and ask for proof?”
“Naturally.”
“What did you do?”
“What else could I do?” His hands thrust out to each side. “I picked up the house.”
The silliness made her laugh. This was the Davis she remembered. Self-effacing, warm, kind to anyone. Even her. “Be glad he didn’t go for the ‘my dad can beat up your dad scenario.’”
“I remember saying that when I was in elementary school.”
“Like father like son?”
“Absolutely. But Paige is the same. Between the two of them, they slay me sometimes.” He leaned the notepad against the fireplace brick and scribbled something on the paper. “A few weeks ago, the kids and I went up to Whisper Falls on a picnic. I made the mistake of falling asleep.”
“What happened? Did they tie you to a tree? Douse you with water? Cover you with mayo?”
“Nothing that simple for those two. They climbed Whisper Falls.”
“No way!” Lana glanced out the grimy window at the two Turner children running across the thick brown grass. Whisper Falls was a long, slippery climb, especially for two small children. She should know. She’d climbed it plenty, usually on some stupid dare or when she’d had too much beer to be walking, much less climbing. “Why would they do that?”
“Paige says they went up there to pray. I suppose you’ve heard the rumor about praying behind the falls.”
“The moment I hit town, but it must be a new thing. No one said that when I lived here before. What started it?”
“I’m not sure. Some say Digger and Evelyn Parsons made up the story. Others say they’ve actually had prayers answered after going up there. Someone got the city council on board and they changed the name of the town to match the waterfall. Next thing we knew, tourists started making pilgrimages up the mountain.”
“Do you believe it’s true?” Because if it was, she was climbing those falls again. This time without a party—and stone cold sober.
“A rumor of that caliber is good PR, but I don’t think God needs a waterfall to answer prayers, do you?”
So, he was still a Christian.
“I agree, but maybe your daughter doesn’t.”
“Paige.” He huffed out a sound that was half frustration and half affection. “My daughter’s faith is kind of hard to explain. Sometimes she’s scary in the mature things she says about God. Other times she’s a goofy kid, like that day. My heart stopped when I looked up and saw Nathan clinging like a spider monkey to the side of the mountain.”
“What did you do?”
“What else could I do? I climbed up after them. Once we were on the ground, I hugged them, told them how scared I was and how much I loved them. Then I grounded them both from TV for a full week.”
Lana laughed. “You are a cruel father.”
“They thought so.” He stuck the stubby pencil in his shirt pocket and started across the room. His long legs ate up the floor, even though the parlor was large. “All the while, Nathan kept saying the oddest things.”
Lana followed his lead, taking a left down a dim hallway. “Such as?”
“Nothing specific. Random things about brown hair.” He tapped on the paneling, made a note of loose trim and a cracked light fixture.
“Sydney once asked me to dye her hair green, but that was for a costume party.” Lana opened the door to the downstairs bathroom, a small space with an old claw-foot tub.
“Nice.” Davis ran a hand along the rounded edge. He didn’t seem to mind that it was filthy. “Do you know what these sell for in today’s market?”
“If it’s more than a new one, this one is for sale.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve had old stuff all my life, Davis. All these antique fixtures can go for all I care.”
“I’ll check around. You might be able to make some money. Lots of people like authentic vintage.”
The idea heartened her. She and Sydney would make it here. She would find a way to turn this house into a home.
“Tell me about yourself, Lana,” he said, tapping the wall above the bathroom sink with his knuckles. “What happened to your singing career in Nashville?”
“You knew I lived there?”
“This is Whisper Falls. We hear everything. Usually, about five minutes after it happens.”
He was right, and the memory of a small, gossipy town was not a comfort. People would remember her teen years. People would gossip. All she could do was pray the talk didn’t harm Sydney. There would be enough speculation about her as it was.
“So what about Nashville?” He leaned forward to inspect the hot water tank. Other than being coated in dust and cobwebs, it worked. She knew that already.
“The usual, I guess. I thought I was a better singer than I am. But I had some great experiences.” Some lousy ones, too. “I sang for my supper, met some famous stars.” Usually at the hotel where she’d cleaned rooms, though she’d once encountered Faith Hill and Tim McGraw coming out of Banana Republic with their kids.
“I remember when you and your sister used to sing the national anthem at the football games. You were good. Where’s Tess living now?”
That was anyone’s guess. Under a bridge. In a crack house. But hopefully, in the same mission that had brought Lana to Christ. “She’s still in Nashville.”
The conversation was beginning to take an uncomfortable turn. Lana didn’t want to discuss Tess or Nashville for that matter.
“You’ve lived a glamorous life. Why come back to Whisper Falls?”
Glamorous? “Time to settle down. Sydney needs to be settled in one place, one school, and the music industry is not always a stable lifestyle. Anyway, it wasn’t for me.”
“I get that. My kids are everything. I’d walk on fire for them.”
“Or climb Whisper Falls?” Lana asked, surprised at the easy joke.
“Exactly.”
He opened the vanity cabinet. A dead mouse smell rushed out.
“Eww.” Lana grabbed her nose and backed out of the small space into the hallway. Davis, more resourceful, leaned over the tub to shove open a tiny window. Fresh air, spurred by the breeze, swirled inside, but the stench remained. Outside, an overgrown pine scraped against the screen, dropping pine needles without enough scent to matter.
Davis followed her out into the hall, pulling the door behind him. “Let that air a while.”
“Good idea. Maybe for a year.”
“If you’ve got a plastic bag, I’ll see if I can find and remove the source.”
In the narrow hallway, they were crowded. If either moved more than a few inches they would be touching. Rather, she’d be touching that work-muscled chest of his. A man who carried boxes of tile and grouting mud had to be strong.
“You’d do that?”
Davis didn’t seem to notice her discomfiture. He tilted his head, looking down at her while she looked up. “I work in remodels. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I find behind walls and under old cabinets.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered in pretend horror, though the ploy was more to get her mind off him than true repugnance. “I don’t think I want to know.”
After he had dispatched the mouse carcass, for which she would forever be grateful,