Angel's Peak (28 page)

Ellie’s mouth fell open. This was the woman who had been in movies and nominated for Oscars, and was most commonly seen on TV in strapless evening gowns and glittering jewels. And she was talking about replacing the wood on her steps for her? It was unreal.

Luke Riordan came out of the kitchen with his arms full of crinkling, old, rotting wallpaper he’d torn off. He dumped it in the empty dining room. “Morning,” he said. “Art,” he yelled back into the kitchen. “Can you get this pile of trash in the back of my truck? I’ll run by the dump on the way home.”

“Wow,” Ellie said. “Whose idea was this?”

“I don’t know,” Walt said. “Paul, whose idea was this?”

“Not sure. Jack’s maybe?”

Preacher walked out of the kitchen. “Mine,” he said indignantly. “I think it was my idea. We pitch in around here when it’s practical. We need to get you up and running before it gets any colder. Gotta replace all the window glass that’s cracked or broken, and the fireplaces need to be cleaned. You’re gonna need a new furnace I think—you’re on your own there. I don’t know anyone who does that, but I did get a friend from Clear River who said he’d come out this afternoon and get fifty years of soot out of those chimneys in the living and dining rooms. He’s gonna do it as a donation, just to help out. He’s probably got something he’s gonna ask you for, Noah. Like a wedding or funeral or baptism or something—as a rule he’s usually not that generous.”

Noah just laughed. “Hope he’s not planning a funeral. That doesn’t sound good.”

“Ellie, you should get some measurements,” Muriel said. “See what size appliances will work in that kitchen and maybe measure the windows for blinds and the floors for area rugs. It’s not going to take much to get this place habitable. But to get it pretty? That’s going to be a six-month project. But I can help. I love doing this stuff.”

Ellie walked toward Muriel’s ladder and looked up at her. Muriel wore work coveralls, boots, a ratty long-sleeved sweatshirt, gloves and a ball cap. “Muriel,” she said in awe. “You’re a movie star.”

“She’s also a crackerjack carpenter, painter and renovator. You should see what she did to her place, almost entirely alone,” Walt said.

“You were a wonderful help, Walt,” Muriel said. “Of course, you had ulterior motives, but that wasn’t a problem for me. Come see my restored house sometime, Ellie. I love showing it off.”

“Vanni wanted to be here to help, but she’s tied up with the kids, and they’d just be in the way,” Walt said. “Most of these guys have to work all week, but a few of us have time on our hands and will get back here after the weekend. Me. Muriel. George.”

“Someone call me?” George asked, sticking his head in the door.

“No, George. Get back to work,” Walt said.

Ellie turned around and leaned her face into Noah’s chest. He put his arms around her and felt her shoulders shake, heard her sniff. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

She lifted her head. “They’re so wonderful. How can they be this wonderful?”

He smiled. “I think they practice.”

Fourteen

Maureen Riordan heard from her son Luke about the rally of neighbors who surprised the Kincaids with a work party over the weekend. She was completely charmed by the notion. It sounded like the way things had been in her parents’ day—barn raisings and such. So on Monday morning she drove out to Virgin River. She had a cup of coffee with Luke, then, following his directions, she made her way out to the old house to see what progress had been made.

There was only one beat-up old truck outside the house. Then she heard the sound of a saw inside. For a moment she thought maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to poke around. Obviously a man was working the saw and she was a woman alone. But in a place where the community had pulled together to help one of their own, could there be danger? It must be just another good neighbor inside the house. The door stood open, even though it was cold outside.

Right inside the front door in what must be the living room, who should be standing at a circular saw cutting planks but George Davenport. She let out a breath. Well, avoiding him wasn’t going to work. She’d tried to give him a wide berth at the wedding party on Friday night, but he’d singled her out, complimented her, made small talk and even kissed the back of her hand! There seemed to be only two options to deal with the man. Face him head-on or leave town.

And there he stood, his white hair, which was not terribly thick, askew and spiking, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, covered with sawdust. His face was tan—but hadn’t he said he’d come from Seattle? Cloudy, dreary Seattle? Despite herself, she noticed his shoulders were broad, his butt was solid and his legs were long. What was a man his age doing with broad shoulders and a solid butt? She wondered what he’d look like without a shirt and was immediately appalled that she would even think that!

