She left belief behind...

Yet this family could change her mind

With two boys to raise, a fledgling contracting business to run and a family ranch to keep afloat, widower Drake Owens finds his hands aren’t just full—they’re overflowing. When Faith Nichols is hired to help him renovate the church, he’s drawn to the beautiful artist, but he can’t fall for a woman who isn’t a believer. Can love restore her faith...and his heart?

JENNIFER SLATTERY is a writer and speaker who’s addressed women’s and church groups across the nation. As the founder of Wholly Loved Ministries, she and her team help women rest in their true worth and live with maximum impact. When not writing, Jennifer loves spending time with her adult daughter and hilarious husband. Visit her online at jenniferslatterylivesoutloud.com to learn more or to book her for your next women’s event.

Also by Jennifer Slattery

Restoring Her Faith

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Restoring Her Faith

Jennifer Slattery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09631-7

RESTORING HER FAITH

© 2019 Jennifer Slattery

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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The cowboy blocked the sun with his six-foot-plus self.

“You okay?”

She looked back at her trailer, her lungs tight.

“I’m fine. And hopefully, all my supplies are, too.” What would she tell the restoration committee?

The truth—that some cowboy had totaled her vehicle and overturned her trailer.

He made a visual sweep of the overturned trailer behind her. “I’ll round up a couple of fellas to help me right this thing.” He lifted his Stetson, revealing caramel-colored hair, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Hope you don’t have anything fragile in there.”

She fought to keep her frustration—and anxiety—in check. “Just glass.”

“Like the kind they use in windows?”

“Yes, why?”

He scratched his jaw. “You wouldn’t be from

Leaded Pane Restoration, would you?”

So he knew about the church, then? And about the company she’d bid against. “No. I’m a private contractor and artist.” She donned her most professional smile. “Faith Nichols.”

He continued to study her, expression stiff, as the two shook hands, his grip strong. “Drake Owens. Good to meet you.”

Why did she get the feeling that wasn’t exactly true?

Dear Reader,

The backdrop of this story emerged one day when I encountered an article about the historic Painted Churches of Texas. Though I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, I have great admiration for those gifted with such creativity and skill. It might not surprise you, then, that I received great enjoyment from writing Faith’s story as she works with all three mediums—and more!

My most enjoyable experience, however, came while researching the processes related to stained glass artwork. Through an Internet search, I discovered a stained glass store about an hour away that teaches patrons how to cut and design stained glass. I immediately signed my daughter and I up, and together we spent seven Saturdays cutting glass, and finding much to laugh about—often due to my frequent mistakes! I was also able to ask the staff at Architectural Glassarts all my story-related questions regarding the restoration of historic stained glass windows like those Faith encountered.

Each window, with its unique and perhaps even jagged pieces, reminds me of the beauty available through community. We’re all different, and we all have our rough edges and chipped areas. Our individual colors are unique and vibrant, but when we come together, learn to lean on one another, and support each other, as Sage Creek residents do, we become a beautiful tapestry that reveals God’s love and grace.

May we each find our place in such a life-giving community.

Jennifer

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

—Hebrews 11:1

I dedicate this story to my artistic daughter, Ashley.

Acknowledgments

I want to give a huge thanks to my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, for all the ways she’s guided and encouraged me. I also want to thank my husband for listening to my ideas and sentences, paragraphs and pages as I read them for the umpteenth time. Shannon Taylor Vannatter, thank you for all the constructive feedback, encouragement and prayers you’ve offered over the years, and Mindy Obenhaus and Renee Ryan, thank you for all the guidance you provided as I worked through this story. I want to thank Architectural Glass Arts for teaching me how to work with stained glass, answering my questions and sharing your cool restoration stories! Finally, thank You to my Savior, the author of fun, romance and creativity.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The long, deserted road felt much too similar to one Faith had taken decades before, with all her belongings crammed in a pair of tattered suitcases. Hopefully Sage Creek would be nothing like her experience in Alpine, back when she’d been a gawky, metal-mouthed kid in desperate need of a friend.

She’d received taunting and rejection instead.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. It was her best friend, Toni. As a fellow artist fighting to survive Austin’s competitive market, she understood Faith in a way few others did.

She answered through her Bluetooth. “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

“Girls’ night out this Friday. Bahn mi French fries, baby!”

“Sounds fun but can’t. I’m on my way to that contract job I told you about. I’m just over fifteen miles out. With no sign of civilization, except the occasional longhorn, in sight.”

“You make Sage Creek sound so appealing.”

Faith glanced at her wobbly trailer through her rearview mirror, packed with, she hoped, everything she’d need to restore Trinity Faith’s historic stained glass windows, which had decorated the church since its founding. “Let’s just say I haven’t had the best experience with small-town Texans.”

“Not all ranching communities measure a person’s worth based on how well they bake a casserole. Besides, those people didn’t hire you to make friends.”

“True.” She was going to, hopefully, get some media exposure, enough to salvage her career. If she, and whoever else she’d be working with, pulled this job off well, the church stood a good chance of receiving historical status. “Depending on how this deal turns out, I may even be able to get Jeremy Pratt from Lone Star Gems to write a feature article on me.”

“Wow. Just a mention in that magazine would for sure get folks’ attention. But a full story? That’d put your name on the map for sure.”

She gripped her steering wheel with both hands as something black—a tire?—came barreling toward her in the opposite lane, while a red pickup screeched past, throwing sparks.

She screamed and slammed on her brakes. Her trailer tugged right, then left as the oncoming tire rammed into her front end. It bounced off, flying ten feet into the adjacent field.

Smoke seeped from beneath her hood as she veered onto the shoulder, and the acrid stench of burning rubber pricked her nose.

“Faith, you okay?”

“I...” Her throat felt scratchy. What had happened? “Can I call you back? I was just hit by a...a flying tire. The front of my car is smoking.”

Her supplies! She shot a glance to her trailer—lying on its side—behind her. She groaned and closed her eyes.

Faith pressed trembling fingers to her temples. Now what? All her sheets of specially ordered glass, potentially shattered. She didn’t have time to order new. And what about the damage done to her car? Fighting the urge to hyperventilate, she focused on her breathing—in through her nose, out through her mouth. In, out...

Did Sage Creek even have a mechanic? Probably one that charged outsiders ten times what they should. Through her rearview window, she watched a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy step out of his now lopsided truck. Dressed in faded jeans and a Stetson, the man had to be at least six foot five and was built like a linebacker.

She swallowed, checking the road in either direction. There wasn’t another vehicle, tractor or farmhouse in sight. No one but Mr. Tall Muscular Stranger who, at this moment, was heading her way.

She caught a glimpse of herself in her side-view mirror. Olive complexion washed out, eyes more pupil than gray, chestnut hair tumbling out of her messy ponytail in a frazzled mess—like she felt. All giving her the appearance of a defenseless city girl who knew more about complementary colors than how to manage nearly totaled cars.

Suddenly the cowboy stood beside her door, blocking the sun. Making her acutely aware of her tiny five-foot, one-hundred-pound frame in comparison.

A faint dusting of scruff covered his square jaw. His green eyes, framed by thick, caramel-colored lashes, latched on to hers. “You okay?” The man bore a striking resemblance to Chris Hemsworth.

“I’m fine.” She got out and marched toward her overturned trailer. “And hopefully, all my supplies are, too.” Insurance would pay for the damage, right? But that could take a while, and her credit cards were maxed. What would she tell the restoration committee?

The truth—that some reckless, broad-shouldered cowboy’s tire had smashed into her car.

He made a visual sweep of her vehicle, then the overturned trailer behind her. “Sorry about this.” He swept a muscled arm toward her caved-in front end. “Seems my mechanic friend forgot to tighten my lug nuts. I felt that right wheel wobbling. Was about to pull off.”

