At Home in His Heart

“I took down the wasp’s nest from the porch this morning,” Bryce said.

“You did?” Pleasure lit Sandi’s face. Her smile sparkled genuine appreciation.

Oh, man, she was looking up at him like he was the king of the world. No wonder her late husband, Keith, hadn’t stood a chance. When she wasn’t busy bossing you around, she was pumping up your ego until your shirt buttons popped off.

Bryce grinned down at her, openly basking in the moment—just as he secretly had last night when she’d come mighty close to flirting with him a time or two. Told him he was a handy man to have around. But why was he lapping up her praise like some kind of parched desert critter?

“Now you need to let me know if those wasps come back. They often try to rebuild a few times.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

She nodded again.

They stood looking at each other, just like

last night, her face lightly flushed.

Only, this time she wasn’t mad at him.

At Home in His Heart

Glynna Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up;

do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the

desert and streams in the wasteland.

—Isaiah 43:18–19

To my Aunt Betty, my “second mom,”

who is always in my corner and cheering me on—

and whose creativity, sense of humor, faith and

perseverance continue to inspire me.

Oh, man. Just his luck.

Sandi Bradshaw.

Keith’s widow.

Bryce Harding stared down at the dainty blonde with shiny, blunt-cut hair, her long-lashed gaze leveled on him. Dark blue eyes reflected the same dismay that slugged him in the stomach when she’d turned toward him. She recovered faster than he did, though. Planting fists on her curvaceous, jeans-clad hips, she gave him a wary-eyed once-over, taking in his T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops.

“How may I help you—Sergeant?”

He forced cheerful warmth into his words. “I didn’t know you worked here, Sandi.”

Had he known, he’d have steered clear of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse tonight. He liked to patronize locally owned businesses in his mountain-country hometown of Canyon Springs, Arizona. But a big-box store would have fit the bill just as well.

“I work here part-time when I’m not teaching school.” She folded her arms, expression still guarded. “May I help you find something?”

“I—” Why was he scrambling for words just like he did last winter when he approached her? He’d voiced his sympathy concerning her loss. That seemed appropriate considering he and Keith had been buddies since second grade. But it had been an awkward meeting. She’d pretty much looked at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. Kind of how she was doing now. She’d murmured ill-at-ease words of thanks and that was that.

He’d tried to convince himself at the time it was because he’d caught her off-guard. Maybe she hadn’t heard he’d gotten out of the army, had returned to town. But more likely, judging from the look on her face both then and now, her too-candid husband had spilled the beans. Told her about his best friend’s campaign to keep him from marrying the cute little fox he’d fallen combat helmet over steel-toed boots for.

Sometimes, Bradshaw…

“I—” He cleared his throat and scrubbed the knuckles of one hand along the jawline of his beard. “I’m looking for one of those patch kits. You know, that putty you fix walls with.”

“I’m afraid we don’t carry anything like that.” She sounded a little too pleased to share the news of a gap in the Warehouse’s extensive inventory. “You’ll need to go to the hardware store down the street.”

“Already did. He’s out of stock.”

A perky eyebrow lifted. “If you’ve exhausted the local merchants, I’d say you’re in for a drive to Pinetop-Lakeside’s Home Depot.”

She tilted her head, dipped her chin slightly and looked up at him—a mannerism that made his breath catch. A subtle bit of appealing body language that the way-too-smitten Keith had described to him in detail. More than once. Funny how he’d articulated it so well it seemed almost familiar now, not the mannerism of a stranger.

Pulling himself back to the conversation, he cleared his throat again. “Think I’ll try the discount store first.”

“You do that.”

“I intend to.”

He didn’t need her approval to go to the discount store. To drive to Home Depot. To do anything. It appeared she’d changed little in the nine years since she’d first caught Keith’s eye with that “Dear Soldier” letter of hers. Or since he himself had issued his buddy a disregarded warning. Keith laughed him off, but she was still a bit too pushy for his own tastes.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Obviously she wanted to get rid of him, but he wasn’t going to let her shoo him out the door. Free country and all that.

