A Handful of Heaven

JILLIAN HART

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

When I am afraid, I will trust in You.

—Psalms 56:3

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing A Handful of Heaven. I hope you enjoyed reading Paige and Evan’s story as much as I did writing it. Paige and Evan were both heartbroken from their marriages and they found it easier, each in their own way, to live without love. Better to be safe than to be hurt like that ever again. I wrote this story because I wanted to remind others that it’s never too late for wonderful blessings to come into a person’s life. True love can be just around the corner. As hard as it is to trust again, it is worth the risk to live with a whole and loving heart.

Wishing you peace and love,

Contents

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Hey, Mom!” The diner’s back door slammed shut with an icy gust of wind. Heavy boots tromped across the clean kitchen floor. “I took the garbage out. The bathrooms are spotless. I even cleaned the milkshake machine.”

Paige McKaslin turned from the prep table to take one look at her seventeen-year-old son who was giving her “The Eye,” as she called it, the one meant to charm her. He’d been using it effectively since he was fifteen months old. Alex was tall, blond and athletic and rangy. One day he would fill out those wide shoulders of his, but in the meantime he was eating as though he had two hollow legs. “You just had supper. Do you need two chocolate doughnuts?”

“You don’t wanna stunt my growth, Ma!” He pretended to be shocked but those baby blues of his were twinkling. “Can I go? The movie starts at eight and Beth doesn’t like to miss the previews.”

One thing a mother didn’t want her teenage boy to have—aside from the keys to her car—was a girlfriend. Especially a girl who did not belong to their church or any church in the county. “You behave, and remember what I told you.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be a gentleman. As if!” He rolled his eyes, his grin widening because he’d achieved victory. “I’m outta here.”

“Drive safely. It’s icy out there.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I passed my driver’s test, remember?”

As if she could forget. Letting go was hard but necessary. She bit her lip. Alex was a good driver even if he was young and inexperienced. “Don’t forget to call me at the diner the second you get home—before your curfew.”

“Mom, I know the drill. See ya!” He pounded out of sight, whistling. The back door slammed shut and he was gone.

Off to any kind of danger.

Paige bussed the eight plates from the Corey family’s party.

She’d thought nothing could be more worrying than having a toddler. Alex had been such an active little tyke, and fast. She’d been a wreck trying to stay one step ahead of him, worrying what he would try to choke on next. Or electrocute himself with next. Or fall off of and break open his skull next. How she’d worried!

Little had she imagined all those years ago that her sweet little boy was going to turn into a teenager and do something even more dangerous than try to stick pennies in electrical sockets. He would drive. She dealt with that the way she always dealt with anxiety—she just tried hard not to think about it.

“I had that same look of sheer panic,” Evan Thornton commented as she shot down the aisle. “It was right after each of my boys got their licenses. I don’t think I’ve calmed down yet, and they’re both in college now.”

“No, of course you’re not calm because they are probably out there driving around somewhere.”

Evan chuckled, and the fine laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled handsomely. “Exactly. It’s hard not to be overprotective. You get sort of fond of ’em.”

She heard what he didn’t say. There was no stronger love than a parent’s love. “Lord knows why.” She balanced the plate-filled dishpan on her hip. “Would you like a refill on your fries?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Are you kidding? I’ll be right back. Looks like you need more cola, too.” She flashed him a smile on her way by.

Evan had been frequenting the diner most evenings. Bless her regular customers who gave this tough job its saving grace. She did like making a difference, even if it was only cooking or serving a meal that they weren’t in the mood to fix for themselves.

On the way down the aisle, she stopped to leave the bill with a couple who looked as if they had wandered in off the interstate. They still had that road-weary look to them. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Oh, no thanks.” The woman, who was about Paige’s age, tried to manage a weak smile, but failed. Sadness lingered in her dark eyes. “I suppose we ought to be heading on.”

“Will you be traveling far? I have a friend who owns a nice little bed and breakfast in Bozeman. It’s the most restful place and reasonably priced. If you’re staying in the area, I could give her a call for you. No pressure, I just thought I’d try to help.” Paige slipped their bill on the edge of the table.

“Sounds like just what I need, but we have a funeral we’re expected at in Fargo in the morning. The airlines were full, and so we’re driving straight through.” Tears rushed to the surface.

Paige whipped a pack of tissues from her apron pocket and slipped it onto the table. “I’m so sorry.”

“Th-thank you.” The woman covered her face, her grief overtaking her.

Her husband shrugged his shoulders. “We’re going through a tough time.”

“I know how that is. Let me know if you need anything.”

Not wanting to intrude, Paige backed away, the memory of her own losses made fresh by the woman’s grief. The day her parents had died had been the day after her sixteenth birthday, and it was as if the sun had gone out.