He should’ve done that a couple miles back. At least her overturned trailer wasn’t dented. That was a good sign, right? Hopefully her careful packing had kept the glass from breaking. She was afraid to open the doors for fear of everything falling out.

“Let me give you my insurance information.” He pulled out a faded leather wallet and flipped it open. “I’ll call a buddy tow truck driver, see if I can get him out here. Except his phone might be off, being Sunday and all. Got something I can write with?”

She nodded and returned to her car for a pen and slip of paper. She handed both over.

The brim of his hat shadowed most of his face. “Where you headed?”

“Not much farther. A town called Sage Creek.”

“You got family here?”

She shook her head. “Going for a job.”

“Who you working for?”

Strange question, and not one she felt comfortable answering. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s your business how?”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Figured I might know the fella.” He adjusted his hat, revealing brown hair, cut short and neat, streaked with blond. “Or gal, whatever. I could give you a lift to the place, if you want. If I can’t get ahold of my buddy with the tow truck, I mean.”

“If you must know, I’m here to restore some stained glass windows.”

He scratched his jaw, head angled. “You wouldn’t be from Leaded Pane Restoration, would you? To work on Trinity Faith? ’Cept...” He gazed down the road. “...you’re coming from the wrong way.”

So he knew about the church, then? And about the company she’d bidden against. “No. I’m a private contractor and artist. From Austin.” She straightened, donned her most professional smile. “Faith Nichols.”

“Drake Owens.”

His stiff expression didn’t sit right with her. “You got a problem with that?”

“You’re sure you’re supposed to be here? On the job, I mean?”

She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t remember the team hiring on extra folks. Seeing as I’m the contractor overseeing the job, seems someone would’ve said something to me about you coming.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t the one to hire me.”

“We’ve been working with Leaded Pane Restoration for going on three generations. Don’t see why the committee would be looking to change that now.”

Great. So not only was she starting this project with broken supplies, but she’d be working for a man who clearly didn’t want her here.

Fingers pressed to her temples, Faith focused on taking slow, even breaths. Her hands, still slick with sweat from her death grip on her steering wheel, trembled. That tire could’ve shattered her windshield, maybe even caused her to lose control of her vehicle.

“I’ll get some buddies out here to help lift your trailer.” Drake pulled a phone from his back pocket. “Let me make a few calls.”

“Me, too.” She held up the slip of paper on which he’d written his insurance information, and returned to her car. Fifteen minutes later, two trucks, both driven by cowboys, one wearing a straw hat, the other a tattered gray one, arrived.

The sheriff was coming, right? Maybe she should phone again? She’d give him ten more minutes.

Drake faced his “buddies,” as he called them. He tipped his hat as they sauntered over. “Hey. Thanks for coming. And for bringing my dad’s truck.”

The taller of the two, a guy with dark hair and dark eyes, offered her a brisk nod. “No problem. So long’s I’m back by the time they start cutting into the pies.” He chuckled and addressed Faith. “I hear you’re the gal hired on by the cultural committee.”

She looked at Drake, who appeared to be scrutinizing her, then back to his friends. “That’s me.”

“Well, now.” The guy clamped a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “This isn’t the best way to treat one of Sage Creek’s honored guests. It’s hotter than a midsummer fire pit today.”

Drake crouched beside the trailer. “You fellas ready?” His friends joined him, and after a few grunts and groans, they’d righted the thing.

“Thank you.” Holding her breath, she unlocked the dead bolt and slowly opened the double doors. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. At least three sheets of glass were fractured—three of her most expensive pieces.

“Oh, man.” Drake swiped a hand over his face. “I’ll take care of this. I’m so sorry.”

She needed to be at the job site first thing tomorrow morning, with less than a month to complete the project. With absolutely no wiggle room. Did Artisan’s Glass have any extra sheets on hand? If not, how soon would they be able to get some in?

They’d probably charge her the freight fee.

“Listen, I’ll—”

She raised a hand, then called her glass supplier. The phone rang half a dozen times. No answer. Lovely. She’d keep trying until she reached them.

The hum of an engine approached, then slowed. She glanced over her shoulder. The sheriff. Good. Hopefully this meant she’d soon be done here and recovering in her nice, air-conditioned hotel room.

Drake’s phone rang as she relayed the details of the accident to the officer. She paused to listen.

“I know, and I don’t blame you for that.” Drake rubbed the back of his neck. “But we’re kind of in a bind here.”

He explained what had happened. “Both our vehicles need to be towed. I’ll drive my dad’s truck until mine gets fixed. When do you think you could get out here?” He gave a low whistle. Lowering his phone, he turned to Faith. “My friend with the tow truck—today’s his day off.”

“And?”

“He said he’d come out, but it might be a while.”

“How long are you talking?”

“Didn’t say. I suspect after the church picnic.”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Perfect. What was she supposed to do now? Call someone from Austin? That’d take hours.

“That glass that broke... I’m going to need to replace it.”

Drake nodded. “I’m sure my insurance company will cover it.”

“I mean ASAP. I’ll probably have to have it rush ordered.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

In other words, take him at his word. But what choice did she have? At least she had witnesses.

“Tell you what...” Drake’s dark-haired friend scratched his jaw. “I’ve got some thick cord in the back of my truck. Bet we could rig this vehicle to our trailer hitch and pull it into town.” He looked at Drake. “Leave Billy to tow yours whenever he gets to it. And you could pull her trailer with your pop’s truck.”

The officer clamped a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Good thinking, boys.”

Faith bit her lip. Let a couple of strangers haul her car? But...they were friends with the town sheriff. And it was hot. Not to mention she was starving. And thirsty. “I, uh, I guess. But I’d like to grab my bike.”

The men’s eyes shifted to the top of her automobile, where her mountain bike remained secured, thankfully unharmed.

“No problem. I’ll load it in the bed of my dad’s truck.” Drake began unlatching the clamps on her top-mounted rack, his shoulder muscles straining beneath his cotton T-shirt.

The officer tore off a sheet of paper from a pad and handed it to Faith. A blank report form. “Fill this out.” He handed another page to Drake. “You, too.”

Drake shifted a few steps back to use her trunk as a writing table.

The officer followed. “How’s your dad doing?” He wiped the sweat off his forehead using his shirtsleeve. “Any talk of selling his place?”

“Nope. Not a lick.”

“People been pestering him, though?”

“Doesn’t matter. I have no intention of letting those land-hungry weasels wear my folks down.”

The officer studied Drake. “I admire you, boy. How hard you’re trying to save your parents’ ranch and all. Just be careful your stubbornness doesn’t land everyone in a mess they can’t get out of.”

A tendon in Drake’s jaw twitched. “That property’s been in our family for going on six generations. I intend to make sure that doesn’t change.”

Faith cleared her throat to interrupt their conversation, or perhaps remind them she was there. She handed her form to the officer.

“Y’all finished?” He closed his notepad and slid it into his front pocket.

His radio crackled, and he moved aside to answer. Sounded like another accident somewhere. “Ten-four. I’ll head there now.” He clipped his radio back on his shoulder mount, then turned to Drake. “Think you can give her a lift into town? There’s a fender-bender out on Harrison I got to attend to.”

“Sure. No problem.” He flicked his dark-haired friend’s arm. “Y’all can follow whenever you get this contraption secured.” Then he turned to Faith with a grin that made her stomach do an odd flip. For reasons she didn’t care to entertain. “Where you staying?”

“The Cedar View Inn, just outside of town.”

“Ah. Mr. Johnson’s place. Great guy. He’ll treat you good—best lodging within a forty-mile radius.”

Also known as the only hotel around. As to how nice the rooms were, she wasn’t holding her breath. Though her breathing did stall whenever the blue-eyed cowboy caught her gaze.

Not good. Not good at all.

