Glen started laughing. “How could I have forgotten that? I had to circle the airport. They wouldn’t let me land due to some woman saying there was a bomb in baggage claim.”

“I did not say there was a bomb! It was Dakota, and she said the luggage was taking so long you’d think they were searching for a bomb . . . or something like that.” Then a little old woman practically yelled “bomb” and pointed her finger at the two of them. So yeah, they were both in the back of a squad car for the better part of three hours explaining the situation.

Mary Frances turned back to Glen. “So you’re the pilot . . . I believe I have heard about you.”

Glen smiled, and Mary cringed . . . she knew what was coming next.

“You’re the arrogant player with commitment issues.”

Mary wanted to bury her head in the sand.

“This is him, right?” Mary Frances asked with the sweetest smile a nun could have.

Glen locked amused eyes with Mary.

“My summation before we started dating,” she explained.

He sipped his drink and said, “Arrogant? I’ll go with confident. Player? We all have a past.” He winked at Mary Frances when he said it. “As for commitment issues . . . maybe I just haven’t found the right person to be committed to . . . until now.”

Mary Frances slapped a hand on the table, laughing. “Oh, you’ll do just fine.”

Mary took a seat beside Glen.

“Now tell me what was keeping you from coming this weekend.”

Mary stiffened. “Nothing. We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Don’t start that with me, child. I heard your voice when you called on Tuesday. You were upset. So spill.”

She needed to downplay this to keep the woman from worrying. “I have those plumbing issues.”

Mary Frances just stared.

“And my car is back in the shop.”

Glen kept silent beside her.

Mary picked up her drink and held out as long as she could. “Someone broke in while I was away last weekend. Not a big deal, just needed to clean the place up a bit.”

Mary Frances blinked a few times, her face unreadable. Then she turned that gaze toward Glen.

“Her plumbing issues are now fixed.”

The stare of death was heightened by the fact that it was difficult to tell if Mary Frances was breathing.

“Her car is back in the shop . . .”

Glen was going to cave, Mary felt it in her bones.

“. . . because the person who broke into her house trashed the car, trashed her house. We’ve spent this week cleaning it up and installing an alarm system to keep your girl safe.”

Mary reached over and pinched Glen’s thigh.

He gently placed his hand over hers and removed the grip of her fingers without breaking eye contact with Mary Frances.

“Do the police have anyone in custody?”

Glen shook his head.

“It might be a random act.”

Mary Frances turned that death stare on Mary.

She squirmed in her chair. “I’m fine. My house is safer than walking into a bank now. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t tell you.”

Mary Frances leaned forward. “You listen to me, young lady. It is my right to worry. I’m not so old that I’ll fall into some kind of fit with bad news. Please don’t treat me as such.”

Mary lowered her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

The mother figure in Mary’s life was pure amusement. Glen could picture her in a nun’s habit forcing confessions from the congregation with her stare.

Mary was in the kitchen helping the senior Mary with dinner while Glen was in the back of the house . . . on a ladder, no less, removing leaves from Mary Frances’s gutter.

It wasn’t like the woman asked. She told him where the ladder was and encouraged him to make himself useful so she could have a few words alone with her girl before dinner. Dinner that was going to include Burke, Mary Frances’s beau.

Getting his head gripped around the ex-nun was one thing, thinking of her dating was quite another. And from the tight expression on Mary’s face when Mary Frances announced that Burke was coming for dinner, she was less than excited.

Which was probably why Glen was hanging off the side of the single-story bungalow cleaning gutters, something he didn’t even do for his own home, while the women were in the kitchen talking in hushed whispers.

Everything aside, Glen couldn’t think of a better way to spend his weekend.

Staying at Mary’s would remind him of her troubles . . . going home he’d be worried about her alone. Here, he could enjoy her company, learn more about where she came from, and find distraction in cleaning gutters.

Mary Frances ducked her head out of the back sliding door. “You can come down now, we’re done talking.”

Glen laughed, reached for another set of leaves. “Almost done.”

“It’s not like we get a lot of rain here.”

“I’m up here, might as well finish the job.”

She chuckled and left him to it.

He was positioning the ladder to the final spot on the roof when Mary stuck her head out. “He’s here!” Her rough whisper said she meant business.

“I’m almost done.”

“You’re done now!”

Glen didn’t bother holding in his laughter. “Yes, ma’am!”

Mary dusted off his shirt. “I can’t believe she’s dating.”