An Honest Life. Dana Corbit

not fair to pile us into one pot any more than it would be for me to judge your relationship with God.”

      Rick stared at Rusty. He did know him, through years of work and through a friendship where the roots had grown deep. “Point taken. But hey, she attacked me.”

      “I’m not debating that. I don’t know what put a bee in her bonnet. But I’m telling you there’s another side to Charity. The side that appears when she puts on her scrubs and heads into those fancy labor rooms.”

      “Obviously, her transformation didn’t work today because she had scrubs on when she was here.” Rick tried a bit of humor, but Rusty shook his head, apparently not buying it.

      “I’ll never forget when she helped deliver Max.” Rusty paused as if he was reliving that special day. “When she handed me that big round boy, I saw tears in her eyes.”

      Rick raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, she’s not completely evil.”

      “Far from it, my friend.” Rusty grinned and, without another word, turned and jogged to the rear of the building site that would eventually be the gymnasium.

      Rick exhaled as he watched him, all of the wind ripped from his perfectly good rant. Watching the other workers, he had the creepy sensation that they’d been observing him during the discussion with Rusty. At least they couldn’t have heard it. But the breath he exhaled, he immediately drew back in. Just how long had they stood there discussing this woman who was a stranger to him? Stranger? After that discussion, he knew more about Charity Sims’ personal life than he’d learned about many crew members who had worked for him for months. Years even.

      Rick tightened his tool belt and returned to the saw, hoping the blare would drown out thoughts of anything other than roofing trusses and subcontractors. Nothing would be allowed to divert his focus from completing this project on time and with the highest quality workmanship.

      Sweaty work had always been his ticket out of his past and into the security and respect he craved. With this project, he could finally prove to those who believed he would amount to nothing that they were wrong.

      Because it didn’t make much difference when compared to such critical matters, he would cut Charity some slack. She would likely keep her distance from him now, anyway. If she didn’t, well, he’d cross that bridge when he slammed into it.

      Chapter Three

      Two days later, Labor Day offered a sunny Monday off for many laborers, but fidgetiness kept Charity from enjoying the respite. Concentrating on the pots of chrysanthemums and garden tools at her feet was impossible when she only had to peek around the church building’s corner to see the prospect who had become “priority one” in her mission work. Even on the holiday, Rick remained the lone construction worker, toiling as if some supervisor still had him on the clock. Or as if he had something to prove.

      After adding another look in that direction to the dozen earlier, she regretted turning down her mother’s invitation for their annual holiday outlet shopping spree. At the time, relaxation had seemed more important. Well, if relaxation wore grass-stained gardening shoes and was on constant alert, then she was well on the road to tranquility.

      She continued yanking fists of dying wax begonias from the earth, the loose dirt seeming the most solid thing beneath her lately. But finally she gave in to her curiosity and took another peek at the building project. Too bad Rick, sporting a Detroit Red Wings cap and sunglasses, picked that moment to trudge toward the front of the church building where she’d been working.

      “Sure is a beautiful morning. It was, anyway.” He stopped several feet away but gazed directly at her, sunlight catching on his unusual blue eyes. “It’s afternoon now.”

      Though Charity’s cheeks burned, and her mouth competed with the Sahara on the dryness scale, she managed an affirmative noise in her throat. An awkward silence followed until they both spoke at once to break it.

      “Hey, I’m sorry—”

      “You know, I’m sorry—”

      Charity couldn’t help laughing and felt relieved when Rick joined in. As he took a few more steps toward her, she scrambled to her feet. The filth she wiped from her palms to her holey jeans probably came with a dose of perspiration. She resisted the temptation to pat her hands on her loose ponytail. It shouldn’t have mattered how she looked. “I wasn’t bothering you, was I?”

      “No. Was my noise bothering you? I didn’t have any music on this morning.” His smile was no less than devastating, that soft-looking mouth incongruous with the hard lines of his cheekbones. A small split tamed the perfection of his straight teeth.

      Could her face and neck have gotten any warmer? “Uh…no. Of course not.”

      “I really am sorry about the other day. I was obnoxious.”

      How tempted she felt to let him take the blame for the whole crazy incident, but she resisted. She took her mission to bring this man to church seriously. To that end, she forced herself to look directly at him and to smile back. The Lord’s work required great sacrifice.

      “No, I’m the one who overreacted and berated you about the music,” she said. “I went about it all wrong.”

      Stuffing his hands in his pockets as if suddenly more uncomfortable in the situation, Rick pressed his lips into a straight line. That only made more obvious how little about Rick McKinley was soft. Not his features, all sharp angles and hard planes, and not his physique, which appeared as hard as the bricks stacked next to the building.

      At her realization she’d been gawking, Charity glanced away from him, ashamed. “I’d better get these planted.”

      She sat cross-legged on the ground, digging her fingers back into the earth. To safety. She pulled a few weeds, expecting him to retreat to the construction site. But he stayed there, staring across the field at Andrew and Serena’s house.

      “I didn’t expect to see anyone here today,” he said as he dropped to his knees a few feet from her and yanked out a handful of weeds. “I figured everyone would be grabbing that last taste of summer. All of my crew are doing that.”

      “But not you.” The words slipped past her better judgment before she could censor them. Her slip and his closeness made her so nervous she dropped the trowel and had to scramble to retrieve it. Now he probably thought she was wondering why he’d come here today and why he remained so close she could smell the sawdust on his clothes. And he would have thought right. “Me, neither,” she added in a rush. “I’m ready for summer to be over. I thought I’d get a head start on fall while everyone else was gone.”

      “Do you do all of the gardening work at the church?”

      She almost smiled at that. And it pleased her more than it should have that he’d attempted to make conversation when he easily could have left. He probably just wanted someone to talk to, and his crew was off for the day. It wasn’t as if he was interested in her or anything. They had nothing in common, as far as she could tell. Besides, she would never date a guy who quite possibly didn’t even go to church.

      “The trustees take care of the grounds, but I’m in charge of the landscape committee. I do what I can with a limited budget and donate the rest.”

      He nodded and yanked off his cap, tucking it in the waistband of his pants. Though his hair was sweaty and mussed, Charity could tell he’d gotten a haircut and appeared almost presentable. He resumed plucking weeds, even reaching beside her to borrow the trowel and dig out a few deep roots.

      “You do a good job,” he said after a while.

      It was the smallest of compliments, and yet Charity felt her insides warm with pleasure. From the way she’d reacted, she would have sworn he’d just dubbed her a master landscaper or something. “It looks bad right now.”

      “No, it looks in transition.”

      Neither said anything for a while, but they continued