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That fateful day, he’d lost his freedom. It had taken him a long time to get it back, and he’d die before he would let anyone take it from him again.
* * *
Jenna knew a mess when she saw one.
Wearing tattered jeans and a well-loved rock-concert T-shirt that hung loosely on his tall frame, Scott Barrett definitely fit the bill. While they worked, she noticed he was careful to keep his distance from her. She’d never been to prison herself, but it wasn’t hard to imagine why he’d become so guarded about his personal space. There was something about him that spoke to her, though, and it was more than the slightly shaggy brown hair and determined set of his jaw. When he glanced over at her, she finally pegged what had snared her attention.
His eyes. Dark and wary, they connected with hers for a moment before flitting away. It was as if he didn’t want her to catch him observing her. She did a lot of portrait work for clients, and it had made her adept at reading people. Her instincts told her he wasn’t eyeing her in a creepy, stalkerish kind of way. Because she moved around so much, she knew how it felt to be an outsider in a community, but for him it was different. He should have felt at home here in the place where he’d grown up, but he didn’t. Knowing that made her feel sad for him, and she hunted for a way to ease his mind.
Hoping to draw him out a little, she attempted to resuscitate their lapsed conversation. “So, it must be nice to be back in your hometown.”
“Didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he muttered, stabbing at fresh ground with the spade.
He was digging outside the area she’d shown him for Will’s garden, but out of respect for his current attitude she chose not to point that out. Instead, she tried again. “I’ve lived in lots of different places myself. I think Denver was my favorite with the mountains and so many interesting spots to paint. How ’bout you?”
“I liked Texas. Till they told me I couldn’t leave,” he added with a wry grin.
The dark gallows humor caught her by surprise, and she couldn’t help laughing. “I can’t believe you can joke about that.”
“You give a man enough time alone with his thoughts, one of two things happens—he either goes crazy or he comes to terms with what happened. I’m not the loony-bin type.”
“I’m glad,” she said reflexively, getting a questioning look in reply. “I mean, for your family. They’ve all missed you so much.”
“I missed them, too.” Staring at his grandfather’s marker, he sighed. “More than you could possibly know.”
He had the same rangy, muscular build as his brothers, but there was something different about him she couldn’t quite identify. An artist as much by nature as profession, she’d always been inquisitive about everything and everyone around her. What made them unique, what made them tick. While she recognized that Scott was an individual with his own qualities, she couldn’t help comparing him to the Barretts she’d gotten to know. There was no denying he had his own vibe, and she searched for a way to define it.
Out of nowhere, it hit her: he was wounded. Judging by his pragmatic way of looking at life, it wasn’t from being locked up, at least not entirely. Since they’d just met, she didn’t want to pry into what was certainly very personal business, so she tamped down her curiosity and turned her attention to the cluster of forget-me-nots she was planting.
They didn’t talk at all, but he seemed to understand where she needed the soil dug out and stayed a few shovelfuls ahead of her while she worked. When she’d planted the last of the flowers, she stood and wiped the dirt off her palms onto her overalls. Holding out a hand, she smiled. “Thanks for the help, Scott. It was great to meet you, but I should be getting back to my studio.”
After hesitating for a moment, he gently took her hand, shaking it as if it was made of glass. Those dark eyes connected directly with hers for the first time, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t make herself look away. There was that pain again, but now it was joined by the hopeful look of a lonely little boy who thought maybe—just maybe—he’d found a new friend.
While she knew it would be completely insane for her to get involved with this guy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed her. With every instinct screaming for her to back away and leave him be, she heard herself say, “All this digging sure is thirsty work. Can I buy you a glass of iced tea at The Whistlestop?”
At first, he didn’t react at all. Then, slowly, as if something that had been frozen was thawing a bit, a slow grin worked its way across his chiseled features. “You’re not from the South, are you?”
“Chicago. Why?”
“Around here, we call it sweet tea. And you don’t have to buy me any, ’cause I’ve got a gallon jug of Mom’s at the house. No one makes it any better.”
A quick glance around showed her nothing but trees and gravestones. “I don’t see a car or a house for that matter. How far did you walk to get here?”
“Over that hill,” he replied, pointing to a modest rise that led into the nearby woods. When she hesitated, he frowned. “Unless you’d rather not be alone out in the boonies with a guy you just met. I’d totally understand.”
“It’s not that,” she assured him quickly, relieved to see some of the tension leave his face. “It’s just that I’ve been all over the area painting landscapes, and I didn’t realize there was a house over this way. It’s so overgrown, I figured it was all woods and deer trails.”
“It is.” Chuckling, he picked up her empty basket and balanced the shovel on his shoulder. “That’s what I like most about it.”
When he stepped back, she realized he was cueing her to walk in front of him. A Southern gentleman in raggedy jeans and a faded T-shirt, she mused with a little grin. That was the last thing she’d expect to find in this tall, quiet man clearly laboring to steer his life back on track.
