Tying the Knot by Susan May Warren

the smack she’d given him. She was wounded, and judging by her reaction, it wasn’t something she’d heal from quickly.
    Unfortunately, Noah wasn’t a doctor. And he seemed to be ripping open old scars every time they met. God, I don’t know what You’re doing, but something is up with this lady, and I’d like to help. You brought her into my life, and I have to believe it’s for good.
    A white-breasted nuthatch landed on the roof ten feet away and chipped at a piece of stripped wood. Noah watched its tiny black head as it bobbed and rooted for seeds; then he leaned back and let his face absorb the full blast of the noon sun, relishing this quiet moment.
    Above him, towering oak rubbed shoulders with beech, basswood, birch, and a generous mix of balsam fir. The air, redolent with pine and a hint of lake water, spoke of peace, of escape. God had led him right into the lap of this forested luxury when an old pal from Bethel College mentioned the camp was for rent. Built as a private fishing retreat on tiny Mink Lake, it had been purchased by a denomination and remodeled into a camp, complete with lodge, a cook’s shack, an outfitter’s cabin, and cement pads for tents nestled at the end of overgrown footpaths.
    From his perch on the roof, Noah could trace the layout of the fifteen-acre camp, including the waterfront and the campfire pit with its rough-hewn rows of benches in a semicircle, to a field of purple violets and coneflowers, where they’d play capture the flag, soccer, and group-challenge games. The leaders at the church denomination had cut him a God-helmed deal. Hopefully, Noah could live up to the Almighty’s expectations.
    Noah’s stomach growled, but he ignored it. He had a Snickers bar in the fridge downstairs. Any needs beyond that would require a trip into town. He was willing to starve in order to finish the roofing job today.
    He heard gravel crunching from across the lake, where the road wound around the water, and he rolled over to track the vehicle. When he spied a black Explorer churning up dust, he grimaced. He made a mental note to keep Miss Lundstrom a good distance from the camp bus—she drove like a maniac.
    He was climbing down the ladder when the SUV pulled in. Noah clambered under the porch roof for his shirt. Cleaning up would be futile. He already knew what she thought of him.
    Since he had home-court advantage, he ducked inside the lodge and watched her exit her vehicle and wander around the weed-rutted courtyard. She looked so sleek in her black pants and crisp white blouse that it made him feel like roadkill. Noah grabbed his baseball cap and snuggled it down over his head to hide the grime. He hated to imagine what could be snagged in his two-day stubble.
    She sauntered toward the porch. “Hello? Anyone here?”
    “In here.” Noah met her at the door.
    Her shock glowed neon on her face. She went white.
    Noah winced. “Hi again,” he said softly.
    “What are you doing here?” She backed away, as if she’d seen a ghost. He let her go, then followed a moment later. She stood in the sunlight, rubbing her arms and staring at the sky.
    “I’m roofing the building.” He grimaced at his cowardice. Lord, give me the right words.
    She turned and surveyed his work. “You’re a handyman?”
    “Among other things.”
    “Rock collector and jack-of-all-trades.” She regarded him with cool interest while she twirled her keys round and round her index finger. “So, how’s your leg?”
    He didn’t miss the way she flinched slightly when she asked, and it bolstered his courage. Maybe the memory of his sacrificing his skin for her dog would mitigate her less-than-stellar opinion of him.
    “I’m fine, thanks. I cleaned it and put ointment on it, like you suggested.”
    She nodded, but her wariness felt like a wall between them. “I’m here to see the director.” She scanned the lodge, then stared at an army tent airing out over a makeshift clothesline. Its open flap shifted