Next to the fireplace, an acoustic guitar leaned against the wall, classic Lana. He remembered how good her voice had been. Anyway, she'd impressed their small town.

"I couldn't stand the graffiti," she was saying. "Some of the writing wasn't exactly family fare. I didn't want Sydney to read it."

"I hear that." And he liked it, too. If she didn't approve of rough language, she had changed. "The color is nice. Sort of a pale chocolate milk."

"I still have to paint the wood trim. What do you think of white enamel all around?"

"White's always nice. A good accent to the soft brown."

"That's what I was thinking, but the trim will have to wait until the true basics are done. Time has taken a toll on a lot of things, and the vandals didn't improve matters."

"Yeah, we should have done a better job of keeping watch after your mother passed."

"It wasn't your responsibility."

"Maybe not, but it was fun to catch those kids." He chuckled at the memory. "One night I saw a couple of shadowy figures sneaking around up here and decided to give them a scare."

"Did you really?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "What did you do?"

"There was this pair of teenage boys, probably 13 or 14. One was crawling through the kitchen window, the other hoisting from below." He pumped his upturned palms in a lifting motion. "I must have flashed back to my teenage days that night because I couldn't stop myself from what came next. It was too good an opportunity."

She cocked a hip, amused. "All right, spill it. I'm dying of suspense."

"Well, you see, it was dark. Barely a moon, and I had this chain saw." When she sucked in a knowing gasp, he grinned. "So, I carried it with me and hid behind a tree on the south side of the house. At the perfect moment, I jumped out screaming like a banshee and revved that chain saw for all I was worth."

Lana slapped both hands over her face and laughed. "You're kidding me? You did that?"

"Yep. Sure did. The kid in the window nearly knocked his brains out in his rush to escape. The one below took off in a screaming run and left his buddy hanging." The vision was as fresh in his head as yesterday and still cracked him up. "There he hung, with his legs dangling from the window and no way down except toward the chain saw."

"Oh, my goodness. That's priceless." She pointed her finger at him. "And exactly what they deserved for breaking into my house!"

"I laughed for days. Every time I thought about those big, brave, macho boys squealing like scared rabbits." He rubbed his hands together like an old-time villain. The tile glue made sandpaper sounds. "For a long time afterward no one bothered the spooky house on Dogwood Street."

"Davis Turner, you bad man. I had no idea you had it in you."

"You might be surprised at what I have in me," he said, and then wondered where that had come from and what he was talking about. Suddenly aware of how much he was enjoying her reaction to his tale, he grew self-conscious. "Well, okay then. Where were we?" He fisted his hands on his hips and stared around. "Oh, yeah, right. Working on the basics. Winterizing should be your priority this time of year."

She gave him a funny look, but followed along. "I bought caulk and weather stripping. Any other suggestions?"

"Pipes."

Her face fell. "You said the plumbing was solid."

"It is. I meant winterize the pipes."

"Oh. What does that entail?" Her top teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. He watched until it occurred to him that he was staring at her mouth. This was getting ridiculous. Instead of scaring him away, Jenny's pushiness had made him more interested.

"Any exposed plumbing needs to be wrapped or insulated in some way. The attic, crawl space, outside faucets." He saw her consternation at this latest addition to her growing list of repairs. "Not expensive. Just more work."

She blew out a breath. "Okay. Good. Work I can handle."

"Have you ever crawled under a house? That's the worst part."

She gave a little shiver. "Small, dark spaces don't rank at the top of my list."

"I don't think they're on anyone's list, but some people are bothered less than others. I don't mind too much. I'll have a look under there for you."

"You will?"

"It won't take that long." He hoped. A man had no idea what he'd encounter under an old house like this.

"I don't expect you to work for nothing. I'll pay you."

He waved off the suggestion. "We'll worry about that later."

"Speaking of lists, I've made mine."

He arched an eyebrow. "What list is that?"

"The things I can do myself. You offered to suggest subcontractors to do the rest."

"Oh, right, I did." His thoughts flashed to the frame carpenter in the hardware store. That was one subcontractor he would not recommend. "Got your list handy?"

"Always. It's on the kitchen counter, along with a general budget. Maybe you can tell me if I'm way off on the numbers."

She led the way into the kitchen. Little had been accomplished here other than a thorough cleaning. That in itself was a vast improvement.

"Let's see what you've got."

She handed over the list. "Do I have any hope of getting the house in decent shape before the colder weather arrives?"

"Hard to know. Could stay warm or could turn bad." He leaned back against the counter to peruse the tidy hand-printed list. She'd used purple ink. "The lasting cold can't be far away though."

"I remember once when we were snowed in for two weeks. I thought I'd go crazy." She gave a soft, reminiscent laugh. "Tess and I finally bundled up in boots and coats, called a bunch of friends and trekked all the way up to Whisper Falls to go sledding on cardboard boxes."

"In the ice and snow? That's five miles." But it was the kind of thing the Ross girls would do.

"I've never been so cold in my life. One of the guys who came along finally built a campfire. We thought the smoke signals would bring out the fire department so we wouldn't have to walk back, but no such luck."

Davis nodded. "Remember that ice storm back in high school? Now that was cold."

"I remember. They called off school because the buses couldn't run, but those of us who lived in town were already there. Jack Macabee slid his VW off in a ditch and all of us piled out and lifted it back onto the road."

"I heard about that. You were in that car?"

