The Single Dad's Redemption (4 page)

* * *

With rain falling yet again, starting a campfire was hopeless. Connor grabbed his shaving kit, a towel and change of clothes, and headed for the two-sided, concrete-block pavilion that offered shade and shelter for a dozen picnic tables, with restrooms and shower facilities in the attached building behind.

He settled on one of the picnic tables under the dim illumination of a hanging lightbulb and pulled out an old Lee Child novel from his kit. But his thoughts kept wandering and he finally tossed the book aside to stare out at the rain as his memories flooded back.

Josh in his fuzzy purple pajamas, laughing as he raced around the house to avoid story time because that meant bedtime. Making motor noises as he played with his tractors, pretending he was plowing the carpet.

The fresh, clean scent of him after bath time, his cheeks rosy and his dark, wet hair standing up in spikes that made him imagine he was a dinosaur.

He’d been four then; would he remember any of those days? Anything at all? Or would he be frightened when he saw Connor again for the first time in years?
If I can get you back, you’re going to have a safe,
happy life, little cowboy—I promise you that.

The boy’s life sure hadn’t started that way.

The marriage had been troubled from the beginning, starting with the cute buckle bunny who’d swept Connor off his feet. He had never regretted Joshua’s arrival—not for a second. But the shotgun marriage was something he and Marsha had both come to regret.

They’d been just twenty-one. He’d had to follow the rodeo circuit, while she’d resented being trapped at home with an unplanned baby. Their initial mutual infatuation had quickly dimmed.

But Connor hadn’t wanted a divorce. He’d prayed that he and Marsha could find some calm middle ground—maybe even come to love each other—to give their child a stable, peaceful home.

Just more prayers that God hadn’t seen fit to answer.

During his last year in prison, he’d tried attending Bible study for a while, needing something—
anything
—that could give him answers and a sense of peace about his past in the midst of the desolation he’d felt over his incarceration. He hadn’t found the answers he’d wanted.

Hard-hearted, just like your dad.

The words came out of nowhere—as loud and clear as if the accusation had been spoken inside his head.

And with them came an onslaught of bitter memories.

Chris and Dan had been the hardworking sons, the ones who’d managed to get along with Dad, while Connor had been the rebel who’d bucked authority and refused to bend.

His teen years had been pure misery...except for competing in high-school rodeo. That had been the ticket to send Connor off on the college circuit...then into the pros after graduation.

Dad had been furious, but rodeo was Connor’s life. All he’d ever wanted to do, and he’d never looked back.

Dad’s disgust when Connor had called home to tell him about the baby and his sudden marriage had sealed the deal. There’d been no more phone calls from anyone at the ranch after that. Josh had never even met his uncles and grandfather.

What kind of man showed no interest in his grandson? He hadn’t even bothered to show up at Connor’s murder trial a few states away, either. As far as Connor knew, no one at the ranch had ever checked on the outcome...and Connor had been too proud to write.

Even as his old anger and hurt started to simmer, that same inner voice told Connor exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

It’s not only Dad’s fault. A bigger man would go back and apologize for the pain he’d caused.

Connor turned his cell phone over in his hand, wondering what he’d hear if he called the ranch after all these years.

Probably just the old man slamming the receiver down once more.

Why give him that chance?

Connor shoved his cell into the back pocket of his jeans and headed for the camp shower building...though his inner voice refused to stay quiet.

But what about Josh—doesn’t he deserve to know his grandpa? His uncles? If you wait too long, someday it will be too late.

* * *

A mile out of town Keeley turned off the highway onto the long gravel road leading to the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. She pulled to a stop by the concrete-block picnic pavilion overlooking the creek and surveyed the nearly deserted campsites.

Two pop-up camping trailers were barely visible through the trees. A 1970s motor home stood parked at the far end of the central clearing with no sign of any inhabitants. There were no tents, and no wonder, with the heavy storms that had been sweeping through the county since last night. Even now, raindrops were pattering on the roof of her car and a distant flash of lightning pierced the dense forest to the west.

This was a lovely campground—typical for this part of Wisconsin—but anyone with common sense would opt out of tent camping during weather like this.

She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. Had Connor chosen a more isolated spot somewhere else in the heavily wooded, hundred-acre park? If so, the possibility of finding him was almost nil now that ominous clouds hid the early evening sun, turning the landscape to deepening shades of gray.

Shifting her car into Drive, she started forward. Then slammed on the brakes.

She felt a little shiver of awareness even before Connor rounded the back of the building wearing a long, cowboy-style oilskin raincoat, a towel flung over his shoulder and a shaving kit dangling from his fingertips. The overhead security lights gave her a good glimpse of his face before he turned and sauntered toward the campsites along the creek. He didn’t glance in her direction.

Her heart gave an extra thud—yet again—and she inhaled a shaky breath.
Oh, my.

Now he was clean-shaven, his wet hair slicked back. But it wasn’t just that he looked like some broad-shouldered, hard-edged heartthrob—she’d learned her lesson long ago about how little a handsome face mattered over the long haul. It was something far deeper that drew her.

The pain and sorrow she’d seen in his eyes.

His stubborn honesty about his past.

And the way he’d come to her rescue like some cowboy in an old Western movie, by circling her waist with his strong, capable hands and helping her off the roof...then breaking the awkward moment afterward with a disarming flash of humor.

She saw him moving at a faster clip toward the pines along the creek bank, and if she didn’t gather her thoughts, she was going to lose him.

She rolled down her window. “Hey, cowboy!”

He turned in surprise and waited as she drove up beside him.

“Nice night for camping,” she said with a smile.

