Storm Warning. Linda Hall

his wide-brimmed oilskin hat and ran the towel over his head. His hair was pale in color and fell well below his ears. Without his hat he looked younger. She guessed him close to her own age of thirty-eight, or not much older.

      She was suddenly conscious of her own drenched clothes. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said to him. “Make yourself at home.”

      She closed her bedroom door behind her. Make yourself at home? Who was this man she had just encouraged to make himself at home in her house? In her room she quickly shed her wet clothes and donned jeans and a big, comfy sweatshirt. She ran a towel over her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. Her daughters were encouraging her to grow it. It wasn’t quite long enough for a full ponytail, but she kept trying.

      When she emerged, he was kneeling in front of the hearth laying in wood for a fire. He had taken off his oilskin jacket and underneath he wore a gray long-sleeved cotton T-shirt and khaki trousers. He had pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and she could see his forearms were all muscle. No wonder he’d had no trouble lifting her out of the water like he did.

      Pieces of his hair fell forward over his eyes when he smiled up at her. His eyes were deep and very blue. He said, “I wondered if you’d mind if I made a fire. Warm the place up a bit.”

      “Mind? That’s wonderful,” she said. Somehow it seemed perfectly natural that this stranger should be making a fire in her fireplace. She stood there for a moment while he silently lit a match to the newspaper and kindling. When he rose she said, “Now, is there something I can help you with? You drove out here because…?”

      “Pretty lucky that I was out here. You were sort of struggling a bit. I’m glad I could come along and help. I was all set to get my canoe down if need be.”

      She looked out of the window. Another truck was parked right next to her own truck. On his, a long green canoe was upside down over the cab. The two trucks, side by side, looked like a matched set. A dog’s head peered out of the truck window.

      “You have a dog,” Nori said.

      A slow smile began on his face. “His name is Chester.”

      “He looks like he’s jumping all over your truck.”

      “That’s Chester.”

      She looked up at him. Here they were, talking about dogs, and she didn’t even know who he was or why he was in her living room.

      “Your name is?”

      “Oh, sorry.” He moved toward her. “I’m Steve Baylor. And you’re Nori.”

      “You know who I am?”

      She redid her ponytail more securely in the elastic.

      “The rumor around town is that you’re looking for a handyman. I’ve come to apply for the job. That is, if you haven’t already got someone else lined up.”

      “Well,” she said, and moved an errant wisp of hair out of her face. “I am looking for someone.”

      “I’m your man, then.” He opened his arms wide and grinned deeply. He had a very expressive mouth that went up more on the right side than the left when he smiled.

      “And you drove all the way out here in the middle of a storm because you want to work here?”

      His expression became serious. “I was going to call you. Marlene from the café told me about the job. I was just canoeing the Kettle Stream and saw someone out on the lake and I thought I better go see. I was hoping it wasn’t you. You want to avoid thunderstorms on the lake if you can at all help it.”

      She nodded. “I’ve been told that before.”

      He said, “This lake can blow up into a frenzy and then be completely calm in the space of twenty minutes.”

      She looked out at the lake. The downpour was unrelenting, but the lake looked remarkably calmer.

      “So then, Steve, what are your qualifications?” She tried to keep her tone businesslike, yet the memory of being held in his gentle arms was still fresh in her mind.

      “I’m strong,” he said immediately. “I’m a carpenter and cabinetmaker. I’m a good organizer. I can put in a good day’s work.”

      Nori clasped her hands in front of her. Someone like him was who she needed. “Would you like a hot drink? Something to warm you up? I could make coffee. We can talk more then.”

      “Coffee would be great.”

      “Follow me,” she offered. “Don’t mind the mess. I’ve been here two weeks and I’ve been concentrating more on clearing a path to the beach and unearthing places to park.”

      “That’s the sort of thing I could help with.”

      “I think I need a whole crew.”

      “My thoughts exactly. I know a bunch of young people—from the church actually—who I could round up.”

      As they entered the kitchen she tried to see the place through his eyes—boxes leaning against walls, coffee mugs and plates stacked and balanced precariously on counters, piles of papers and books next to the coffeemaker, dirty dishes in sink, her laptop and more papers on the small table. She wanted all new cupboards and countertops. And a new sink while she was at it, and a dishwasher. Actually, she wanted an entirely new kitchen. She was reluctant, therefore, to unpack a lot into cupboards that eventually would be torn down.

      The fire was already warming up the place and it felt good. She got a tin of coffee from her pantry, measured fresh grounds into her coffeepot, poured water into the reservoir and switched it on. He said nothing while she did this, and she didn’t know whether she should be talking or not. He seemed to be a quiet man, a nice man, but the silence was beginning to make her uncomfortable. She began talking, her back still to him. “I want to start with this kitchen. Since I plan to live here, this is where I want to begin—”

      “For the summer?”

      She turned around to face him. “Excuse me?”

      “You plan to live here for the summer?”

      “Year-round,” she said.

      “Year-round?”

      “Yes, year-round. This lodge is fully winterized. Maybe not the cabins, but the lodge, certainly. The real estate agent told me the road is plowed regularly. And the place is quiet. That’s what I’m looking for. A quiet place to live year-round.” A place to call home, she wanted to add.

      Steve said, “He told you they plow the road?”

      “Yes. He did.”

      “Well, I don’t know where he gets his information….”

      “I’ll hire someone then,” she said quickly, turning away, her face becoming hot.

      A few moments later he said, “Pretty isolated out here.”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “I’m sure you will. You strike me as a strong woman.”

      Thankfully her back was still to him. She didn’t know what her face would reveal with that comment.

      As she got a couple of mugs from the counter, she heard a loud crash behind her. She jumped and turned, put a hand to her mouth.

      “The chair,” he said rather sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

      Steve was on his backside on the floor, his left leg caught in a broken chair leg, his right stuck out in front of him. He had sat on a wooden rocking chair and gone right through it. It was a chair that had been here when she moved in.

      She put a hand to her mouth and started to giggle. She couldn’t help it. He managed to disentangle himself and hoist himself up. He was laughing, too.

      She said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. Are you okay?”

      “Only