Tying the Knot by Susan May Warren Page B

never move again.
    “Good morning!”
    Where was his voice? He managed to nod.
    “I thought, well . . .” She wrinkled her nose, as if trying to conjure up the right words. Then she took a breath and shrugged. “You helped me last night. I thought I could repay the favor.”
    His heart took a flying leap right out of his chest and landed at her feet. “Swell,” he croaked, trying not to sound like a besotted idiot. He had the sudden urge to race over to her, shake this alien being hard, and demand that the Anne he knew, the one with inborn spitfire, be immediately returned to her human body.
    Or maybe not. Perhaps he liked this new version better.
    He must have missed a few days here, a few episodes of their rocky relationship, because to save his life, he had no idea why Anne Lundstrom was standing in his yard, rolling up her sleeves.
    “Don’t make any assumptions. It’s just for one day.” But the way she smiled, well, he didn’t believe her for a second. No, not for one second. Because he’d make this day the best of her entire life.

    Shame had driven Anne up the Gunflint Trail to Wilderness Challenge. Noah had helped her clean her house and sat with her on the porch, listening to her spew out spiritual bitterness. Yes, she felt orphaned by God, but the pastor’s kid in her couldn’t leave that last ugly impression on Noah’s brain.
    And when he grinned at her, his expression turning to pure delight when she offered to help him, her heart did a tiny flip. With his wet hair, a shag of dark whiskers on his chin, his rumpled black T-shirt and army fatigues, he looked like a confusing, way-too-attractive mix of gangster and hobo. She shook off the impression and opened her car door. “Hope you don’t mind, but Bertha begged to come along.”
    The dog jumped off the driver’s seat and into Noah’s arms. He laughed and fell on his backside, saturated by Bertha’s sloppy affection. Anne shook her head, oddly warmed by the sight of him wrestling with her dog. “I guess she likes you.”
    “Well, you know, we’re partners in crime.” He winked at Anne, and she decided that . . . well . . . maybe . . . she could try and like him too. If he didn’t sneak up on her or tread into her spiritual wasteland.
    “So, where do we start?” The camp looked . . . rustic. The Lincoln Logs lodge, with its sagging porch and weathered steps, looked about a century old. She couldn’t imagine spending any significant amount of time here. She liked the North Shore scenery, but Anne had been a city girl most of her life, and she appreciated the benefits of, say, indoor plumbing and electricity.
    Noah pushed Bertha off. The dog bounded in a circle, tongue flapping, then bolted up the trail. “She’ll be okay,” he said, ESPing Anne’s sudden flare of worry. He stood, brushed off his pants. “I have to build a new outhouse, put up that army tent over there, chop and stack firewood, and rebuild the fire pit.”
    “Is that all?” She still wasn’t used to his size, which probably accounted for the way her pulse had rocketed off the charts when she’d seen his shadow lurking in her bedroom last night. When he strolled over to her, panic rippled down her spine. Perhaps this was a bad idea. . . .
    “Well, no, actually, but that’s today’s list.” He made a wry face. “I never seem to catch up.”
    “You’re doing all this by yourself?” She tried to keep the wariness from her voice.
    He nodded. “Well, until today, that is.” His bright smile melted her fear into a hot puddle. “It’s just been me and the squirrels.” He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. The fresh smell of soap and toothpaste made her reconsider the hobo impression. “But between you and me, the squirrels are a loud and lazy bunch. Always running off to play or napping on the job. And they snore something terrible.”
    She smiled, and he rewarded her with another wink. “Well, I’m better with a stethoscope than