“My grandma could use some…aspirin.”

Though she had a medicine cabinet full of it.

Sandi’s resolute expression transformed to one of concern. “Mae isn’t feeling well?”

That’s right, she knew his Grandma Harding. Grandma Mae he called her. “Arthritis is acting up.”

She took an unexpected step forward, but his body blocked her and she pinned him with a pointed look. Guess she wanted him to get out of her way. After a moment’s hesitation, he obediently stepped aside, the wooden floor creaking under his weight, but he caught the sweet scent of her as she maneuvered around him. Vanilla. Like Grandma Mae used in her chocolate chip cookies.

She motioned for him to accompany her as she headed down a store aisle. Past the souvenir items, sweatshirts and backpacks he followed along, determined not to let the alluring sway of her hips distract him.

After all, he was New Bryce now.

She was Keith’s wife.

And not his type by a long shot.

She halted in front of a shelf and bent to snag an aspirin box. Placed it in his open palm. “This is what you want. Easier on the stomach, apparently.”

He stared down at the box, then back at her. “You a nurse now or something?”

“No, but Sharon Dixon, who owns this store, is on an aspirin regimen for her heart. I’ve heard her talk about the benefits of this type.” She pointed at the pain remedy. “Try this one.”

“Does it come in a larger size?”

She took the box from his hand, her soft, slight one brushing his own, igniting his palm with a sensitivity he didn’t know it possessed. Involuntarily his hand fisted, but a moment later she pried open his fingers to fill it with a supersize variety of the same aspirin brand.

“Anything else Mae could use? A heating pad, maybe? I’ve heard that sometimes helps.”

He studied the cardboard container, then looked at her again. She sounded sincere enough. Helpful. Concerned about his grandma. Maybe this was the side of her she’d let Keith glimpse. Softening her—how should he put it?—uncompromising inclinations.

“I think this will do. Thanks.”

“Very good.” Her tone reverted to the impersonal, as if she’d again realized to whom she’d been talking—chatting with the man who’d done his best to save his buddy from a lifetime of regret. She headed back down the aisle. “I can check you out up at the front.”

He followed her to the polished wooden counter and set the box down, then fished in a back pocket for his wallet. Pulled out a twenty, then broached a touchy subject. “I guess the museum will be open Memorial Day?”

With Sandi being the president of the local historical society, he’d had to call her several weeks ago. Had to notify her of upcoming changes to the agreement on the space his grandma leased to the Canyon Springs Historical Museum. It hadn’t gone over well.

She gave him a probing glance as she rang up his purchase. “Is there a problem with the museum being open?”

“No. Just wondering what to expect.”

“If you hadn’t moved into the apartment above it with your grandma, you wouldn’t be bothered by the historical society’s comings and goings.”

Grandma said Sandi had devoted herself to the museum since Keith’s death, but who was she to judge if he should or shouldn’t move in with his grandma? Grandma Mae was his first and only concern, and if her ability to remain relatively independent depended on having him close by, well so be it.

“Didn’t say I was bothered. Just need to know what the plans are so I can keep my grandmother informed. After all, it is her home.”

“I haven’t forgotten that.” Sandi’s gaze sharpened as she handed him his change. His heart rate ramped up a notch, anticipating her fingers would again brush his, but she carefully placed the bills and coins into his palm without contact. “But it may have slipped your mind, Sergeant, that while you were dashing around the world on yet another tour of duty, the rest of us were right here making sure her needs were met.”

No, maybe he hadn’t been here, but nobody else managed to keep Grandma from falling down the back stairs, either. Or keep her from breaking her ankle, a wrist and a few ribs. He counted slowly to ten, determined not to let Keith’s wife push his buttons. Grandma Mae always said the unspoken words you are master of, the spoken words are master of you.

Not that he’d always listened.

“That’s something I’m well aware of, thank you, and for which I’m grateful.”

“Then please make an effort to remember that—” her words came softly enough, but he didn’t miss the underlying edge “—the next time you think about raising the rent on the historical museum and send us scrambling to make up the difference. That’s why we’re keeping it open on a holiday.”

