Home Sweet Home
Home Sweet Home
Kim Watters
Finally ready to settle down, Abby Bancroft has just inherited a place to put down roots. But her hopes for a successful bed-and-breakfast are placed on hold when she learns that her grandparents' run-down inn is in serious need of TLC.So is Cole Preston, the handsome contractor who offers to help make her dream a reality. His past mistakes won't let him consider settling in the close-knit town. Yet as he and Abby work together to repair the house, they also begin to mend each other's hearts. And they just may find that consulting their hearts is what creating a home is all about.
“So, now that you’ve seen a little bit of what’s in store for you, isn’t it time to leave?”
Her question troubled him. It was almost as if she expected him to abandon the project. Why?
“The name’s Cole. What’s your first name?” Something about the woman intrigued him, and despite his reservations about the house, she made him want to linger long after he reached the bottom of his cup.
Hope and another emotion he couldn’t identify descended over the woman’s features. “You really intend to do the work? Even though the people who signed the contract are dead?”
He set the cup on the table, his grip tightening around the yellow ceramic. He needed to do the remodel so he could start over again somewhere else. “I won’t leave until I’m finished.”
“But you’ll leave. They always do.” The plea in her eyes and the softness of her voice chiseled away another piece of the wall surrounding his heart. In that short span of time, he realized that for the time being, they needed each other.
KIM WATTERS
At twelve years old, Kim fell in love with romance after she borrowed a Harlequin Romance book from her older sister’s bookshelf. An avid reader, she was soon hooked on the happily-ever-after endings. For years she dreamed of writing her own romance novel, but never had the time until she moved from the hustle and bustle of Chicago to a small town north of Phoenix, Arizona.
Kim still lives in that same small town with her two wonderful children, one crazy dog and two high-strung hamsters.
Home Sweet Home
Kim Watters
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Do not judge, and you will not be judged.
Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven.
—Luke 6:38
For Shane and Emily, the loves of my life
who don’t quite grasp the concept yet
that these books don’t write themselves,
and my sister, Karin Roepel,
and my mom, Sharon Galitz,
who made sure it all made sense.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions For Discussion
Chapter One
“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”
—Luke 6:37
“This is it?” Wide-eyed and a little confused, Abby Bancroft stared out the passenger side window of the Ford Escort parked in front of the large Victorian house. Her stomach churned as her gaze flipped between the obviously outdated brochure in her cold hand and the three-story wooden structure to her right in need of a new paint job and some other cosmetic work. If the outside reflected the inside, her vision of reopening the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast by the Founder’s Day Festival the first weekend in May died a quick and painful death.
Disappointment pooled around her shoulders and matched the dismal early March skies. Puffy gray clouds threatened more snow in the sleepy town of Dynamite Creek in northern Arizona. The bare limbs of the tree standing guard by the long porch running along the front of the house looked more inviting than the empty windows that stared back at her. She should have guessed the house would be as welcoming as the people who once lived inside.
“Yep. This is it. We’re here.” Delia Wentworth, the receptionist from her late grandmother’s attorney’s office unbuckled her seat belt and opened the driver’s side door. Frigid air blew through the interior, making Abby shiver inside her inadequate jacket and miss the warm Southern California weather. Here wasn’t exactly the picture perfect place she’d expected to find as she sat frozen inside the car.
“It’s really a great house. It just needs a little TLC,” Delia responded enthusiastically before leaving the car.
“A little?” Abby’s skepticism showed in her voice. She knew nothing about general construction, but she had eyes, unless something in her brain had gone haywire in the long drive between Los Angeles and Dynamite Creek. Maybe she needed a pair of rose-colored glasses like Delia wore because Abby didn’t quite see the old Victorian in the same way.
Pulling her collar around her neck, Abby grabbed her purse, exited the car and walked to where the young woman stood. Abby held up the brochure and compared it with the house. Then she flipped the piece of paper over. The photo credit was from 1987. Figures. Over the years, beautiful and welcoming had morphed into dismal and uninviting. The yellow paint had faded over time and had begun to peel in several places and some of the porch railing sagged. And that was just what she could see.