Chapter Two

Drake Owens glanced at the frazzled city girl, dressed like one of those granola types, sitting in the passenger’s seat beside him. Chestnut hair fell over her shoulders in long, loose waves. Gray eyes shadowed by deeply furrowed brows hinted that a spitfire lingered just below her polite smiles and thank-yous.

Pretty enough to jumble a man’s head, if he wasn’t careful. Drake never had that problem with the folks from Leaded Pane.

His phone rang. His headset answered. “Hey-lo.”

“You called?” It was Elizabeth, his sister.

“Just making sure y’all made it down to the lake all right,” Drake said. “That my rascally sons didn’t give you and Mom too much trouble.” At three and a half and six years old, those two could be quite a handful. His mom had always managed to keep them wrangled well enough...until Dad’s accident. Now she spent most of her time caring for him. Luckily, Drake’s sister had stepped in to help nanny, almost full-time. Otherwise he would’ve had to back out of the restoration project.

“Oh, your boys were fine. Getting Dad into the truck was another story.”

“The picnic will be good for him. He needs to get out of the house. Mom, too.”

“I know. Now if I could somehow get him to socialize a little... He’s been tight-lipped all day.”

More like all month, not that Drake could blame him. That fall from the barn loft had stolen more than his mobility. He’d lost his independence, ability to provide for his family, to do what he’d always loved...

If he lost the ranch, too...

Drake refused to let that happen.

“William!” Drake’s sister called out to his youngest. “Get that out of your mouth!” With a sigh, she returned to the phone. “Got to go. See you in a few?”

“Yep.” Soon as he dropped his feisty little friend off.

Not that he could blame her for her sour mood. He’d just ruined her afternoon in a big way. To think that if he’d stayed out at Mr. Farmer’s for ten more minutes, he might’ve avoided the accident altogether... But he’d been too wrapped up thinking about his parents’ financial issues. As a result, he’d totaled her car, and nearly sent her trailer flying with who knows how many thousands of dollars’ worth of stained glass.

Speaking of...why was she here instead of the guys from Leaded Pane? As a family-owned business from Northeast Texas, they understood the importance of maintaining the flavor of a place. Not so with city folks, like this princess sitting next to him. They always seemed compelled to force their progress on everyone else.

As if a town couldn’t make its own decisions.

That church held way too much history, personal and otherwise, to let some city girl botch things up.

An image filled his mind of his wife standing at the altar. She’d looked beautiful dressed in a white lace gown that hugged her soft curves, the Garden of Eden mural covering the wall behind her. The deep green in the leaves had provided a beautiful contrast to her strawberry-blond highlights and peachy complexion. Her blue eyes were so full of life—until cancer stole that from her.

Though he no longer felt the sharp sting of grief, he would always hold tight to the memories of all they’d shared. A good deal of them in that small country church.

He slowed as he neared the Cedar View Inn. “How long you been in the restoration business?”

Her gaze met his, held it long enough to spike his pulse. But then her cheeks flushed and she looked away. “A while.”

She was such a tight-lipped little thing. Because she was quiet or lacked the experience to do the job? Then again, she might still be shaken up from the accident. Or spitting mad. “Bet you been all over the country, huh?”

She gave a slight shrug and focused on the single-story, metal-roofed motel in front of her. He eyed her trendy silk tank, long flowing skirt and strappy white sandals. Had city girl been expecting something fancier?

“Listen, about your car...” He cast her a sideways glance, momentarily distracted by the soft curve of her cheek. “I’ll make sure it gets fixed up right, and as quick as possible.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Her tone held a hint of a bite.

The truck jolted as he hit a pothole, before pulling up to the cement parking bumper. “This is it.” His was the only vehicle in the lot. “Except...looks like Mr. Johnson, the hotel owner, isn’t here.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s no one to check you in at the moment. The place doesn’t get enough business for front desk staff.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Mind if I call him? Before you leave, I mean?”

Her vulnerable tone drew Drake to her in the most inconvenient way. “Sure.”

He waited, engine humming, while she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a folded slip of paper. Looked like a printed-out email.

“Thanks.” Phone to her ear a moment later, she sighed. “Voice mail.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hello, this is Faith Nichols, I spoke to you last week. I have a reservation...” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “For tomorrow. But I was hoping you might have a vacancy tonight.” She left her number, then dropped her phone back into her purse.

She leaned back against her seat, obviously completely flustered.

This had been quite a day for her. Because of him. “Most likely the owner’s at the church picnic. I wouldn’t expect him back until...” Drake placed his hand on his gearshift, prepared to reverse the truck and trailer. “You hungry?”

“Excuse me?”

You would’ve thought he’d asked her to eat a worm, the way her head jerked toward him. He was merely trying to be friendly. He couldn’t exactly leave her here. “Figured maybe you’d like to come to the picnic.”

She scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, then gave a slow nod. “I might as well.”

“All right then. Give me a minute to turn this thing around.” He reached for the door handle, then paused. “I figure you’ll want to leave your gear here, instead of having us drag it all over the place?”

“That’d probably be best, thanks. Just let me put a lock on the wheels. The doors are already dead-bolted.”

“What about your bike?”

She glanced around. “I’ll chain it to that tree over there.”

“Sounds good.” He swung his truck around, maneuvered her trailer into a parking slot and unhitched it. Less than five minutes later, he was driving down the local road.

“Maybe you should drop me off at the mechanic’s so I can check on my car.”

“I got Mike’s number, if you want to call. Though I suspect he’ll phone you soon as he knows something.”

“Mike?”

“He owns the repair shop. Though he’s probably at the picnic, too.” Drake slowed as they entered town. “Most everybody is. Few folks will turn down a free plate of fried chicken.”

“I see.” Her eyes tracked the single-story storefronts, which probably looked run-down and archaic to a city girl like her.

But to him, the simple brick exteriors, the signs that could use fresh coats of paint and the arching windows with peeling trim, were rife with memories. While so many other towns had chosen to replace the flavor of their area with the new and shiny, Sage Creek’s residents valued history over glitz. For that he was grateful.

“I suppose that café over there is closed, as well?” She pointed to Wilma’s Kitchen, the only full-service diner in town.

He eyed the dark windows, shaded by a sun-bleached green awning.

“All right.” Faith held her purse close. “The picnic will be fine. Thank you.” She paused. “You’ll bring me back to the hotel later?”

“Sure thing.”

That woman was as stiff as a hitching post, and clearly ready to bail from his truck at the first opportunity. Hopefully a plate of fried chicken would relax her some, and come tomorrow, at the job site, they could start over. On better footing. Otherwise things could turn troublesome real quick.

* * *

As she stepped from Drake’s truck, faces turned Faith’s way, eyebrows raised. As if she held a giant sign that shouted, “Out-of-towner. Not one of us.”

Just like in middle school. Not that it mattered what these people thought of her.

She needed to stay focused on why she was here.

Loading up their plates, men, women and children crowded around three rectangular tables set end to end. Others sat on folding chairs or blankets spread out on the grass in the shade of giant oak trees. Laughter and the scents of baked berry pies and beef stew floated on the air, making her stomach grumble.

“Daddy!” A blond, chubby-cheeked little boy with bright eyes ran toward Drake. He held out a glass jar. “Look.”

Was he married? She glanced at his bare ring finger.

He grinned, dropped to one knee and wrapped an arm around the boy. “Whatcha got there? A toad?”

The child’s head bobbed. “His name’s Toady. Can I keep him?”

“He’s got a name already, does he?” Drake’s grin crinkled the skin around his eyes.

“Figured you’d be more pleased with his catch than I was.” A curvy woman with long blond hair came toward him. His wife? Strange how the thought bothered Faith. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you what your other son’s been doing.”

Drake ruffled the child’s hair, then stood. “Making mud pies down by the lake?”

