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he
asked, kneeling beside her.
    “ I,
uh . . . I think so. Who are you?”
    “ I’m Noah Bennett, a
friend of Buddy’s.”
    She blinked. “Do I know
you?”
    “ No, we’ve never met. But
I’m guessing you’re Tracey.”
    “ Yeah, that’s me.” She
tried to stand and he rose with her, his hand supporting her
arm.
    “ Listen, I’m sorry. We’re
kind of used to coming and going around here. Buddy’s always told
us to make ourselves at home.”
    “ That definitely sounds
like my dad.” She stopped and turned to face him as she connected
the dots. “Oh, you must be one of the Elders.”
    His smile spread into deep
dimples beneath a day’s growth of dark whiskers. His messy hair,
the color of dark chocolate, wasn’t particularly long. His eyes
were clear, somewhere between a green and light brown. Hazel?
    “ That’s what he likes to
call us. Which I’ve always thought was a bit strange
considering‌—‍” he paused, his brows lifting. “Well, that whole
church thing and all.” The angel’s face colored as he looked
away.
    Tracey couldn’t help snickering.
“Yeah, you’ve gotta love ‘that whole church thing.’ But please
don’t be embarrassed on my account.” She rounded the corner heading
into the kitchen. “It’s ancient history. Besides, Grace Church had
deacons, not elders. I’m sure it’s some kind of personal joke that
he dubs you all his Elders.”
    “ Here, allow me.” He
opened the cabinet and reached for two mugs, then filled them both
from the large urn.
    She made her way to the refrigerator
for cream. “What happened to Mr. Coffee and his pot?”
    He handed her a mug. “It was forever
running out, so Buddy bought the urn. Said it was the kind they had
at the church.”
    She poured cream into her coffee and
offered him the carton, which he waved off. She put it back in the
refrigerator. “You and the guys come here a lot?”
    He chuckled softly. “You could say
that. We try to be respectful and not abuse his generosity.
Especially for Alex’s sake.”
    “ Good to know. I’m sure
she appreciates that.” She could just imagine her sister playing
hostess to a house full of ragamuffins. Although, she noted, the
tall man leaning against the counter could never be called a
ragamuffin. An angel? Definitely.
    Suddenly, she realized he was staring
at her over his mug as he took a sip. “Yes, well,” she said, “I was
about to head down to the smokehouse, so if you’ll excuse
me.”
    “ I’ll join you. I was on
my way there when Buddy sent me up here for coffee. After you,” he
said, holding his hand out like a perfect gentleman. He followed
her through the hall then stepped ahead to open the screen door for
her.
    “ Thanks.”
    “ You’re most welcome. It’s
a beautiful morning, isn’t it? I’ve always loved fall.”
    “ Me too. In fact, it’s my
favorite time of year at Walnut Ridge. Well, except maybe for
winter when it snows.”
    “ Ah, true. You can’t beat
a Tennessee snowfall.”
    She pushed a renegade strand of hair
out of her eyes and looked at him. “You don’t sound much like a
Tennessean.”
    “ That’s because I’m from
Virginia.”
    “ Oh?”
    “ And Connecticut, North
Carolina, and New York. Pretty much in that order.”
    “ You move around a
lot.”
    “ Used to. Not so much
anymore.”
    She pulled a bright yellow leaf from
an American elm tree and twirled its short stem in her hand. “What
brought you to Tennessee?”
    He looked away. “Oh, this and that.
Needed a change of scenery, I suppose.”
    “ Lot of that going
around.” She smiled briefly then took a sip of coffee. “So do you
just hang out here with the guys? Or do you have a job?
Family ?”
    “ Actually, I do have a
job. I’m a roadie, but I’m between gigs right now.”
    “ A roadie? Like with
musicians?”
    “ Right. Tour buses and a
different town every night. That pretty much sums it
up.”
    “ Wow, that’s got to be
exciting, huh?”
    “ Sometimes. It’s