The Single Dad's Redemption. Roxanne Rustand

tea shops, restaurants, fancy women’s clothing boutiques and a bookstore. For the outdoor sports enthusiasts, a variety of stores offered gear from fishing, kayaking and canoeing to skiing, backpacking and biking.

      A single, massive bank on Main, with a plaque embossed with the year 1864 on the cornerstone facing the sidewalk, looked as if it could withstand World War III.

      Somewhere on the north edge of town he’d find a cheap strip motel and, a mile farther, a campground with modern facilities, according to the tow-truck driver who had dropped Connor’s pickup at Red’s Mechanic Shop & Wrecker Service south of town.

      Connor hadn’t intended to make this stop in eastern Wisconsin on his way from Montana to Detroit, but major engine problems had certainly changed his plans in a hurry.

      This was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t need, with just a few hundred bucks in his pocket, nearly seven hundred miles to go and a burning need to reach the son he hadn’t seen in five long years.

      Five irreplaceable years in the life of a young boy. And five years of worry about how well his ex-wife was taking care of him...or not. A familiar surge of anger burned through his chest at the thought of what he and Josh had both lost, and the God who had ignored his prayers.

      Josh had been only four when Connor went to prison. Would the child even recognize him now?

      A blinding bolt of lightning struck the steeple of a white-clapboard church a few blocks down and a deafening crack! shook the sidewalk beneath his feet. The tentative patter of rain turned to a deluge in earnest, pouring off the brim of his Resistol Western hat and soaking through his denim jacket.

      Just as quickly the rain turned to an onslaught of marble-size hail.

      He ducked into the first entryway on his right and stepped into a dimly lit store. Soft classical music drifted through the cinnamon-and-coffee-scented air.

      It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the warm golden and amber lighting of flickering candles, plus a dozen or more stained-glass lamps and chandeliers displayed around the store. An avalanche of what his grandma had always called “pretties” seemed to fill every millimeter of space. China. Glass doodads. Frothy lace.

      Fancy stuff at odds with the steady plink of water hitting a galvanized bucket sitting on the floor by the end of the front counter.

      He couldn’t have felt more out of place if he’d suddenly found himself on Mars.

      A slender young woman behind the cash register stared at him in shock.

      He belatedly jerked off his hat and ran a hand over the two-day stubble on his face. “Sorry, ma’am. I...I just stepped in to get out of the hail,” he murmured. He reached behind himself for the door handle, acutely aware of the puddle forming beneath his battered Western boots. “Sorry ’bout the mess.”

      “No—don’t go.” She slipped around the corner of the front counter, deftly avoiding the bucket on the floor. Her shoulder-length, shiny blond hair swung forward against her cheek as she motioned to the white wrought-iron table and matching chairs displayed by the front window. “Just listen to that storm out there. Have a seat. Coffee? Hot tea? I’ve even got fresh shortbread cookies.”

      “Really, ma’am, I—”

      “Sit.” She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “At least for a while. If you go back out and get yourself struck by lightning, I’ll forever feel it was my fault.”

      He awkwardly took the chair closest to the door and glanced around for a place to hang his hat, then settled it on his knees.

      “Coffee?”

      He nodded. “Uh...thanks.”

      She bustled to the coffeemaker at the end of the front counter and soon returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and a tray of cookies, each with a little purple-frosting flower on top.

      “You can be my taste tester. This is the first time I’ve made lavender shortbread, and the coffee is a new brand of Irish cream.”

      The aroma of the coffee was pure bliss. The first bite of cookie was like an explosion of rich butter and a delicate flowery flavor on his tongue. Nothing in his memory had ever tasted as good.

      She grinned at his reaction as she took the chair opposite his and offered her hand across the table. “Keeley North.”

      “Connor. Connor Rafferty.” He hadn’t seen—much less talked to—such a pretty woman in more than five years, and the brief contact of her delicate hand in his sent his mind reeling back to a different time and place. Back to when he’d been a carefree man who worked hard and found pleasure in simple things.

      Privileges he’d never appreciated until he was behind bars. Privileges and opportunities he would never fully regain.

      In his former life, he might have asked this charming woman to meet him for coffee...or maybe even dinner, in the hope of getting to know her better.

      Now he knew there was no point.

      Once he revealed his past, a woman like this one would run the other way.

      Shaking off his dark thoughts, he looked up and found she was watching him with an expression of concern. Had she asked him something?

      “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice gentle and warm.

      Today’s stress and exhaustion after fourteen hours behind the wheel of his pickup, plus several more on the side of the road with engine trouble, had turned his bones to lead.

      “Just...a long day.”

      “You aren’t from around here,” she said as she leaned back in her chair and studied him over the rim of her coffee cup.

      “Nope.” Clearly, she already knew that from the way she was looking at him. Maybe she’d already figured out he wasn’t just some average guy, either. He shifted uneasily, feeling as if his prison number was stenciled on his denim jacket.

      Outside, hail battered at the windows in heavy sheets and continuous lightning lit up the sky like the Fourth of July. He took a swallow of coffee, savoring the heat as it slid down his throat.

      “Texas, right?” She cocked her head. “Or maybe Oklahoma? I love the accent.”

      That was what she’d noticed? He jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “Texas, ma’am. Though it’s been a long while.”

      “Just passing through?”

      “On my way to Detroit.”

      “But then you fell in love with our pretty little town and decided to stay,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

      He shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. My truck broke down five miles from here.”

      Her eyes widened a little at that. “Sorry. At least you got into town before this weather hit, right?”

      “Yeah.” Though the weather was the least of his problems.

      “Were you towed to Red’s garage—south side of town?”

      “Yep.”

      “He does good work, but he usually has quite a backlog. When will he get it done?”

      “A couple weeks...maybe three.”

      “Ouch. Sounds about right for Red’s, but that can’t be very convenient.” She drummed her fingers on the glass surface of the table. “So I suppose you’ll be renting a car to continue on?”

      If only he could. This trip to Detroit meant everything to him. He had to find his ex-wife, Marsha, and son before she made good on her threat and disappeared again.

      But he’d planned on smooth sailing, not a massive mechanic’s bill coupled with extra weeks of motel and food expenses.

      After buying a fourteen-year-old Dodge Ram diesel in Montana, the cash in his wallet had already run low and running up debts