A gust of wind frosted her legs and whipped a loose strand of hair into her eyes. Abby should have waited until May to collect her inheritance, but the letter from the attorney’s office hadn’t really given her much choice and she wasn’t fool enough to walk away from a place she could finally call home. If she found a way to fit into Dynamite Creek.
The cold, hard reality in front of her caused doubt to creep in. She didn’t have a lot money or time for a place that wasn’t turnkey, but she’d never be able to reopen the B and B until it resembled the picture in her hand. Her gaze skimmed the dull, faded exterior again. No one in his or her right mind would even consider staying in the house in its present condition. How the Bancrofts managed to attract customers the past few years amazed her. Even though the home had only been shut down six months ago with their deaths, neglect clung to every nook and cranny.
“Okay, the place needs more than just a little bit of care. Your grandparents—”
“Charles and Sally Bancroft?” Bitterness and disappointment pulsed in her heart. “Hardly. Grandparents only by name.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she stared at the numbers screwed to the fence post also in need of a fresh coat of paint.
The Bancrofts hadn’t cared that her mother, Sharon, had spent years working two jobs and struggling to make ends meet while raising their granddaughter. Nor had they bothered to visit while her mother was ill. They hadn’t even gone to her funeral when her mother finally succumbed to cancer ten years earlier. How apropos they’d saddle Abby with a falling down pile of wood that was probably as cold on the inside as it looked on the outside.
“Well, the Bancrofts had hired a contracting firm out of Phoenix with roots from Dynamite Creek to remodel the place about a year ago, but one of the partners took off with the hefty deposit money and never started the job.” Delia opened the gate and ushered Abby through. “That pretty much destroyed them physically and emotionally. Your grandfather died shortly afterward from a heart attack. Your grandmother didn’t last too much longer. Such a shame. Anyway, as my boss told you, aside from the house, there wasn’t much left once their medical bills were satisfied. Come on, let me show you the interior.”
Not much left was right. Abby guessed she had two months of inheritance money to survive plus what she’d stocked away in savings and her retirement fund. She had to open the B and B or be forced to accept another failure. Maybe she should sell the property? But who would buy the run-down place in this economy? And did she really want to walk away from where her mother grew up? Houses like this didn’t fall from the sky every day. Not for her anyway.
Following the younger blonde up the walkway, Abby’s gaze skimmed the brown patches of grass peeking through the thin layer of old snow. Dead garden beds lined the sidewalk and the base of the house. Only the partially visible green shrubbery showed any signs of life.
“You were their legal firm, why didn’t you sue?” The wooden steps creaked under her weight and the metal handrail only numbed her hand further. Bare branches rustled in the wind and dead leaves sounded nothing like the waves pounding against the shore of her favorite place in L.A. Dirt and debris piled on the porch looked nothing like the soft, grainy sand on the beach where she used to work as a teenager.
“Mrs. Bancroft didn’t want to. I think she had a soft spot for the partner left holding the proverbial bag, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The company filed bankruptcy.” Unlocking the front door, Delia stepped through and flipped the light switch. “I’ll bring over the contract and bankruptcy paperwork later if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary. I doubt I’ll ever run into any of them, so I won’t be able to give them a piece of my mind,” Abby replied as she stepped inside. The warm interior surprised her, as did the lighting from the old-fashioned stained-glass light suspended from the foyer ceiling. “Heat? Electricity?”
“I’ll bring it by anyway. My boss turned on the utilities yesterday for your arrival. In anticipation of your continuing the business, he even managed to get the phone service activated as of this morning under the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast name. Don’t be surprised if you start getting calls for reservations. Despite how it looks, the Bancrofts had standing reservations every year for the Founder’s Day Festival. Aside from this one, there’s only two other B and B’s in town, and they’re probably already full. There’s a file folder on the kitchen table with all the contact numbers so you can switch everything into your name. It’s right this way.”
