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Not much time had passed when the dream started. Distant explosions. Small arms fire. Men shouting orders.
Running feet. Bullets coming closer. Fear burning in his gut. Screams of pain.
Nick turned restlessly on the bed. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave his men. They were injured. Dying. He had to help.
He bolted upright, fully awake, covered with sweat. Rags with his paws on the bed, whining pitifully.
He wrapped his arms around the dog. “Good dog,” he whispered, his voice husky with residual fear. Rags had awakened him before the worst of the dream could overwhelm him. The memory of his cowardice.
Lying back down, he stared up at the ceiling as his breathing slowed. Idly, he tangled his fingers in Rags’s fur. He’d be all right now. The worst was over. Until tomorrow night.
* * *
The following morning, Nick got up at dawn to run with his dog, the air clear, the temperature autumn-crisp. Invigorating.
He showered and walked into town. He found the barbershop easily. Waiting for the shop to open, he tied Rags’s leash to a streetlamp. “Sorry, buddy. You have to stay outside.”
At that moment, Ned Turner arrived to unlock the door. “You coming in for a haircut, sergeant?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Bring your dog inside. No need for him to stay out here all by himself.” A tall, slender man with graying hair, Ned opened the door wide. “Welcome to Bear Lake.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t often Nick had been called sergeant in the past few years, although the insignia of his former rank was obvious on his jacket.
When Nick saw the military insignias plastered all over the barbershop walls and photos of army platoons, plus a shelf full of coffee mugs with unit insignias, including one mug with the chaplain’s cross, he realized why. Ned was former military himself and easily recognized the staff sergeant stripes on his army jacket.
Nick looped Rags’s leash over the arm of one of the chairs that lined the wall. “Stay.”
Rags sat. His eyes remained alert, riveted on Nick.
“What was your unit?” Ned flipped on the lights.
Nick shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coatrack. “Fifth Infantry. Stationed at Kandahar.” Until the army decided to send him to an outlying camp to feed the troops. When al Qaeda overran the camp, Nick got an unplanned flight out to the U.S. hospital in Germany. He was luckier than most of the guys he worked with who went home in a box. Including his best buddy, Hank.
He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily to banish the image of smeared blood across stainless steel kitchen appliances where so many had died.
Ned gestured toward the barber chair. “I’m First Infantry. Served in ’Nam from ’68 to ’70.”
“That was a tough war.”
“They all are.” He placed a cape around Nick’s shoulders and ran a comb through his hair. “So what’ll it be? Trim?”
“The whole shebang, shave and a haircut. I’m helping Mama out at the diner for a week or so as handyman. Figure I ought to at least look respectable when I’m working around the place.” He smiled slightly. Alisa might appreciate a cleaned-up handyman, too, though she was unlikely to admit it.
“If you’re working for Mama Machak, you better toe the line,” Ned commented. “She’s a pretty special lady around Bear Lake. Her daughter, too.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” Nick didn’t doubt for a moment that the townspeople would take Mama’s side if a stranger tried to cross her. Maybe that’s what made Bear Lake a good place to live.
Except he wasn’t looking for a place to settle down.
As Ned began working on him, a couple of fellows came into the shop. One began making a pot of coffee without asking. The other gave Rags a couple of pats then picked up the morning newspaper.
“Mitchell there behind the newspaper served in Iraq,” Ned said, snipping at Nick’s hair with his scissors. “The guy with the coffee habit is Ward. He’s a marine, but we let him hang out with us army types anyway.”
Ward shot a look over his shoulder. “Only ’cause you know I could take you out with my hands tied behind my back.”
Mitchell and Ned laughed.
“We got ourselves our own veterans group.” Ned brushed loose hair off Nick’s shoulders. “Nothing formal, you understand. We meet every Wednesday night in my back room. Half a dozen or so, some who are still shaking off the memories of whatever war they were fighting. ’Nam, Iraq, Afghanistan, it’s all the same for us grunts when we come home. If you’re around next Wednesday, come on by.”
Surprised by the invitation, Nick said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He wasn’t sure he’d be in Bear Lake that long, or whether he’d want to sit in with a bunch of vets who probably spent their time complaining about the government.