Time had healed the wound, but nothing had ever been the same again. She was thirty-eight, on the edge of turning thirty-nine—eek! But time had a strange elasticity to it, snapping her back over two decades to that pivotal loss.

Maybe there’s something I can do to make the woman’s journey easier. In the relative calm of the late evening diner, Paige bustled into the back, where the evening shift cook was sitting at the prep table bent over the day’s newspaper.

Dave looked up, his expression guilty. “I thought I got everything done I needed to. But here you come looking like I’m in trouble. What’d I forget to do?”

“Nothing that I’ve found. I can come up with something if you’d like.”

“Are you kidding? I just got set down. It was a heavy Friday rush. I’m about done. I’ve been standing in front of that grill for twenty years and every night just seems longer.”

Sometimes Paige forgot how much time had passed, not only for Dave but for her, as well. She’d been in this place for so long that the decades had begun to blur. She still saw Dave as the restless wanderer just back from Vietnam. He’d come in for an early-Saturday lunch and stayed on as one of the best short-order cooks they’d ever had.

In a blink, she saw not the past but the present, and the man with liberal shocks of gray tinting his long ponytail, looking the worse for wear. “Go on, get home. And don’t forget to take some of the leftover cinnamon rolls with you. They’ll be a nice treat for breakfast tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t complainin’, you know. I don’t mind stayin’ in case you get a late rush.”

“I’ll handle it. Now go, before I take hold of the back of your chair and drag you out of here.” Paige turned to snag one of the cardboard to-go boxes. A few quick folds and she had two of them assembled and ready.

“Well, if you insist.” Dave’s chair grated against the tile floor as he stood.

“I do.” She split apart a half dozen of the last rack of cinnamon rolls—why they hadn’t moved this morning was beyond her. Yesterday the whole six dozen she’d been regularly buying had disappeared before the breakfast rush was over. She popped the sticky iced treats into the waiting boxes and added a few of the frosted cookies, too—those hadn’t moved, either—then snapped the lids shut.

“Here. Go. Hurry, before a bunch of teenagers break down the door and take over the back booth.” She slid one box on the table in his direction.

“Only if you promise to call me if you get slammed.”

“Deal. Now beat it.” She pounded through the doorway and into the dining room where the grieving woman and her husband were just gathering up their things to leave.

It took only a few moments to fill two extra large take-out cups with steaming coffee, stick them in a cardboard cup holder, and fill a small paper bag with sweetener, creamer and napkins.

“That sure hit the spot.” The husband slid the meal ticket and a twenty on the counter by the till. “That was the best beef stew I’ve had in some time.”

“My Irish grandmother’s family recipe. I’m glad you liked it.” She rang in the sale with one hand while she pushed the baker’s box and cup holders in their direction. “Here’s a little something to keep you alert while you’re on the road. It’s a long stretch between rest stops once you’re past Bozeman. I’ll be praying for a safe journey.”

She counted back change, but the husband held up his hand, shaking his head. “Keep the change. That’s mighty kind of you.”

“Bless you.” The woman teared up again and headed for the door, wrapping her overcoat more tightly around her.

After taking the box and cup holder, the husband joined his wife in the entryway and held the door for her. They stepped outside, the door swished closed, and they were gone.

“That was awful nice of you.”

Paige startled, spinning around to see Evan Thornton watching her along the length of the serving counter. “I don’t know about nice. I had extra cinnamon rolls that I didn’t want to go to waste.”

“Still. Not everyone would go to the trouble.”

“Lord knows times like that are tough enough. We’ve all been there, battling heartbreak.”

“Yes, we have.” Evan’s face hardened, and he turned away, staring at his plate.

He’s known heartache, too, she remembered. She didn’t know the details, but he’d been divorced long ago. She knew just how much pain that could give a person.

Maybe it was just her mood today, but the shadows seemed to darken quickly. Maybe a storm was on the way.

Night fell like a curtain until she could see the lighted reflection of the diner in the long row of front windows and her own tall, lanky form standing there, nearly as dark as the world outside.

She saw something else in that reflection. Evan Thornton turned on the bar chair in her direction. Her stomach gave a funny tingle. Was he watching her? And why on earth would he do that? When she looked his way, he wasn’t studying her at all but recapping the ketchup bottle, his attention squarely focused on the task.

Funny. Maybe it was her imagination. Or maybe he’d been drifting off in his own thoughts, the way she’d been.

The back door clicked shut and the screen door banged, telling her that Dave had fled while the getting was good. It might be Friday night, but she expected it to be a quiet one from here on out. There were no games or matches at the high school. The middle school’s spring musical pageant had been last week, and weekend nights were typically quiet in the lull after Easter. It didn’t help that winter had decided to sneak in for a final showdown and the hailstorm earlier would keep most folks at home and off the slick streets.

