Mending The Widow's Heart. Mia Ross

that’s not necessary.” Reaching out, she rested a hand on her son’s shoulder in a motherly gesture. “I’m sure we can find it, and I hate to interrupt what you’re doing.”

      “You’ve had a long day already,” Sam argued, unsure of why he was fighting with her about this. Most of the time, he let people make their own choices and didn’t worry too much about the outcome. For some reason, this was different, and he tried again. “It’s still raining, and you’ve probably got a few suitcases. If I give you a hand, the unloading will go faster.”

      “I can’t argue with that.” Letting out a tired sigh, she smiled at Chase. “Right now, I’d give anything for a warm bath and some dry clothes.”

      “Me, too,” the boy chimed in eagerly.

      That was the closest he’d come to complaining, and Sam had to admit that he was impressed with the kid’s upbeat attitude. Probably got it from his mother, Sam mused before shoving the thought away. “Okay, then it’s settled. I’ll be right back.”

      “I’ll be here.”

      She gave him a grateful smile before focusing on the rest of Daphne’s letter. It was a good thing, too, because the exchange of those few simple words had unleashed a torrent of emotions in Sam. As vivid as the day they’d first appeared, they made his chest twist with a pain so strong, he wondered for the countless time if he’d be dragging it around with him like some invisible anchor until the undertaker finally put him in the ground.

      Running his hand over the dog tags he wore beneath his shirt, he closed his eyes and waited for the worst of it to pass. As usual, the intensity eased, but the remorse he still felt left a bitter taste in his mouth. Someday, he might be able to hear someone say, “I’ll be here,” and not flash back to the darkest, most horrific day of his life.

      But not today.

       Chapter Two

      Holly was fairly certain that if Sam had left her to her own devices, she’d have driven right past the road that led to the long, winding driveway of her aunt’s new home. One unmarked side street led to another and another, which fed into an isolated dead end that held exactly three houses. She got the feeling that her guide was finding his way through the outskirts of Liberty Creek using an inherited sense of where things in his hometown had been standing since the founders had first hacked it out of the forest.

      She’d never been much for school, but being a history buff, that class had always held a special appeal for her. She recalled that New Hampshire was one of the original thirteen colonies and had played a pivotal role in the Americans’ fight for independence. If those long-ago Calhoun brothers were any indication of the local residents’ spirit, she had no trouble believing that men like them—strong and stubborn—had played a key role in the patriots’ eventual victory.

      Sam’s pickup finally signaled a turn onto a rutted lane that looked more like a deer path than a driveway. When she got her first look at the house, she groaned out loud. “Oh, Auntie. Have you lost your mind?”

      Chase leaned in to get a clearer view between the front headrests. “Didn’t Sam say he was fixing the house?”

      “Yes.”

      “It looks like he should tear it down instead.”

      She couldn’t have summed up the property’s condition any better, but she was wary of agreeing for fear that he’d repeat her comments and hurt their sensitive relative’s feelings. The sprawling farmhouse must have stood on many more acres years ago, and the trees growing around it were the same vintage as the ones she’d admired in the town square. The porch that stretched across the front of the house wasn’t quite done, and the front steps were nowhere to be seen. Entire sections of boards had been replaced, but most of the antiquated windows remained. The end wall was painted a mellow cream, and a pair of wine-colored shutters leaning against it gave her a glimpse of Sam’s plans for the exterior. She could envision it looking classic and stunning when it was finished, but for now, the kindest description she could invent was “work in progress.”

      Sam parked near the front porch and climbed out of his truck. Avoiding the puddles, he strolled toward Holly’s car while she sat there trying to come up with something encouraging to say about the dilapidated farmhouse her aunt had bought on a whim for her retirement home.

      When she stepped out, she blurted out the only positive remark she could think of. “It’s in a real pretty spot.”

      Cocking an eyebrow in obvious amusement, he said, “I know the house isn’t much to look at now, but it’s actually better than it was when I started in the spring.”

      “Was it falling down the hill?”

      “Not a chance. This place was built of solid oak, and it’ll outlast all of us. It was empty for a while, but with a little work, it’ll be amazing.”

      She stared up at him waiting for the punch line, but judging by his earnest expression, he wasn’t yanking her chain. He sounded confident, not in the cocky way some guys could, but in the solid, dependable way a girl would be able to count on.

      So, since she wasn’t exactly Miss DIY, Holly decided that she didn’t have a choice other than to trust his assessment. “If you say so.”

      “I do.”

      The clouds in his eyes lightened, and the corner of his mouth crinkled in a half-hearted motion that made her wonder what it would take to coax an actual smile from him. Not that it was up to her, of course. She was just curious.

      “So,” he went on, “I’m guessing you’ve got a trunk full of suitcases.”

      “We have a few things,” she retorted, irritated by the thinly veiled display of chauvinism. She’d gotten enough of that from other men to last her for the rest of her life. Overwhelmed by Brady’s deteriorating condition, she’d made the mistake of allowing other people to do things for her that she could have handled herself. It had led them to view her as helpless and, after a while, she’d been alarmed to find she’d started agreeing with them. One of the many things she was determined to change as she took charge of her life again. “It was nice of you to offer your help, but we’ll be fine. Chase can manage the smaller bags and I can get the big ones.”

      “No, you can’t.”

      Sam’s condescending tone got her back up, and she glared at him. “Excuse me?”

      “Easy now,” he soothed with a hand in the air. “I just meant a lady shouldn’t be carrying her own luggage when there’s a guy around who’s willing to do it for her.”

      She refused to take that bait and stood with her arms crossed, scowling up at him for all she was worth. After a few seconds of that, he shoved his hands in the back pockets of his well-worn jeans and sighed. “How ’bout we do it together? Those clouds aren’t going anywhere, and I’d hate to see all your stuff get drenched.”

      Holly glanced into the distance to see that he was right about the rain and decided there was absolutely no point in being obstinate. This time, anyway. “Okay, that makes sense.”

      Reaching back into the car, she popped the trunk as he muttered something under his breath. It wasn’t flattering, but he was taking time out of his day to help her so she opted to let it go. He reminded her of a displeased grizzly bear most of the time, and she wasn’t keen on pushing him too far and alienating him altogether. As the contractor on this large job, he’d be around a lot, and she figured it would go better if they could at least be civil to one another.

      Eyeing their pile of luggage, he shook his head but didn’t comment on her heavy traveling style. Instead, he plucked out two enormous cases crammed to the gills and carried them to the finished half of the porch without complaint. Whoa, she thought with honest admiration as she picked up two of the smaller bags. He was even stronger than he looked.

      They