Intuition told her there was a lot more to Scott Barrett than his good looks and cool reserve. Peeling away those layers would be fascinating. Or dangerous, that irritating little voice cautioned her while she and Scott walked side by side toward the top of the hill. Harsh experience had taught her that the male species was like that, which was why she resisted getting tangled up with anyone in particular. Her gypsy lifestyle enabled her to stay clear of the doomed cycle she’d watched her hopelessly romantic mother go through over and over like a hamster on a wheel. Always frantically running at top speed, never getting anywhere.
Determined to avoid that sort of endless heartache, Jenna had chosen to live each day as it came. When circumstances allowed, she shared those moments with someone. When that wasn’t reasonable, she enjoyed them on her own. As an only child, she’d grown up appreciating her own company, so solitude didn’t bother her. To her mind, it was better than throwing everything you had into a relationship only to wind up bitter and lonely in the end.
It was a beautiful day, she chided herself, not the time for serious thoughts. As she and Scott made their way through the sunlit hillside meadow, she took a deep breath of air scented with honeysuckle and the wild roses that rambled alongside the faint path that wound through the tall grass. Spots of color here and there showed her patches of fresh buttercups and lilies of the valley, along with wildflowers that ranged from periwinkle blue to deep, vibrant pink. A hawk soared into view overhead, sailing effortlessly on the warm spring breeze in search of his breakfast.
He spotted something and dived, arcing back into the sky with a small rodent clutched in his claws. Impressed by his hunting display, Jenna watched him until he banked in midair and sped off into the distance with his prize.
“Amazing, huh?” Scott asked in a tone laced with the same respect she’d felt for the hawk. “I’ve always wondered what they see from up there.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, but what does he think of us?” When she gave him a blank look, he went on. “I mean, does he think we’re interesting, like we do with him? Or does he think we’re nuts, racing around all the time and not accomplishing much of anything?”
“So you’re the philosophical type,” she teased. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I don’t know. Is there?” Raising an eyebrow, he gave her a mischievous grin that made her laugh.
“Don’t you be trying that on me, Barrett. I’ve met all your brothers, and I’ve seen enough of that troublemaker smile to know better.”
“Busted.” Still grinning, he said, “But to answer your question, I guess I was always the thinker in the family. Greg and Connor are the responsible ones, Paul’s the jock, Jason’s the clown and I’m the serious one.”
If that was the case, how on earth had he landed in such a bad situation in Texas? she wondered. She’d never ask him that, of course, but she couldn’t help wondering, just the same.
“Her name was Kelly,” he said, completely out of the blue. “And yes, I was in love with her, and yes, she used that against me. She asked me to pick her and her brothers up at the bank.” Pausing, he grimaced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, she neglected to tell me they’d be coming out carrying a bunch of cash that didn’t belong to them. By the time I knew what was happening, we were on the run from the cops.”
“With you as the innocent getaway driver.” Jenna filled in the blank tersely. “Nice girl.”
“Well, not so innocent,” he corrected her in a tone devoid of emotion. “I could’ve climbed outta the car and left them to the cops, but I didn’t. I tried to talk them into surrendering, but that went about how you’d expect. By the time the police caught up to us, I was pretty much as guilty as they were. I told the detective I had no idea what they had planned for that bank, but Kelly and her brothers claimed otherwise. It ended up being their word against mine, and there were three of them.”
When he stopped talking, Jenna tried to come up with some encouraging words. He’d been through a lot, and she didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he already did by saying the wrong thing. “Well, now you’re here, at home with your family. You can put all those bad times behind you.”
He didn’t respond to that, but from his sigh, she knew he wasn’t buying her upbeat assessment of his situation. For some reason she didn’t begin to understand, she really wanted to prove it to him. The question was, how?
As they crested the hill, that dilemma was blown from her mind as she took in the view down in the shallow valley. She knew she was standing there like some kind of moronic statue, but all she could think of to say was “Wow.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_8c4be00a-9cac-5165-ba5c-2c9712b9f34e)
Although his trek down memory lane hadn’t been all that pleasant, Scott was amused by Jenna’s awestruck reaction to where he was living. Built in 1866 when the old sawmill was put into service, the original Barrett farmhouse wasn’t much to look at these days, with its sagging roof and sad excuse for a front porch. But the timbers holding it all up were solid Virginia oak, and they’d still be standing for many generations to come.
Nearby, in a partially overgrown clearing, a tiny chapel with half a roof was losing its battle against the encroaching trees. He’d hacked some of the worst offenders down, but he had a lot of work ahead of him yet. And that didn’t count shoring up the building itself. To most folks, he was certain the place would’ve looked like a lost cause right out of the gate, but it suited Scott perfectly. It gave him plenty to do, tucked away in the woods with only the wildlife for company. Considering people’s varying responses to him since his return, he actually preferred hanging out with the animals.