Abby trailed after Delia, feeling as if she’d stepped back in time. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the long hall, the light merrily reflecting off the glass. A tall wooden chair with a beveled mirror that also doubled as a coat rack graced the faded wall by the fireplace. High doorways on either side of the foyer led to more rooms. Beneath her feet, small, multicolored tile peaked out from underneath the worn rug. Despite the scent of neglect, the house had a charm she could almost grow accustomed to. She spun around, trying to take it all in before she hustled after the other woman. At a first glance, the interior needed as much work as the exterior, especially the kitchen. It was way too small.
Her heart plummeted again as enormous dollar signs flashed in her brain. She’d have to take out a loan. The appliances looked like they hadn’t been updated since the late sixties. The lime green, orange and gold linoleum flooring had to go, but the Formica dinette table showed promise. It reminded her of Mrs. White’s, the elderly woman who lived in the apartment next door to Abby’s last place of residence.
“Here’s the information on the utilities.” Delia handed her the folder from the table. “And I thought you might appreciate this.” The assistant handed her another folder—a thicker one with several pamphlets inside. “It’s kind of like a welcome packet. I know what it’s like being new to town having moved here a few years ago with my husband, so I stopped by the Chamber of Commerce and got you this stuff. There’s also some information about the church we belong to in case you’re looking.”
Church. Another concept as foreign as the small town of Dynamite Creek. The only time she’d ever stepped foot in one was for her mother’s funeral. Not wanting to hurt Delia’s feelings, Abby took the folder. Aside from the church, the rest of the information inside could prove useful. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to look everything over when I get the chance.”
Frigid air swirled around them as they walked back to Delia’s car, the piercing wind sneaking inside Abby’s collar. She shivered and got inside to go back to the attorney’s office. Determination filled her when she glanced at the house again. Her mother had once told Abby that hard physical work brought rewards beyond compare. It looked like Abby was finally getting her chance to see if her mother’s wisdom rang true. And maybe she’d finally found the home she’d always been searching for.
The sound of the phone woke Abby from a deep sleep. Stretching in the dim dawn light, she unwound her stiff body from the sofa where she’d sat down to rest just after midnight. Her brain still full of cobwebs, she stumbled to the back room she’d discovered yesterday while exploring the place. She grabbed the phone on the antique desk before she turned on the stained-glass lamp. A kaleidoscope of color danced across her vision as light spilled over the dark patch of stain on the desk that hadn’t been worn thin like the rest of the surface. “Hello?”
“Hello?” A woman’s voice floated over the line. “Is this the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast?”
Dread and a tinge of anticipation chased away her exhaustion. Abby found a stray curl and wound it around her pointer finger. Breathing deeply, she stilled the butterflies whirling in her stomach. “Yes. Sorry. This is the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, how may I help you?”
“Yes. We’d like to make a reservation.”
Abby’s eyes widened at the sight of the old-fashioned black rotary phone. She didn’t even know these things existed anymore outside of the movies. The numbering in the circles even looked foreign to her like most of the antiques inside the house.
“Um. Sure.” With her computer still in a box on the floor next to the desk, Abby searched frantically for a piece of paper to write her first customer’s information on. Her hand stilled on what looked like an old ledger stuffed inside the top drawer. Blowing lightly to clear the dust, she placed it on the worn surface and yanked a pen from the holder next to the lamp, her hands damp with a bit of nervous moisture. A lump formed in her throat but she managed to find her voice. “Our reopening will be May 5. Or would you be looking for a date later in the summer?”
“Hang on a moment. Harry, I’ve managed to get a hold of someone. It looks like we can get our Founder’s Day Weekend after all.” Abby held the phone away from her ear as the woman conversed with her husband.
Her gaze froze on the peeling corner of dark orange wallpaper with silver and gold thread running through it. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to rest on the palm of her left hand. What was she doing? There was no way she was going to get this house in order to receive guests in two months’ time. Not without help and considering she knew no one in town except Delia and her boss, no one would be coming to her aid any time soon. Her breath rushed out in one big whoosh, sending a dust bunny fluttering to the floor along with her confidence.