“Close enough.” The lady turned to Faith, as if seeing her for the first time. “Hey.” Her gaze shifted from her to Drake, then back again. “I’m Elizabeth, Drake’s sister.”

Faith felt oddly comforted, then chastised herself for it.

Drake introduced his son. The little one responded by darting behind him.

When he peeked around Drake’s back, Faith smiled. “Hi, William.” She took half a step back to add distance between her and this cowboy who caused her to feel much too jittery and off-kilter.

Probably residual effects from the accident. That he’d caused... Something she’d do well to remember whenever he flashed that handsome smile in her direction. Men like him were all the same. They waltzed around in their boots and faded jeans, believing they were God’s gift to women.

Drake introduced her, explaining why she was here and how they’d met.

“Wow.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Way to make a lasting impression, big brother.”

He hooked a thumb in his pocket and made a visual sweep of the area. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

A flicker of sadness flashed in the woman’s eyes. With a nod, she pointed toward a picnic pavilion surrounded by tall oak trees. “Dad’s already asking to go back home.”

He cast Faith a sideways glance. “I’ll go give him a holler, once I help this little lady load up on the grub.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Elizabeth linked arms with Faith. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to our pie ladies. The most important women to get to know in this town, especially since they’ve helped raise a chunk of the funding for Trinity Faith’s restoration.”

A chunk? Did that mean others had raised the rest, or that the committee had managed to come up with only part of the money? Otherwise this trip could set her back, after all her expenses, and she still didn’t know if she could order replacement glass in time. She hadn’t been able to get through to the supply store.

Weaving around adults and children, Elizabeth eventually led her to a pair of picnic tables. Faith fought to keep her overloaded plate of chicken, potato salad, green salad, Jell-O and two other salads she’d never heard of from toppling out of her hand.

Every few steps, Elizabeth stopped to introduce her to people—someone from the church finance committee, or a member of the fund-raising team. The pastor’s wife, mayor’s daughter, town librarian.

Everyone had ideas on how the renovation should go and a story or three to go with them.

A hunchbacked woman with fluffy white hair placed a hand on Faith’s forearm, nearly causing her to drop her lunch. “You know what we need? One of those crying rooms like them bigger churches got. And the paint in the foyer’s too muted. We need something brighter. Like yellow.”

“Margie, they can’t just go around changing colors.” A tall woman in a ruffled tank rolled her eyes.

Margie frowned. “Who says?”

“The cultural committee.” The woman stepped closer, as if accepting a challenge. Or maybe initiating one. “Historical registry requirements and all.”

When they reached the pavilion, Faith saw Drake squatting in front of an older man in a wheelchair. The man leaned back, arms crossed, his bushy eyebrows pinched in a scowl.

A silver-haired woman sat beside him. She watched Drake closely, while he seemed to be engaged in a tense conversation with the man.

“You should meet my parents.” Elizabeth motioned toward the threesome. “My mom’s declared herself the official town hostess. By the end of the week, she’ll have you loaded up with casseroles, tomatoes and more coupons than you’ll know what to do with.”

“I, uh...sure.”

Drake glanced up as they approached, his blue eyes latching on to Faith’s and causing her cheeks to heat. He stood, feet shoulder distance apart, hand in his pocket. “Faith, this here’s my dad, Stanley Owens. He owns Owens Ranch out on Highway 59.”

The man gave a brief nod, his tight expression softening some. “Welcome to Sage Creek.”

Someone made a howling noise that sounded like a mix between Tarzan and a strangled pig.

Drake shook his head. “That troublemaker climbing that tree over there is my oldest, Trevor.” He motioned to a child, also blond, swinging, then jumping from low-hanging branches. The kid looked to be about six or seven years old. “And this here’s my mom, Sylvia.” He placed his hand on the shoulder of the silver-haired woman. “Best baker this side of San Antone.”

The woman waved her hand. “Don’t know about that, but I do love to keep my family sufficiently sweetened.” She winked at Drake, then motioned for Faith to sit on the picnic table bench beside her. “I hear you’ve been hired to help Drake, the town’s most eligible bachelor, fix our church right up.”

Heat flooded Faith’s cheeks. Surely the woman wasn’t implying...

His gaze met hers again, and her pulse skittered. She stiffened and looked away, then sat beside his mother and started forking bits of onion out of her green bean casserole.

“You’ve seen the place? Trinity Faith Church, I mean?” Sylvia asked. “Isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do. God’s hand if I ever saw it—Faith assigned, by faith, to restore Trinity Faith. I know there’s an amen story to that one.”

Faith blinked. “A what?”

“You know, how God brought you here to us.”

“Well...” No sense telling this poor woman that God had absolutely nothing to do with her being here, or her choices, period. Faith had seen enough of the ugliness of religion growing up to know she wanted nothing to do with it.

“I’ve always loved history and art.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have a subscription to Lone Star Gems.” The most prestigious art and culture magazine in Texas, and the one she hoped would help salvage her career, so long as she managed to get a feature. “A few months ago, they did an article on some of Texas’s oldest churches. They were all so beautiful and unique, I knew I had to see them. But while researching my trip, I read about your church’s fire.”

“So sad.” Sylvia shook her head. “But I’m not worried none. You and Drake will fix that place up good as new.” She flashed a grin.

Drake, the man who could spike her pulse with just a glance, working alongside her...

For two weeks, maybe longer...

Totally not a big deal, considering he wasn’t her type. The man was country from his boots to his Stetson.

Still, she’d be wise to maintain an appropriate distance.

Chapter Three

Faith liked Drake’s mom. She had stories for everything, many of them hilarious, and about half were about her son and grandkids. It was clear she cherished her role as Meemaw, as she was called.

As the afternoon wore on, Drake’s boys started to bicker, his oldest teasing the little one by holding a Frisbee just out of reach. According to their father, the youngest was determined to be like his big brother, which often resulted in tears from the younger and taunting from the older. Little William ran after Trevor, then tripped on a branch and fell splat on his face. He remained there, crying and wailing.

“Oh!” Faith sprang to her feet, one hand on her mouth.

“Excuse me.” Drake set his Coke on the picnic table and ambled to his son’s side. Upon reaching him, Drake pulled him up, dropped to one knee and set the child on his other. “What’s broken?”

William sniffed, tears streaking his dirty face.

“Your arm?” He lifted the boy’s arm, wiggled it until he started to laugh. “Your leg?” He grabbed his son’s leg, nearly causing him to topple over, if not for Drake’s stabilizing arm on his back. “Oh, I know. Your ear.” He stuck a finger in William’s ear, causing him to squeal and squirm.

Faith laughed.

“Sure is good with those boys.”

She turned to find one of the women among numerous Elizabeth had introduced Faith to—she couldn’t remember her name—standing beside her, sucking on a chicken bone.

“Glad to see it.” The woman leaned closer, hand cupped around her mouth. “I was worried, with his dad’s accident and all. Thought Drake would go through another dark spell, like he did when his wife died. Didn’t know who’d step in to take care of things then.”

Drake was a widower? But he was so young, as were his kids. Faith felt her heart tug in his direction.

“Well.” Drake’s mom stood and began gathering used paper plates from the table. “I suppose it’s getting to be that time.”

His sister sprang to her feet. “Need help with Dad?”

“I...” She glanced at Drake.

As if sensing her attention, he tossed his son over his shoulder and hurried to them. “You and Dad ready to jet?” he asked his mother.

“I hate to put you out.”

“Stop.” His expression turned firm. He glanced about before catching Faith’s eye. “Give me a minute?”

“Sure. No problem.” The way Drake’s father was scowling, his mom was wringing her hands and his sister was picking at her pinkie nail, Faith felt she’d stumbled into a private family squabble.

She helped with cleanup, trying to answer the seemingly endless questions random strangers fired her way.

