. Neither would my dad, and he would not handle it well, believe me.”
“Was that ladder the only way up there? Isn’t there an inside stairwell?”
“There is, but only to the second floor. And right now, the trick is getting from here to there. The old iron fire-escape ladder is too weak to use.”
“Isn’t that a fire-code violation?”
“Of course it is. Just last week I had a contractor look at leaks in the roof and give me an estimate on replacing the fire escape.”
The lowering sun backlit her cloud of honey-blond hair, making it gleam with sparkling highlights, though her face was cast in shadow. He suspected she was frowning at him, maybe debating her next move. “So how can I help?”
“Could you go into the store and up the stairs by the storeroom in back? The door’s locked,