Angling a look up at him, his pretty guest said, “I wish I’d known about this spot sooner. With all the different colors and shafts of light coming down through the branches, it would make a great painting.”
“Most folks’ve forgotten all about it,” he acknowledged.
“How did you end up here, though? You’ve got family in town and over in Cambridge. Why aren’t you staying with one of them?”
Her forthright manner caught him off guard. He’d grown accustomed to people who kept their mouths shut and their heads down. The few old acquaintances he’d seen since coming back to Barrett’s Mill were polite but understandably reserved with him. This slender woman looked him straight in the eye and spoke openly to him. He wasn’t sure if that appealed to him or not, but it made her different, that was for sure.
“I like it out here,” he replied finally. “It’s quiet.”
She laughed at that. “This whole town is quiet, but I guess I understand you wanting your privacy. I’m the same way.”
He wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but since she seemed to accept his explanation, he decided to go along. And since she’d offered something personal about herself, he felt it was only fair to do the same. “Actually, Granddad left me this place in his will. There’s three acres here that connect to the back of the sawmill property. There’s the house and chapel, with a small trust fund to restore them, and I get to live here as long as I want. It’s not a fortune, but I don’t need much.”
“That sounds like Will,” she commented with a fond smile. “Taking care of someone but making sure they have to work for it. He gave you a lifeline but arranged things so you’re able to keep your dignity.”
What was left of it, anyway, Scott added silently. He wasn’t comfortable voicing that thought, so he settled for something a little safer. “Yeah.”
She gave him a long, curious look, and he braced himself for what might come out of her mouth next.
“You said something about sweet tea?” she asked as she began walking again.
“Yes, ma’am. Not that way, though,” he cautioned before she reached the front porch steps. “All those boards are rotten, and you’ll go straight through. I already rebuilt the ones out back, so they’re much safer.”
“How come you did them first?”
He didn’t answer, and when she rounded the corner of the house, she paused with a sigh. “Oh, I see why.”
Behind the cottage, Sterling Creek wound its way through centuries-old trees on its way to wherever it was going. Sunlight dappled the water, giving the stream a sparkle to go with its cheerful sound. He wasn’t normally big on landscaping and such, but sitting on the rough-hewn stairs and listening to the water brought him the kind of peace that had eluded him for more years than he cared to count. It hadn’t escaped him that he’d finally found that calm here in the woods surrounding the hometown he couldn’t wait to escape from when he was younger.
“This section of the creek was pretty much clogged up when I got here,” Scott explained as he went ahead to open the door he’d cobbled together from scrap wood. It didn’t have much style, but it was a big improvement over the old one that had been rotting on the hinges. At least it kept out the bold raccoons that had been trotting in and out as if they owned the place. “I spent a few days clearing it out so the creek would run like it used to when I was a kid.”
He cringed at the nostalgic twinge in his voice, but Jenna eased his concern with a smile. “That’s really sweet. It sounds like you have great memories of this place.”
“Some of my best,” he confided, following her inside. Grateful that he’d bothered to wash the dishes this morning, he reached into the small fridge sitting on the counter and brought out a jug of sweet tea. “My brothers and I spent a lot of summer days hanging out at the swimming hole upstream with our friends.”
Sitting in one of the two seats he had to offer, Jenna gave him a cute smirk as she took the glass he handed her. “I’m guessing some of those friends were girls in bikinis and cutoff shorts.”
“A few,” he acknowledged with a grin of his own. “We were the Barrett boys, after all.”
“I’m well aware of your killer reputation.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glanced around the kitchen. “So what are your plans for this room?”
Torn back to the studs, it wasn’t much to look at right now, and he appreciated her not mentioning it. “Once I get the framing done, there’s some scrap oak at the mill I can use to make bead board like the kind that used to be in here before the termites shredded it. It’ll take a while, but I want to keep things as original as I can.”
“Because that’s how it was when your grandfather grew up here.”
That she’d picked up on that detail absolutely floored him, and he stared over at her in disbelief. Apparently, she understood his response because she explained, “When Paul and Jason were rehabbing the mill so they could reopen your family’s furniture business, they said that kind of thing a lot. Your brothers put in a ton of work, but they never complained because it was all for Will.”
Again, the stab of guilt hit Scott hard, and he did his best to roll with the unwelcome sensation. In an effort to stall long enough to regain his composure, he spun the other chair around to straddle it and faced her across the table. He swallowed some of his tea and rested his arms over the back of the chair, rolling his glass back and forth between his hands.
“I wish I could’ve been here. Y’know, to say goodbye.” When it occurred to him he’d just confessed his deepest pain to a stranger, he growled, “You’re way too easy to talk to.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. It must be the overalls.”
