Rocky Mountain Miracle. Leona Karr

laughed. “I’m betting that the shiny flush on your face has nothing to do with the sun, nor is the high mountain air responsible for your quick breathing. You like this guy.”

      “Sure, I like him,” admitted Allie. “At least, I used to, but that’s water under the proverbial bridge. Scott’s gone his way, and I’ve gone mine. Really, Trudy, I don’t want to discuss it any further. We’re here to help get things ready for the church camp. What Scott does or doesn’t do isn’t any concern of mine.”

      “Uh-huh,” Trudy said.

      “Let’s go see what they have for us to do.” She led the way into the dining room, and her breath caught as she looked around. The place looked as if a whirlwind had swept through it. Nothing was set up for the feeding of a crowd of hungry campers. Chairs were stacked, tables shoved together and all the counters loaded down with stacks of trays, cups and dishes. Only the floor looked bright and shiny from a recent scrubbing.

      At that moment Dorie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard voices,” she said as she greeted them with a merry wave of her hand from the kitchen. “Come on in. I’m busy putting away all the foodstuffs that have just been delivered.”

      “Can we help?”

      “Sure.” She looked as happy as a busy bee flitting around a field of clover. “I like to set up the kitchen myself.” She nodded toward the connecting door between the dining room and the activity room. “I think Pat’s been needing some help. Why don’t you gals give a look-see?”

      “Okay. We’re here to do whatever needs doing.”

      “I’ll let you know when I need an extra pair of hands,” Dorie promised.

      They left her happily humming to herself as she filled the freezer, fridge and cupboards. When they entered the recreation room, they saw that the same happy mood did not apply to her husband. Pat O’Toole was sitting on the edge of a raised dais that served as a stage, staring moodily around the room, as he filled his pipe.

      “Oh, oh,” murmured Allie. The recreation room was in a sorry state. All but one wall and the ceiling showed ugly watermarks around the windows and on the ceiling. Only one wall had been freshly painted a pretty rose color, and a heap of painting tarps and paint cans pushed to one side were evidence of an interrupted project.

      Allie wasn’t sure that Patrick O’Toole really remembered her. Unlike his wife, he had no welcoming smile on his lips nor recognition in his eyes as she introduced herself and Trudy. He just nodded at the introduction, and continued to give his attention to a pipe that he was trying to light.

      “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. O’Toole,” Allie said brightly, ignoring his distant manner. “We’re from the church. Just tell us what you want us to do. We’re here to help.”

      He peered at her from under bushy eyebrows. “So you’re the lass that talked Scott into keeping the camp open?”

      “Yes, thank God,” she said, relieved that he was speaking to her at least. “We appreciate your offer to handle everything for us.”

      “We’ve got some nice kids who are looking forward to coming to Rainbow Camp,” Trudy said.

      Patrick shook his head. “Well, ladies, I reckon I forgot how many things were left half-done after Sam’s passing. Look at this room, would you?” He got up and walked around the room, pointing out the unpainted walls and ceiling. “We got all the leaks fixed and were starting to paint when Sam had his spell.” He shook his head sadly, and Allie heard the break in his voice. “It’s a disgrace to his memory to have anybody even see the place like this.”

      The two women exchanged glances, and Allie wasn’t surprised when her friend spoke up. “Well then, Mr. O’Toole, I guess we’d better get to painting,” Trudy told him in her take-charge manner. She eyed the ceiling. “A nice tall ladder will do just fine.” In a few minutes she had organized the whole project. Allie knew that she was the one responsible for redecorating all the Sunday school rooms. Trudy could wield a paintbrush roller with the best of them.

      The room was rather long and narrow, and even though one of the longer walls had already been done, the challenge of painting the other three and the ceiling kept them busy through the morning.

      When Dorie brought in some drinks and sandwiches, they took a brief break for lunch. She nodded her approval. “Sam picked out that color. Said it reminded him of that cluster of moss roses down by the spring.”

      Pat sighed. “I was telling him, the color would show hand prints to beat the band, but he didn’t care. Crazy guy.” He turned his head away quickly as if there were something in his eye.

      They had to push to finish by late afternoon, but a sense of satisfaction made their effort worthwhile. They took a few minutes to enjoy their work as soft sunlight bathed the walls in a warm glow. It had certainly been satisfying.

      “Nice work, ladies,” Patrick said with a smile. “Sure and you’re a credit to the Painters’ Union.” He winked at Trudy. “If I weren’t a married man, I’d be giving you the eye, lass. I’ve got a few rooms at the house that could use your touch.”

      They were all weary, but pleased with the job they’d done. Patrick started carrying out empty paint cans, and painting debris to the trash while Allie and Trudy put the room to rights.

      “I’ll ask Dorie for some cleaning rags,” Trudy said, and headed for the kitchen.

      A moment later, while Allie was putting some lids on some leftover paint cans, Scott came in the rec room. He took one look around at the freshly painted room with an expression of utter disbelief on his face.

      Allie stood up, brushed back her hair, suddenly aware of the paint spatters on her arms, jeans and shirt. She looked a mess, but then, what did it matter? She smiled. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”

      For a moment, he looked speechless. Then he swore, “What in blazes! Why on earth did you put in all this work, painting this room?”

      She looked at him, stunned and dumbfounded. What was he so angry about?

      “Is this some kind of subtle trick you’re playing?” he lashed out.

      “Trick?”

      “Whatever you’re trying to pull off, it won’t work,” he warred her. “You can’t make me change my mind, Allie.”

      “I’m not trying to make you change your mind.”

      “Good, because I’ve just made arrangements for this building to be pulled down in three weeks.”

      Chapter Three

      Scott struggled against a wave of exasperation. He was caught between trying to get things ready for the campers, while at the same time initiating a schedule to level the area and clear the property for potential buyers. Agreeing to open the camp had been a bad idea in the beginning, and it was getting worse by the minute.

      Allie looked exhausted, tense and angry with him for challenging the decision to paint the room. On the defensive, he said, “I wished you’d asked me about it before putting in all this work.”

      With a determined lift to her head, she replied firmly, “It was important to Pat that we finish the job your father started before he died. Patrick knew Sam wouldn’t want people in here with rain-stained walls even if this is the last time the room is to be used.”

      Scott silently fumed. It was just like her and Patrick to bring his father into the matter. They’d made their feelings clear enough, but it was the height of folly for them to spruce up the place. “Well, what’s done is done.”

      In a moment of weighted silence that followed, Trudy came in with a broom and cleaning rags, and seeing Scott, started bragging about the job they’d done.

      “Are we painters, or are we painters?” she challenged, grinning. “I just may give up my job working