“Fine. We’ll take that weekend. We always love coming to The Founder’s Day Festival. This is Harry and Edith Gordon. And we always stay in the blue room. This is Sally, right?”
Abby paused a moment and furrowed her brow. Making sure she said the right thing was as important as making sure she correctly wrote the information down in the faded yellow ledger. “No, this is her granddaughter, Abby. I’m sorry to say that both Charles and Sally passed away last year.”
“Oh, how sad. I’m so sorry, dear. Funny, they never mentioned you, though.”
She almost snapped the pen in two as she wrote in the date on the first available space she could find. “You’ll still be coming, won’t you?”
“As long as you don’t give us some ridiculous rate or change things too much. We’re creatures of habit, you know. And we hope you know how to make those blueberry scones your grandmother was famous for.”
Biting her lip, Abby nodded until she realized the woman couldn’t see her reaction. “Of course, Mrs. Gordon. Your rate will be the same as last year since you’re a repeat customer. I’ll be taking care of a few repairs and painting and such, but everything else should be pretty much as you remember it. Thank you for staying with us again. Have a nice day.”
After hanging up the phone, more butterflies gathered in her stomach. What kind of businesswoman was she? Not a very good one. She’d been a lifeguard, a waitress, a store clerk, a pizza delivery girl and had worked in an insurance office. The few business classes she’d taken in junior college hadn’t prepared her for the real world. Figuring out how to make blueberry scones was the least of her problems. She hadn’t secured the room with a credit card or gotten any of the Gordons’ contact information. Hopefully her grandparents had been good bookkeepers.
Soft sunlight filtered in through the slats of the old wooden blinds as she sat at the desk. The chair squeaked in disapproval as she leaned back. Bookshelves and file cabinets filled the entire side wall. It would probably take until May to figure out what rate the Gordons’ had paid last year, especially since the only technology in the room seemed to be the calculator by the memo pad.
On a whim, she paged through the ledger and breathed in a hint of lilacs. Her fingers traced her grandmother’s writing. The flowery loops and swirls made her wonder what type of woman wore that scent or wrote with such flourish. Nothing indicated the image of the hardened bitter woman that Abby associated with the name Sally Bancroft.
Closing the book, Abby pushed back the chair and stood. No time to waste another minute. After she drank some coffee and went for her morning run, she had a computer to set up, a house to get in order, and more customers to find to fill the rooms. With the Gordon reservation, there was no turning back now.
Cole Preston stepped out of his battered white pickup truck and almost slipped on the patch of ice. Pain shot up his arm when the side of his palm connected with the cold metal of his driver’s side door. Not exactly a good way to start his final obligation but he wouldn’t turn back now like he had the first time when he’d discovered the elderly Bancrofts had died.
No, his twin sister, Christine, who stilled lived here, had told him yesterday a granddaughter had taken up residence, and he’d returned immediately. Once he finished with the restorations of the Bancroft place, the town might not see him as a crook and his dignity would be restored. Hopefully.
He winced. Guilty by association. Cole had known about Robert’s gambling problem, and tried to quietly intervene, but without success. He would have never believed his partner of ten years would run off with the company money and assets and leave such a mess in his wake.
But he wasn’t one to judge. Only God could do that.
Straightening his back, he slammed the door, and then turned and leaned against it, careful to make sure his feet stayed clear of the ice. The air squeezed from his lungs. He remembered this house and the people who’d lived inside. While Mr. Bancroft had been sour and gruff, his wife was one of the few people who’d treated him with decency when he’d worked for them in his youth. He wondered what the granddaughter would be like.
The monstrosity across the street gaped at him with its blank windows and peeling paint. His ex-partner had been crazy to take on a project this size without consulting him, but then again, Robert had never had any intention of actually doing the job in the first place. He just wanted the money that came with it. The Bancrofts had come to their company because Cole had been a local. Bile found a spot at the back of his throat. His partner’s actions had erased his good name from the all the directories in Dynamite Creek.