But the chaplain at the Louisiana State Prison where he’d spent three years for assault in a barroom brawl had put together a cadre of vets. They were like him—still having flashbacks. It had helped to know he wasn’t the only one. But it hadn’t changed anything.
Still, he hadn’t figured out what God’s plan was for him. Or if it had anything to do with coming back to Bear Lake.
A half hour later, Nick left the barbershop. His face felt naked, and he was ready for one of Mama’s hearty breakfasts.
He hated to do it, but knew he had to tie Rags up this time. Mama’s orders. So he secured the leash to a post at the side of the diner and told the dog to stay.
* * *
Alisa grabbed a menu as a stranger walked into the diner. She greeted him with her usual smile. “Good morning. Would you like a table? Or would you rather sit at the counter?” Men alone often wanted to eat at the counter so they could visit with the waitress as she passed by.
“The counter will do.”
Alisa’s mouth dropped open. She knew that voice but not the face. “Nick?” Her voice caught.
He flashed her a set of white teeth. “Early morning visit to the barber.”
“Y...yes, I can see that.” From the third grader she’d known, Nick Carbini had grown into a striking man with a strong jaw, full lips and a classic nose. His beard and shaggy hair had been hiding a man who could cause a woman’s heart to flutter. Well, most women, she supposed. But not her. Absolutely not her.
All business, she gestured toward the counter. “Take your pick.” Walking behind the counter, she placed a menu in front of him. “Coffee?”
“Please. Black.”
She hesitated, staring at him longer than necessary, noting the teasing glint in his incredible eyes, before wheeling around to the get the coffeepot. Now that he’d shaved and had his jet-black hair cut in a way that emphasized the natural waves, he was more dangerous than ever.
What woman wouldn’t be tempted to weave her fingers through his hair?
“Here you go.” She poured a mug of coffee and set it in front of him.
“You work long hours,” he commented. “Through the dinner hour last night and now up for the breakfast shift.”
“We get a pretty big rush until ten o’clock. Then I take a break until it’s time to set up for dinner.”
“Unless you have to chop wood.”
“Well, yes. Things do come up.” After years of serving customers, she suddenly didn’t know what to do with the coffeepot she still held in her hand. She licked her lips. Set the pot down on the counter. “Do you know what you want for breakfast? Or do you need a minute?” She was the one who needed a minute to get her head on straight. Whatever was wrong with her?
“How ’bout a couple of over easy eggs, hash browns and wheat toast?”
“Coming right up.” She returned the coffeepot to the warmer and started to write up Nick’s order. Her pencil poised over the order pad, she stopped. Her mind had gone blank. Totally empty of everything except his eyes and how he’d looked at her. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what he’d ordered.
She gnawed on her lower lip. There was no reason for her to go brain-dead simply because the man had gotten a shave and a haircut.
Her face flamed as she turned to ask him to repeat his order, and that’s when her brain finally shifted back into gear. Over easy eggs, hash browns and wheat toast. She quickly wrote down the order and passed it through to Billy Newton, the morning short-order cook.
Plucking up the coffeepot, she skirted the counter—and Nick—refilling customers’ cups and chatting with the regulars.
A large booth near the kitchen door was permanently reserved for the “old duffers” group, men whom she’d known all of her life and were now retired. They came in to visit and gossip, drinking gallons of coffee and putting together thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles that remained spread out on the table until they were completed.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” She held up the coffeepot, and two of the four men seated at the table slid their mugs toward her for refills. “How’s the world today?”
“State’s talking about widening the back road to Plains to make an alternate route for tourists.” Ezra Cummings was the senior member of the group, still agile and mentally quick at the age of ninety-two.
“Ain’t worth it,” Abe, a retired lumberman, complained. “Ought to save the tax money and send them tourists back where they come from.”
“Don’t send them all back, Abe.” Alisa set the pot down, picked up a piece of the puzzle, studied it a moment then fit it in right where it belonged in the waterfall part of the woodland scene. “Remember Mama and I need those tourist dollars to keep afloat.” She spied another puzzle piece and dropped it into place.
The old duffers nodded their approval. Alisa had been doing jigsaw puzzles for as long as she could remember. By now, finding the right spot for the oddly curved and angled puzzle tiles was instinctive.
