“Let’s hope he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” Rosie piped up from across the table.

Sarah’s gaze dropped to the stranger’s hands. They did appear capable of anything she might ask of him. Sturdy, slightly calloused, with bluntly cut clean fingernails. Ringless.

Ringless?

Now why in the world had she noticed that? Because of her friends’ earlier suggestions? Or because his blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes and held intelligence and intrigue that made her want to dig deeper? Because his strong chin beneath high cheekbones indicated determination and resolve, while the tiny scar above his left brow hinted he was a man who didn’t back down when things got tough?

She didn’t need to feel Rosie’s shoe nudge hers again to know exactly why she’d noticed his bare finger. Had her friends been nowhere around, she still would’ve noticed the handsome stranger. He wasn’t a man a woman could ignore.

She’d have to be careful not to encourage the Butterflies, or they’d really be playing Cupid.

Even if she’d been interested in meeting someone—which she wasn’t—a man who had yet to smile wasn’t her type. No matter how handsome he was.

Chapter Two

Bodie hadn’t been surprised when the old man on Main Street had told him he’d find Sarah Smith at church. She’d talked about church in her note. That the stately woman he’d identified wasn’t Sarah did confuse him.

He took in the women at the table, trying to figure out which one was Sarah. All the women were sixty-plus, save one who he’d guess to be in her twenties.

A blue-haired, ruby-red-lipped woman bared her gleaming white dentures in a flirty smile, then waved and batted her lashes at him. Was that Sarah Smith?

“As you can imagine from the ad, Sarah needs a man desperately,” a dyed redhead pointed out.

What kind of ad had Sarah put in the paper?

“You have a resume? Any photos of past jobs so we can see your work?” This came from the woman he’d first thought was Sarah Smith. “Just because she’s desperate doesn’t mean just any man will do.”

“She’s picky,” a petite woman with a grayish white bun and a round face confirmed. Had she not been sitting on the opposite end of the table from where the blond had pointed, he’d have guessed she was Sarah Smith.

“You’ll have to have references,” Blue-hair said, her face overly friendly. “And be affordable.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can compromise on the work. Doing the job right is a must.”

The older women were enough to make Bodie wonder if he’d made the right decision in coming to Pine Hill. Maybe he should’ve just written a thank-you note and been done with it.

The young woman watched the others with an expression that spoke of a mix of loving indulgence and an intense desire for them to quit talking. When her gaze met his, she gave a little shrug at the women’s rapid-fire comments. Despite the long red-and-green ribbon in her hair and the somewhat ugly Christmas sweater she wore—the first, more appropriate for a teenager, and the second, better suited to a senior citizen—he was sure that he’d been right in his first assessment of her age.