One of the older women gave her a knowing smile and asked what she thought of the rancher’s son.

As if she planned to stay for the duration.

She tossed her napkin into a nearby trash can. “I haven’t.” Regardless of how attractive she found Drake or how welcoming all these people were, she had no intention of living in a small town again.

* * *

Drake grabbed the handles of his dad’s wheelchair. The terrain in front of them—grass dotted with bare patches and numerous dips, ridges and rises—made pushing the thing a challenge. Elizabeth must have suffered quite a workout to get Dad from the truck to the picnic table. Not to mention getting him into the truck in the first place.

They needed to figure something out. Soon. Tomorrow Drake would check on costs of wheelchair lifts.

“Daddy, I help.” His youngest ran to Drake’s side.

Dad visibly tensed.

Because of William’s request? Made sense. Dad had never been one to ask for help, never one to admit he needed it. Now he needed help with everything. With one quick statement, his three-year-old-grandson had called attention to this fact.

The man’s entire life had shifted with one fall.

A fall that wouldn’t have happened had Drake stayed to help on the ranch that day.

“How about you help Meemaw clean up,” Drake said.

“But I strong.” His tiny fingers gripped the smooth metal bars.

“I know you are.” He gently pried the child’s hands free. “Which is why Meemaw needs you.” He glanced back to find Faith watching him, and a strange sensation heightened his senses.

Clearing his throat, he averted his gaze. Trevor, older by two and a half years, hung from a low-hanging branch about a hundred feet away. “Oh. Look what your brother’s doing.”

William’s haloed head jerked in that direction, and his face lit up. In a flash, he was off, his chubby little arms pumping.

Drake chuckled. That boy was about as distractible as a puppy chasing a pack of baby chicks.

He headed toward his mom’s SUV, offered one of the church members a passing nod and maneuvered his dad around a two-inch hole. “You get to talk to anyone?”

Dad hitched a shoulder up.

“I know Mom’s glad you came. You need to get out more.”

“Everyone knows what I need now?”

Ouch. “All’s I’m saying is folks are glad to see you.”

No response. These outings always put him in a mood. His doctor said to expect anger, and Drake got that. It had to smart something awful to lose the use of one’s legs. But Dad wasn’t the only one going through a major life change. He wasn’t the only one mourning.

Drake looked at his mom, glad to see her surrounded by a group of ladies. He’d connect with her tomorrow to check how she was faring and what appointments Dad had this week that she might need help with.

He stopped as two barefoot boys ran in front of them, one of them clutching a football to his chest. “I have a feeling some of the church ladies will be bringing goodies to the work site tomorrow. I’ll save you some.”

Dad gave a slight nod. Better than a grunt.

“I was thinking of taking the boys fishing this weekend. Want to come?”

No response. Lord, help me out here. How can I pull him out of this funk?

When they reached his mom’s SUV, one of Drake’s buddies hurried to meet them. He waited for Drake to move Dad’s footrests out of the way, then quietly stepped in. Mimicking Drake, he cupped a hand under Dad’s left thigh, and with his other, gripped his forearm without a word. Asking would’ve only wounded Dad’s pride.

Would it always be this way?

They lifted him in, then Drake secured his seat belt and shot him a smile. Receiving a frown in return, Drake closed the door with a suppressed sigh.

How did a person adapt to something like this? Especially a rancher who’d been handling bulls, mending fences and barns, and whatever else, for as long as Drake could remember? The man loved being outside. Loved doing.

Took pride in his role as protector and provider.

Drake rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side to get the air-conditioning going. “Want the radio on while you wait for Mom?” He fiddled with the dial.

“Don’t matter.”

“All right then.” He turned to Rural Radio so his dad could catch up on cattle prices—or would that stress him out? Remind him of the threat of losing the ranch? Drake flipped to the local country-and-western station and closed the door.

He released a heavy breath and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Bryce, one of his best friends since middle school, strolled over. “How’re you holding up?”

He didn’t answer right away. “We’ll be all right.”

“Christa is worried about your momma. Said she’s hardly left the ranch since the accident.”

“She’s got to watch Dad.” It was just like Bryce’s wife to feel concerned, and likely a strong pull to help. That woman was one of the most caring people Drake knew.

“Figured as much. But...” He popped a few of his knuckles. “Maybe some of the Bible study gals could help out some. Take turns sitting with him.”

Drake snorted. “That’ll go over real well.” He shot his dad a sideways glance.

“Yeah, well, it’s not just about him, is it?” Bryce’s gaze intensified.

Drake gave a quick nod and leaned back against the vehicle. “I’ll talk to Mom and Elizabeth.”

“Good enough. So...that girl, the one whose car you totaled—”

“I didn’t total it.”

“Pretty near. Not the smartest way to snag a woman, but I’m glad to know you’re not completely blind.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I see the way you look at her.”

“I’m not interested in dating anyone, let alone a city girl. The boys have had enough to deal with.”

“It’s been three years. Your youngest doesn’t even remember Lydia.”

Drake winced and clenched his teeth to keep from snapping.

Bryce raised his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean... That was stupid.”

A tense silence stretched between them. “Regardless, she won’t be here for long. And as far as I’m concerned she’s not supposed to be here at all.” Drake relayed all he knew about her, which wasn’t much, and everything he remembered from the last church restoration planning meeting.

“I caught a look at the bids.” Drake shoved a hand in his pocket. “Before the crew made their decision. She’s an artist from some gallery. From what I could tell, she hasn’t done more than a handful of stained glass restorations, if that.”

“She can’t be too inept. She got the contract, didn’t she?”

“I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked Mayor Pearson about it. Both of us remember the restoration team choosing Leaded Pane. He’s going to go through all the bids tomorrow.”

“So you’re thinking that other outfit might show up in the morning, ready to get to work.” His friend shook his head. “That’ll be awkward.”

“Tell me about it.” As if Drake didn’t have enough drama to deal with. Then again, that was the best-case scenario. The worst would be her actually doing the job and proving incompetent. “The restoration team’ll handle it. Let her down gently and send her on her way.”

He glanced at his dad. He had to be getting cranky, sitting in the SUV like he was.

Drake turned to see what was keeping his mom, then froze.

Faith stood a few feet away, and based on her expression, had been there for some time. Long enough to hear most everything.

“Hello.” Her tone was clipped.

Bryce cleared his throat and took a half step back, as if distancing himself from the mess Drake had just created.

“Hey.” Drake swallowed.

While he fidgeted, trying to untangle his tongue, Bryce tipped his hat to Drake’s mom and sister as they approached. “Mrs. Owens. Elizabeth.”

“Such a lovely evening.” His mom smiled, completely oblivious to the tension filling the air. “Where’s that beautiful wife and son of yours? I wanted to say hi, but, well...”

She’d never left Dad’s side except to fill plates. Bryce was right. She needed a break. He and Elizabeth would have to figure out how to make that happen. Regularly.

“They’re probably still down by the lake trying to catch snakes,” Bryce said. “Or I should say, Elijah’s chasing snakes while his momma’s standing on the tallest rock, praying this phase of his passes quickly.”

“Good luck with that one.” His mom laughed. “Well, I suppose we should go. You ready, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She flicked everyone a wave, then turned to Faith. “We’ll see you Friday?”

Drake raised his eyebrows. When had Faith and his sister gotten so chummy? And what did she mean by we? Not that it mattered. The woman would be heading back to Austin soon enough.

Except she was going nowhere right now. Her car was in the shop. Because of him.

* * *

Faith pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from saying something stupid, and accompanied Drake to the truck. So he didn’t want her here. Thought she couldn’t do the job. The cocky, small-minded... She’d just have to prove him—and everyone else in Sage Creek—wrong.

