Sitting in one of the two seats he had to offer, Jenna gave him a cute smirk as she took the glass he handed her. “I’m guessing some of those friends were girls in bikinis and cutoff shorts.”
“A few,” he acknowledged with a grin of his own. “We were the Barrett boys, after all.”
“I’m well aware of your killer reputation.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glanced around the kitchen. “So what are your plans for this room?”
Torn back to the studs, it wasn’t much to look at right now, and he appreciated her not mentioning it. “Once I get the framing done, there’s some scrap oak at the mill I can use to make bead board like the kind that used to be in here before the termites shredded it. It’ll take a while, but I want to keep things as original as I can.”
“Because that’s how it was when your grandfather grew up here.”
That she’d picked up on that detail absolutely floored him, and he stared over at her in disbelief. Apparently, she understood his response because she explained, “When Paul and Jason were rehabbing the mill so they could reopen your family’s furniture business, they said that kind of thing a lot. Your brothers put in a ton of work, but they never complained because it was all for Will.”
Again, the stab of guilt hit Scott hard, and he did his best to roll with the unwelcome sensation. In an effort to stall long enough to regain his composure, he spun the other chair around to straddle it and faced her across the table. He swallowed some of his tea and rested his arms over the back of the chair, rolling his glass back and forth between his hands.
“I wish I could’ve been here. Y’know, to say goodbye.” When it occurred to him he’d just confessed his deepest pain to a stranger, he growled, “You’re way too easy to talk to.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. It must be the overalls.”
The sound of his own laughter surprised him. Far from the cynical snort he’d adopted, it had a lighthearted quality that appealed to him. Beyond the pleasant sound of it, he marveled at how quickly she’d found a way to make him want to laugh again. It had been a long time since he’d had a reason to do it, and he had to admit it felt good. “Must be. Well, that and you ask a lotta questions.”
“Creative people are curious by nature,” she informed him with another smirk. “It comes with the territory when you hang out with me.”
Translation: this is who I am, take it or leave it. He admired her sassy attitude more than he could say, and he couldn’t imagine any grown man with a pulse choosing anything other than to accept this bright, engaging woman just the way she was. “Thanks for the warning. Ready for a refill?”
“Actually, what I’d really like is to see the chapel.” She tilted her head in the questioning pose that seemed to be part of her personality. “Do you have time to show it to me?”
He had nothing but time these days, and he couldn’t think of anything he’d like half as much as spending some more of it with the perky artist he’d stumbled across in the cemetery. Since it didn’t seem wise to tell her that, he set his glass on the table and stood. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”
“Sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem on first glance.” Meeting his eyes with her direct, unflinching gaze, she smiled. “I prefer to see for myself and make up my own mind.”
He sensed she was referring to more than decrepit old buildings, and an odd sensation fanned through his chest. Since he’d never experienced it before, he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant. As Jenna walked past him, something coaxed him to fall in behind her, eager as an old hound dying for some attention from her.
Pathetic, he admitted with a sigh, but true. The problem was, the last time he’d let a woman lead him around, she’d landed him in the worst mess of his life. That betrayal had taught him that trusting his heart was foolish, at best. So while he might enjoy Jenna’s bubbly company, for the sake of his sanity that was as far as he could allow a friendship with her to go.
Logical by nature, he knew his stern resolution to keep things light should have eased his concerns. Instead, he had the sinking feeling that choosing to follow the safe route with Jenna would cost him the chance at something amazing.
* * *
Quite simply, the sight of that forgotten church broke Jenna’s heart.
Without maintenance, the clapboards had rotted and fallen away in many spots, and those that remained were a pale dried-out gray. It struck her as being the color of surrender, and it had absolutely no business being on God’s house. The steps weren’t good for anything but kindling, and what was left of the roof looked ready to collapse at the slightest hint of a breeze.
“It’s looked better,” Scott commented wryly, bracing his hands on either side of the door frame to haul himself up to the gaping front entrance. “I found the front doors, but they’re toast. They have a nice arch to them, though, and I’ll build new ones to fit after I get the roof squared away.”
Offering her a hand, he helped her climb up into the entryway. Once inside the single room, she stood there for a few moments to let her eyes take it all in. She’d anticipated a complete disaster and was pleasantly surprised to see that while it was in deplorable condition, the small church had been swept clean of debris. Here and there, she noticed a fresh beam or piece of lumber shoring up the weaker sections.
Some people might have considered them a futile attempt to halt the decay, but to her eyes they looked hopeful. The way Scott did right now, she added with a little smile. She got the feeling he wanted her to approve of what he’d accomplished so far, and she was more than happy to oblige him. “You’ve been busy in here. I can already imagine how it’ll look when you’re done.”
“Really?” The eagerness seemed out of character for him, and he quickly reverted to the more casual indifference she’d picked up on earlier. “You’re the first one besides me to see it this way. I figured you’d say something polite and leave it at that.”
She was about to respond when a glint of something at the front of the church caught her artist’s eye. Moving carefully around the holes in the floor, she walked toward a section of wall sporting a faded painting of Jesus and some of his followers on a wood panel. It was classic Americana, more cute than beautiful, but it was the raised nature of the panel that had her curiosity humming.
Scott sauntered up behind her, and she asked, “Did you notice this up here?”
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “Why?”
“Not the painting,” she clarified, nudging the frame away from the wall to reveal a shard of something that looked suspiciously like red glass. “This.”
“There’s no opening on the outside, so I didn’t even know it was there. Hang on a sec.”
He hurried over to a battered toolbox, and she couldn’t help noticing that while it looked ancient, every tool was laid precisely in its place. It reminded her of her mammoth selection of paints, all arranged in order up the spectrum, and the paintbrushes of various styles she kept beside them. It seemed she and this handsome hermit both treated their tools like precious gems. Interesting.
Using a metal pry bar, he worked his way around the bottom half of the frame, then climbed on a ladder to do the top. When there were only a few points still attached, from his perch he instructed, “You hold the bottom, I’ll steady it up here so we don’t damage anything. Ready?”
Grasping the bottom near the corners, Jenna braced herself for the weight. “Ready.”
Once they’d lowered it to the floor, she stepped back for a look at what they’d uncovered. She thought her jaw might have actually hit the floor, but she couldn’t help herself.
Scott let out a low whistle. “That’s