The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand

had a few financial problems and now I need to refinance a short-term reno loan within a couple months, plus my mortgage while the rates are still low.”

      “Seems like this is a successful business, though.”

      “Depends. Tourism plummeted last year due to a cold, wet spring and blistering-hot, humid summer. It was like a ghost town during our busy season. Not only that, but last year I had to replace the furnace and AC, and this year all of the plumbing. My dad still insists that I was a fool to buy this building, but I’m going to prove him wrong.” She heaved a sigh. “I hope.”

      Connor whistled. “Bad year.”

      She nodded. “The loan officer says he won’t refinance if the place isn’t fully up to code, and he’ll require a full inspection. There’s a lot of work left to do.”

      “There must be contractors around here, though.”

      “Some, but the best one is booked six months out. I’ve been on his schedule since February, for a number of projects.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Your job application listed past jobs as ranching and rodeo. I guess I don’t exactly know what your skills are.”

      He laughed. “Not many that apply to this place.”

      “So, you grew up on a ranch?”

      “Yep. We raised cattle, horses and hay. But then a bad case of ‘bright lights and big city’ knocked me sideways. After graduating from college I ended up on the pro rodeo circuit for nine years.”

      She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Can you go back to rodeo now?”

      “I’ve been away too long, and championship-level rodeo is mostly a younger man’s sport, except something like team roping. Eventually I would’ve needed to stop and do something else anyway.”

      “Like what?”

      He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “That will take serious thought.”

      “What about going back to your family’s ranch?”

      He ignored the twinge of pain in his heart whenever he thought about the angry phone conversations with his dad during his first few years away from home—calls that had always ended with Dad slamming the phone into its cradle.

      “Nope. That water went down the creek long time ago. As the oldest son, I was expected to head home after college and eventually take over, not go all over the country chasing dreams. My dad quit talking to me years ago.”

      She reached out and rested a hand on his arm—a gesture that sent a warm rush of sensation straight to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

      “My incarceration sealed that deal anyway, but it’s all right. I’m thirty-three and it’s not too late to go back to grad school or vet school. That was my plan in the first place once I’d saved enough winnings on the rodeo circuit.”

      Her brows drew together. “But still...it’s your family, Connor. Do you have any brothers or sisters? What about your mom?”

      “Mom walked out on Dad while I was in high school and moved out East. She never came back. My younger brothers were bitter when I took off, because they were left behind to work on the ranch. But now they manage the whole spread, so they’ve got a good deal going.” He shrugged. “When I’ve got my future sorted out again, I’ll give them a call. But not before.”

      She searched his face, her eyes filled with sympathy. “At least you’re free now and can get on with your life. Right?”

      He nodded. It had been years since he’d held a hammer, but maybe working here could give him a current reference for when he started job hunting, after he’d dealt with Marsha in Detroit.

      For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

      “I don’t know which of our dads is the bigger challenge,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “Mine used to be a general contractor. Just six months ago he was helping with the reno projects around here, but now his mind is failing and he’s more testy than ever. You never know what’s ahead in life, right?”

      He almost laughed at that.

      One day he’d been climbing into his pickup to reach the next rodeo up in Butte—the next he’d been behind bars and accused of murder.

      And nothing—not his prayers to the God who no longer cared, not his lawyer and not even a witness who’d seen him that night elsewhere—had made one bit of difference.

       Chapter Five

      At five o’clock Keeley flipped the sign in the front window to Closed and peered out at cars driving past, windshield wipers on high. Thunder rumbled again, making the wood flooring beneath her feet vibrate.

      “I cannot believe this is the third rainy day in a row. The forecasters say it’s a ‘stalled front.’ I’m just praying it decides to pack up and move on tomorrow.”

      Connor came out of the back room, his Western-style oilskin coat draped over his arm. “Why then?”

      “The Antique Walk starts Friday.”

      “You’ve mentioned it before, but I’m still not sure what it involves.”

      “There’s usually a big flea market at the fairgrounds, with a carnival and rides, but everything could end up a big, muddy mess if the ground doesn’t dry out first.”

      “Sounds like quite an event.”

      “It’s supposed to be. Several of the churches put up food tents, the 4-H clubs set up a petting zoo and the FFA—Future Farmers of America—club coordinates a tractor pull and a horse show. The quilters raffle some beautiful quilts for charity—the list goes on and on.” She bustled around the store, pulling down the window shades facing the sidewalk and adjusting the positioning of the merchandise. “But it only works out well if the weather is nice and we get the big crowds from Minneapolis and Chicago.”

      She moved to the cash register and began counting the money into neat stacks, tallied the total and slipped the money into a zippered bank deposit bag to drop off on the way home.

      “Last spring was cold and windy, so we had the smallest crowd in years. We ended up in the red on event costs and didn’t reach our donation goals for heart disease and cancer research, either.”

      Connor walked to the front door and studied the sign displaying the store hours. “So, your store is open tomorrow afternoon?”

      She nodded, dropped the bank deposit bag into her purse and grabbed her car keys from a drawer under the counter. “All of the stores in town are open Sunday afternoons. Weekends are the busiest times during high season, and none of us can afford to close for the entire day, even if we want to. It would really decimate the weekend traffic coming from the big cities.”

      “So, do you want me to come in tomorrow?” He shouldered on his coat.

      “I’d like you here every day, if possible. Your time in town will be short as it is.” She smiled. “You’ve caught on really fast and your help means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

      “The more hours, the better. Noon, then?”

      “Perfect.” She eyed the light rain outside. “How on earth do you start a campfire when it’s this wet?”

      “Can’t.”

      “Then how will you cook your supper? Do you have a propane gas stove or something?”

      “Something like that.” Thunder rumbled again as he opened the door to step outside. “G’night.”

      “Wait.” Guilt lanced through her at the thought of him heading out into the rain. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hurried after him. “I’m definitely giving you a ride home tonight.”

      He