Happily Ever After by Susan May Warren Page B

to repaint soon. “I’ll tack the amount on to your pay if you’ll give me the
     receipt,” she said, after bounding up to him, arms outstretched to help carry supplies.
    He gave her a look that made her shrivel. “Nothing doing. Consider it a gift.”
    Mona’s fury rose like a flood. “I don’t need your help.Haven’t we been through this?”
    “Yep.” He loaded her arms with a bag of cement.“Just put it by the porch.” Mona gaped, but Joe didn’t spare her a glance as
     he crossed to the tailgate. Opening it, he hauled out two cinder blocks. “Hurry up. We have a big day ahead of us.”
    Mona clamped her mouth shut, muscled the bag up the front walk, and dropped it down in front of the porch. Joe sprinted as
     he unloaded the truck, and Mona helped in mute amazement. All right, Lord, I asked him to be a good worker, but this is too much! Nevertheless, she had warmed to his exuberance as the morning grew long.
    “Okay, Mona,” Joe said, his voice alerting her to the job at hand. “I’m going to slide the blocks in. Then you ease up on
     the jack ever so slightly, and we’ll see how they settle.”
    He layered the blocks on top of one another in a smoothed spot. At his nod, Mona pressed the jack handle. The porch moaned,
     the blocks scraped, and the corner of her porch leveled out.
    Joe beamed in triumph. “Now let’s jack her back up and I’ll cement it in.” He stood and gripped the handle, laying his hands
     next to hers. His presence was close, and he smelled unnervingly masculine—sweat and flannel and wood chips.
    “I got it,” he whispered.
    She looked up and was captured by his magnetic blue eyes. They entranced her, holding her in some sort of magical grip. Mona
     felt an unfamiliar tingle ripple up her spine. She jumped back, but his eyes stayed on hers, penetrating, peeling away her
     toughened layers until she felt as if he could see into her soul. Frowning, she turned away. She heard him grunt as he jacked
     up the porch.
    What was different about him? Mona chewed her lip. He acted as if the house were his and he was taking ownership of her dreams.
    “Can you hold the jack again?”
    Mona turned and gripped the jack, noticing he withdrew his hands the instant hers took over. He walked to the bucket and began
     mixing and stirring the cement.
    Mona shivered in her flannel shirt. The cool air didn’t seem to bother Joe, however. He’d stripped off his blue sweatshirt,
     and his wide chest and thick arms stretched over a gray army T-shirt. Fit and strong, he carried himself like a man used to
     manual labor. Joe straightened, snared the bucket, and turned to face her.
    His blue eyes shimmered deep indigo against the navy bandana he’d tied on his head, and the brightness of them caught her
     like a gust of wind. Her mouth went dry, and she realized he had eyes like her father’s. Rich, discerning, pensive. And, at
     times, laughing. Mona struggled to collect her composure.
    She numbly watched him trowel cement over the blocks. Then he eased them into place again. “Okay, let her down.”
    Mona lowered the jack. The cinder blocks held.
    “Well, now the muffins won’t tumble off the plates,” she commented, forcing a carefree tone into her voice.
    Joe grinned. “Poor Rip. He was counting on the extra tidbits.”
    Mona laughed and rolled her eyes but couldn’t ignore the implication that he might be staying. What was worse, for the first
     time the idea seemed oddly pleasing.

    Joe gripped the steering wheel, felt the warmth of Rip’s head on his lap, and watched the forest envelop him. The lush undergrowth
     along the dirt road to the Garden effectively blotted out the sun, yet the creamy birch trees gleamed white like bones.
    With the wind singing through the trees and the pine scenting the truck cab, Joe knew it had been wise to obey Mona and take
     the day off. He’d fought the impulse for a moment, as he stood beside his truck and watched her attack her newly leveled