She carried the pot over to Dr. McCandless, who had been her pediatrician when she was young and now was Greg’s. He was sitting alone in a booth. Sometimes Mama came out to join him for breakfast.
“Good morning, doctor. Can I fill it up for you?”
“Just halfway. My doctor says I should ease up on the caffeine.”
“We do have decaf, if you’d rather.”
“Can’t see the sense of drinking coffee if it doesn’t have a little kick to it.” His youthful smile crinkled the corners of his pale blue eyes and made them twinkle. A longtime widower, it was amazing some woman hadn’t latched on to him by now.
By the time she returned the coffeepot to the warmer, Billy had Nick’s order ready. She considered asking Dotty, who was serving the table section, to deliver Nick’s breakfast to him at the counter. But her pride, a stubborn streak much like her mother’s, wouldn’t let her succumb to acting like a coward.
“Two eggs over easy, hash browns and toast.” She slid the plate in front of him. “Ketchup’s right here on the counter. Jam too.” She slid the jam closer to him. “Anything else you need?”
“It looks good. I could use a coffee refill if you have time.”
“No problem.” Of course she had the time. He could see no one else was sitting at the counter. So why did he have to be so nice and polite? He’d been polite as a kid, too. Never teasing the girls or chasing them like some of the boys did. One time he’d even picked up a book that she had knocked off her desk onto the floor. After that the girls had all started dropping their books or pencils or some silly thing to get his attention.
He’d been unfailingly kind even though he’d known what they were up to.
Shaking her head, she tried to wipe away the memory. Just because he’d been a polite kid didn’t mean anything to her now. People changed a lot in twenty years.
Mama came out from the kitchen wearing a butcher apron and her graying hair in a net. “Alisa, have you seen Nick?” She spied him at the counter. “Well, now, aren’t you the handsome thing without all those whiskers.”
His cheeks deepened to a rich shade of red. He dipped his head, focusing on scooping up a bit of egg yolk with his toast.
“No rush, young man,” Mama said. “Finish your breakfast. Then I’d like you to try to fix those loose boards on the back steps. I noticed last night that they were wobbly. Don’t want anybody to fall, particularly when they get iced up this winter.”
“I’d be happy to give it a try.”
“Alisa, honey, you can show Nick where we keep the tools when he’s ready.”
Her stomach sank. Perfect. Just what she wanted to do. Spend more time in Nick’s company. Not.
Chapter Four
Excruciatingly aware of Nick and his dog following her, Alisa led them to the equipment shed behind the diner. She heard his footsteps on the gravel. Caught the faint scent of his tangy aftershave on the breeze. Felt his eyes boring a hole into her back.
Straightening her spine, she gave her hair a little toss as she keyed the padlock open and slid the door aside. There was nothing to be nervous about. She’d been in this shed for one reason or another with Jake Domino any number of times.
Nick Carbini wasn’t any different. They were both handymen. Or so she told herself as Nick brushed past her into the shed, planting himself in the dim light at the center of the garage-size structure.
Rags stretched out his leash to investigate on his own.
“You’ve got lots of equipment,” he commented, checking out their four-wheel drive Jeep and the old aluminum fishing boat on a trailer beside it. Her father had named it Dreamer because of his dream to own his own business.
She turned on the overhead lights. “We use the Jeep to clear our own parking lot when it snows and to get around town when we need to in winter. In the summer, we can drag a tiller for the small garden where we raise fresh vegetables.”
“Ah, that’s why the julienne squash tasted so good last night. Nothing beats from-garden-to-table fresh vegetables.”
“We’re pretty much at the tail end of the vegetable garden now.” It surprised her that he’d noticed the fresh produce. Most men wolfed down their meal without even tasting it. Apparently Nick took a little more time with his dinner.
“The hand tools are to your left.” Hammers, hand saws, screwdrivers, and pliers hung neatly on a Peg-Board. “Have you done much carpentry work?”
“One summer when I was a teenager I got on a construction crew as a helper.”
“Is that what you do for a living? Construction?” She could have bitten her tongue for asking, but the words had simply popped out of her mouth. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her.
