"He gave me some pointers and advice, showed me how he expected future articles to look, things like that. He was very kind." She widened her eyes in a grimace. "I was relieved not to get fired."

"See? Told you." He was ridiculously glad for her.

"Yeah, you did. Thanks for the boost of confidence and the help. I couldn't have done it without you."

He liked that more than he should.

"Speaking of getting fired," he said. "I'd better start that tile work or the boss will not be happy."

"She's a real slave driver." Her quick, easy smile warmed him. "A willing helper, too. Let's get to it."

He started to protest, to remind her that he could handle the job alone while she did something else. But the truth was he wanted her company. He wanted to know more about the woman his children wouldn't stop talking about.

Inside the old bathroom, a tedious job awaited. Over the years, home owners had layered linoleum over the original wood. Subsequent owners had added additional layers. He had removed all those layers before installing the backer board. He'd started on the open areas while awaiting the tub buyer's arrival and fortunately the bathroom was small.

Conversation was comfortable and mostly centered around the remodeling work, but Davis found Lana an easy person to talk to. She was witty, in a self-critical way that made him even more curious about what made her tick. Regardless, he liked her company.

Jenny would have an attack if she could read his mind.

But Jenny didn't run his life. She might be his sister and she might have his best interest at heart, but he was a grown man. He'd been making his own decisions for a long time. Granted, they all hadn't turned out well, but he was responsible.

His wife's untimely death flashed into memory. Prayer had absolved him of guilt, but he still wondered sometimes if he'd done the right thing. If Cheryl would still be alive...

He shoved the trowel under a chunk of ancient linoleum and pried it loose. On his knees, with Lana not three feet away also scraping at old, well-stuck glue, Davis let the rhythm of his work soothe his troubled thoughts.

The trio of children trooped to the entry and stayed a while to watch the adults sweat and work. Sydney, curly hair frizzing around her head like a halo, cradled Ruffles as she would a baby doll. The happy dog lay with eyes closed, head back, legs sticking straight up, being her usual rag-doll self. The little girl needed a puppy. He'd have to work on Lana about that.

"Whatcha doing, Daddy?" Nathan asked. He had dirt on his elbows and knees.

"Getting ready to lay out Lana's tile design."

"How long does that take?"

Davis sat back to look at the trio. "Why? Are you getting hungry?"

"A little," Paige said. "We were thinking maybe the five of us could go to the Iron Horse for hot dogs."

"Oh, you were, were you?" Davis shot an amused glance at Lana.

She was already shaking her head. "I don't think I can make it today, kids. Too much work to do."

Davis scooted a box of tile into place and ripped open the cardboard top. Dust motes flew from the movement, sending the dank smell of old wood into his senses. "Tell you what? How about I order a pizza from the Pizza Pan?"

The children looked at each other and grinned. "Yes! Pizza!"

"You mind, Lana?" he asked.

Lana, sweeping bits of old vinyl and other trash into a dustpan, paused and leaned against the broom. "Sounds good to me. I skipped breakfast."

To prove the point, her stomach growled. The kids cracked up laughing.

"Okay, pizza it is." Davis took out his cell phone, a little embarrassed that the Pizza Pan was in his list of contacts. But what could he say? He was a single father. Pizza emergencies happened. Often.

"Daddy?" Nathan said again after the food and drink was ordered.

"What?" He removed several pieces of tile from the box and began arranging them in a pattern in one corner. Lana had chosen a marbled tan and sand with waves of off-white. The soothing, classic color had been a surprise. He'd expected something more flamboyant from someone who'd hobnobbed with famous entertainers.

"Can Sydney come to church with us tomorrow?"

Davis's head shot up. "Church? Sure, if Lana doesn't mind."

"Can Lana come, too?" Paige asked.

"If she wants to." He found Lana's eyes and held on.

She paused in her clean-up to say, "We need to find a church."

His heart jumped with gladness. Lana wanted to go to church. "Great. You can ride with us if you want."

Her smile did funny things to his stomach. Or was that hunger?

"Perfect. We'd love to, wouldn't we, Sydney?"

The little girl shifted Ruffles to her shoulder and nodded. Ruffles slouched forward with a sigh and settled her nose in Sydney's neck.

"And afterward," Paige announced with a clap, "we can all go out to Grandma's for Sunday dinner."

The unexpected comment not only surprised him, it put him on the spot. Davis didn't know what to say. Jenny would be there. Worse, he had no idea how Mom and Dad would react to him bringing any woman besides Cheryl to Sunday dinner, much less Lana Ross.

Little Miss Paige needed a good talking to.

He chanced a quick glance at Lana. She was busy loading a wheelbarrow nearly jammed full of trash and old flooring.

"Sydney and I have plans after church, Paige, but thank you for asking," Lana said as she shoved a long piece of red vinyl into the wheelbarrow. Did he detect stiffness in the answer? Had she noticed his consternation?

"Rain check?" he asked. Clearing the way with his family was a necessity before he could invite Lana-or anyone-to a family gathering.

Lana glanced up. He put all the sincerity he could muster into his expression. He'd never wanted to be a hypocrite, one of those in-name-only Christians who talked a good talk but treated people shabbily.