It was clear she thought the increase was nothing more than fun money for him. No doubt her husband had filled her in on the off-duty lifestyle of Old Bryce. Probably didn’t know there was a New Bryce now. He hadn’t exactly announced it to the town. She didn’t know, either, that his volunteer work and part-time jobs were just biding time until the hiring freeze ended and that promised firefighter position opened up. Well, he wasn’t going to explain his reasoning for the rent increase to her. It was nobody’s business but his and Grandma Mae’s.

Sandi tilted her head, her expressive eyes questioning, still waiting for a response to her pointed remark. But this time that cute little mannerism didn’t stir him. Much. He shifted the gear of his tone into neutral and held up the aspirin box. “I’ll keep your recommendation in mind. And thanks for your help.”

He turned away and headed to the door, conscious of her annoyed stare piercing into his back.

A shame such a pretty little gal had a mile-wide unyielding streak. Nobody would ever guess looking at her—at the full, soft mouth, eyes the color of a twilight sky, the winsome little mannerisms.

A mighty big shame.

And he could see right now this museum business was going to put him in front of the firing line of her prickly disposition. Especially when she found out the museum’s days were numbered.

But he’d keep that to himself for now.

“I have no intention of getting married again. Ever. And certainly not to him. So you can get that notion right out of your head, Devon.” Sandi Bradshaw laughed at the look of dismay her words elicited from her pretty, matchmaking sister-in-law.

But at the mention of Bryce Harding’s name her mind’s eye had flashed to the big, dark-haired man with a neatly clipped beard and mustache who’d stood before her at the Warehouse last night. Twinkling brown eyes. Broad-shouldered and built like a bulldozer. If it weren’t for the baggy cargo shorts, flip-flops and untucked black T-shirt emblazoned with No Regrets, she’d have thought he’d just stepped off the playing field of a Scottish highlands festival game.

But in the same instant she’d turned to him, his dark eyes had sobered with recognition and her own erratically pounding heart confirmed him as the man who’d come way too close to convincing her husband not to marry her.

“See?” Sandi’s mother-in-law, LeAnne Bradshaw, shook back her stylishly cut, salt-and-pepper hair. She cast a knowing look at her daughter, Devon, across the glass-topped table of a Canyon Springs outdoor café—one of the many eateries and business establishments open only from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day. “I told you Sandi and I are two of a kind. Each of us blessed beyond measure to have married the man of our dreams and no one else could ever replace either of them.”

“I’m not saying anyone could replace Keith.” Her expression still troubled as she eyed Sandi, Devon sliced off a bite of homemade apple pie. “But don’t you remember, Sandi, how the two of you always laughed about wanting a house full of kids? Gina’s already six years old. Don’t you want any more children? Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Remorse bayoneted Sandi’s heart, her memory flashing to the last words she’d spoken to her husband. But she nevertheless rallied the same bright smile she determinedly affixed each morning. Tucking a strand of her chin-length hair behind an ear, she managed another little laugh. “I guess—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Devon, stop nagging the poor girl.” LeAnne shot a withering look at her daughter. “When would she have time to get lonely? Teaching at the high school nine months out of the year. Church activities. And have you seen that ‘to do’ list of hers? Then there’s Gina. She’s more than a full-time handful.”

“Well, all I can say—” Devon fixed Sandi with a playful look “—is if she’s not fast on her feet, Sergeant First Class Bryce Harding will be off the market in no time. I haven’t been in town but a few hours and I’m already hearing he’s the hottest item on this summer’s menu.”

Sandi’s mind again rushed to the man who, prior to that first encounter last winter, she’d seen only in photographs. A man who’d had the nerve on that snowy day to stop her on the street, introduce himself and express his long-overdue condolences. She’d no idea he’d come back to town. Was so shocked at his unexpected introduction that she hadn’t handled their meeting well.

At all.

Hadn’t done so hot last night, either.

