Family in His Heart. Gail Gaymer Martin
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strode to the storage room and hung it on the hook where she’d found it. She pulled her shoulder bag from the niche and drew in a deep breath.
Gaining composure, Rona walked back into the kitchen. “I’m leaving,” she said, waiting for Bernie to acknowledge her.
He finally glanced at the wall clock, then turned his head to look at her. “We’re still short help. Why don’t you stick around until five.”
“Until five?” If staying meant the possibility of being offered the job, she needed to use wisdom. “Okay.”
“Family here?” He shuffled his feet as if he were hedging.
“No family. I knew the Baileys who live in Hessel. It was years ago, when I was a kid, and I always had good memories of the Les Cheneaux area.”
“When you were a kid?”
He studied her as if wondering why it had taken her so long to return to the area. At thirty-nine, she was far from a kid.
His jaw twitched as his eyebrows raised. “You mean Sam and Shirley Bailey?”
She nodded.
“Sam died last year, but Shirley’s still in the same place.”
Sam died. She remembered the friendly man who had been Janie’s grandfather.
“You’re only just visitin’ then.”
Now Rona shuffled her feet as uncertainty winged its way into her thoughts, but she’d made a life change and she would honor her plans. “I’m staying.”
“You did a good job today pinch-hittin’ like that.” He shuffled his feet again. “Lookin’ for work?”
His question raised her spirits. She gave a halfhearted shrug. “Actually, yes, but—”
“I’d like you to stay on. You worked hard and I respect that.” He smiled a toothy grin. “Plus, you surprised me making that offer to help and I surprised myself by accepting it. I don’t know you from Adam.”
She couldn’t help but grin back. “I saw you were in a bind.”
“I can give you six dollars an hour plus your tips,” he said, shifting closer and keeping his volume just above a whisper. “I know that’s not a fortune, but we have good tippers around here. For good service, that is.”
She pictured Nick’s five dollar tip. Six dollars an hour. Good tips. She remembered working for two-seventy-five plus tips. Rona did a quick calculation. Not a bad wage until she found something better. “I can give it a try.” She paused knowing she had to be honest. “But if something better comes along, I make no guarantees.”
He pondered her comment, probably knowing that not much else was available around the area. “You got yourself a deal.” He stuck out his hand and gave hers a shake.
Bernie held up a finger. “I’ll get you an application.” He strode into the storage room and out again with the forms. “You can sit at a table and fill these out and, while you’re at it, grab a bite to eat. I imagine you’re hungry.” He handed her the papers.
Sit at a table. So much for her back-door escape, and by now she didn’t want to. She was hungry and a free meal sounded good. She ordered a whitefish sandwich—Nick’s had looked good earlier in the day—then poured herself a cup of coffee and headed into the dining room.
Her gaze drifted to Nick, who had once again focused on the newspaper, sipping a cup of coffee that Mandy must have brought to him. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall and she guessed he was waiting for her. She still hadn’t figured out the reason he wanted to talk to her. She eyed him, then decided she might as well get it over with.
Rona bit her lips, knowing she was lying to herself. Getting it over with had nothing to do with her motivation. The man had captured her interest. Still she didn’t want the guy to get the wrong idea.
Grasping the application and her coffee mug, she ambled to his table vacillating between interest and indecision. “Sorry.” She waved the forms toward him and motioned to an empty seat. “Bernie asked me to fill out these forms so I’ll sit—”
“You can fill them out here.” He patted the space across from him. “I don’t bite.”
Her old uneasiness soared into her chest. He said he didn’t bite, but she was too gullible. Even her own brother had conned her into making a decision she lived to regret. She knew her brother, but what did she know about Nick? Wavering with indecision, Rona could feel the stress in her face.
“Please,” he said, his tone warm and genial.
She slid her cup onto the table and placed the application farther away, fearing she would stain them with her coffee. Her hands felt unsteady as she settled onto the chair.
“Fish sandwich’s ready.”
Hearing the voice, she turned and saw Bernie slide her dinner under the warmer. She halted Nick with her index finger and hurried to the serving window for her sandwich.
When she’d settled back on the chair, Nick gave the bun a coy grin. “Looks familiar.”
His lighthearted tone brightened her spirit. “You had one earlier, I know. It looked good.”
“It was.” He gazed at her and she felt heat rise up her neck. Get a grip, she told herself, embarrassed that she’d allowed this stranger to wheedle his way into her life. She’d been duped before and though he said he wasn’t thinking anything, how could she trust him? Maybe he was trying to pick her up. What kind of woman did he think she was? She’d always been too trusting, too unsuspecting, and it was time to change. She steadied herself and peered into his eyes. “I don’t understand why you want to talk with me.”
“I don’t, either,” he said, the same crooked grin spreading to his lips. “I’m curious, I guess.”
“Curious?” His words skittered up her spine. “About what?”
“About you. What made you volunteer to wait tables? I’ve seen waitresses blow their corks and dart off, but I’ve never seen a customer stand up and take over.”
“I’ve worked as a waitress.” She felt the heat in her cheeks deepen. “Are you telling me you came back here because you were curious?”
His gaze drifted out the window, then back to her. “My son has track practice and I’m waiting for him.”
Son. Then he was married. Embarrassed at her presumption, she lowered her eyes to his left hand. No ring. Did lumberjacks wear rings?
“You’re a good dad to pick up your son from school.”
Nick’s mouth twisted.
She’d never had her dad pick her up from anywhere, but then she’d been grateful he didn’t. So often he was drunk.
“He doesn’t have his runabout today and we live on the island.” He tilted his head toward the window.
She followed his nod toward the island across the lake, filled with lovely houses bordered by acres of thickly wooded land. Privacy. Elegance.
“I was at a contractor’s meeting in town and it was convenient.” He gazed out the window toward the water and the look on his face made her wonder.
Convenient? She sensed he was dismissing her “good father” comment. “It’s still nice.” Rona pulled her gaze from the window back to him, her memory drifting back to an earlier comment. “You had a contractor’s meeting. Then, you’re in construction?”
He fingered his coffee mug. “Yes, and I own a resort on Drummond Island, up the road a few miles.”
Construction, owns a resort—the man had to be wealthy. Her earlier lumberjack image vanished and she winced at her simplistic perception.
Her focus lowered to the table and the job