Happily Ever After (8 page)

Okay, Mona, you’re on jack duty. Make sure it doesn’t slip, and if it starts to move, you holler.”

Mona nodded and wrapped both gloved hands around the jack handle. “Will this work?”

“Yep,” Joe said, without glancing at her.

She watched him retrieve two cinder blocks from the pile on her walk. He was different this morning. Somehow, after yesterday’s
horrible roach party, he seemed more serious, even driven. Although he couldn’t seem to quell his quips and spurts of craziness,
she had to give him credit—he was a hard worker. She’d spied him in the backyard late last night, painting Liza’s workshop
by the glow of an electric light. She’d lingered, watching him from her bedroom window, grinning when he wrestled Rip to the
grass for a paint rag. The mutt wasn’t so bad. He did have the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. And yesterday, when she’d claimed
a quiet place on the porch to sort out her frustration, Rip had flopped down next to her, resting his muzzle on her foot,
as if he understood and wanted to comfort her.

This morning, she’d glimpsed her handyman driving away in a fog of exhaust, and when he returned, he had a bed full of cinder
blocks, exterior paint, and roofing materials. She scowled, spotting the price on the cans of paint, but she supposed the
higher price would guarantee she wouldn’t have to repaint soon. “I’ll tack the amount on to your pay if you’ll give me the
receipt,” she said, after bounding up to him, arms outstretched to help carry supplies.

He gave her a look that made her shrivel. “Nothing doing. Consider it a gift.”

Mona’s fury rose like a flood. “I don’t need your help.Haven’t we been through this?”

“Yep.” He loaded her arms with a bag of cement.“Just put it by the porch.” Mona gaped, but Joe didn’t spare her a glance as
he crossed to the tailgate. Opening it, he hauled out two cinder blocks. “Hurry up. We have a big day ahead of us.”

“Okay, Mona,” Joe said, his voice alerting her to the job at hand. “I’m going to slide the blocks in. Then you ease up on
the jack ever so slightly, and we’ll see how they settle.”

He layered the blocks on top of one another in a smoothed spot. At his nod, Mona pressed the jack handle. The porch moaned,
the blocks scraped, and the corner of her porch leveled out.

Joe beamed in triumph. “Now let’s jack her back up and I’ll cement it in.” He stood and gripped the handle, laying his hands
next to hers. His presence was close, and he smelled unnervingly masculine—sweat and flannel and wood chips.

“I got it,” he whispered.

She looked up and was captured by his magnetic blue eyes. They entranced her, holding her in some sort of magical grip. Mona
felt an unfamiliar tingle ripple up her spine. She jumped back, but his eyes stayed on hers, penetrating, peeling away her
toughened layers until she felt as if he could see into her soul. Frowning, she turned away. She heard him grunt as he jacked
up the porch.

What was different about him? Mona chewed her lip. He acted as if the house were his and he was taking ownership of her dreams.

“Can you hold the jack again?”

Mona turned and gripped the jack, noticing he withdrew his hands the instant hers took over. He walked to the bucket and began
mixing and stirring the cement.

Mona shivered in her flannel shirt. The cool air didn’t seem to bother Joe, however. He’d stripped off his blue sweatshirt,
and his wide chest and thick arms stretched over a gray army T-shirt. Fit and strong, he carried himself like a man used to
manual labor. Joe straightened, snared the bucket, and turned to face her.

His blue eyes shimmered deep indigo against the navy bandana he’d tied on his head, and the brightness of them caught her
like a gust of wind. Her mouth went dry, and she realized he had eyes like her father’s. Rich, discerning, pensive. And, at
times, laughing. Mona struggled to collect her composure.

She numbly watched him trowel cement over the blocks. Then he eased them into place again. “Okay, let her down.”

Mona lowered the jack. The cinder blocks held.

“Well, now the muffins won’t tumble off the plates,” she commented, forcing a carefree tone into her voice.