“As long as the wind stays down.” A corner of his mouth kicked up as he glanced toward the black, roiling clouds rapidly building over the treetops to the west. “What brings you way out here?”

“I think you know,” she said dryly.

He studied her for a long moment then sighed. “You checked out my story.”

She nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “I have an old friend at the sheriff’s office, and he got right on it.”

Connor stilled. “And?”

“I really do need help now. When the college kids come back for summer break, I can probably hire one of them for the tourist season, but—”

“All right.”

“Though that’s six weeks away and by then you’ll be long gone anyway, so—” She faltered to a stop and stared at him.
“
Wait a minute. You’ll do it?”

“You were right. I could use the cash, so if you need help, I’m game.” He gave the sky another glance. “If this weather keeps up, I might need to pay for a place to stay that actually has a roof.”

Relief washed through her. “I open at ten on Saturdays, so can you come in tomorrow—say, nine o’clock? I could pick you up.”

“No need.” The soft rain intensified and he pulled up the hood of his coat. “I just hope you don’t come to regret this. You might if folks find out about who you just hired.”

Chapter Four

“S
o as you can see, this cash register is really easy.” Keeley gave the drawer a firm shove to close it. “Any questions?”

“Nope.” But the store, with its thousands of frilly, sparkly, dangly things everywhere and the multitude of stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, made him want to go rope a steer. Bale hay.
Anything
that would be outside and far from town, where a man could drag in a deep breath and not inhale the scents of soaps and fancy creams and a forest of dried flower arrangements.

Why anyone would want a bunch of dead flowers instead of fresh ones, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I can tell you’re really loving this,” she said dryly. “So let’s get on with the tour, okay?”

He nodded and followed her into the storeroom, where deep shelving lined each wall from floor to ceiling. A worktable held a coffeemaker, gift wrap and a pile of shipping supplies. “I don’t suppose you’ve done much gift wrapping and shipping.”

“Nope.” He thought back over the difficult four years of his marriage. He’d hung in there, trying to make his son’s life normal and happy, but there hadn’t been much to celebrate with a wife who’d often met her girlfriends in bars, drank too much and didn’t always come home.

“Wrapping is easy.” She collected two gift boxes from the shelf over the table and pulled two lengths of bright pink paper from one of the rollers, then handed him a tape dispenser and scissors. “Just copy what I do, step by step.”

She led him through the process three times before she was satisfied, then showed him how to affix a Keeley’s Antiques & Gifts sticker and a bow on the top. “Easy, right?”

Bows and sparkly pink wrapping paper. What would his brothers think of him now? He thought longingly about
stacking
hay. Cleaning horse stalls. Wrestling calves for branding. “Uh...right.”

No wonder she’d seemed hesitant—even wary—when she’d first offered him a job. Desperate as she was to find help, even she must have seen that he wouldn’t be good at this.

“The shipping boxes are all stacked flat, but are super easy to make up.” She reached for one on an upper shelf and whipped it together in the blink of an eye. “You can use crumpled paper or the little air-filled cushioning pillows—in that box over there. No foam packing peanuts. I
hate
those peanuts.”

“What about sweeping around here? Mowing—and those maintenance projects you mentioned? I’d be better at that.”

“Yes, but you aren’t getting off that easy.”

Her eyes twinkled. “If I need to leave to check on my dad or need to run to an estate auction, for instance, I’ll need you to handle things here. I’ve already got a boy who comes to sweep and such after school. You’ll meet Bobby on Monday.”

He caught a flash of movement above head level to his left and spun around, expecting to catch something falling from a shelf.

A scrawny white cat glared down at him, its back arched and tail raised. With a torn ear and one eye closed, it looked like a pirate fallen on bad times. Its superior expression suggested that it knew Connor wasn’t much better off.

“Rags,” Keeley murmured as she deftly finished preparing and sealing another shipping box. “Any questions?”

“Rags?”

“The cat.”

“It looks...” He was at a loss for words. Maybe it was her prized possession, but it was the homeliest creature he’d ever seen.

“Worse for wear?” She smiled up at the furry beast, then reached into a dorm-size refrigerator under the counter, grabbed a can of cat food and pulled back the tab on the lid. She set it on the workbench. “He showed up a few weeks ago and I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He’s never let me touch him, but I’m working on it. Once we’re friends, I’ll catch him and get him vaccinated and neutered.”

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Connor said dryly.

“Not his choice, given the feral-cat population around here.” She put the shipping materials away then turned to face Connor once more. “So—this is where my extra stock is. I’ve labeled the larger boxes clearly, and small items are in labeled plastic totes. If I’m not here and you have any questions, there’s a phone by the register and you can always call my cell.”

“I think I can handle it.”

She frowned. “Do you have a cell phone? In case I need to reach you?”

“Just a basic no-contract, prepaid phone I picked up in Montana. Text and calls, but no internet.”

“That works.” She reached for her back jeans’ pocket, took out her phone and punched in his number as he recited it to her, then gave him her number. “We’re all set, then.”

“You mentioned repairs.” He gestured toward a five-gallon pail strategically placed under a slowly dripping leak in the ceiling by the back wall. “Do you have a list?”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Sadly, more lists than I could keep track of. I finally had to start putting them all in a ring notebook along with a raft of estimates. Most of the jobs are big and will require more time than you’ll be here, or need to be done by someone licensed and bonded. I’ve got all that scheduled. But there are endless small jobs, believe me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Three years. I’ve already done quite a bit to this place, but the building is older than a lot of my antiques, and it was empty for several years before I bought it. The repairs and updates just don’t end—and now I have a ticking clock, as it were.”

He moved to the window facing the alley and ran a hand over the water damage on the sill. “A deadline?”

A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “I’ve 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.