He poked around checking out the power tools next to the workbench and hefted a power saw. “Not usually. I only lasted on the job for a couple of weeks. I dropped a load of two-by-fours on the boss’s foot. He wasn’t real happy with me.”
“Guess that was long after you moved away from Bear Lake.”
He turned slowly to look at her. “You know I used to live here?”
Trying for casual, she leaned back against the Jeep and crossed her arms. “We were in the same third-grade class.”
He returned the power saw to its place and crossed the shed to her. He studied her face, but there was no recognition in his eyes.
An irritating sense of disappointment tightened her lips.
“That was a long time ago,” he said.
“Mama remembered your family.”
He snorted a disparaging sound. “And she still hired me?”
“She remembers you being a nice kid.” So did Alisa, although she wasn’t about to admit that.
He looked at her again and shook his head. “I’m sure if I’d stuck around here a few years longer, I would have remembered you. You’re not a woman a man would easily forget.”
But boys rarely remembered skinny girls with stringy hair and massive gaps between their front teeth, which Alisa eventually eliminated with braces.
She stepped aside, trying to put more space between them. Far enough so that she couldn’t feel his eyes skimming over her face making her cheeks flush and her breath catch. “Well, help yourself to whatever tools you need to fix the steps. Just be sure to lock up the shed when you’re done.”
“You got it.”
Exiting as quickly as she could, she hurried back to the diner. Not a woman a man would easily forget. Did he mean that? Or was he simply being polite? A throwaway compliment?
What difference would it make either way? She liked her life the way it was. Things were comfortable. Predictable. Perfect for her.
During the prelunch lull, she found her mother at her desk in the kitchen working out her order for the next day from the restaurant supply delivery service.
“I wish you hadn’t hired that man,” she said.
Mama glanced up at her. “What man?”
“You know what man I mean. Our new handyman.”
“Ah, you mean Nick. Why should I not have hired him?”
“Well, because...” Unable to think of a logical reason, she plopped down in the chair beside the desk.
“Because he makes you nervous?” Mama provided.
“Of course not. It’s just that... Well, he doesn’t really have any construction experience. He won’t have any idea how to fix the steps.”
“He’s a smart man. He’ll figure it out.”
Leaning back in the chair, Alisa sighed.
“What is it, my little princess?” Mama asked softly, using the words Alisa’s father had called her. “Is it that you are attracted to Nick?”
“Certainly not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “He only showed up yesterday. He’ll be gone soon. Why would I be attracted to a man like that?” Another drifter.
Looking at Alisa with a mother’s probing eye, Mama said, “I think you are afraid to feel something for a man.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Ever since Ben, you will have nothing to do with any man. You ignore them. Or you put on a phony smile and laugh off their advances. You’re thirty years old. At your age, you should be thinking about—”
“Mama, I’m perfectly happy just as I am. I don’t need a man. I’ve got Greg and I’ve got you. That’s all the family I need.” Her voice shaking, she stood. “As for the men around here, they’re either married, divorced or can’t manage an intelligent conversation for more than two seconds.”
“Larry Cornwall is a smart man. He has a college degree.”
“He’s a jock, Mama. He talks about fullbacks and tailbacks and running the end around something. He spends his spare time watching reruns of college games. That hardly makes for an intellectual conversation.”
“So you say. But it may be that Nick Carbini is different than other men you have met. Maybe there’s a reason God brought him back home.”
“Don’t count on it. Besides, drifters don’t have a home.” Without saying another word, Alisa marched out of the kitchen. What a ridiculous thing for her mother to say. That she was afraid of men? Not for a moment. She could do anything a man could do. Chop wood. Plow snow from their parking lot. She could probably fix the porch steps if she were so inclined.
It was just that Nick made her...nervous.
She’d strayed from God’s path once, which left her with a heartache and a child born out of wedlock. Although she would never regret having Greg, she had no intention of making that mistake again.
Which was precisely why Nick made her so nervous. If she weakened even a little, she might not be able to stop from making another serious error in judgment. A woman didn’t fall into a man’s arms simply because she was attracted to his dark good looks and the hint of loneliness in his eyes. That would only lead to heartache.
* * *
Wood rot was the problem on the bottom two steps. Not simply the bolts that held the step in place loosening.
