Wanted: A Family Read Online Free Page B

lethal.
    â€œAny damage inside?” he said, barely able to concentrate with her peering up at him.
    â€œMy bedroom ceiling’s cracked. I moved the bed to ensure that I won’t awaken one morning blanketed in plaster.”
    Knowing the danger of entanglement, yet unable to stop himself, he said, “Can’t have a chunk of ceiling marring that pretty face of yours.”
    The apple of her cheeks colored, but her eyes turned wary. “You men know the words a woman likes to hear.”
    Why didn’t an attractive woman like Callie Mitchell appreciate a compliment? “I’ll take a look at the ceiling when I’ve finished the porch.” Jake pivoted out onto the ladder, descending the rungs two at a time, the ladder vibrating with each footfall.
    By the time he’d reached the bottom, she’d dashed over and gripped the sides. He all but bumped into her coming off the last step. Wide-eyed and obviously shaken, she quickly moved aside. When had anyone worried about his safety?
    â€œI’m accustomed to ladders and this one’s sturdy.”
    â€œEven a careful man can meet disaster, Mr. Smith.”
    No doubt she referred to her husband’s fall, but her remark summed up his life. “Your words don’t give a man much hope.”
    Her eyes narrowed, as if trying to see inside of him. “Hope doesn’t come from words of mine. Hope comes from God’s Word.”
    A man couldn’t manufacture something he didn’t believe. “I don’t see a point in opening a Bible.”
    â€œWithout God’s Word to point me in the right direction, I’d lose my way.” Mrs. Mitchell looked at him with eagerness. “You might give the Bible and church a try.”
    â€œFrom what I’ve seen, churchgoers aren’t likely to offer clemency.” The words shot out of his mouth before he could stop them. What about this woman made him bleed his innermost thoughts?
    Her gaze bored deeper. “Do you need clemency?”
    Jake removed his hat and slipped the handkerchief stuffed inside into his hip pocket then swiped the sweat off his brow in the crook of his elbow. It didn’t take a genius to recognize prying. “Reckon we all do.”
    A flash of remorse traveled her face. Her eyes lifted to the roof, filling with anguish and self-reproach that pushed against his core. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe Mrs. Mitchell shoved her husband off the roof. Well, he had no interest in getting involved with her or her problems. Yet she looked so fragile standing there fighting back tears.
    An overpowering urge to tug her to him, to tell her everything would be fine, mounted inside him, yet his hands remained at his sides.
    Everything had never been fine.
    He couldn’t promise such a thing.
    To her.
    To anyone.
    â€œI’ll get your dinner.” She headed to the house, shoulders bent, as if carrying a heavy burden.
    No doubt she did. A burden he could ease by repairing this house. But the rest—unwed mothers, babies, grief over her husband’s death—he’d stay clear of all that.
    At the pump, Jake stuck his head under the spout. Cold water sluiced down his throat and into his sweat-soaked shirt. Perhaps the dousing would cool his empathy for the young widow.
    The woman tried to shove God and church down his throat, a prescription Jake couldn’t swallow. She’d indicated that the Bible would point a man in the right direction, as if the road ahead lay with God. He’d more likely find that arrow he wished for earlier than answers in an ancient gilded book.
    And as for prayer—
    If God existed, He didn’t give a fig about Jake. No matter what Callie Mitchell said, God wouldn’t be helping him. Jake would need a sensible way to find his mother.
    Â 
    Wielding a crowbar, Jake pried a rotted board from the porch floor, easy to do with the missing or inadequately set nails. He’d make