Except for her son, wherever he was. She checked the wall clock above the register. Enough time had passed that he should be off the roads and safely inside the movie theater. She wouldn’t have to worry about him again for two more hours when the movie was over and he’d be out on the roads again.

That left her to worry instead about the growing list of things needing to be done. Like the extra cleaning she’d been trying to fit into the quieter times, and the general ledger, which was still a mess on the desk, and the paperwork for the ad she needed to place in the paper—

She was back in the kitchen before she realized she’d made a conscious decision to go there, apparently lured by the exciting thought of cleaning behind the refrigerator, which was the first thing on her list that needed doing.

Now, if she could only find the energy, she’d be in seventh heaven. What she wanted was chocolate. Lots of cool, soothing, rich chocolate.

“Hey, Paige?” It was Evan Thornton calling from the front.

Trouble. She knew the sound of it well enough. There was no disguising the low note of concern in his rumbling baritone. Now what?

Four steps took her into the narrow hallway between the kitchen and the front. The thought of taking a chocolate break and then cleaning behind the refrigerator vanished at the sight of water creeping from the men’s bathroom. Not just a trickle, but a shining sheet of water silently rushing from wall to wall and nosing like a giant amoeba toward the front counter.

There Evan was, a formidable shape of a man on the other side of the creeping waterway. “I could engineer a bridge for you.”

She blinked. Was it her imagination or was he practically smiling? She’d never known Evan Thornton, an engineer, to have a sense of humor. Then again, she really didn’t know him, which was the way she liked it and wanted to keep it. Getting too close to men, especially single, handsome, and apparently nice men, always led to trouble. At least, in her experience. “Uh, no, I’ll risk the current without a bridge, thank you.”

Why was it that some men looked better with a little distinguished gray in their hair? He shrugged those gorgeous shoulders of his, strong and straight. “Just thought I’d help. Let me know if you need me to toss you a lifejacket. Or a buoy. Or a marine? No?”

She blinked again. There he went again, and this time he was definitely almost smiling. The gentle upward curve of his hard mouth cut the hint of dimples into his lean sun-browned cheeks. She felt a flutter of interest down deep in her heart, and dismissed it. She was a woman after all, sworn to a single celibate life, but that didn’t mean she was dead. “Call for help if I don’t return.”

“You can’t deal with that yourself.”

“Watch me.” She swept past him, wading through the torrent streaming down the hallway. What would it be like to be free of this place? She’d been here so long, she couldn’t even imagine it. But she would sure like to.

She was planning to put the diner up for sale this summer. She’d been accepted at the nearby university to begin classes in the fall.

“Do you want me to call a plumber?” He spoke with that polished baritone that could make a girl take a second look.

She absolutely refused to turn around. She didn’t need a second look. She wasn’t interested in Evan or in any man. “Not yet, it might be something I know how to fix.”

“Are you telling me you’re a good cook and a handyman, too?”

“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t use tools.”

Right. Evan watched Paige McKaslin march away from him, all business. She was a study in contradiction. On the surface, she was brusque, crisp and coolly efficient. A man might draw the conclusion that she was made of ice.

But if he watched close enough, he’d see a different woman. A woman who was vulnerable and overworked and tender. He’d seen the look on her lovely face when the crying customer had said they were on their way to a funeral. She cared. And she hadn’t charged the couple for the hot coffee and snacks to help them along on their all-night drive.

She wasn’t as coolly tough as she let on, either. Not judging by the way her straight shoulders had slumped when she’d first eyed the leak cascading down the hallway. She was handling the flood now, marching up the water-filled hallway braced like a warrior facing battle. She was a small woman, and that came as a surprise. She was always moving, a busy, no-nonsense, get-things-done woman. Now, as he watched her, he realized just how lovely she was.

Why he was noticing, he couldn’t rightly say. He’d given up on women and the notion of trusting them ever since he’d come home to find a quick note from his wife taped to the refrigerator door explaining why she was leaving him. That wasn’t all. She’d drained their bank accounts, maxed out the credit cards with cash advances. She’d even liquidated their nest egg of stocks and bonds.

All very good reasons never to notice another woman again.

So, why was he standing here watching as Paige disappeared into the men’s restroom? Water lapped around the toes of his shoes. A smart man would go back to his seat and finish off the rest of his meal and contemplate the dessert menu. He would not be staring down the hallway, feeling as if he ought to lend a hand.

Why? That made no sense. He wasn’t much of a handyman, so there was very little he could do to help, unless it was to turn off a valve. Paige had been clear she could handle the leak and any required tools. She was a competent woman; he’d have to believe her. Maybe the reason had more to do with her beauty than her competence.

