Manual labor had never been my strong suit, but you’d think with two years of college I could manage to get a few boards down. I’d even tried using a few carpenter swear words Nana wouldn’t notice, like “screw you, you knot-holed plank.”

It didn’t work.

I wasn’t surprised when Luke stepped onto the porch and took the hammer away from me. I must have looked like an idiot. His big hand wrapped around the first board and with a tug he loosened it.

In the sunlight I could see that he wasn’t near as dirty as I thought. His clothes were worn, but relatively clean. He wore a pair of hiking boots and an old fishing jacket. He didn’t look directly at me. I caught myself wishing he would, just so I could see his blue eyes.

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. I wasn’t nearly as starved for a man as I was for color. It was pathetic.

While Luke worked, I sat on the porch and sorted the mail, tossing most of it in a plastic laundry basket with my uninjured hand.

He made easy work of the boards, then lifted them over his shoulder and carried them to one of the sheds. I’d waited for him to say something when he returned. He didn’t. I couldn’t think of any way to open a conversation.

To my surprise, he lowered on one knee beside my chair and pulled a knife from his pocket. It was one of those expensive kinds that could do anything. Pulling the tweezers from the end, he took my hand and began pulling out splinters with no regard to my yelps.

I tried to pull away several times, but he held my hand firmly against his bent knee until he was finished.

The nearness of him made me nervous. He wasn’t flirting; in fact, he wasn’t even friendly.

When he finally let go and folded up his knife, I cradled my hand and said, “Great bedside manner, Doc.”

He shrugged as if he could care less what I thought. “Get some antiseptic on that. Jefferson used to keep it in his desk drawer.”

After picking up the hammer, he was halfway to the shed when I yelled, “Thank you.”

He didn’t even turn around.

Wandering back inside, I opened a few bills addressed to Jefferson Platt. None were overdue, telling me that for some reason Uncle Jefferson paid his bills in advance.

Tucked between two shelves, I found a neat little office space complete with an old Hunter desk and a lamp. The half-moon desk had nothing on it but a dented juice can full of pencils, another ledger like the one I’d found beneath the cash register, and a half-used tube of antiseptic. The top of each shelf was lined with file boxes, dusty from years of storage. I made a mental note to check in them when I had the time. Anything that dusty couldn’t be too important and the reading would be no more interesting than the other ledger.

As I rubbed a few drops of the antiseptic on my palm, I searched the tiny office for any clue as to who Jefferson Platt had been. There were no personal documents. No pictures. Not even an old calendar with dates marked out. I opened the one file box I could reach to find receipts dated in the eighties.

I had the strange feeling Uncle Jefferson cleaned up everything in his office before he died. Or someone else had. How could he be so neat about some things and leave his rooms upstairs such a mess? I wasn’t surprised to find the second ledger empty. I almost felt like he’d counted his days off in the old ledger, then left the new one for me. But how could he have? I didn’t even know the man.

But Luke had. He’d even known where Jefferson kept the medicine. I decided I needed to have a long talk with Mr. Blue Eyes.

“Company coming up the road,” Nana yelled even before I heard a car.

I didn’t make it to the front door before someone pounded on it full force.

I thought of darting up the stairs and yelling that I’d seen enough strangers for one day, but whoever it was didn’t sound like he had much patience.

Reluctantly, I opened the door.

The uniformed man before me eclipsed the late-afternoon sun. He had to be close to six-six and wore a hat that added another three or four inches. The gun belt around his ample waist held enough ammo to wage war. Though he didn’t look much over forty, his sideburns were the same silver of his Colt.

“Miss Daniels?” He smiled down at me as if he were talking to a child. “Allie Daniels?”

“Yes.” I straightened to all five-feet-one of me and stared at the lawman. “May I help you?” The only reason I could imagine that he’d be here was that he’d figured out I wasn’t supposed to have this place and he’d come to evict me.

The huge man laughed. “You ain’t much bigger than a chigger, darlin’.”

I stepped back and waved him in as anger settled over nervousness. Why was it some people think it is fine to comment on my stature yet I can’t return the insult?

I mentally continued to add up the lawman’s crimes when he used an endearment. I swear, I’d been born hating men who call all women “dear” or “honey” or “darling.” It always made me feel more like a product than a person.

“Hot out there for September.” He walked into the store part of the main room and looked around as if he had a right to inspect the premises. “You’ve done a good job of cleaning up the place. Last time I was in here, Jefferson was closing it down and there was trash everywhere.”

He glanced back at me and straightened as he added, “I’m Sheriff Raymond Fletcher. Just dropped in to meet you and let you know I’m around if you have any problems.”

“I’m-”

He didn’t give me time to finish. Strike three.

“Oh, I know all about you. Jefferson told me you’d be coming.” The sheriff propped his foot on one of the stools running alongside the bar.

I was getting a little tired of hearing that everyone knew I was coming, but I didn’t comment. The giant seemed more interested in talking to himself than anyone else, so I saw no need in interrupting.

“That old man said he made a good living out of this place, but I don’t see how. After September there’s no one out here during the week but what I call the Nesters. I come out and check on them regular just to make sure one of them hasn’t died or started up some other kind of trouble in my county. No matter how much of a nothing this little lake settlement is, it’s part of my jurisdiction. I make a point of knowing what’s going on in my county.”

“Nesters,” I squeaked like the chorus in a doo-wop band.

