LITMIR.BIZ

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this without a raincoat. Come inside, there’s something else I want you to do.”

      Micah Davidson stepped down and handed the hammer to Laurel. He shouldered the ladder and set it on the porch, then picked up his umbrella and joined her. His humor at the situation was tempered by the fact that he was drenched.

      “Ma’am,” he said, “let me introduce myself—”

      “This way,” Laurel said, and motioned imperiously. He followed her into the broad entryway of the palatial mansion. She untied the hood, shrugged out of her raincoat and hung it on the rack by the door.

      Micah’s eyes widened appreciably. The woman’s red hair, with tints of reddish gold, clung to her head in short curls. She had alabaster skin and a petite body, giving her an appearance of fragile beauty. Judging by the way she’d been bossing him around, she certainly wasn’t frail. Her green eyes flashed like neon lights when she was angry, and he thought humorously that, with her red hair and green eyes, her head would make a good Christmas tree ornament. He still had no idea who she was.

      Laurel placed her right foot on the bottom step of the curved, hanging stairway in the central hall. The board wiggled back and forth beneath her sturdy white shoes.

      “That board hasn’t been nailed down, and it’s an accident waiting to happen. My daughter tripped on it last week.”

      Micah’s lips twitched as he said, “I’ll have to borrow your hammer again. And maybe a nail or two.”

      “Just a minute!” Laurel said, suspicion dawning in her mind. “Why’d you come to work without any tools? Aren’t you from Bowman’s Contractors?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      Because of a sudden flash of embarrassment, Laurel’s temper flared again, and she said, “Why didn’t you say so?”

      “I tried to, ma’am.”

      “Oh, stop calling me ma’am. My name is Laurel Cooper. Who are you anyway?”

      “Micah Davidson.”

      “What’s your business here?”

      He reached into his damp pants pocket, pulled out a leather case and handed her a business card.

      “Micah Davidson—Photojournalist,” she read in a subdued voice. Laurel turned away from him and covered her face with both hands. He sensed she was close to tears.

      “My miserable temper is always getting me into trouble,” she confessed in a muffled voice. “I’m so humiliated. Please go away, Mr. Davidson, and save me further embarrassment.” She turned toward him with downcast eyes peeking out over her hands. “Although I suppose I should be polite enough to ask what brought you to Oaklawn.”

      “I noticed a sign along the highway indicating you have apartments for rent. I have an assignment in this area and I need a place to live for a few weeks.”

      Still refusing to meet his eyes, she stared at the floor. “Would you like to come back later when you have dry clothing? I’m sure you must be miserable.”

      “My luggage is in the car. If I can rent one of your apartments, I’ll have a place to change my clothes. Do you have anything available?”

      “I have a vacant upstairs apartment. The central part of the house was built in 1830, but a two-story ell was added around 1900. I had that wing converted into four apartments when I inherited this house two years ago. They’re modern and quite comfortable. Come with me, and I’ll let you see the rooms. Most of my renters are students at nearby Walden College and are on summer break now. I hold their rooms for them through the summer at a reduced rate.”

      Laurel motioned him to follow her through the rear door into a large flower garden, bordered by a white wooden fence. The thunderstorm had passed, leaving a moist, fragrant scent to the newly mowed grass. Drops of moisture decorated dozens of rosebushes, enhancing the sweet aroma of the flowering buds. An industrious robin pulled a fat worm from the damp ground and hopped across the wet grass to feed her fledgling off-spring. Micah surveyed his surroundings with pleasure. For years he’d rambled around the world with no place to call home. Why did he now experience the comfortable peace of belonging?

      “I’m on assignment to photograph and write an article on antebellum homes in Tennessee and Kentucky,” Micah explained, “and Oaklawn is one of the houses on my list. I hope you’ll let me feature your home in my article.”

      Laurel slanted a glance his way. His deep voice contained a pleasant hint of huskiness. “That would be wonderful! This house has been in my husband’s family for generations. I’m often overwhelmed by its vastness, but it’s my daughter’s heritage, and I’m trying to maintain it for her.”

      Micah discreetly glanced at Laurel’s hands. Seeing no wedding band, he decided she must be a widow, or she wouldn’t have been the one to inherit the home.

      Laurel opened the door into a two-room apartment with a small kitchenette. “It’s warm in here now, but there’s a window air conditioner,” she explained. “A senior at the college moved out of the apartment when she graduated last week. It’s been thoroughly cleaned since then, so it’s ready for occupancy if it suits you.”

      Micah had noted the rent rate posted on the door, and he said, “Exactly what I need. I’ve already finished my research on Kentucky’s houses and I want to make my headquarters at one location in Tennessee while I travel to the various homes I’m researching. I’ll move in now, if that’s all right.”

      “Yes, that’s fine with me.” She turned on the air conditioner and showed him where extra towels and linens could be found. With her hand on the doorknob, Laurel looked directly into his eyes, the first time she’d had the courage to do so since she’d learned what a terrible mistake she’d made.

      “I apologize for my behavior. I’ve always had a quick temper, and just when I think I have it under control, I act like a shrew. Oaklawn is more than I can handle physically and financially, but my daughter, Debbie, wants to be married here in August. I thought the place should be renovated for that, but the expense has been more than I’d expected. When I worry about my finances, I get irritable. I’m sorry.”

      Realizing that she was boring this man with her personal problems, she turned away. He’d come to rent an apartment, and she’d not only bawled him out for something that wasn’t his fault, but now she was complaining about her financial affairs. She closed the door and left without another word.

      Micah had seen the quick rush of tears that glazed Laurel’s emerald eyes, and his heart reacted strangely. At first he’d been amused at her caustic comments, but now he felt sorry for her. While he’d been researching other homes, he had met numerous widows who lived in houses that were burdensome, but homes they felt obliged to retain for their children.

      While Micah carried his luggage into the apartment, he looked more closely at the large redbrick house, understanding Laurel’s frustration. Judging from other homes of this period, he figured the main structure contained eight rooms or more. If he was responsible for a house like Oaklawn, he’d be short-tempered, too.

      Debbie had been away for ten days visiting her fiancé’s family in Colorado, but Laurel expected her home for dinner. Conscious of the fact that she’d only have her daughter for a few more months, Laurel prepared some of Debbie’s favorite foods for a homecoming dinner.

      Laurel had just shaped a pan of rolls and set them aside to rise, when she heard Debbie’s voice on the back porch. “Hey, Mom. I’m home. Where are you?”

      “In the kitchen.”

      It had been this way since Debbie had started kindergarten—she always called for her mother as soon as she entered the house. Debbie swept into the kitchen and hugged Laurel. She picked up a carrot from the tray of vegetables Laurel was preparing.

      Tears formed in Laurel’s eyes, and she looked away to keep Debbie from seeing. She liked Debbie’s boyfriend, Dereck, and she wanted

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