“You have a gentleman caller, dear,” she said. “He’s waiting for you in the front yard.”

A gentleman caller? The only gentlemen she knew were the so-called movers and shakers in town. She knew they were anxious to see what she’d come up with for the mural, but she didn’t think Miss Myrtle would leave one of them standing out in the cold, despite her house rules.

“Who is it?” she asked, setting down the paper and getting to her feet.

“You’ll see,” she said cryptically.

Anna smoothed her skirt and headed through the living room toward the foyer. She opened the front door to see a man leaning against the lamppost, smoking a pipe. He wore a brown suede jacket with a leather collar and a rust-colored woolen scarf. He was a good-looking older man, perhaps late thirties or early forties, and when he tipped his brown cap to her, she was startled by his mop of thick red hair. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a vivid color on a man’s head. She stepped onto the porch and he smiled up at her. He had a dramatically crooked front tooth, but even that couldn’t detract from his handsomeness.

“I’m Martin Drapple,” he said, standing up straight now. “And you’re the little lady who stole the mural competition out from under me.” He never did lose his smile, but Anna feared she lost hers rather quickly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She remembered his wife’s fingertips digging into her arm through her coat sleeve. “I know that must have been terribly disappointing.”

“I’m only teasing you.” He grinned, slipping his pipe into his jacket pocket. “I’m actually here to apologize for my wife’s behavior. She told me about bumping into you at the library. I’m afraid she had a frightful headache and took it out on you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. Her mind scrambled to connect that nasty woman to this charming man. “I’m sorry she wasn’t feeling well.”

“So,” he said, dragging out the word, “have you ever painted a mural before?”

She felt immediately on guard and shivered in the cold, wrapping her arms across her chest. “Yes, in art school,” she said, hoping he didn’t ask the size of the painting. She didn’t want to lie, but there was a huge difference between painting a five-by-four mural and a twelve-by-six.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’d be happy to help you in any way I can,” he said. “No compensation,” he added quickly, his hand in the air in front of him. “As long as I have free time, it’d be my honor to help you with the stretcher or anything else you might need. It’s a huge job. You can’t possibly do it all on your own.”