Joe grinned. “Poor Rip. He was counting on the extra tidbits.”

Mona laughed and rolled her eyes but couldn’t ignore the implication that he might be staying. What was worse, for the first
time the idea seemed oddly pleasing.

Joe gripped the steering wheel, felt the warmth of Rip’s head on his lap, and watched the forest envelop him. The lush undergrowth
along the dirt road to the Garden effectively blotted out the sun, yet the creamy birch trees gleamed white like bones.

With the wind singing through the trees and the pine scenting the truck cab, Joe knew it had been wise to obey Mona and take
the day off. He’d fought the impulse for a moment, as he stood beside his truck and watched her attack her newly leveled porch
with white paint. It was a daunting task. Still, she seemed so content, happily humming, and it balmed the shard of guilt
piercing his heart. He finally surrendered to the urge that burned in his chest—to go see Gabe.

The Garden lodge seemed deserted, the handful of wicker rocking chairs on the porch empty and unmoving. As Joe climbed out
of the truck, Rip squeezed past him and, with a jubilant bark, took off after a pair of startled squirrels.

“Anybody here?” Joe called, unwilling to walk into the lodge unannounced.

The screen door squealed. Ruby emerged, wearing a welcome smile, a pair of baggy jeans, and a floral-print flannel shirt rolled
up past her elbows. She held a ledger and had tucked a pencil above one ear. “Hello, Joe. Gabe was hoping you’d stop by.”

“Hi, Ruby. Is he around?”

“Sure. He’s out back with the others. Go behind the lodge.”

Joe heard voices as he trudged around the building—someone shouting orders, other voices singing. Although they sounded like
a busy bunch, he didn’t expect the sight that greeted him. The Garden occupants—some gripping hoes, others kneeling—were working
the soil around hundreds of green plants. Gabe stood on the bed of a wheelbarrow and barked orders like an army sergeant.
Amazement rooted Joe to the spot.

“Put the mulch on that section near the back!” Gabe gestured with a hand trowel to a portion of the garden. Gabe was an uncanny
mirror of himself—clad in a pair of old army pants, a gray sweatshirt, and a red Bulls baseball cap. Joe had received it from
a friend in Chicago, and seeing it on Gabe’s head warmed him inside.

“Hey, Gabe, doing a little gardening?” Joe tucked his hands in his pockets and sauntered up to his brother.

Gabe’s eyes registered delight. “Joe! Where have you been?”

Joe shrugged. “I got a job in town helping remodel a house.”

“A job?” Gabe hopped down from the wheelbarrow.“Why? You have a job.”

Dodging the question and the countless others that would follow, Joe motioned toward the endless beds of sprouts. “Wow, are
all those strawberries?”

Gabe grinned, his oval eyes dancing. “Yep. The Garden’s fresh strawberries are famous. Don’t you remember?” He frowned. “I
wrote you about it.”

Joe felt like a cad. When Gabe mentioned in his letters that he liked to grow strawberries, Joe had thought his brother had
been inflating their success by his overactive imagination. But as Joe’s mouth hung open and he gazed at the garden, he estimated
over two acres of strawberry field. “This is amazing.”

Gabe’s chest puffed out, and he wiggled the brim of his cap. “We won a prize too.”

“I’m impressed. I had no idea.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you what we do.” Gabe grabbed him by the arm and gave him a walking tour of the field.“These plants are
about five years old. We’ll dig them up this year, but they’ll put out runners. We’ll replant them over there, in the bed
Daniel and Melissa are digging up.”

Joe squinted, making out two workers turning over soil on the south end of the field. Gabe pulled him between rows of rich
black dirt, and they walked on wooden planks between the beds.

“We replanted these last September. They won’t give much this year, but by next season their berries will be the best.” Gabe
pointed to a large bed covered in chicken wire. “That’s a special berry we’re trying to produce. We want the Garden to have
their own special type.” His words slowed as he struggled to explain their plans, but his eyes shone with delight.

