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after all, and wasn’t that where it counted most? Surely she didn’t have to own Hope House to keep Gram’s memory alive.

      Chapter Four

      On the way past the mailbox, Will plucked the daily paper out of the cubby designated for the news. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring and opened the front door with a familiar hand. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was the owner of this house.

      But inside, the house fairly crackled with her grandmother’s personality. It felt even more so today without all the people milling about.

      Abigail Stanhope was colorful and her taste eclectic. There were original oils by American artists hung next to Catherine’s handprint from first grade and a collage of leaves she’d collected for a science class. Abigail had made sure their frames were every bit as elaborate and prominently displayed as the other paintings.

      Tearing up, Catherine turned quickly away only to run face-first into Will’s warm, broad chest. He smelled like fresh air and wood shavings, a surprisingly pleasant combination. His compelling brown eyes flecked with gold were kind, compassionate and questioning.

      “I’m so sorry.” She backed away from him, the stranger who, for some reason, didn’t feel like a stranger at all. “Thank you for bringing me home….” Even though it didn’t feel much like home without Gram present.

      At that moment the front door opened and Charley raced in. “I saw you from Mikey’s house. His mom said I could come over as long as you were here.” He slipped his hand into Will’s. “Is it okay, Uncle Will?”

      The expression of unadulterated love on Will’s face made Catherine’s own heart race. This, she thought, was how a child needed to be loved.

      “Sure, kiddo, but you have to find a way to entertain yourself while I show Ms. Stanhope what Abigail and I have been up to.”

      Will saw to it that Charley was ensconced with the box of toys Abigail kept there for him, then he beckoned her toward the stairs. “We started up here.”

      She followed him up the long curving arc of the stairs, curious to see what her grandmother had hatched with this guy. A little paint, probably, and some new light fixtures. It was unrealistic to hope he’d repaired the claw-footed cast-iron tub in the hallway bath. The porcelain had been chipped ever since she was a child…and those awful, sticking windows…

      When she got to the top of the stairs, Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. Jaw gaping, she stared at the chaotic mess before her.

      Two-by-fours lined one side of a hall partially blocked by a table saw. There was a black, gaping hole in the plaster at chest height, and that old monster of a claw-footed tub was sitting upside down in the hall like an upended turtle.

      “Watch your step. It’s a little crowded in here right now. As soon as the tub restorers come to pick it up, we’ll be able to maneuver better. I needed it out so I could tear up the bathroom floor.”

      She glanced, horrified, at the gaping hole in the hallway wall. “Tear it up? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

      “You have to make things worse to make them better,” he said cheerfully. “The wood is soft around the tub from a leak. I’m replumbing, too. Those pipes are showing their age. Remodeling and restoration are always a mess, but when the results are good, it’s worth it. Sometimes life works out that way, too, you know. You think you’re in a real mess and it turns out to be the best thing for you.”

      “If that’s the case, ‘better’ should be right around the corner for me,” Catherine muttered. She couldn’t imagine things getting much worse. She pointed at the maw in the wall. “What on earth have you done there?”

      He looked insulted that she’d had to ask. “I’m putting the dumbwaiter back where it belongs.”

      “What dumbwaiter?”

      “The one that was in the house originally and was likely removed before you were born. The pulleys are still in the wall. I’ve got the architects’ original blueprints and I’m restoring things to their previous condition.”

      Catherine looked around, stunned. “This will take forever to put back together!”

      “Abigail gave me as much time as I needed to finish this. I figure a couple years, at least. That’s how long the lease runs on the guesthouse, too. We planned it that way.”

      Catherine sat down on an overturned bucket. A splash of cold reality hit her. What had Gram been thinking, committing to him and to this project for that long? She hadn’t been thinking about dying, that was for sure.

      But things had changed radically. Catherine didn’t want to be the bad guy, that was the very thing she’d thought she’d left behind with her career as an attorney. But she didn’t need this monster of a house once she decided how to move on with her life. Unfortunately, if she decided not to keep the house, it meant that she would have to fire Will Tanner and break the lease on the guesthouse.

      But for now it was a moot question. This place couldn’t be sold now anyway, not in this condition. Any potential buyer would run screaming in the other direction the way the house’s second floor looked. She gazed at the wreckage. Will needed to put this house back together ASAP. It had to be done before she could move on with her life. That meant the sooner the better.

      Obviously Catherine and Abigail hadn’t discussed the house much at all, Will thought. And from the look of it, the house was much more Abigail’s passion than her granddaughter’s. Still, Catherine looked as if she’d been slapped with a paintbrush when she’d seen the hall. And she’d never even heard about the dumbwaiter. Maybe that was a conversation Abigail had saved for him. They’d certainly spent enough hours talking about the house and their other favorite topics—God, faith and salvation.

      Abigail had been the one to introduce him to Christ. She’d said He was her best friend and would be his, too. Will was in need of a friend right then, with his sister dying, Charley wandering around like a lost waif and his own brother and sister-in-law questioning his ability to raise the boy.

      Faith was what had ultimately gotten him through Annie’s passing. Better yet, before she died, Annie had accepted Christ as her Savior, as well. The peace of knowing that was enormous for Will. It hadn’t been easy, her dying, but at least he knew they’d meet again. And she’d be free of the addiction that had haunted her.

      Until he’d met Abigail, he’d known little about Christianity except what he’d read on signs outside of churches. Now it was alive to him and it had breathed new life into his soul. He couldn’t believe the blessing sometimes. Will felt humbled and grateful every day for his heavenly inheritance—and for Abigail, who’d pointed him in the right direction.

      Then he glanced at Catherine. She was looking small and vulnerable in the wide, high-ceilinged hall. From the moment he’d met her he’d felt a little off-kilter.

      She certainly wasn’t Abigail. She was considerably more reserved, almost cool, and didn’t seem nearly as impressed as he’d hoped with the work they’d done. Some sort of affirmation would be nice—or was it reassurance he wanted? Now that Charley had come to live with him, he was determined to provide the child with the home he’d been missing. Will wanted nothing more than to put down roots for a few years in the guesthouse. This sad but beautiful woman held the reins now. Could he trust her to do the right thing? He didn’t want to believe she’d stand in his way or suggest he leave the guest cottage… Surely not!

      “I also tore out part of the wall in this bedroom,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything.

      Catherine poked her nose into the wrecked and dusty space. “Why on earth would you tear out the wall of my bedroom?” The furniture was covered with tarps.

      “Originally this was the master bedroom.” Will stepped into the room and began gesticulating with his hands. “Back in those days, however, the master suite was often made up

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