The thought must have caused her to make a noise because he turned toward her. The smile that split his handsome face was bright. No slippery dentures there; his teeth were white and strong. He must have been good about brushing and flossing all through the years, probably the only thing they had in common.

“Mrs. Riordan,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Curiosity,” she said. “My son Luke told me about all the activity here over the weekend and I thought it was such a wonderful thing that I just wanted to see it for myself.” She entered the house farther. “What is it you’re doing?”

“I’m cutting the boards for the new stairs. Noah will be along when he can clear some of his morning appointments. We’ll install the stairs and, later today and tomorrow, Muriel will help with the sanding, staining and varnishing.”

“Muriel?” Maureen asked.

“You’ve met Muriel St. Claire, haven’t you? She’s an ace woodworker and she completely restored an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. She moved in right next to Walt Booth’s place, which is how they met. They’ve been a hot item for the past year.”

“Hot item?” she said. “For a year?” She frowned. “I guess I thought they’d been a couple for a long time.” Even though many of her female acquaintances found romance later in life, Maureen never really got used to the idea. Viv told her it was high time she dispelled the notion that romance was strictly for the very young. Still, when she thought about couples the age of Muriel and Walt getting together, she couldn’t help but think of it as more practical than passionate.

“Fairly recent, as I understand it,” George went on. “Walt was widowed several years ago. And while Muriel has never taken me into her confidence, the movie rags say she’s been married and divorced a number of times.” He grinned. “She must think the day she ran into Walt Booth—stable old war dog that he is—was one of the luckiest days of her life.”

“George, I probably owe you an apology,” Maureen said. “I don’t think I was as friendly as I could have been when we ran into each other at Jack’s a week or so ago. The fact is, I do remember meeting you at Luke’s wedding. I don’t know why I was acting as if I couldn’t remember you. It isn’t like me to play coy like that.”

“I knew that, Mrs. Riordan,” he said.

She was stunned. “You knew?”

He smiled gently. Kindly. “I saw it in your eyes,” he explained, then shifted his own back and forth, breaking eye contact, demonstrating what he saw. “And the moment I met you I knew you were more straightforward than that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

She was a little uncomfortable now, in fact. She felt vulnerable, being found out before she even had a chance to confess. “And I was widowed quite a while ago.”

“Yes, I know that, too. Twelve years or so?” he asked.

She put her hands on her hips. “And you know this how?” she asked, not trying too hard to keep the indignant tone from her voice.

“Well, I asked,” he said with a shrug. “That’s what a man does when he has an interest in a woman. He asks about her.”

“Is that so? Well, what else did you find out?”

“Nothing embarrassing, I swear. Just that you’ve been widowed quite a while now, all five sons are in the military, you live in Phoenix and, as far as anyone knows, you’re not currently seeing anyone special.”

Special? she thought. Not seeing anyone period with absolutely no intention of doing so. “Interesting,” she said. “Well, I don’t know a thing about you.”

“Of course you do. I’m a friend of Noah’s. A teacher.” He chuckled. “And obviously I have time on my hands.”

“That’s not very much information,” she said.

He took a rag out of his back pocket and wiped some of the sawdust and sweat off his brow. “You’re welcome to ask me anything you like. I’m an open book.”

“How long have you been a teacher?” she asked, starting with a safe subject.

“Twenty years now, and I’m thinking of making some changes. I’m seventy and I always thought retirement would turn me into an old fuddy-duddy, but I’m rethinking that. I’d like to have more time to do the things I enjoy most and, fortunately, I have a small pension and some savings. Besides, I’m tired of keeping a rigid schedule.”

“You would retire?”

“Again.” He laughed. “I retired the first time at the age of fifty and, after twenty years at the university, I could retire again. There are so many young professors who’d love to see a tenured old goat like me leave an opening for them.”

“And before you were a teacher?”

“A Presbyterian minister,” he said.

“Oh! You’re joking!” she said.

“I’m afraid it’s the truth.”

“I’m Catholic!”

He laughed. “How nice for you.”

“You’re making fun of me,” she accused.