He rubbed his eyes. Leaving Phoenix before dawn to make the two-hour drive north to the mountains had caught up with him. Not that he slept much anyway these days. That would change when he finished the Bancroft place. He would be able to hold his head high again. His gaze scraped the exterior a second time. Or maybe he’d have to slink away with his tail between his legs because he didn’t trust his own judgment anymore.
Gingerly making his way across the empty street, he paused in front of the white picket fence in need of paint and took in the glow of the sun rising behind the house. A clear, bright sky that promised another glorious day had begun.
A light turned on in the front part of the house, accentuating the stained-glass squares at the top of the large bay window, but he couldn’t see the person who flipped the switch. His watch said eight in the morning. At least the new owner wasn’t a night owl that slept half the day away, which would make part of his job easier if he could start at a decent hour. The part of his brain that could still think told him to go back into town and grab another cup of coffee from Sunrise Diner and catch up on the local gossip. The other part made his hand move to open the gate, and his feet to march down the cracked sidewalk, up the creaky stairs and across the recently swept porch.
He was here. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish. His lips pursed. As long as the interior was in better shape than the exterior he might be done by the end of summer.
“Okay, Lord, I need You to have my back here.” His words hung in the clear, fresh air. A few years into his new faith, Cole still found it hard to ask for help when he needed it but God’s love had helped him through the darkest times with his partner’s betrayal and would continue to do so.
Cole pushed his finger on the doorbell, not surprised he couldn’t hear the chime inside the house. He shifted his weight. At least that would be an easy fix. After rapping his bare knuckles on the wood section beneath the inlaid glass in the door, he shoved his bruised hand inside his jacket pocket and waited.
After a few moments of struggling with the lock, the person on the other side finally opened the front door a crack and half a face stared back at him. Wisps of curly, blond hair escaped from the red bandanna tied around her head, but the deep green eyes held him spellbound and unsure of his next action. “Ms. Bancroft?”
Hesitation fell over the woman’s fatigued expression. “Yes.”
“Good morning.” That cup of coffee sounded better and better, especially when he smelled the telltale aroma of the brewing liquid coming from somewhere behind the woman. He should have gone to the diner and asked some questions. Except he knew the moment he stepped inside, he would be the topic of everyone’s conversation.
“Good morning. May I help you?”
Cold seeped through the open neck of Cole’s jacket. What he wouldn’t give to get out of the bitter snowy mountains and retreat down the hill back to Phoenix. Too many years he’d spent the winters shoveling people’s driveways, the frigid temperatures chapping his hands and cheeks because all his money went to help his mother so he hadn’t been able to afford gloves or a scarf. Snow was only good for sledding and even then, he left it behind him after he finished with the hills. Until he fixed the wrong his ex-partner had done though, he was stuck in Dynamite Creek.
His sister would be happy. His mother wouldn’t even care.
“I’m Cole Preston. I…” His tongue refused to work as he stared at her. The young woman—only a few years younger than him—didn’t resemble either of the elderly Bancrofts he’d remembered from his youth, and he had no idea what their daughter had looked like because she’d run away when only eighteen years old which was before Cole was born.
Silence expanded between them. Cole took a step back. His fists clenched inside the pockets of his jacket. He turned at the sound behind him. A lone jogger ran by on the sidewalk, his warm breath fanning in the still morning air. The man’s attention stayed on Cole until they made eye contact and Cole recognized him. Mr. Turner turned away without acknowledging him. Small town living hadn’t changed. He couldn’t wait to escape again.
Coming back had been another error in his judgment and the weight of the couple’s death surrounded him in a pile of guilt. Determination pushed away his sudden insecurities. He had a job to do albeit several months past the deadline.
“Mr. Preston, what did you need? I’ve got a lot to do today.” The woman blinked.
