Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart

be careful of those narrow steps,” Nanna warned.

      Hope resisted the urge to remind her grandmother that she was no longer a child. The warmth in her chest doubled knowing someone worried over her—that someone still cared.

      The water was still spewing like Old Faithful, so Hope ran for the basement door.

      No light greeted her when she hit the switch. She guessed Nanna hadn’t been down here in a while. She found a flashlight on a hook by the door and searched the lengths of wrapped pipes visible overhead. They ended by the hot water tank in the back corner, where huge cobwebs warned of even bigger spiders.

      “No way am I going in there.” She shivered, her skin crawling just at the sight of those thick, dust-coated gossamer strands.

      Then a dark object slinked across the cement floor toward her sneaker. She screamed in midair, already jumping back. The flashlight slipped from her grip. It hit the ground with a crash and rolled, the light eerily aimed at the ceiling. The shadowy spider skidded to a stop, waiting—like he was preparing to launch an all-out assault on her ankle.

      “Chances are it’s more scared of you.” A rich masculine voice rumbled like low valley thunder through the dark. Then boots clipped on the concrete. “He’s looking up at you and thinking, boy, that giant sure looks dangerous. I hope she doesn’t attack me.”

      “Matthew Sheridan.” She took another cautious step back, her pulse fast, her limbs shaky. “You scared me to death.”

      “Didn’t hear me come down the stairs, huh? I guess you were too busy screaming at this poor defenseless spider.” He strode closer, his presence like a fire in the darkness, radiating heat without light. A heat she felt.

      “How did you get here so fast?”

      “Kirby left a desperate message so I came over. I was next door at the Joneses’.” He flashed her a grin in the eerie mix of shadows and knelt down, unafraid. “If you shoo him off, he’ll go hide and leave you alone.”

      “Sure. I feel so much safer knowing he’s in the shadows watching and waiting for the right moment to take a bite.” Hope tripped back, away from the narrow hallway, not sure which was affecting her more—the spider or the man. “I was trying to find the shutoff.”

      “Let me take it from here. After all, I’m the professional.” He held up a big wrench and stepped into the light. Lemony rays brushed across his face, accenting the fine cut of his profile and the curve of his lopsided grin. “Tell Nora not to worry. I’m on the job.”

      “Oh, that’s a comfort.” Why was she feeling like this? The last thing she wanted was to feel attracted to a man. Especially Matthew Sheridan.

      She remembered how he’d looked in the coffee shop with sadness so huge in his eyes. How he’d leaned slightly away from her in his chair, placed right beside hers, so that their shoulders wouldn’t brush. As if he wanted to make it clear just how much distance he wanted.

      Well, he was in luck. She wanted distance, too. And yet, she felt sorry for him. Sorry because beneath his easy grin lurked a great grief, one so obvious how could Nanna even think he’d want to remarry?

      Not knowing what to say, Hope backed away, leaving the flashlight on the floor in case Matthew needed it, finding her way through the dark by touch and by memory.

      Matthew listened to her light step against the stairs, tapping away into silence. Hope had looked at him like a deer blinded by headlights. Maybe it was the spider or the way he refused to look at her at the meeting today.

      Either way, he knew he had to make things right. Since he couldn’t back out of his obligation to the committee, it looked like he’d be seeing Hope a lot during the preparations for the Founder’s Days dance. He didn’t want any strain or bruised feelings confusing things. As soon as he turned off the water and fixed Nora’s sink, he’d pull Hope aside and talk with her.

      Unfortunately, the old valve was rusted wide open, and he had to use every bit of his strength to turn it. The old metal groaned, and he whispered a prayer for the ancient pipes to hold. They did, and the rush of water faded into silence.

      Overhead he heard the soft tap of shoes—probably Hope’s. He tried not to think about that as he brushed the cobwebs off his shirt and retrieved the fallen flashlight. He hadn’t looked at a woman since he’d fallen in love with Kathy, and it bothered him. He didn’t know what to make of it as he headed upstairs.

      Hope was in the kitchen, guiding a mop across the floor. Sunlight spilled through the back door, highlighting the sheen of her dark hair and the agile grace in her slender arms.

      She knelt, wrung water from the mop into a bucket, then straightened. “You came to the rescue. Again.”

      “That I did. I even survived the spider.” He couldn’t get over the sight of Hope Ashton handling a mop. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

      “You’re a braver person than I am.” She bent to work, swiping with practice. “Sharing dark cramped spaces with arachnids isn’t high on my list.”

      He knew she was from a wealthy family—she probably had her own housekeeper and cook, a chauffeur and gardener—but here she was in simple blue jeans and a light yellow T-shirt cleaning her grandmother’s floor with a steady competence. As if she mopped floors all the time.

      Not that Hope’s lifestyle was any of his business, he reminded himself and he forced his gaze away. But as he crossed the kitchen with water slick against his work boots, he could hear the stroke of Hope’s mop back and forth.

      “I’m going to have to replace this entire setup.” He checked under the sink to make sure. “Either that, or chances are this kitchen will end up flooded again.”

      “Then we’ll just have you fix it right.” Hope swiped her forearm across her brow. “Kirby took Nanna outside for some fresh air. I think she’s more upset than she’s letting on.”

      “She’s lived here, what, fifty years? It’s hard to see something you love damaged.” He eased onto his back and adjusted his pipe wrench, determined to concentrate on his job and not on Hope mopping the floor. “I’m going to take out the sink and all these pipes. Put in proper shutoff valves. She’ll even get a new faucet out of the deal. Lucky for you, I have a faucet in the carpenter boxes in the back of my truck—I get these emergencies often enough. It’s a nice white European one.”

      “Oh, boy. I can’t remember the last time a handsome man gave me a new faucet.”

      She was kidding—he knew that. But why did his pulse perk up? Did she really think he was handsome? He couldn’t see it—he doubted anyone else did, either. That was the thing that made him wary about women like Hope—easy flattery, a drop of kindness, it was superficial and not always innocent. He ought to remember that the next time he couldn’t stop looking at her.

      Disgusted with himself, he gave his wrench a hard twist, and the old pipe came loose from the wall. “So, you’ll be staying in town through Founder’s Days?”

      “If Nanna needs me that long.” Hope knelt to wring the mop. Water splashed into the bucket. “I’m sorry about the committee meeting. She’s just trying to throw us together. I hope you know I had nothing to do with that.”

      “I figured it out easy enough.” He slid out from beneath the sink and caught sight of Hope hefting the full bucket toward the back door, so at odds with what he expected from her. Maybe that’s why his gaze kept finding her in the room. “I believe you. Remember, my mom blackmailed me.”

      “Your own mother? That’s hard to believe. I remember how sweet she was.” Hope disappeared in the shimmer of the midday sun.

      “Sweet? Sure, she once was, I suppose. Then she became a grandmother and started meddling.”

      Hope breezed back inside, swinging the empty bucket, and her smile looked genuine enough to make his heart flip. She