Sheriff Fletcher grinned. “That’s what I call the people who live out here year-round. Misfits mostly. Folks people in town wouldn’t put up with.” He walked toward the passthrough and continued his lecture. “Now on the weekends you’ll find lots of fishermen and a few of them mountain-bike riders showing up if it’s not raining.” He winked. “I don’t allow any of them four-wheeling trash. Cut up the trails, you know, and make all kinds of noise.”

He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes just a fraction as though it occurred to him that I might be one of them.

Luke backed through the swinging door with a tray of fresh, hot pies. He took one look at the sheriff’s back and returned to the kitchen. With the next swing of the door, Nana came out carrying the same tray. They’d switched so fast it reminded me of the little doors on a cuckoo clock.

“Sheriff Fletcher, I’d like you to meet my grandmother,” I said, wondering why Luke hid in the kitchen and wishing I’d been smart enough to join him when I’d heard the sheriff’s knock.

Nana set the tray down on the counter.

The lawman turned slowly, not taking his gaze off me until politeness forced him to acknowledge Nana.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Nana said. “I’m glad you dropped by. I was hoping to get someone to try my pies. I haven’t made them in years, but I think I remembered my momma’s recipe.”

Removing his hat, he nodded toward her. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

I was “darling’” and my grandmother was “ma’am.” I couldn’t help but wonder if it was age, or the pies, that garnered respect from the sheriff.

He walked over and picked up one of the miniature pastries. “I’d be glad to test them for you.”

Five minutes and four pies later, Sheriff Fletcher and Nana were talking as if they’d been friends for years. Neither seemed to notice when I picked up the broom and stepped out onto the porch.

I could still hear their conversation. Nana asked if he had kids and Fletcher listed all the grand points of his sixteen-year-old son, Dillon, before adding, “I got a daughter who married right out of high school, but my boy is going to go all the way through college. Criminal Justice, you know. I’ll bet in ten years he’ll be in the FBI. I taught him to shoot when he was five and he knows the law as well as I do. He’s been begging to go with me in the squad car since he could talk.”

Nana packed a few pies for the sheriff and as she walked him to the porch he told them he’d be back on Monday. As he drove away, she whispered, “Luke said he doesn’t like that man.”

I looked up from sweeping, hating to admit that I agreed with the lake bum I’d found hiding under my bed. “Did Luke say why?”

Nana watched the sheriff’s car clear the gate. “Said he thinks he’s better than folks around here.”

“Luke sure does a lot of talking to you. He never says more than a few words around me.” In truth, I could swear he’d been avoiding me as much as possible.

Nana shrugged. “Maybe I listen.” She walked back into the house. I didn’t have to ask where she was going. I knew it would be the kitchen. Her soap opera was about to come on. She’d fix her one cup of tea for the day and sit in front of the little TV. Then, when it was over, she’d go back to work, fretting about the soap opera stars’ problems as if they were her own.

While the TV blared, I found a quart of green paint and spent the hour painting trim around the old shelves. If we got kicked out of here tomorrow, at least I would leave the place better than I found it.

I wasn’t surprised Luke had disappeared. A few hours of work was probably more than he wanted to do, otherwise why else would he live at the lake? There was a hardness about him and I wondered if it was a shell, or went all the way to the bone.

Not that it mattered. He wasn’t my type.

I laughed suddenly, realizing I didn’t have a type. Unless you count losers. I remembered one guy who’d gone four dates before he talked me out of my clothes and then never called again. The loss of him didn’t matter as much as the feeling that he thought I must not have been worth the bother. I couldn’t even say he was my first love. I was twenty-six and never had a first love. A few one-night stands I regretted. A few boyfriends who left before they had to use the “L” word. A few almost, who never worked out.

No loves.

After supper, I curled into the bay window seat and watched the sun set. The lake seemed so still, so lonely. I leaned back against the windowpane and listened to Nana run her hand across her wind chime. She’d hung it in the kitchen just as she always did. As always, the music it played made me smile and feel at home.

A while later, she passed by and kissed me on the head. “Good night, dear,” she said. “I’m turning in. Sleeping is always good on cool, cloudy nights.” Her old hand patted my shoulder three times. I love you without words. “Are you heading up?”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay down here for a while.” I lifted the blank ledger as if it contained something inside for me to do.

Nana turned and climbed the stairs.

Just after dark I noticed a fire burning in the pit out by the dock. The day had been endless. We’d cleaned both upstairs and downstairs. While Nana had washed and hung clothes on a line out back, I had explored the outbuildings. One had worthless tools in it, another parts of old boats. Behind the buildings, several old cars had been parked and left to rust. None looked like they would be worth hauling into Lubbock to try to sell.

The only thing I’d found of interest was a fat cat. He stared at me awhile, then decided to follow me inside. Nana called him General and offered him milk. From then on he was more at home in the kitchen than we were.

I grinned. Having a pet made it seem even more like home.

As a fog settled in around Jefferson’s Crossing, I went up to bed. The air felt heavy with the smells of the day-paint, baking, and cleaners. Our rooms were stark, almost cell-like now that we’d thrown all of Uncle Jefferson’s junk away. I promised myself I’d let Nana buy a few pots of those plastic flowers she liked at the dollar store and maybe some curtains. A few touches would help.

After an hour, Nana was snoring and I hadn’t closed my eyes. I decided I’d landed in purgatory. Somehow, we were stuck in a location that wasn’t heaven or hell. We had food and a roof, but no dreams. Once I got the place clean, I had no idea what I’d do.