a sudden empathy that startled and disturbed her. Laura didnât want to feel for anyone but her daughter. She had far too much responsibility in her life right now to leave room for a handsome firefighter.
Luckily he didnât seem to expect an answer from her. Ryan touched her arm lightly, and she felt the warmth of that touch right through the fabric of her sweater.
âHey, Iâll work out my problems. But thanks for listening. Iâll be glad to return the favor anytime.â
She managed to smile, to nod. Ryan meant well, but she didnât have any intention of sharing her inner thoughts with anyone, least of all him. Heâd come too far into her life already.
has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels sheâs found her home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When sheâs not writing, sheâs probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.
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âI suppose youâd better come in.â
Laura McKay had a feeling that sounded ungracious. She tried to make amends by forcing a smile as she stood back to let the uniformed firefighter step into the foyer of her brick townhouse.
The man glanced through the archway to the bare, dusty area she hoped would eventually be a ground-floor shop. Searching for something to find unsafe, no doubt.
âSorry to bother you.â He consulted the clipboard he carried. âMs. McKay, is it? Iâm Ryan Flanagan, from the Suffolk Fire Department.â
He didnât recognize her, then. Funny, because sheâd known Ryan Flanagan from the moment she opened the door.
Ryan hadnât changed all that much from the tall, handsome football hero heâd been in high school. One of the popular Flanagan brothers, with those deep-blue eyes and that cleft in his strong chin, heâd had every girl at Suffolk High School longing to be the recipient of one of his teasing smiles, including her.
Well, that was a long time ago. It didnât matter that he hadnât remembered the shy underclassman who had admired him from afar.
âI donât understand why youâre here.â She glanced up the stairs of the three-story townhouse, longing to get back to the work sheâd set herself for the day. âI have all the necessary permits for the renovation, and the building has already been inspected by your department.â
He shrugged, smiling. The smile was, unfortunately, just as devastating as it had been in high school.
âJust one of those necessary things, Iâm afraid. Someone called the department with a complaint, so weâre obligated to check it out.â
âSomeone complained about me?â That jerked her mind away from the wallpaper sheâd been removing.
âWho?â
âAnonymous.â He shrugged again. âIt happens. If youâll just let me take a walk-through and check things out, Iâll get out of your hair.â
He glanced at her head as he spoke, and she put up her hand to discover that the bandanna sheâd tied on to protect her wiry mane was thoroughly covered with plaster dust. She swatted at it uselessly and then pulled the thing off. What difference did it make what she looked like, anyway? The important thing was to get back to work.
Her nerves tightened in a way that had become too familiar lately. Time was running out, and she had to finish the job. If she didnâtâ
Well, if didnât bear thinking about.
So the sooner she got rid of Ryan Flanagan the better. She waved a hand toward the staircase. âWe might as well begin at the top. Thatâs where Iâve been working today.â
She started up the wooden stairwell, not touching the gritty railing. The wood was mahogany under all that dirt, and eventually it would shine. The whole place would.
His footsteps sounded behind her. âYouâre actually rehabbing this place yourself?â
âWhatâs wrong with that?â She sounded tart, she supposed, but sheâd heard that incredulous tone from enough people since sheâd started this job.
âNothing, I guess. But this place has been deteriorating for so long I figured eventually it would be torn down. Or fall down.â
Laura touched the intricate molding sheâd uncovered when sheâd renovated the second-floor landing. She loved the smooth, aged feel of it under her fingers, loved knowing sheâd uncovered its beauty.