"We'll see," she answered. He knew then, from the quiet hurt in her eyes, that she'd guessed. And he felt like a total jerk.

"I'll go empty the wheelbarrow," she said.

He had to give her credit. Other than short breaks, she'd stayed with him, working every bit as hard as he.

"Thanks." Troubled by his confusion and the voice of his sister in his head, he didn't watch Lana leave though he heard the rumble of the wheelbarrow.

The kids remained, observing with the curiosity of children and asking too many questions.

After a bit Davis sat back on his haunches and waved at the corner where he'd laid the first pieces of tile. He'd planned out a design pattern with diamond accents, already visible. Cutting each piece took extra time but Lana had especially liked the look in his portfolio of photos. "What do you think?"

The trio studied the tile as if they were experts, making him smile.

"Pretty, Daddy," Paige said. "You're the best tile putter-downer in the world."

"How about you, Sydney?" he asked. "This is your house. What do you think? Like it?"

Sydney's head bobbed. She wasn't a big talker but her expressive blue-green eyes said plenty. At the moment, they sparkled. "Yes."

"Ever had a fancy diamond pattern in your house before?"

Her small, oval face grew serious. "We never had a real house before."

The admission struck him in the heart. "Where did you live before moving here?"

He knew he was prying, but Lana was about as forthcoming as the Sphinx about her years away from Whisper Falls.

Sydney bunched narrow shoulders. "Sometimes in motels or other places. Sometimes in the car."

Whoa. What kind of other places? And what was a child doing living in a car?

Stomach rolling, Davis wanted to press for details but Lana chose that moment to return, wheelbarrow clattering against the hall floor.

As he looked up into Lana's pretty face, Jenny's voice echoed in his head. What kind of mother was Lana Ross?

Chapter Eight.

Monday morning Lana dropped Sydney at school, and then stopped at the newspaper office, relieved to pick up another assignment. Afterward, with a renewed determination to learn more about this writing stuff, she drove straight to the Whisper Falls Public Library.

Unfamiliar with libraries in general, she was glad to see a row of computers, a desk manned by two women and more books than she'd known existed. Nothing weird or confusing. Surely, she could find help in here.

She approached a thirtyish redhead with stunning posture and a face that belonged on magazines.

"May I help you?" the gorgeous woman asked.

"I'm looking for Meg Banning."

Absolutely perfect teeth smiled at her across the desk. "I'm Meg. What can I do for you?"

This was Meg? No wonder Davis hung out at the library!

Somehow she managed to stutter around her surprise. True to reputation, Meg led her to a section of books and offered to order others through inter-library loan.

"Do you have a library card with us?" Meg asked.

"Do I need one?" She hated feeling this stupid but libraries had never been on her list of hangouts.

"The application is short and easy."

"Will I be able to check out a book today?"

"Sure, though we limit you to two books per visit for the first three trial months." Meg led the way back to the desk where she withdrew an application from beneath the counter. "Here you go. Fill out all the contact information, add two references, preferably local, sign the bottom and you're good to go."

With a sinking feeling Lana worked her way through the easy part. Name, address, phone, employment. But at the reference lines she was stuck. Who in this town would vouch for her?

Finally, she scribbled two names.

"I moved here recently," she said as she handed the application back to Meg. "I'm not that acquainted yet but I think these two references will be okay."

Meg glanced at the names. Her beautiful face lit up. "You know Davis Turner?"

"He's my neighbor."

"Great guy and a terrific dad. You're lucky."

Was Meg the Beautiful interested in Davis? The notion gave Lana a funny feeling under her rib cage. Was Davis interested in Meg, too? Why should she be surprised that other women found him attractive? Any sensible woman would be thrilled to call Davis Turner her man.

Another patron approached the desk and Lana moved away to the stacks and shelves of books, shaking off the odd sensation. She wasn't jealous. She couldn't be. She and Davis were just friendly neighbors.

As she perused one volume Meg had recommended, several people moved past her, scanning titles. She shifted her position and, focused on the book, was paying no attention to the other browsers when a whispered conversation caught her ear. The speakers, hidden on the opposite side of the wall of books, were unknown.

"Did you see her at the football game? She was all over Davis Turner."

"Just like in high school. She probably slept her way around Nashville."

"I wonder what happened to her big singing career?"

"Singing? Is that what they call it these days?"

A giggle. "Retta, you're awful."

Lana's stomach churned. To her consternation, tears stung at the back of her eyelids. She spun away from the whispers and started down the aisle to escape the ugly gossip. One of the speakers was Retta Jennings, who had never liked her, but the talk still hurt. She wanted to scream, "I've changed. I'm not that girl anymore." Instead, she pressed a hand to her mouth, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths through her nose, trying to recall her counselor's wise words, "You're a new creation in Christ. You know. He knows. But the rest of the world will need some time to catch up."

"Lana?"

She jumped at the sudden hand on her forearm. "Haley!"

Haley Carter, in a fleece-lined jean jacket and long corduroy jumper, stood in front of her, toddler in arms, compassion in her expression.

A hot flush of embarrassment rose on Lana's neck and spread over her face. "You heard?"

Haley nodded. "Don't let them get to you."