“He looks more like a villain trying to storm the castle than the prince inside,” Sarah mused, studying the man’s intent expression, his broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and his proud stride.

He definitely had a “you’d better not mess with me” vibe.

“Ma’am,” he said when he reached them, his eyes trained on Maybelle, before taking a moment to visually acknowledge each of the women at the table. His gaze lingered a millisecond when it connected with Sarah’s, almost as if he was surprised by her presence, perhaps because she was so much younger than the other women. But then his sharp blue eyes moved back to Maybelle.

Sarah gulped, wondering at the tightening in her throat at his perusal. She’d swear she’d just been mentally photographed. That they all had been, to the point where if he was called upon to give every detail of the room and the people in it, he’d be able to do so with vivid detail and perfect accuracy.

“Do I know you, son?” Maybelle never had been one to beat around the bush.

“No, ma’am.” His stance was stiff, overly formal. “But I came to Pine Hill to find you.”

“Lucky you,” Rosie stage-whispered, giving Claudia another elbow to the arm.

It was rare for anyone to surprise Maybelle, but the woman looked shocked. “Why in the world would you want to find me?”

He glanced around the table again, looking a little uncomfortable. That surprised Sarah. She doubted much got under this man’s skin. He came across as a guy who had seen a lot during his lifetime.

“Is there perhaps somewhere we could go talk in private, Ms. Smith?”

Four jaws dropped, but not Maybelle’s.

Maybelle arched a brow and gave him a look that had been straightening up naughty Sunday school children for years. “Ms. Smith?”

“The blonde at the door pointed me in this direction. You are Sarah Smith?”

Rosie’s shoe delivered a swift nudge against Sarah’s foot. Sarah knew that any second now, Rosie would be inviting him to join them for ornament making and pointing out Sarah’s ringless finger. With her stomach feeling fluttery, Sarah tucked her feet as far back beneath her chair as they’d comfortably go and attempted to use telepathy to get the woman to hold her tongue.

No doubt fully aware of Rosie’s soccer tryouts beneath the crafting table, Maybelle laughed. “Looks like your ad in the paper worked this time, Sarah, and found you a man, after all.”

Sarah knew where Maybelle’s mind had gone. It wasn’t on help-wanted ads or house repairs. Ugh.

“This one looks as if he can take anything you dish out at him,” Maybelle continued, all innocent-like.

Sarah gave Maybelle her best glare. She hadn’t dished anything out to the other handymen. She’d expected them to do their job. Hamilton House deserved better than a messy, thrown-together restoration.

If she was lucky, this guy could finish the needed remodeling to the downstairs suites and the other repairs she needed to get done prior to her Grand Opening of Hamilton House on Christmas.