It had been no easy feat avoiding him since that first ill-fated encounter months ago. Not only did he escort his grandma to church on Sundays—looking as uncomfortable there as might be expected, given his lifestyle—but now he lived above the Canyon Springs Historical Museum. Right above her home away from home since Keith’s untimely death five years ago.

With considerable effort, she directed a wink at her husband’s little sister. “Help yourself to him, Dev. You’ll have no competition from me.”

No chance of that. Not in a million years.

With a sassy grin, Devon brushed a hand through her dark, shoulder-length hair and struck an alluring pose. “Maybe I will.”

“Don’t even think it.” LeAnne tapped a well-manicured fingernail on the tabletop, a habit that set Sandi’s teeth on edge. Click. Click. Click. “You girls know how I feel about that man. Not someone I’d want either of you getting involved with. I don’t care if he was Keith’s friend.”

Devon made a face. “Oh, Mom.”

“He was obstinate and uncooperative as a kid and I doubt that’s changed. A bad influence on Keith from the beginning. And his questionable reputation continues to precede him.” LeAnne glanced around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Besides, it’s no secret his mother never married his father.”

Sandi’s sister-in-law smirked. “Like that’s his fault?”

“He’s too old for you, Devon.” Click. Click. Click.

“He’s Keith’s age.”

“Thirty-three to your twenty-three.”

“I can do the math, Mom.”

LeAnne turned to Sandi, putting a halt to her daughter’s impertinence. “I suppose you’ll be working the holiday weekend. But is it a good idea for Gina to spend so much time with that Diaz boy? All that tree climbing and rough-housing and—”

“Come on, Mom,” her daughter cut in. “Now look who’s nagging.”

“I’m not nagging. I’m concerned.”

“About what?” Devon wadded her napkin and tossed it on the table. “That the kid might be having fun?”

Sandi glanced at her watch and rose. Time to make her exit before these two got into it full-scale as they’d been known to do. She forced a lighthearted lilt into her voice. “Thank you for treating me to a birthday dinner. And on one of the nicest days weather-wise we’ve had this year. It’s been fun.”

She loved them both to pieces, but there was only so much Bradshaw fun she could take at a time.

“You’re leaving already?” Devon wouldn’t relish lingering alone with her mother.

As she’d done most of her married life, the now-widowed elder Bradshaw retreated to the family’s mountain home each year to escape the ovenlike temps of Phoenix—the Valley of the Sun. Devon, on the other hand, popped in on occasional weekends and only for as long as she and her mother could tolerate each other. It looked as if this might be an ultrashort weekend.

Sandi pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’m filling in at the Warehouse a few hours this week. Kara Dixon’s juggling the family business, working part-time with an affordable housing group and helping her fiancé at his High Country Equine Center. Grand opening’s Memorial Day. Since Gina went to swimming lessons with a friend last evening and is at a sleepover tonight, I don’t mind.”

LeAnne sighed. “Is it necessary that you work at all in the summer, Sandi? Keith’s daughter is at an age where she’ll need a firm, guiding hand when school lets out next week.”

Keith’s daughter. She always threw that in there when she wanted to emphasize her daughter-in-law’s mothering inadequacies.

She gave LeAnne a smile intended to reassure, not challenge, but explaining about the necessity for the job would ruin the surprise. Besides, it was already her intention to spend more time with Gina in the coming months. “I’ll only be working part-time—afternoons several days a week—and Meg Diaz is as good of a mother stand-in as I could ever hope to find. Her stepson, Davy, is a wonderful little playmate for Gina, too.”

“I’m not being critical, darling, it’s just that—”

“Mom.” Devon’s voice again sliced into the conversation and the pair sat glaring at each other.

Definitely time to go.

Sandi bent to give each a speedy hug. They said their goodbyes with promises to get together soon, and with a sense of relief she headed down the street, drinking in the signature scent of Canyon Springs’s ponderosa pine.

Although she and Keith’s mother had settled into a fairly comfortable peace after his death, it was no secret her mother-in-law hadn’t started out as her greatest fan. From the day Corporal Keith Bradshaw brought his bride home to meet the family, she hadn’t pretended approval of the match.

