A smile softened Brandon’s stern expression. Clearly he had a soft spot for Ma too. Most people did.
He bent obediently and gave her the required hug. “Please call me Brandon. Mister is a bit formal for friends, don’t you think?”
Ma laughed as she patted him on the back. “I’ll try. I hope you visit here often.” She winked at Anna. “Though I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to chat with my Anna while she cleans your house.”
Anna stared at her mother. “You’ll be there too.”
“Now, I don’t see why that’s necessary. Mr. Brandon is a gentleman.”
So, that was it. Ma was matchmaking. Had her mother seen how close he’d come to kissing her? Heat rose into her cheeks, and Brandon couldn’t possibly mistake the redness for anything but a blush.
His stiff response left no doubt how he felt. “I’ll be busy with the bookstore. I’ll leave the house early and return late.” His glance flitted past her. “I suggest you finish your work by six o’clock. Set breakfast in the dining room. Supper can be left in the warming oven.” His tone made it perfectly clear that he saw her as his housekeeper and nothing more.
Then what had happened in the closet? Or had she been the only one to feel it? Apparently so. It was the same old story. She always fell for the wrong man, and she’d done it again.
Brandon donned his coat and hat. “You may start tomorrow, Miss Simmons.”
Anna nodded curtly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Landers.”
She’d never again make the mistake of liking him.
* * *
Brandon should never have brought Anna to the carriage house. She smelled of cinnamon, sweet yet sharp. Try as he might, he couldn’t get that scent out of his mind. That little episode in the closet washroom had only confirmed what he already knew.
He was attracted to her.
Add the very real complication that he’d also hired her to clean his house, and he’d have to work hard to avoid her.
He opened the door to the Cadillac and settled behind the wheel. The solution was clear. Hard labor would erase this ridiculous emotion, and he did have plenty of work to do. The storefront needed an overhaul before he could sell one book.
He put the automobile in gear and pulled away from the source of discomfort. A few hours in the shop would cast away this confusion.
Early to work and late returning home. If he kept to that schedule, their paths would seldom cross.
With a smile of satisfaction, he parked in front of his shop. First order of business would be finding a carpenter. He got out of the car and crossed the boardwalk to the front door. With a turn of the key and a push of the latch, the door opened.
The room looked no better today, but in the soft morning light, he could envision shelves of books and a sales counter of polished oak.
A carpenter could make that happen. Unfortunately, the man who’d outfitted the carriage-house apartment didn’t work with wood. He’d suggested a Mr. Lyle Hammond, who might be coaxed out of retirement at the right price. Unfortunately, money was the one thing Brandon lacked. He needed an inexpensive carpenter, such as a youth.
That pastor had said he could pass the word. No one knew a town’s inhabitants more than a minister. Maybe Brandon would take the man up on his offer—as long as the pastor steered clear of anyone named Simmons.
Brandon glanced across the street at the cheery little church. Its oak door and railing had been festooned with evergreens and bright red ribbons that fluttered in the icy breeze. No pretentious stained glass graced the front. Instead, an ordinary window looked out on the street. Brandon liked that homey feeling. A church that didn’t put on airs matched the minister who walked through town in a mackinaw coat. If Brandon wasn’t on such bad terms with God, he might be tempted to try the service one Sunday.
As if on cue, the easygoing pastor exited the church and headed directly across the street toward him. The man whistled, hands in pockets, until a Model T passed. Then he waved to the driver, calling out a cheery greeting. With a skip, he hopped up onto the boardwalk and strode toward Brandon’s shop. After another wave at a passerby, he bounded inside.
“Good morning,” Pastor Gabe said as he closed the door. “What a gorgeous day. Perfect for moving.”
Brandon stared. Did the man know everything that happened in this town?
“I wanted to thank you in person,” the pastor continued. “Ma Simmons is delighted that they can stay in your carriage house. She went on and on about how perfect it was.”
“Ma?” Brandon had to ask. “Are you married to one of her daughters?”
Gabe chuckled. “Anna’s her only daughter, but in a roundabout way I am related to Mrs. Simmons. My sister married her son Hendrick. We’re all one extended family. In fact, we offered the guest bedroom at the parsonage and my sister offered a room at the orphanage, but Ma insisted the Lord wanted them to live at your carriage house. She couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. That’s the way Ma is. Once she sets her mind on something, no one can talk her out of it.”
Brandon’s head spun. Sisters and brothers, parsonage and orphanage. It all muddled together. “How many family members are there?”
Gabe laughed. “I can see how confusing it would be. Why don’t you join us for dinner after Sunday worship? Then you can meet the whole clan.”
After worship? God wouldn’t want him in His house, not after what Brandon had done. “I’m busy.”
“Heading home for Christmas?”
Though agreeing would end the conversation, Brandon couldn’t lie. “This is home.” At least it was now.
“Then your family is coming here. Please, invite them too. The more the merrier.” The pastor chuckled and added as an afterthought, “Though I suppose I should give my wife, Felicity, an idea how many to expect.”
“I doubt my brother will visit.”
The minister’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “But Sunday is Christmas Eve. Surely you’ll get together for Christmas.”
The little hole in Brandon’s heart that had started to open when Gabe first mentioned family now expanded into a painful gap. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas since the war.”
His leg had begun to ache after so much standing, and he shifted to place more of his weight on the cane. Though Brandon thought he’d moved discreetly, the pastor noticed.
“Then I insist you join us. We would be honored to include a war hero at our table.”
Brandon’s composure wavered for a second before he regained control. The pastor didn’t know what had happened, and Brandon intended to keep it that way. “Thank you, no. I prefer to dine at home.”
After a moment of surprise, the pastor nodded. “Too bad. Ma Simmons will be disappointed. She talks of you constantly, like you’re family. And we could use help getting her into the house.”
That did not make sense. By Brandon’s count, at least two able-bodied men would be in attendance. “Isn’t her son coming?”
“Yes, but the parsonage has a lot of steps to climb. Many hands make light work. Won’t you reconsider?”
Brandon knew when he was being cajoled. Brutal honesty was the only way out. “I don’t attend church services.”
Pastor Gabe didn’t even flinch, as if he knew that Brandon had strayed from the straight and narrow. “Church attendance isn’t required, though you’re always welcome. We’re a family, sharing our joys and troubles, and our arms are always open. Come to worship