A Place to Belong. Linda Goodnight
She’d never wondered about that before, but after Annie’s comments, she did.
“The roof’s pretty old.”
Kitty gnawed a bottom lip. “You saying I need a new one?”
“I can make it work.”
She knew he could. Jace was a wonder with the historic buildings in Redemption. Though Redemption Motel was certainly not a turn-of-the-century Victorian bed-and-breakfast. It was an old relic of the fifties, cranky, bothersome and a ton of never ending work. And she loved it. More because of who it represented than what.
“I’ve been thinking of renovating.”
Jace shifted. The tool belt dangling on one hip clinked, metal against metal. “Yeah?”
“Thinking.” She laughed. “No money for serious renovations.”
Motel rooms in a town the size of Redemption didn’t bring in big money. If not for the long-term renters who put regular cash in the coffers, she couldn’t keep the doors open. Those and the huge Christmas celebrations, Victorian style, and the Land Run reenactment in April kept the motel afloat. She made enough to get by, but there was seldom any money in the bank for extras. Some extra cash would be a blessing.
“We could work something out. Take care of the major issues. Let’s talk about it.”
“Okay. I wouldn’t want anyone but you tearing into my baby.”
Jace was scrupulously honest, always did more than she paid him for, and his work was perfection. Her cranky old lady of a motel looked much better since he’d begun doing the upkeep.
“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He hoisted a nail gun toward the graveled lot behind her. “You have company.”
Kitty spun toward the sound of tires crunching on the gravel, a sound she acquainted with paying customers. “Come to the office when you finish. I’ll fix you a sandwich and pick your brain.”
“Can’t guarantee you’ll find anything.”
With a laugh and a wave, Kitty hurried toward the office and the slender man exiting a shiny navy blue sedan.
Jace squinted against the morning sun and watched a moment longer as Kitty’s energetic stride ate up the ground. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside and out. Delicate, feminine, but strong as a willow, she took his breath. Stole his brain cells.
A car door slammed and he heard Kitty’s lyrical voice speak to the newcomer though he couldn’t make out the words. A man of average height, on the skinny side and dressed in a business suit fell into step beside the cheery blonde proprietress of Redemption Motel. When they reached the office the man opened the old-fashioned screen door and waited while Kitty stepped inside. He followed and the door snicked quietly closed behind him.
A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sunlight that was Kitty Wainright and setting the parking lot and the motel units in shadow. Jace frowned, gut tightening in the weirdest way. He squinted toward the closed door.
Something bugged him. A fierce, nagging protectiveness welled in his chest. Miserable, hot.
He waited ten seconds. The cloud moved on and he huffed derisively. He’d lived so long on the dark side he was suspicious of everything and everyone.
He bounced the nail gun against his thigh before turning back to the damaged roof.
The suspicions were in his soul, not inside the office of Kitty’s motel.
“Ahoy, Jace Carter.”
Jace glanced down at the ragged figure of GI Jack and lifted a hand in greeting. The old man dressed in ill-fitting castoffs and an army cap that had seen better days was one of Redemption’s eccentricities. Many took him and his partner, Popbottle Jones, for bums. Considering their propensity for Dumpster diving, maybe they were, but Jace found them to be the most interesting bums he’d ever encountered.
GI Jack was an artist, a junk artist who could turn pop cans and wire or cast-off buckets and hubcaps into something beautiful. Jace got that. In a way, finding the worth in the worthless was what he did, too.
Next to the grizzled old man stood a candidate for world’s homeliest dog. Most everyone in town knew about GI Jack’s pets—mostly strays he’d gathered together over the years. This one was Biscuit, a dog of unknown origins. The only thing Jace knew for certain was that Biscuit was a brown canine with lopsided ears, oversize feet, and as shaggy as his owner. He looked as if his ears had been sewn on out of leftover parts by a blind seamstress. One flopped low on the side of his head and the other stuck straight up on top. But the dog’s tail swished the air with such joyous abandon anyone with a heart would forget his looks and be charmed.
Jace thought of the new puppy at home, a bundle of wiggling joy himself. He didn’t know why he’d let the local vet, Trace Bowman, talk him into taking in an abandoned pup. Jace was gone all day, but the pup was sweet company in the evenings. When Milo was older, Jace planned to take him along for the ride.
“Funny that drowning victim has never been found,” GI said without preamble.
Jace sighed and shot the nail gun again. The drowned man wasn’t his favorite topic. Besides the nagging feeling that he’d not done enough, he’d taken plenty of good-natured ribbing about his cameo shots on the TV news. “Big river.”
“That’s what Popbottle said. Lots of snags and undertows to drag a man down.” GI withdrew a half sandwich from his shirt pocket and took a bite. “The widow’s got a leak?”
“More than one.”
“You’ll fix her up. She’s mighty fortunate to have a good builder willing to rush over anytime she needs help.”
“Least I can do.”
“I figure you got bigger fish to fry than that old roof. Ida June does this kind of repair.”
Though past eighty, Ida June Click still worked around town as a handywoman. She was a dandy, too, in her pink coveralls and lime green tennis shoes. “Ida June’s getting a little frail to be climbing on roofs.”
“Ha! Don’t tell her that. She’ll challenge you to a roofing contest.”
“And win.”
“Yep. And win. She’s a whirlwind, our Miss Ida June. Reckon you could say the same for our Widow Wainright. Mighty pretty, too.”
Jace grunted. Hadn’t he been thinking the same thing? All she had to do was step into view to make his eyes happy. Not that he’d ever tell her that.
“Mmm-hmm.” GI’s gray head bobbed up and down. “Too bad she’s set on being a widow forever. Too young, if you ask me, to give up on life.”
“I doubt she’s given up.”
“Then I reckon you did?” GI cackled at the look Jace shot him. “All right, all right. A shame though, two handsome people, both single and of the same faith—”
Jace pulled the trigger on the nail gun to drown out the rest. After the torment of the last few days—the drowning, the TV picture and noticing Kitty too much—he wasn’t in the mood for reminders of his single status. If he ever was.
“Saw that car pull in. Oklahoma plates but not local.” GI tore off a bite of his sandwich and handed it to the dog. With delicate nips, Biscuit accepted the treat. “Wonder what he’s doing at the motel?”
Jace wondered the same. “Reporter maybe.”
“Doubt it.”
So did Jace. The drowning story was over for the most part and the news media had departed. “Could be doing a story on the upcoming Land Run celebration.”
In late April of every year, Redemption returned to her 1889 roots by throwing a two-day festival that brought tourists and vendors from all over the country.
“Maybe.