After all, Sandi not only didn’t hail from the country-club crowd, but had put herself through a less-than-prestigious Midwestern college on scholarships, student loans and minimum-wage jobs. To add to her unsuitable pedigree, her “introduction” to Keith came via a letter written in support of the troops while he was stationed in Iraq.

Not at all what Mommy envisioned for her youngest son.

As much as Sandi disliked the association, she and Bryce Harding had one thing in common: LeAnne Bradshaw’s disdain of their dubious influence on her beloved baby boy. But in Bryce’s case, her mother-in-law’s perceptions were right on target.

A niggling unease swam up through the murky darkness of Sandi’s subconscious. The same apprehension that assaulted her when she’d run into Bryce last winter. And again last night.

How much had her husband shared with him about their relationship? About her? About the quarrel that had haunted her for too many long, lonely nights in the wake of Keith’s death?

And did she really want to know?

Chapter Two

“You’re not real talkative tonight.” Grandma Mae, her silver-gray hair tightly wrapped in pink plastic curlers, sat at the kitchen table across from him peeling potatoes into a pan nestled on her lap. Gnarled fingers clasped the handheld peeler Bryce had bought for her so she’d be less likely to cut herself with a knife. She wouldn’t let him help with the chore. Said she had to keep her arthritic hands as limber as she could for as long as she could, and working with them was better than any medication she’d yet found.

She gave him a knowing look. “In fact, you’re even less talkative than usual.”

Bryce grunted as he turned to gaze out the window over the sink where the last dregs of sunlight filtered through the pine branches. God had been poking at him since yesterday. About Keith’s wife. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Saying he was being too hard on her. Needed to tell her about his plans for the museum, too. He’d seldom had to deal with that kind of prodding much B.J. Before Jesus. Keith would have said that was because he’d been like a kid with his eyes closed and his hands over his ears yelling la la la la la.

Sure was a lot of stuff he wished he could talk to Keith about now. Spiritual stuff. Women.

But it was too late.

He turned back to the woman who’d raised him, who knew him better than anybody else did. “Nothing much to say, I guess.”

She fixed him with a scrutinizing eye. “Are you regretting coming back here?”

“No.”

“Awfully small town for such a big man.” She set the pan on the table, pushed both it and a cutting board toward him to indicate he could do the slicing. Then she grasped the arm of the chair as she attempted to pull herself to her feet. Bryce was halfway out of his own chair to assist her, but she waved him off and accomplished it on her own. Shuffled to the sink, still favoring that ankle she’d broken late last fall. “Not a whole lot exciting going on around here for someone who’s lived off an adrenaline rush for fifteen years.”

“Overrated.” He placed a potato on the cutting board and reached for a wooden-handled knife. He’d had enough of that kind of excitement to last him a good long while. Iraq. Afghanistan. Bad enough he dreamed about it. Woke up in a cold sweat.

In comparison, firefighting in a tiny town would seem like child’s play. Not that he’d mention that to the fire chief who’d promised to back his application. But nobody in Canyon Springs—you’d hope anyway—would be waiting in ambush when you raced in to put out a fire.

Grandma turned on the faucet. “Don’t imagine there’s much around here in the way of young single women, either.”

Sandi Bradshaw’s wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. He took aim with the knife and gave the potato a whack. A chunk flew into the air and landed on the worn linoleum floor. He bent to pick it up. “That’s overrated, too.”

She snorted, and he couldn’t suppress a grin.

He’d never confided to her the details of his life in the military, but undoubtedly she’d filled in the blanks on her own, wise woman that she was. No point in denying it. He’d sowed his share of wild oats.

And then some.

Wasn’t proud of it. But what was done was done and now in the past.

He changed the subject. “Do you want to go to the Memorial Day parade on Monday? I’d be happy to take you.”

He didn’t much care for parades himself, but he’d dress like a clown and stand on his head in the middle of it if that would make Grandma Mae happy.