The sound of his own laughter surprised him. Far from the cynical snort he’d adopted, it had a lighthearted quality that appealed to him. Beyond the pleasant sound of it, he marveled at how quickly she’d found a way to make him want to laugh again. It had been a long time since he’d had a reason to do it, and he had to admit it felt good. “Must be. Well, that and you ask a lotta questions.”
“Creative people are curious by nature,” she informed him with another smirk. “It comes with the territory when you hang out with me.”
Translation: this is who I am, take it or leave it. He admired her sassy attitude more than he could say, and he couldn’t imagine any grown man with a pulse choosing anything other than to accept this bright, engaging woman just the way she was. “Thanks for the warning. Ready for a refill?”
“Actually, what I’d really like is to see the chapel.” She tilted her head in the questioning pose that seemed to be part of her personality. “Do you have time to show it to me?”
He had nothing but time these days, and he couldn’t think of anything he’d like half as much as spending some more of it with the perky artist he’d stumbled across in the cemetery. Since it didn’t seem wise to tell her that, he set his glass on the table and stood. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”
“Sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem on first glance.” Meeting his eyes with her direct, unflinching gaze, she smiled. “I prefer to see for myself and make up my own mind.”
He sensed she was referring to more than decrepit old buildings, and an odd sensation fanned through his chest. Since he’d never experienced it before, he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant. As Jenna walked past him, something coaxed him to fall in behind her, eager as an old hound dying for some attention from her.
Pathetic, he admitted with a sigh, but true. The problem was, the last time he’d let a woman lead him around, she’d landed him in the worst mess of his life. That betrayal had taught him that trusting his heart was foolish, at best. So while he might enjoy Jenna’s bubbly company, for the sake of his sanity that was as far as he could allow a friendship with her to go.
Logical by nature, he knew his stern resolution to keep things light should have eased his concerns. Instead, he had the sinking feeling that choosing to follow the safe route with Jenna would cost him the chance at something amazing.
* * *
Quite simply, the sight of that forgotten church broke Jenna’s heart.
Without maintenance, the clapboards had rotted and fallen away in many spots, and those that remained were a pale dried-out gray. It struck her as being the color of surrender, and it had absolutely no business being on God’s house. The steps weren’t good for anything but kindling, and what was left of the roof looked ready to collapse at the slightest hint of a breeze.
“It’s looked better,” Scott commented wryly, bracing his hands on either side of the door frame to haul himself up to the gaping front entrance. “I found the front doors, but they’re toast. They have a nice arch to them, though, and I’ll build new ones to fit after I get the roof squared away.”
Offering her a hand, he helped her climb up into the entryway. Once inside the single room, she stood there for a few moments to let her eyes take it all in. She’d anticipated a complete disaster and was pleasantly surprised to see that while it was in deplorable condition, the small church had been swept clean of debris. Here and there, she noticed a fresh beam or piece of lumber shoring up the weaker sections.
Some people might have considered them a futile attempt to halt the decay, but to her eyes they looked hopeful. The way Scott did right now, she added with a little smile. She got the feeling he wanted her to approve of what he’d accomplished so far, and she was more than happy to oblige him. “You’ve been busy in here. I can already imagine how it’ll look when you’re done.”
“Really?” The eagerness seemed out of character for him, and he quickly reverted to the more casual indifference she’d picked up on earlier. “You’re the first one besides me to see it this way. I figured you’d say something polite and leave it at that.”
She was about to respond when a glint of something at the front of the church caught her artist’s eye. Moving carefully around the holes in the floor, she walked toward a section of wall sporting a faded painting of Jesus and some of his followers on a wood panel. It was classic Americana, more cute than beautiful, but it was the raised nature of the panel that had her curiosity humming.
Scott sauntered up behind her, and she asked, “Did you notice this up here?”
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “Why?”
“Not the painting,” she clarified, nudging the frame away from the wall to reveal a shard of something that looked suspiciously like red glass. “This.”
“There’s no opening on the outside, so I didn’t even know it was there. Hang on a sec.”
He hurried over to a battered toolbox, and she couldn’t help noticing that while it looked ancient, every tool was laid precisely in its place. It reminded her of her mammoth selection of paints, all arranged in order up the spectrum, and the paintbrushes of various styles she kept beside them. It seemed she and this handsome hermit both treated their tools like precious gems. Interesting.
Using a metal pry bar, he worked his way around the bottom half of the frame, then climbed on a ladder to do the top. When there were only a few points still attached, from his perch he instructed, “You hold the bottom, I’ll steady it up here so we don’t damage anything. Ready?”
Grasping the bottom near the corners, Jenna braced herself for the weight. “Ready.”
Once they’d lowered it to the floor, she stepped back for a look at what they’d uncovered. She thought her jaw might have actually hit the floor, but she couldn’t help herself.
Scott let out a low whistle. “That’s incredible.”
