“Yes.” Hank turned back to the car and smiled. “I’ll get her home. She’s kitten strong right now, but she’ll heal.”

* * *

As Ketch drove home, he wondered how Tuesday had survived adolescence alone.

She’d survived alone, just like he had.

In Tuesday’s case, the old house protected her. She had fruit trees and a garden.

He realized he was probably attracted to her because she needed him. It had been the same way with Crystal that first year they’d met. She’d told him a dozen times that she would have washed out if he hadn’t always been by her side. He’d coached her, pushed her, and sometimes carried her through that first year in the army. And then he’d fallen so hard in love with her that he didn’t believe she didn’t feel the same way.

One line in her letter echoed in his mind. I’ll always love you, but it’s time I choose my own path.

Now he’d help Tuesday as a friend. Only this time he wouldn’t ask for anything, even friendship. Then he’d move on down his own road, alone. He wasn’t sure he could take another heartbreak.

Without much thought he climbed into his truck, then drove home to get his tools. With a free afternoon, Ketch planned to head out to Tuesday’s place. He’d help her get the house in shape. If flirting came as a side dish, he’d keep it light.

When he returned to her front door, she came out on the newly repaired porch.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m your handyman for the day. What do you need fixing?”

Tuesday stared at him for a few minutes, then answered, “Pick a room.”

Two hours later he’d put doors back on their hinges, hung pictures, sealed windows, and fixed two sinks. When he walked in the kitchen, she had a late lunch waiting.

“You’re going to feed me?”

She pulled out a chair and he folded in, feeling a bit like a bear come to tea. “Have you ever considered that what holds us together is food? We seem to be eating all the time.”

“I tend to do that about three times a day. It’s a habit that’s hard to break.”

Tuesday hadn’t just made a sandwich; she’d made a meal. Meatloaf on the spicy side, baked potatoes, a fresh salad, and a chocolate pie.

After he tasted everything, he asked, “You always eat like this?”

“Once a day, I do. Most of my pantry comes from the garden or the orchard. I trade out at the local grocery, fruit for meat. Last time I checked, he’s a few hundred in the hole to me. I cook one meal a day and eat leftovers for the other meals.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“What? Trading or eating?”

“Trading out fruits.”