Words deserted Joe. He never imagined Gabe to be involved in such a project. His brother was full of interesting surprises,
to say the least. But then again, most people had something tucked into dark corners of their lives. Something that could
surprise, even shatter, everything others believed about them.

Take Mona, for example. The spitfire had secrets hidden behind those luminous eyes. He saw them—and the fear—yesterday as
she’d nearly leaped away from him while jacking up the porch. What had frightened her? He’d felt fear himself as a streak
of warmth shuddered through him when they’d stood a mere breath apart. She smelled so . . . feminine. Some sort of lilac soap
on her skin, fresh and clean and delicate.

He’d wondered later at his reaction, as the moonlight traced the grooves of his wooden apartment floor. Never had a woman
wound herself into his heart so quickly.Never had he allowed it. Was it Mona’s need that softened all the rough places inside
him? Or rather her determination, the way she bit into her projects with the persistence of a beaver? Something about Mona
definitely made him ponder the ramifications of letting down his guard, crossing the invisible picket line, and sweeping her
into his life.

And what good would that do him? Secrets. His own would ambush any hint of romance like a bandit.

Imagine Mona finding out about the Garden and the brother Joe had hidden away. It would take only one look at Gabe for her
to wonder what a future with Joe might hold. A second look might turn her on her heel and send her striding out of his life,
the slam of the door on his heart as crushing as the one his father had left in his memory. Joe didn’t even want to think
of what his other mysteries might do to Mona’s planned-to-the-nth-degree life.

No, it was better to leave his secrets, and hers, carefully locked up where they couldn’t spring free and sabotage anyone’s
future. And he better keep his eyes open and those warm moments beside her at a minimum if he wanted any kind of future at
all.

“Hey, want a lemonade?” Gabe asked.

“Sure,” Joe said, aware suddenly that he’d been blindly gazing at the gardeners while the sun dribbled sweat down his face.

Gabe waved his arm to the others. “Let’s take a break!”

Joe watched twenty people drop their hoes, rakes, and trowels and run toward the house. “Quite a group you have here,” he
remarked. “Does everybody help with the garden?”

“Of course. We’re a family. Everybody works.”

Joe put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “ But you don’t have to work. Everything is paid for.”

Gabe shot him a puzzled look. “Of course I have to work. Everybody has to do something. This is my job.”

Joe turned away. “I don’t get it.”

Gabe sprinted toward the house. Joe trudged after him.He’d have to corner Ruby and figure out what was going on. His monthly
payments more than covered Gabe’s living costs. So if Gabe’s words were accurate, where was all the cash from their prizewinning
strawberries? Was this just a dream cooked up by Ruby to keep the residents busy? Either way, she was obviously manipulating
her easily fooled charges. Angry, Joe let the screen door slam behind him and stalked into the kitchen.

At the sink, Gabe washed dirt from his hands. Ruby sat at the table, a sweating glass of lemonade in her grip. She glanced
at Joe and her smile vanished. “What’s the matter, Joe?”

“Can I speak to you privately?” He tried not to growl, but by the defensive scowl that appeared on Ruby’s face, he realized
he hadn’t been successful.

“Sure,” she said, rising. She walked to her office, leaving an assembly of astonished, muted workers in her wake. Joe turned
to follow, feeling stares on his back.

Ruby shut the door behind him, then crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s this all about?”

Joe walked stiffly to the window and kneaded the back of his neck with his hand. He swallowed and tried to keep his voice
low. “I pay good money for Gabe to live here. I expect him to live a comfortable life without a care.” He turned around. “Can
you tell me why he’s digging in the dirt? He seems to think he has to work to pay his way. But you and I both know that isn’t
true.”

Ruby gave him a piercing look. “Sit down, Joe.” She gestured to an overstuffed denim love seat. Joe considered the request,
then acquiesced. Sitting across from him at her gleaming oak desk, she folded her hands on a neat blotter and looked every
inch the stern housemother. Joe braced himself.