No, that didn’t make any sense. After Liz had broken his heart, wrecked their family, and destroyed his financial security, no woman’s beauty could affect him. No, the reason he was standing here as the flood rushed past him into the dining room had nothing to do with Paige McKaslin. Not one thing. His chest constricted with a pain worse than a root canal.

He thought of his absolutely quiet, very empty house and took a step upstream. Water sloshed over the top of his shoes and wet his socks. Helping her was the only decent thing to do. It wasn’t likely that she could find a plumber this time of night. And certainly not fast enough to save her entire diner from water damage. At the very least, Paige would have a serious repair bill on her hands.

He’d see if he couldn’t help keep that to a minimum, he thought, as he knocked on the closed men’s bathroom door and shouldered it open. Water resisted, and when he shoved harder, he saw why. What might have started as a small leak had resulted in complete erosion of the major water pipe to the sinks. Water gushed out of the floor full-force now, and Paige sat beside it, her face in her hands, her shoulders slumped.

In utter defeat.

Evan’s heart twisted. He stepped forward, blown away by an overwhelming need to help her. To make this right.

Chapter Two

This is going to wipe out the diner’s monthly profit. And a lot more as well.

Paige scrubbed at her face. Tired, she was just so tired. She had to call a plumber. She couldn’t do this herself—this was no minor repair. Already the water level had risen a few inches. And since the break in the pipe was below the shut-off for the sinks, the main line would have to be shut off.

Not only that, but the clean-up was going to take time—hours of hard work. Don’t think about that, she commanded herself as she climbed to her feet. One step at a time. First she had to get this water turned off.

“Where’s the main shut-off valve?” A man’s voice came out of nowhere, bouncing off the bare walls.

She jumped, splashing the water around her. “Evan. I didn’t know that you were there. What are you doing? You’re going to ruin your shoes.”

“I’ve had worse problems. This is an older building. Don’t tell me the shut-off is underneath.”

“There’s a crawl space, but you can’t go down there.” She waded across the room, splashing and slipping, as fast as she could go.

Evan had already turned and was wading down the hall. “Evan!”

He was gone with a splash, but like the ripples ringing outward from his movements in the water, the effect of his kind presence remained.

You’re only imagining that the kindness in his voice is personal, she told herself as she slogged after him. Waves washed against the tile protection along the walls and threatened to start wetting the wallboard at any time.

Evan had gone back to his seat, right? As she scurried down the hall she caught a glimpse of the nearly empty dining room. Evan wasn’t in it.

Men. This was why she didn’t have one. You couldn’t trust them to do what you said—you couldn’t trust them at all, not as far as you could throw them. She grabbed her coat from the kitchen closet and the flashlight from the top shelf.

The chill in the wind cut through her, tearing at the edges of her coat, and she zipped it up tightly as she ran. The light from the windows gave just enough light to thin the shadows as she tripped along the icy flagstone path around the far edge of the building.

The trap door was flung wide open and the scant light down below gave her no hint of what was happening. Had Evan already found the valve and turned it off?

He peered up at her from the shadows below. Dust streaked the top of his head. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tools on you, would you?”

Those dimples had dug into his cheeks again and caught her off guard.

“I—” Her brain shut down. Tools. He was talking about tools. “You don’t need one for the shut-off. Just let me—”

“I found the valve, but it’s stuck open.”

“It’s stuck? No, it can’t be. The handle has to be jiggled just right. It’s temperamental.” She barreled down the wooden steps, swiping cobwebs out of her hair. “Let me try it.”

“Do you have a toolbox upstairs?”

“There’s a kit in the kitchen closet by the door but—” She stumbled along the uneven ground and went down on her knees by the valve. He was already gone. It didn’t matter. She wrapped both hands around the small metal handle and pulled. Nothing.

She strained harder. Nothing.

Okay, what she needed was a little more muscle. She braced her feet, used her weight as leverage and heaved with all her strength. The pipe groaned. The valve screeched a millimeter and then stuck as if it had been cemented into place.

No, this can’t be happening. She took a step back and her heel splashed in something wet. Water. It was coming through the floorboards at the end near the bathrooms. What was it doing upstairs?

Before panic could set in, Evan was back, thundering down the steps and into the narrow space, stooping as he went, the toolbox clinking with his movements. He dropped the box at her feet and snapped it open. Her hand shot out for the wrench but he’d already stolen it.

“Hey, this is my job,” she decided loudly.

He didn’t seem to care, as he was already shouldering next to her and fitting the wrench into place. “It’s just rusted some. Let’s hope this doesn’t break the pipe.”

“And if it does?”

“There’s always the shut-off at the meter in the street, but let’s—” he paused as he put some muscle into his effort “—hope that it doesn’t—come—to that.”

Metal screeched in protest.