Like she’d been trying to do with her dad for the past decade, ever since she dropped out of college to pursue a career in art. That had gone over real well; the professor’s daughter hadn’t made it through her junior year.

And if Drake was right, if somehow she was here by mistake? She’d be out a good deal of money. And who knew how long it would take the town mechanic to fix her vehicle?

Which Mr. Cowboy had totaled. She should make him pay for her hotel. If the restoration team gave her the boot, that’s exactly what she’d do. She had no choice. She didn’t have the money for a random, unexpected “vacation.”

How was she supposed to get to the church and back to her hotel each day?

Eyeing Drake, she frowned. She had no intention of becoming dependent on some macho cowboy.

No matter how handsome.

Grabbing on to the handle above the door, she hoisted herself into the sauna-like truck, her long skirt twisting around her legs. With a grimace, she fought to free herself from the fabric as gracefully as possible.

He engaged the engine, and hot air pelted Faith’s face. “Whew.” He angled the vents away from both of them, then shifted into Reverse. “Far’s I can tell, Mr. Johnson left an hour or so ago. He should be back at the hotel now.”

Rocks clanged against the truck’s undercarriage as he turned onto the dirt road leading back to town. “I’ll give him a call to make sure.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket, put it on speaker, then set it on the dash. “I lost my Bluetooth.”

It rang four times before anyone answered. “Hey-lo. Cedar View Inn. Where the coffee’s hot, the cable’s connected and the view’s pristine.”

“Hey, Mr. Johnson. It’s me, Drake.”

“Figured as much. You calling about that gal friend of yours?”

“Yes, sir. We’re heading your way, if that’s all right.”

“Course it is. I’ll go turn the air on in her room now.”

“She’d be mighty obliged, I’m sure.” Call over, he set his phone in his cup holder and turned onto the paved street. “What’d you think of the picnic?”

“It was nice. The food was good.”

He nodded and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You and my sister seemed to hit it off.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “She and your mom want to learn how to paint.” She gave a soft laugh. “They said they’d trade me a home-cooked meal for lessons.” It felt awkward saying that. It would probably feel awkward going, but...those dinners could save her a chunk of change. Money she’d desperately need, especially if she found herself stuck here, unemployed, with hotel fees to pay.

This would be a first, to get fired before even getting started.

And if Mr. Cowboy’s insurance didn’t come through and he decided not to honor his word, she’d be in the red.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and exhaled. It was R & T Glass Supply. “Hello?”

“Faith. Sorry I missed your call.”

“No problem. Listen, I’m sort of in a bind here.” She explained her predicament and pulled a pocket notebook from her purse. On it, she’d written all the details needed to make her order. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more cobalt-blue and jade-green sheets on hand, would you?” She read the item number for each.

“Nope. But I can get some in.”

She rubbed her temple, pushing back an emerging headache. “You want to check? I’ll hold.”

“Don’t need to. I remember your order. Didn’t see the need to buy any extra.”

Great. It could take weeks to get those sheets in, time she didn’t have. “Any chance you can rush order some?”

“Sure, but it’ll be expensive.”

“How much are we talking?”

“You’d need to pay the freight fee. Five hundred bucks.”

She winced and shot Drake a glance, to find him watching her. Probably waiting to calculate how big of a check he’d need to write, considering this was all his fault. What kind of man drove sixty miles per hour on a wobbly tire?

“How soon could you get them in?”

“Don’t know. Forty-eight hours. Maybe sooner.”

“Great. Let’s do it.” She shifted the phone from her mouth. “I sure hope your insurance comes through on this.”

Drake pulled into the hotel between her trailer and a beat-up, pale blue pickup. “If they don’t, I’ll reimburse you personally.”

She studied him. Yet another promise from a man she knew nothing about. Except that he was an irresponsible driver who liked to take risks on the open highway. Only this time, she didn’t have any witnesses to hold him accountable.

“You’ll sign on it?”

He frowned, but then his expression softened and one side of his mouth quirked up. “Sure. No problem.”

She wrote out a simple agreement, then handed over the paper and her pen.

He signed, then returned it.

“Thanks.” She grabbed her purse, ready to bolt.

“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning.”

To take her to a job he felt certain she couldn’t do.

She had every intention of proving him wrong.

Chapter Four

At seven the next morning, Faith stood in front of a small, tarnished mirror, giving her hair more attention than she had in all her teen years combined. It didn’t help that she’d woken to find three zits on her face, one smack in the center of her forehead. Nor that she was about to start a job where she was clearly unwanted.

The fact that she cared irked her considerably. This wasn’t Alpine, nor was she a lanky, awkward nerd—the kid that never fit in and everyone else made fun of—anymore.

Instead, she was an insecure, nearly impoverished adult who, according to her father, wasted her time chasing fanciful dreams.

She grabbed her eyebrow brush with a huff. If Mr. Cowboy and his friends planned to send her packing this morning, at least she’d look good when they did. She had just finished penciling in her brows when a thought hit. She’d forgotten to change her shipping info, which meant they’d send her glass supplies to the store in Austin, and not to Sage Creek.

Was it too late to adjust her order?

R & T’s wouldn’t be open for another two and a half hours. By then, her supplies could be halfway to Austin.

She paced her tiny hotel room. With her car in the shop and no access to public transportation, how was she supposed to pick up the glass?

Drake could drive her. The man who believed she was an incompetent artist and who was just waiting for the restoration committee to give her the boot. Her empty stomach tensed.

Regardless, he was the only logical solution, and all things considered, it was the least he could do. She shot him a text: I need a ride to Austin to pick up my glass when it comes in.

She tucked her phone into her purse, gathered up some historical photographs and headed to the hotel lobby in search of breakfast.

The small, wood-paneled room, empty except for two men occupying separate tables, smelled like burned coffee and Pine-Sol. How did this place stay open? The bigger question was how did a town this small have the revenue to pay for a major church restoration?

That might not be her concern much longer.

The more she thought about Drake, him picking her up, taking her to Austin, the more jittery she felt. Scrolling through her Facebook, she tried to distract herself with photos of kittens.

“Looks like your ride’s here.” Mr. Johnson hooked his thumb toward the parking lot, then grabbed a pink-frosted doughnut from the food counter.

She gathered her things and stepped outside, her heart stuttering when Drake’s eyes met hers. She dropped her gaze, set her stuff on the passenger seat, then faced her trailer.

She needed it at the job site but was in no mood to ask Mr. Cocky Cowboy for help, even if he owed it to her.

“Need a hand?”

His citrusy, earthy cologne invaded her senses and stole her words.

His mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin that made her cheeks flame. “Rig’s unlocked.” He jerked his head toward the truck, then began hitching her trailer to it.

With a brisk nod she hoped conveyed confidence, she climbed into the cab to wait. Cool air circulated throughout the interior, his aftershave merging with the scents of wood chips, leather and stale coffee.

Less than five minutes later, they were backing out of the parking lot and heading toward the work site.

“I got your text.” He adjusted his visor to block rays from the rising sun.

She gave a curt nod.

“When were you thinking?”

“Whenever the glass comes in. Hopefully by tomorrow afternoon.”

A tendon twitched in his jaw. “Austin, right?”

“Yeah. Just north of downtown.”

He massaged the back of his neck. “That’ll be tough, with the restoration and all.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s not my fault, now, is it?”

His eyebrows shot up. He glanced at the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “Reckon you’re right. I’ll make it work. Just let me know when.”

“Thanks.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

“How’d you sleep?” He slid her a sideways glance. “You like the place all right?”

“It was nice. Quiet.”

“Most everything in Sage Creek is.”

Was it? Or was it a town filled with gossipy chatter about how she wasn’t supposed to be here? She’d likely find out soon enough.

In an effort to relax before the tension in her shoulders turned to knots, she gazed out her side window, watching the tall, golden grass wave and shimmy in the morning breeze.