She laughed again, stronger this time, and he could tell it was a good memory. "We must have had ten kids in that little Bug. All the boys thought they were strong enough to lift it out and Jack feared his dad would take his keys if anything happened to his car, so we got him going again. We slipped and fell, pushed and lifted, and laughed so hard." She leaned an elbow on the faded old countertop. "Whatever happened to Jack anyway? Did he take over his dad's car dealership?"

"No, Harvey closed the dealership when business disappeared to the bigger cities, but he still sells used cars on the side. Jack's a pumpkin farmer. You missed the Pumpkin Fest by only a couple of weeks. He was there in full force."

"Really? Pumpkins? I can't imagine preppy Jack in the agriculture business."

"It's kind of interesting to look at who we were then and where we are now. Life has a way of changing us."

"Isn't that the truth?" She'd gone pensive on him, bottom lip between her teeth, gaze somewhere in the distance. "I wouldn't want Sydney to be anything like I was."

"Aw, come on. Teenagers are goofy. You weren't so bad."

This time her laugh was harsh and disbelieving. "You always were the nicest guy. With an apparently faulty memory." She motioned toward the paper in his hand. "So what do you think? Any ideas for me?"

She was shutting off the conversation, unwilling to talk about herself anymore, but for a moment he'd glimpsed the young girl. He'd seen some things in her expression that surprised him. Hurt. Regret. Sadness.

Lana intrigued him. She also attracted him. He hadn't quite figured out why, other than his natural propensity toward the underdog and his sister's nosiness.

Troubled, he turned his attention to the list, though he was more aware of Lana Ross than he wanted to be. Her soft perfume played hide-and-seek in the narrow space. One minute, he caught the scent. The next it was gone.

He swallowed, bothered to be thinking about her, not as a neighbor in need as he'd told his sister but as a beautiful, interesting woman an arm's length away.

He cleared his throat. "You'll be putting in a lot of hours to do all this by yourself."

"I don't mind work as long as I can squeeze it in between my job."

The comment caught him off guard. He hadn't realized she had a job already. "Where are you working?"

"The Gazette." She glanced to one side, self-conscious and hitched a shoulder. "It's nothing big. A stringer position writing up local events. I get paid per article beginning tomorrow night."

"The football play-offs?"

Lana tilted her head. "How did you know?"

"Woman, the state play-offs are the biggest thing to hit the Whisper Falls Warriors in five years. Didn't you notice the signs plastered in all the businesses and the cars with Take State written on their back windows with shoe polish?"

"I guess you're right. Football fever has taken over and I don't even have a Warrior sweatshirt anymore."

"You'll have to remedy that."

"I will, but I've got bigger problems to worry about tomorrow night."

"What's that?"

"My boss, Mr. Kendle, wants an article filled with names. I don't know any of those kids. I might remember their parents, but not the kids."

"Easy fix. Get a spotter."

"A spotter?"

"That's what the announcers in the press box do. Someone sits up there with them and spots the numbers. They match the number to the program list and the problem is solved. The player gets recognized and everyone is happy."

"Perfect idea, but who? I'm still getting reacquainted."

"Well, let's see." He rubbed his chin, holding back the easy answer for two beats before saying, "How about me?"

Lana blinked, incredulous. "You?"

"Why not me?"

"Well, I, uh, I-" Rosy-red crested her cheekbones.

Davis lifted both hands. The paper crinkled, so he put it on the table. "Hey, if that doesn't work for you, I'm okay with it."

"No, no, I would love for you to be the one." The blush deepened, a pretty sight on pale pink cheeks. "What I meant is, I don't want to impose. You've been so nice already."

"I haven't done anything, Lana. I'm going to the game anyway. If you want help, I'm in. If you'd prefer someone else, fine."

"I want you. There is no one else."

He didn't want to like the sound of that. "I'm expensive. You'll have to buy the popcorn."

"Deal. I might even throw in a bowl of chili."

Davis tossed the list onto the table and rubbed his hands together. "Chili, popcorn and the state play-offs right here in my own backyard. Gotta love it."

"I remember when you played."

"You do?"

"I sang the national anthem at every game from the time I was twelve. I was always there." She pulled the headband from her hair and smoothed the stray wisps, reminding him of Nathan's fixation on brown hair. "What was your number?"

"Twenty-eight. Running back."

Lana twirled the stretchy band in her fingers, playing with it. "You were awesome."

"So were you."

"Thanks."

Before he could pursue the titillating line of conversation, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Exchanging smiles, they both turned toward the doorway as three breathless, beaming children came running.

"How are things going, Dad?" Nathan's bright eyes moved back and forth between Davis and Lana. "Do you like her yet?"

Paige grabbed her brother's arm. "Nathan!" To Davis, she said, "Sorry, Dad. He's such a kid sometimes."

Davis exchanged a half chagrined, half amused glance with Lana. Her face was pink again, but her eyes gleamed as though she was holding back a laugh.

To the kids, he said, "Head for the truck, you two. We've got to go."

As soon as they disappeared, with Sydney trailing along, he said, "I apologize for my irrepressible son. I'll have a talk with him. As you might have guessed, he likes you."

Davis didn't add the rest-that her brown hair had made her the target of his children's Christmas matchmaking prayer. He wasn't sure he could handle the embarrassment or the uncomfortable yearning they'd ignited in him. A yearning he'd thought would never return after Cheryl's death. A desire he was, this moment, battling down like a bad cold.