Happily Ever After Read Online Free PDF Page B

Rip scuttled to a place by the door and ducked his eyes. Laughing, Joe kicked himself out of the pants,
     dug into the duffel, and found another pair, equally well worn.
    “On to breakfast,” he announced, pulling on a jean jacket. He’d spotted what could be a decent donut shop only a couple of
     blocks away. Rip’s tail swished the floor.
    Joe cracked open the door and squinted against the bright sun glinting off his truck and onto an empty, grass-lined, gravel
     parking lot. The wind skimmed the pine scent from nearby trees, and he inhaled deeply. The smell of a forest was nearly as
     effective as fresh-brewed coffee for an early morning jolt to the senses. He had to admit, Deep Haven wasn’t a terrible place
     to hole up while he wrestled with his past . . . or his future.
    Joe strode to his pickup, opened the door, and whistled. Rip shot toward him and leaped into the cab. Joe shut the door. “Stay
     put,” he ordered, then grinned. It was hard to be stern to a pair of candy eyes. He headed to the motel office.
    A thin clerk, with blond hair slowly giving over to white, greeted him. “Ya staying on?”
    Joe plunked down a wad of bills. “Not sure yet. Book me, anyway.”
    “You bet.”
    “That today’s paper?” Joe pointed to a stack of Superior Times overflowing a thin wire rack.
    “Yup.”
    Joe fished into his pockets and produced three quarters. “That about right?”
    The clerk eyed the change. “Yup.”
    Joe swiped a copy. The top headline of the thin paper read “Seagulls Damage Lighthouse with Droppings.”Joe chuckled, folded
     the big news, and tucked it under his arm.
    “See you got an old Ford out there. Quite the beauty. Had her long?”
    Joe raised his brows. It was the longest sentence he’d heard the clerk speak since his arrival. “No. About a week.”
    “Well, I had me one of those a few years back. Couldn’t find a better runner than a Ford. Keeps on going in the dead of winter,
     lives forever. I bought my first one back in sixty-eight, fresh off the line. She hummed like a baby for twenty-five years.
     I felt like I buried my best girl when she finally gave in. . . .” The clerk was polishing the oak counter, and his voice
     trailed off as he worked a shiny, dark spot. He continued to mumble, lost in a memory.
    Joe shifted awkwardly for a moment, then slipped out, unsure if he was being rude or acting on cue. The clerk didn’t glance
     up as the door swung shut.
    Joe ambled to the truck and freed Rip. The dog licked him as if he’d been gone for days. As they sauntered to the donut shop,
     he flipped through the paper. Maybe he’d find something of value in this forgotten town.

    The antique walnut table had taken Mona’s breath away. From the minute she saw it, she knew it would shine like ebony if she
     could only scrape off the lacquer. She counted her blessings to have been one of the first to discover it at a local estate
     sale.
    Mona was leaning over it, sweat beading on her forehead, grunting and digging into the black, sticky stain, when he showed
     up.
    “I know a special stain remover that’ll practically melt that stuff off.” The voice drawled the words out, smug and irritating.
    Mona shot him a cool look. “You’re dripping mud in my dining room.”
    The man examined his hiking boots, obviously shocked.
    Mona straightened and wiped back a chunk of hair with her arm. She held her arms away from her and squinted at the man. He
     had given his boots the once-over and obviously decided they were presentable because he stood there, all six feet of him,
     and grinned at her like a long-lost brother.
    “Excuse me, but who are you?” Mona asked.
    A reddish grizzle layered his chin, an interesting contrast to his short, tawny brown hair. He wore a jean jacket over a blue
     sweatshirt, the type her father used to wear in fall, and his faded Levi’s gapped with the comfort of wear. “I’m your new
     handyman.”
    Mona raised an eyebrow. “You think so?” She