They reached the end of downtown, if you could call it that, and Drake took a sharp left. They continued through a residential area with single-story brick homes shaded by mature trees. Half the yards boasted American flags, while rusted or wooden wagon wheels decorated a handful of others.

The neighborhood dead-ended with an expanse of trees in front of them and a gravel road veering to their right. Drake turned onto it, dust seeping through the vents and tickling Faith’s nose.

She sneezed.

“Bless you.”

His smiling eyes sent an unwelcomed tingle through her. “Thank you.”

Straightening, she looked away, determined to keep her rebellious hormones, or whatever kept snagging on the man’s appealing grin, in check. She had no intention of falling for Mr. Cowboy, or staying in Sage Creek any longer than necessary.

He parked, and she took in a deep breath, hoping the beauty of the historic church before her, with its gothic windows and steeply pitched roof, would soothe her nerves. If only she could recapture the peace and joy she’d felt when she came out to do the estimate—when no one else had been on the property except for Lucy Carr, from the cultural committee.

This morning, cars filled the small gravel parking lot and at least half a dozen men and women, some in jeans and T-shirts, others in business casual, dotted the church lawn.

She touched the door handle, reluctant to leave the vehicle. “Um... What’s this about?”

“I ’spect folks coming to help.”

Hopefully, with the construction end of things, because she had no intention of letting anyone mess with the church’s fragile antique windows. Anticipation surfaced at the thought of touching glass from an era that in many towns had been lost and forgotten.

Though she’d taken a plethora of photos during her estimate, she itched to take more. They would provide months’ worth of inspiration later. Jewelry that captured the multicolored rays of sunlight as it dispersed through the dusty sanctuary. Glass mosaics with the same sharp, dramatic elements displayed in the castle-like bell tower.

But first, she needed to focus on the task at hand...assuming they still wanted her.

She gathered her things and stepped out into the muggy, morning air.

“Ah, Drake, there you are.” A plump elderly woman with wiry gray hair poofing out from beneath a yellow bandanna shuffled toward them. “I was starting to think you’d never get here.” One of her knee-highs sagged halfway down her shin.

“Ma’am.” He greeted her with a tip of his Stetson. “It’s just after eight.”

“My point exactly. Some of these folks have been here for going on thirty minutes already. They’ve been patient enough, but I worried, any longer and they’d start meddling where they didn’t belong. You know how folks can be.”

His mouth twitched as if suppressing a chuckle. “That I do.”

“Oh, I made you breakfast.” She slipped a massive green purse-like contraption off her shoulder, snapped it open and produced a mound of something wrapped in a paper towel. Then, as if seeing Faith for the first time, she said, “Oh, hello. You must be Faith Nichols.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet with you.” She rummaged through her purse, unloading numerous random items onto the grass. Paper clips, pieces of gum, half a candy bar, what looked to be an old hair roller. “I printed a bunch of pictures, designs, whatnot, off the internet. Although some are black-and-white, they should give you an idea as to...” She huffed. “Now where did those pages go?” She leveled her gaze on Faith. “Library charges five cents a copy. Can you imagine?” She resumed her search until a small mound lay at her feet.

Finally, she threw her hands up with a loud exhalation. “Wouldn’t you know it? I bet I left those papers on my kitchen table. I got distracted when my pill alarm went off, fought to get my orange juice open...”

The woman continued retelling every moment of her morning.

Faith exchanged a glance with Drake. His eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter, giving him a boyish appearance she found much too appealing.

She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse—”

“Drake, Faith, good to see you.”

She turned to see Lucy Carr, the president of the cultural committee, striding toward them, clipboard in one hand and what looked to be file folders in the other.

Drake laid a hand on the arm of the woman with the green purse. “Can I catch up with you later?”

The woman waved a hand. “Of course. You know where to find me.” And then she shuffled away.

Faith offered Lucy her most professional smile. “Ma’am.”

“You both ready to work your magic?” Lucy shaded her eyes and gazed toward the fire-damaged church. “To turn this place from a mess of ashes to beauty?” She laughed. “Get it? Ashes to beauty?”

Faith frowned. “Um, not exactly.”

“It’s from the Bible—”

“Listen.” Drake scratched his jaw. “Think I can speak with you a minute? In private, I mean?”

“Ah...” Lucy glanced from Drake to her clipboard, then back again. “Sure. Soon as we finish—”

“Actually, I think now might be best.”

A hollow sensation filled Faith’s gut as she looked from one to the other. He wasn’t seriously going to try to get her fired, was he? The guarded look on Drake’s face suggested she wasn’t going to like the answer.

Chapter Five

The vulnerability in Faith’s eyes, almost like she was begging not to be rejected, tugged at Drake’s heart.

He felt bad for wanting her off the project.

But it wasn’t personal. This was a big restoration, in terms of money and sentimental value. To the folks of Sage Creek, Trinity Faith was much more than a church. It preserved memories going back since the town was first founded. Countless baptisms and weddings had been held here.

It was where Drake and his wife had fallen in love and, years later, where they’d said their vows. And where her funeral had been held, the whole town coming out to pay their respects. Though he’d worked through his grief, he still wanted to hold tight to his memory of that day.

Besides, he couldn’t let his mom down. She’d been crushed once she’d seen the destruction left by the fire. Then came Dad’s accident. Drake couldn’t do anything about the latter, but he could make sure the church got repaired, to as good or even better a condition than it had been in before. Even if that meant hurting Ms. City Girl’s feelings.

Faith took a visible breath. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Inside, all the way to the back, turn right.” Lucy pointed to the church, then faced Drake as Faith headed off. “What’s up? Everything okay with your daddy?”

“Far’s I know. He was sleeping when I dropped the kids off this morning.”

“And your mom? She’s holding up okay?”

“A mite tired, but yeah.”

The woman released a gust of air. “I’m glad. I worried you were going to tell me you can’t go through with this job. I know the timing stinks, with your dad’s accident and all. Everything’s good, then?”

“Not exactly.” He guided her toward an old picnic table near the back of the church.

“All right, then. What’s wrong?”

“Did Mayor Pearson talk with you? About Leaded Pane?” He’d thought about having this conversation with Lucy yesterday at the picnic, but she’d left before he’d had a chance. When he tried calling that evening, her phone hadn’t let him leave a message, saying her inbox was full.

“The bids.” Lucy smoothed her long skirt and sat. “He told you about that, then?”

“No. I saw them for myself, when y’all were making your decisions. So that I could plan out my end, remember?”

“Right.” She rubbed her forehead. “Everything’s gotten jumbled, I’ll give you that. But I don’t see what we can do at this point.”

“Tell Faith something must have been miscommunicated somewhere, that you’re sorry, but... What time did Leaded Pane say they’d show up?”

“They aren’t coming.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“Because we never called them. We got the bids mixed up. For now, all’s I can tell you is Jenna Anne told Faith she got the job.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I’m saying is—”

“What she’s saying is you’re stuck with me.”

* * *

At least now she knew they weren’t going to give her the boot. Not unless Mr. Cowboy made a stink. Though he looked ready to crawl under that lopsided picnic table he was sitting at.

“Faith.” Lucy sprang to her feet. “I didn’t see you there.”

She leveled her gaze on Drake. “So I gathered.” Easy, girl. Don’t get yourself fired. She faced Lucy. “You wanted to speak with me?”

The woman stared at her. “I... Uh... I wanted to make sure you have everything you need to get started.”

“I do.”

“If you have any questions or run into any difficulties, you’ve got my number.”

“I do.”

Lucy gave a quick nod, looked from Faith to Drake then back to Faith, and then walked away.

Faith intended to do the same. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She spun on her heel and marched, head held high, toward her trailer.

Drake jogged after her. He caught up and matched her step for step. “Need help unloading?”