Nick had found some wood that matched the existing steps and cut it to length. There had even been a jar full of the bolts in the shed that he needed. Now he was drilling holes for the new bolts.
“Hey, mister.”
Silencing the drill, Nick looked up. “Hey, Greg. You can call me Nick, if you want.”
“’Kay.”
“How was school?”
“Same ol’. What’re you doing?”
Nick sat back on his haunches. “Fixing these steps. They were wobbly.”
The boy eyed the new wood. “Can I help?”
Nick gave some thought to whether Alisa would approve or not. “Maybe when I put the sealer on the new wood you could help.” A boy needed to feel useful, not ignored.
The youngster shifted from one foot to the other, then eased over to Rags, who was tied up a few feet away. “Maybe I could play with Rags while I’m waiting.”
Nick’s lips twitched into a smile. “I think Rags would like that a lot.”
“Great.” He tossed his backpack aside and dropped to his knees, roughing up Rags’s coat and scratching him behind his ears. Eager to return the greeting, Rags licked Greg’s face, which resulted in high-pitched giggles. Unhooking the leash, Greg said, “Come on, boy. Let’s find a stick.”
Smiling, Nick watched the two of them race off, Rags in the lead, happy at last to be able to run free.
He’d never had a dog as a kid. The closest he’d come to having a pet was a goldfish he’d won at a school carnival. The poor fish—he’d named him Oscar—hadn’t lasted long. One morning Nick had found him on the floor. Oscar had apparently jumped out of his bowl during the night. Nick had wanted to bury him in the backyard, but his dad made him flush the fish down the toilet.
It didn’t matter. Either way, Oscar was dead. Nick wasn’t allowed to cry.
He wrestled the new steps into place and tightened down the bolts. The newly cut wood smelled clean and fresh. He could understand why a man would want to work with his hands building things. Things that lasted.
Alisa stepped out onto the porch and hesitated a moment checking out Nick’s work. Then she let her gaze travel to Greg and Rags who were romping through the high grass.
“Greg! Time to come in.”
The boy circled around before racing Rags back to the diner. He slid to a stop, breathing hard. Rags dropped to the ground panting. Both boy and dog had worn themselves out. At least momentarily.
“I was worried about you,” Alisa said. “You were late getting home.”
“I was playing with Rags.”
“So I gather. Come on in. You can have a snack before you do your homework.”
“It’s Friday, Mom. I don’t have any homework.”
“Well, come in anyway, honey. I’ll find you—”
“I can’t, Mom. Nick said I could help him put sealer on the step.”
Her gaze dropped pointedly to Nick, who was squatting on the bottom step. “He did?”
He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “The bare wood has to be sealed or it will absorb rain and snow. You’d have to replace the steps all over again in a couple of years.”
“I know that.”
Nick grinned. “Of course you do.”
She glowered at him. Nick figured she didn’t like to be teased, but it was kind of fun anyway, seeing her get all flustered. Her cheeks turned pink with a blush.
“If he’s going to help,” Nick said, “might be good if he changed into old jeans and a shirt. Sealer can get pretty messy.”
Greg snatched up his backpack. “Can I, Mom? Can I?”
She sighed in defeat. “I suppose.”
“Thanks, Mom.” The boy leaped up the steps and burst in through the door.
Resting her hand on the railing, she shook her head and frowned. “It’s all right if he helps you some, but I don’t want my son to get...attached to you.”
A sharp pain of regret stabbed Nick in the chest. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t be around that long.”
Her gaze skittered away from Nick. “I know. That’s exactly why I don’t want him to get too friendly with you.”
“Guess your husband would object, too.”
Her gaze snapped back to him. She bristled. “I don’t have a husband.”
“I wondered about that.” It didn’t seem right that such a good-looking woman didn’t have a husband. A father for her son. “Guess the guys around here are all blind and half-stupid for not latching on to a good thing when it’s right in front of their noses.”
She brought herself up to all of her five-feet-five height and lifted her chin. “Mr. Carbini, I’ll have you know I am not the kind of woman who latches on to any man who just happens to be handy. Nor do they latch onto me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see that Greg changes into something appropriate for painting the porch steps.” Doing an abrupt about-face, she marched into the diner.