After spending almost an entire evening with Dalton, she still wasn’t sure what to think of him. She guessed he liked it that way. She also guessed that, given the number of women who had been looking at him, Dalton wouldn’t be alone at the party for too long.
The thought brought on bitter feelings she knew had nothing to do with Dalton. She hardly knew him; she wanted no claim on him. It was safer that way.
You know more about Mark Rivers after ten minutes than you ever will about Dalton Gainer.
She wrestled with that thought most of the drive home.
Saturday morning, Dad sent Mark to the hardware store. They were short a light fixture for the new building. They were about done with it, and just in time. Snow was in the forecast, and Mark’s hand didn’t work so great in the bitter cold. He grabbed his coat.
“While you’re out, could you drop by Riley Madigan’s place and ask her if she could help me put a value on your mom’s things? I don’t know what I’m doing, and the insurance company is allowing us an expert’s appraisal for their approval. Maybe Miss Madigan is qualified for that.”
Mark’s stomach flopped. “Why don’t you just call her?”
His dad looked at him over his bifocals. “Because I think this is something that should be asked in person.”
“Then you ask her.”
“I’m not going out.” His dad licked his finger and turned the page of the ledger.
Mark turned around stiffly. “I’m getting my own place. Soon.”
“Good.” His dad chuckled behind him. “I could use some peace and quiet.”
Mark growled and shut the door.
After getting the light at the hardware store, Mark picked up some groceries at the IGA. He considered stopping at the auto shop as well, but finally caved, turned up Riley’s street, and parked in front of her house. She stood in her living room, framed by her front window, arms reaching up, tongue sticking out sideways, trying to do something to the top of the window.
If she was busy, he wouldn’t have to stay long. Just ask what he came to ask and get outta there.
He opened the truck door and shut it. She glanced his way at the sound. Her eyes grew wide, and she toppled over, out of the window frame.
He ran to the front door and knocked. She shouted something, and he busted the door open—which might have been unnecessary because he hadn’t checked if it was locked first—and with his momentum, stumbled inside, nearly falling over a stepladder collapsed on the floor.
Riley was already standing up, brushing herself off, staring at him. “What are you doing?”
He rubbed his arm. “You yelled. You said you needed assistance.”
“I shouted ‘Give me a second.’ Who shouts, ‘Give me assistance?’”
She had a point. He looked at the door swinging on its hinges, the knob he’d grabbed still in his hand, and the other half nowhere to be seen.
She covered her mouth with both hands, surveying the damage. “Oh no,” she moaned. She walked past him and picked up an old glass knob from behind a green velvet couch in the middle of the room.
“I’m really sorry. I thought you were hurt.” He brought his half over and held it next to hers. The brass rod that connected both pieces was bent and shorn off at the base of his end.
“I think it’s dead,” she said. Then she giggled.
He grimaced, and she laughed outright. “Give me assistance!” she repeated in quiet mockery.
“Knock it off.”
“You’ve already done that.”
He took the pieces from her and walked back to the door. He fit them through the hole and eyed the piecing, the cold air from outside pushing its way in. “These old glass knobs really aren’t ideal for a front door.”
“So you’ve proven.”
He glared at her, but her smile only grew bigger. He shook his head, still feeling the heat of embarrassment in his face. “I’ll replace it. With something meant for an entry.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. I won’t be gone long.”
“Wait,” she said. “Right now? You’re just going to pick something?”
He fingered the door, needing to leave. “That’s usually how it’s done.”
“It has to match the style of the house.”
“You mean ‘old’? That didn’t work so well before.”
She folded her arms and looked up at him with a frown.
“Craftsman, right?” he offered.
Her brow lifted in surprise. “Craftsman cottage.”
“That’s the one.” He paused long enough to look at her with her hair all piled up messy on top of her head, a big sweatshirt nearly slipping off her shoulder, and faded jeans hinting at her curves. Her feet were bare. But her eyes—pale green and steady—held him still.
He realized he was staring and looked past her to the window she’d been working on. He frowned. “What were you trying to do?”
“I wasn’t trying to do anything. I was doing perfectly well until you startled me.”
“I was coming to your door like you suggested, instead of lurking in my truck.”
She glanced out the window to his truck, sitting smack in front of her house in broad daylight. “Well, you still startled me.”
“I get that a lot.”
Now she glared at him, and he was the one to smile.
She dropped the broken doorknob on the couch and walked to the window. She picked up what looked like a roll of Scotch tape, except that several yards had been dispensed and she was trying to roll it back up.
“You’re putting plastic on the windows,” he observed.
“Yes,” she said, wrestling the double-sided tape. “When I fell, this came with me. Tore off half of what I’ve done.”
He picked up the stepladder and repositioned it for her, then watched her for a minute as she struggled. “Do you want some help?”
She sighed and then chucked the roll across the room. It didn’t go far as one end was still attached to the top corner of the window. “I’ll just start over.” She looked above her and yanked