She stopped and glared at him. “Contrary to what you might think, Mr.—”

“Call me Drake.”

Oh, she could think of half a dozen other things she’d like to call him. “—I’m not completely inept, Drake.” Reaching her trailer out of breath, she dug through her pocket for the key to the dead-bolted doors. She suppressed a moan. Of course it was in her purse, which, in her nervousness, she’d left in Drake’s truck.

He stepped into her peripheral vision. “Everything all right?”

“Absolutely. Is your truck locked?”

“Nope. Why? You need something?”

“I do.” She strode toward his vehicle, still attached to her trailer, with as much self-respect as she could muster. She knew better than to let someone like Drake get to her. Every town had men like him, cowboys who sweet-talked naive and gullible women, swept them off their feet, then left them heartbroken.

Like Josh had done to her.

Those type of men weren’t worth a second thought, except she did have to work with Drake. Joy. She yanked open his passenger side door and grabbed her purse.

A moment later, she returned to find him standing in the same place, watching her.

Ignoring his steady gaze, she fumbled with her lock. Then, hands slick from the mounting Texas humidity, she strained to unload sheets of glass from her trailer.

“I cleared out the back shed for you—so you could have uninterrupted workspace.” He motioned toward a small, dilapidated building past the far corner of the church. Thick, overgrown trees and bushes pressed up against it on either side. In front of it sat what appeared to be numerous metal tubs.

“Does the shed have electricity?”

“Yep. The sanctuary’s going to be a mess, with us tearing up the carpet and all.” He eyed the various colored sheets spread out beside her. “Hold on. I’ll drive your trailer closer to your work area. So we don’t need to carry everything so far.”

“Fine.” She stepped back to give him room to maneuver his rig then followed him on foot to the shed.

He parked and stepped out. “I’ll unload those sheets for you.”

“No.” Her tone came out clipped. She took a deep breath. “I appreciate your help, but these are expensive and very fragile.”

“It’s not like I’m going to juggle the things.”

Ignoring him, she climbed inside the trailer to get to her glass cutting tools. He offered to help a couple more times, and she declined, rather firmly and probably with much less professionalism than appropriate.

She nearly ate her words when she got to her portable grinder. The cord had gotten stuck beneath the box of lead came used to join cut glass pieces together.

So she’d take that out, too.

Ten minutes later, sweat trickling down her temples and static electricity frizzing her hair, she stood surrounded by nearly all her supplies.

Drake eyed the items. “You always make things so hard on yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

“You make a habit of digging your heels in like this?”

She fisted her hands and scowled. The nerve of that man!

He leaned over to pick up a blue sheet of glass.

She nearly lurched at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Carrying this into the shed, because even though I’m tempted to let you keep on fighting with all this on your own, we’ve got a project to complete. And at the rate you’re going, the church windows won’t be finished before Christmas.”

She stared after him, mouth agape, as he marched across the patchy lawn, nodding to folks as he went.

Fine. If he wanted to do the heavy lifting, so be it. “Be careful with those. Make sure to place them in a safe spot.”

Shaking his head, he disappeared inside the heavily shadowed shed.

With a huff, she followed, hefting her box of window-cleaning supplies. She stood in the doorway, watching as he carefully set her glass against a plywood wall. An old, deformed rake, a metal gas can and other tools lined the opposite wall, and light emanated from a single bulb centered in the ceiling.

Ugh. So she’d cut her pieces outside.

“I had my ranching buddies bring these.” He motioned toward the rusted metal tubs, which she now recognized as feeding troughs. “Will this be enough, you think?”

“For...?”

“To soak your glass in, get all the dust and grime and whatnot off them. Isn’t that how you do it?”

Duh. She knew she’d forget something, as if she hadn’t looked unprofessional before. But feeding troughs? “I hadn’t thought to use farm equipment.”

He gave a slight shrug. “When Leaded Pane came out a few years ago, they brought a tub, but that was when only one window needed cleaning. I figured there might be more to tackle.”

She nodded. For uniformity, she’d need to wash them all. “I appreciate the forethought.”

“No problem. Need anything else?”

“I’m good.”

“Hey, boss?” She saw a potbellied man in coveralls waving Drake over.

“Excuse me.” He tipped his hat to her, then sauntered off.

She gazed up at the side windows of the church, each at a height that made her stomach knot.

Lucy had assured her, when Faith made her bid, that she could use the scaffolding they already had on hand, but that probably belonged to Drake and his crew. The thought of asking to borrow it, even though technically it was considered on-site equipment, made her jaw clench.

The man obviously didn’t like outsiders and clearly thought she was the worst person for this job, probably because she was a woman.

She’d just have to show him and his committee friends how wrong they were.

Half an hour later, with notes, measurements and photographs in hand, she circled the property. When she reached the other side of the church, she practically cheered. There, two older men stood a few feet from the back of a dented white van, assembling scaffolding.

“Howdy.” The taller of the two touched the brim of a sweat-stained ball cap.

“Hi.” Hopefully these guys held women in higher esteem than Drake did. She approached with an extended hand and introduced herself. “I’m here to work on the windows.”

Both men faced her with feet shoulder width apart.

The one on the right mopped his brow with a gray rag. “So I heard.”

What did that mean? Drake had probably been flapping his mouth to everyone out here. She resisted the urge to ask, and maintained a forced smile. “If it’s not too much of a bother, when you’re done assembling this—” she indicated the rolling aluminum tower they’d been building “—would you mind if I borrowed it? Briefly.”

They exchanged glances, and the shorter of the two tugged on the skin beneath his chin. “Mind if I ask what for?”

Drake joined them. “Everything okay here?”

“Perfectly.” She faced him and repeated her request.

He studied her a moment, his deep gaze latching on to hers, then he pivoted to look at the windows on this side of the building. “You need us to get the broken panes down for you?”

“It’d be best if I did that.”

“Woman, if you think I’m going to let you—”

“Let me?” What century had this man stepped out of? “Why, sir—” She donned a demure voice, placed a hand under her chin and batted her eyes. “—we women can do all sorts of difficult things. We can write our numbers, read books, and not just the ones with pretty pictures.”

The gentleman in the ball cap snickered, then covered with a cough.

Drake’s mouth flattened. “Fellas, can you give us a minute?”

“No problem.”

His friends sauntered off, and Drake faced her. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. But if we’re going to be working together, we need to find a way to get along.”

She released a breath, her tense shoulders going slack. She hated to admit it, but he was right. And she was better than this. So the man was infuriating and chauvinistic.

And handsome enough to land on the cover of an outdoorsman magazine.

“I agree.” She readjusted her ponytail. “But I can’t allow you or anyone else to remove those windows. The glass is much too fragile.”

“I see.” He scratched his jaw. “How about we work together, and you show me how?”

She wanted to protest, but at that height, and with the weight of those leaded panes, she’d need extra hands.

“Fine. But it’s imperative you follow my directions precisely.” Before he could respond, she spun around and marched back to her trailer for duct tape.

She returned to find him right where she’d left him—awaiting further instruction. A slight smile tugged her mouth. “Did you want to help me wheel the scaffolding against the siding?”

His gaze bounced from her to the unbroken window. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job or nothing, but that window looks just fine to me.”

“That’s why they hired me to restore the stained glass and you to remove bat guano.” According to Lucy, the summer before, they’d discovered the church had a bad infestation in the attic. Apparently they’d managed to get all the critters out a while ago, and prevent them from entering. But they hadn’t, as of yet, cleaned up the mess.

Though Drake probably had his crew taking care of that, while he did more important things.

Red blotches climbed up his neck. But, mouth set in a firm line, he complied.

Faith wasn’t exactly making friends. She needed to start playing nice, before she dug herself into a mess that not only cost her this job, but tarnished her professional reputation, as well.

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