“I’m making fun of your shock,” he said. “Don’t you have any non-Catholic friends?”

“Of course. Many. But—”

“Because I have quite a few Catholic friends. And Jewish and Mormon and other faiths. I used to play golf with a priest friend every Thursday afternoon for years. I had to quit. He was a cheat.”

“He was not!”

“You’re right, he wasn’t. I just threw that in there to see if I could rile you up. No one riles quite as beautifully as a redhead. Actually, he was transferred to a new parish. I hear from him once in a while. We used to have the best time with those minister-rabbi-priest jokes. We were in search of a golfing rabbi for a long time. We never did find one.”

“You don’t take things very seriously, do you?” she asked.

“Not as much now as I did when I was younger. I’m proud of that, by the way. So, what do you say we pick a night for dinner?”

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“You asked that before. Twice,” he said. “Does that disqualify me as a dinner companion?”

Truthfully, she’d been too rattled to pay attention to his answer. “Are you a widower?”

“Yes. My second wife died of cancer a few years ago. You’d have liked her—she was such a lovely, funny woman. My first wife is alive and well. She left me over thirty-five years ago. You wouldn’t have liked her at all. Hardly anyone did. Does.” He frowned and shook his head. “Really, she was one of the most difficult women I’ve ever known. Beautiful, however. Very beautiful. But very…Oh, never mind. I thought I was long past complaining about her.”

“Divorced?” she said. “A divorced minister?”

“You’d be amazed at how many real-life issues priests, ministers and rabbis deal with in their own lives. Now…”

“You know, you’re a peculiar man,” she said. “Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he said. “You’re a striking woman with a strong and entertaining personality. In fact, you’re even more entertaining today. What a lot of funny questions and concerns you seem to have. Does the Catholic church have some sort of punishment for parishioners who date out of the faith?”

“Don’t be glib,” she said. “I’m old school. When I was growing up, one didn’t even contemplate a date outside the faith. Of course, attending an all girls’ Catholic school pretty much ensured that. Besides, I wasn’t an ordinary Catholic. I was, for a short time, a novitiate.”

“Well, now.” He grinned.

“Well, now, what?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Very devout, are you? Then it turns out we have more in common than we have at odds.” He grinned. “I, for one, am glad that didn’t work out, but it certainly explains how you can seem so sophisticated on one hand and so old-fashioned on the other. Want to think about that invitation a while longer?”

She sighed deeply. “I like to spend whatever afternoons and evenings I can with my newly found granddaughter. Obviously I can’t spend every evening with her. That gets in the way of my son having quality time with Rosie and her mother. But—”

“Ah. But you like to keep evenings open for her. Understandable. How about a nice, leisurely lunch? How does that sound?”

“Lunch shouldn’t be out of the question,” she said, surprising herself.

“Bravo! Tomorrow?”

“What about your work on this house?”

“I imagine I’ll be spending plenty of time on this old house,” George said. “I’m planning to stay through Thanksgiving. And, besides, a man has to be well-rounded. All work and no play is no good, you know.”

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Now, may I at least call you Maureen? Or do I have to continue with this Mrs. Riordan business forever? It makes it seem like I’m trying to get a date with a married woman!”

She laughed in spite of herself. “My sons are going to be flabbergasted.”

“Why?”

“You might as well know the truth. I haven’t been out with a man since my husband died. And, in fact, I hadn’t been out with many before I met him.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all, Maureen. I haven’t run into a woman as difficult to get a date with as you. We’re going to have a good time, you and me.” And then he smiled at her.

Maureen had no idea how many people George Davenport told that they were having lunch together, but she saw no need to mention it to anyone. She told herself she wasn’t keeping a secret, just not making an issue. The real truth was that she couldn’t bear to answer any questions—before or after the lunch. She was nervous, excited, a little frightened, afraid of disappointment…and even more afraid of not being disappointed. All morning while she tidied up Vivian’s small house and got ready for George to pick her up, her stomach was in flutters and she went over possible scenarios in her mind. What if he came on too strong? Or made a pass? Or tried to kiss her? Or worse—what if it turned out he was a terrible bore and she never wanted to see him again, for lunch or anything else?