A Place to Belong

“No, no, go ahead and bid your job. Old Donny will sit here and enjoy his tea with Miss Wainright. I’ll be along later.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

Donny winked. “I’ll find you.”

Jace’s gut tightened. Until he knew what Donny was up to, if anything, he didn’t like leaving him alone with Kitty. But he’d backed himself into a corner and could do little else.

On legs shaky with adrenaline, he headed to his truck and prayed all the way to Samuel Case’s antique shop.

He should be working, had plenty to do, but Jace couldn’t relax until he found out what Donny Babcock was doing in Redemption, Oklahoma. By the time he arrived home from his appointment with Samuel Case, he was drenched in sweat. Worry sweat.

He let himself in through the side door and was met by a delighted puppy. Milo, a beagle mix of some sort with curly ears and soft brown eyes, thought Jace was the sun and the moon.

“Got any presents for me to clean up?”

They were working on house training, and he should probably crate the pup during his absences but he couldn’t. The floors were hardwood. They’d clean. No living creature should be locked in a cage.

The dog wiggled harder, mouth open, eyes dancing along with his feet and tail. If a dog could throw out his back, Milo would manage.

Jace crouched on his toes and gathered the bundle of warmth and love against his chest. A few minutes with Milo and he could almost forget his worries.

But not quite. He had a lot to lose with Donny Babcock in town.

With Milo dogging his heels, he paced the gleaming wood floor of his living room. He’d spent hours perfecting this shine. Hours stripping away the old carpet and the old finishes. Layer after layer until he’d uncovered the stunning solid oak flooring, made even more beautiful by age. Someone had told him he should put down area rugs but he couldn’t bring himself to cover something this beautiful.

Wood was his passion and nothing fired him up like a piece perfected by age just waiting for the hand of a master craftsman. He frequented estate sales and old barns in search of pieces like the banister now curving toward the second story of the Queen Anne he called home.

He ran a hand over the silky banister. Gary Henderson had taught him to appreciate fine wood, and he’d taught him the skills needed to build a business and a life. He’d also taught him about Jesus. The day Jace had been assigned to Gary’s woodshop class had been a blessing he would never take for granted. It was God, pure and simple, trying to help a messed-up kid.

“You should have known Gary,” he told Milo who’d jogged up the stairs to be on eye level with his master.

Jace had taken Gary’s shop class to get out of real work. Or so he’d thought. Eighteen years old, he’d been so scared back then any safe place was welcome. And Gary’s woodshop was safe. The master builder saw to that. No one monkeyed around under Gary’s watch.

“I would be dead without Gary.”

He believed the sentiment with his whole heart. With Gary’s guidance he’d become a real man instead of a punk kid destined for the cemetery. Gary had been the one who’d urged him to leave the city and start fresh in a place where no one would judge him by anything except his workmanship and character. He’d done that. He’d made Gary proud.

He blew out a worried breath.

More than anything today, he needed to talk to his mentor and friend.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and paced some more. Milo hippity-hopped down the stairs and followed.

Gary was gone. Died two years after Jace moved to Redemption to start over.

“God, you see my dilemma. Guide me.” Jace wasn’t a big talker to anyone else, but God already knew all his faults and mistakes anyway. And the dog thought every word was meant for him. Milo plopped down on his bottom, one leg sticking straight out as he cocked his head to listen. “Why has Donny Babcock tracked me down? After all this time, it can’t be good. It can’t be.”

He headed into the kitchen, oblivious for once to the granite counters and the warm patina of the hand-lathed cabinets. He should eat something but his stomach gnawed with anxiety.

He thought of Kitty and the gnawing got worse. He shouldn’t have left her alone with Babcock. Even if Donny had saved him from a knife-happy convict and certain slaughter, he’d been shady, always working a deal. A con in a building full of cons. Jace didn’t want Kitty hurt by anyone, least of all by someone connected to him.

As he reached into his back pocket for the cell phone, a car door slammed. He replaced the phone and went to the door. Donny was already there. He entered the house without being asked, brushing past Jace to gaze around at the inside of the Queen Anne.

“This your place?”

“It is.” His and the bank’s.

Donny stopped in the foyer, a soaring entry with a stained glass transom and crown molding. “Why didn’t you buy something new? Who wants old stuff like this anymore? It’s not even finished.”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “I like it.”

Milo, unused to being ignored, yipped once. Donny stopped dead still, mouth curled in distaste. “You got a mutt?”

Mildly, Jace said, “Meet Milo.”

“I don’t want dog hair on my suits.” He pinched the pleat on his pants, then flecked imaginary hair from his jacket.

Since the last time Jace had seen him, Donny’s taste in clothes had gotten noticeably more expensive, though the suit hung on his thin frame like it would on a hanger. His brown hair was slicked back and gleamed with gel, his black patent wing-tips spit-shined as if he’d learned in the military. Which he hadn’t. He reeked of department store cologne. All in all, he appeared respectable but Jace worried that beneath the polish beat the heart of the same sleazy hustler who’d conned his own family out of thousands.

Though tempted to tell Donny to find another place to stay, Jace kept quiet. The only motel in Redemption belonged to Kitty.

Ignoring the growling dog, Donny wandered into the next room. The future office was as empty as the living room.

“You need some furniture, pal. What’s the matter? Out of cash?”

Jace tried to see the rooms from someone else’s point of view. Other than a chair here and there, an antique desk with telephone and computer, and an incredible mahogany sideboard he’d rebuilt, they were basically empty. Even his bed was an air mattress tossed on the floor.

As with everything in the house, Jace wanted authentic pieces. Finding them, refurbishing them took time. He was a patient man who enjoyed the search.

“I can help you with that,” Donny pressed. “With the cash flow problem.”

“Just tell me what you want, Donny. I know you didn’t show up here after fourteen years out of sentiment.”

“Tsk-tsk. So suspicious. I told you, Jacey boy, I’ve come to do you a favor. Let’s order pizza and talk over a couple of beers. The widow’s tea didn’t do it for me.”

“No beer.” Jace crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the fireplace bricks. Milo sat on his foot, eyeing Donny with the same suspicion his master felt.

Donny stopped his hyperactive perusal of Jace’s house. Shoving back his suit jacket, he propped both fists on his hips. “No beer?”

Jace shook his head. “I’m a Christian now.”

“Hey!” Donny lifted both hands. “Me, too.”

Jace’s heart jumped. He leaned forward, hoping. “For real?”

“Me and the big dude upstairs, we’re tight. Yes sir.” Babcock held up a pair of crossed fingers. “Just like this. Serious, pal. I got a Bible and everything.”

Jace wanted to believe him but the words reeked of insincerity. That had been the way of the man Jace remembered. A consummate liar, he said what people wanted to hear until he got what he wanted. Then he’d laugh like a hyena behind their backs and call them fools.