Cole’s heart sunk along with the promise of the new day. He heard a car slow down as it passed by and his ears burned. In the distance, a dog howled, as if mocking his attempt to move on with his life. “I’m here to fulfill the contract your grandparents signed with Preston Restorations to remodel the house. May I come in?”
The inviting scent of coffee still drifted past his nostrils. Too bad the woman didn’t complement the aroma inside the house. “So you’re the contractor that bailed out on my grandparents. You’re finally here to fix the house? A little late, aren’t you? You really have a lot of nerve coming back here after everything that’s happened. Why, I ought to—”
Cole bent his head in frustration and clenched his fingers. Instead of finishing this project first, he’d saved it for last, choosing to do the other contracts in order of signing date. He’d hoped to retreat back to Dynamite Creek and rebuild. Instead he faced even more animosity than before he’d left. “I know and I’m sorry. I had my reasons, but I’m here now.”
Disappointment pummeled his heart. Coming home had been a mistake.
The woman sighed, deflated as she shook her head. “Look. I’m sorry, too. I had no reason to go off on you like that. I’m tired and a bit overwhelmed right now. Please just take your reasons and go away. I don’t need you.”
She did need him but she didn’t trust him. No surprise there. He didn’t trust himself these days but if he wanted to move on, he had to complete this one last job.
Okay, Lord, I really need Your help on this one. “I deserved that and more.”
The woman’s green eyes intrigued him to the point of distraction. Maybe he should forget about the contract. He didn’t owe it to the new owner since he’d closed shop and filed bankruptcy, but he couldn’t walk away. He was determined to finish this project so he could move on.
“Yoo-hoo, dearie. Good morning.” A voice from the yard cut the stillness.
At the familiarity of that tone, Cole’s back stiffened. He knew the owner of those words. He’d shoveled her walk and raked her leaves, too.
A smile spread across the young woman’s face, changing her whole demeanor. Cole wondered if he’d ever be on the receiving end of such promise of sunshine on a cloudy day. “Good morning, Mrs. Wendt. Your tuna casserole was delicious. Thanks. We can chat later, okay?”
“You’re more than welcome.” The voice grew closer. “Oh my goodness. Cole? Cole Preston, is that you?”
Tension pulled his shoulders back. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that Mrs. Wendt recognized him after all these years. He turned, pulled up the corners of his lips and waved, willing the elderly woman, the town gossip if his memory didn’t fail him, to go back into her house. Cole didn’t need an audience to his humiliation. He shifted his weight. His presence was sure to start her lips flapping again. “Good morning, Mrs. Wendt. Nice to see you again.”
“You, too, Cole. Welcome home.” It figured the one person to welcome him was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. To Cole’s relief, the elderly neighbor started down her driveway to retrieve the morning paper, but he also noticed she lingered staring up at them as she tapped the roll against her palm.
Welcome home. What an oxymoron.
Another millisecond passed as he heard the door hinges squeak behind him. Cole swiveled back around in time to see the door open wider. “Fine. Come in then.”
“My condolences again on your grandparents.” Cole stepped inside.
“Not that it means anything, but thanks.”
He shrugged off her nonchalant comment and rubbed the back of his neck with stiff fingers. The heat inside warmed him as his gaze took in the interior. Despite the dingy light and dark green paint and ugly wallpaper, he fell in love with the heavy oak chair rail and the recessed paneling that skirted the room. Some of his apprehension disappeared when he noticed that most of the original corbels and molding remained, as did the double doorways to each of the rooms that fed from the reception area. Too bad everything was covered with layers of paint. The marble fireplace and the partially scraped oak floors looked good compared to replacing the entire porch and stairs outside. Still, the inside needed more cosmetic work than the exterior. He gritted his teeth. He might be done before next Christmas if he hired some outside help. If anyone in town would work for him.
Building a reputation took years, tarnishing it only took days.
“I see Mrs. Wendt still lives here.” Winter seeped in through the space under the door.
“Yes.” The woman folded her arms under her chest and stared at him, a million questions etched in her very being. Now that he had a full view of her, her honey blond hair peeking out from beneath her scarf was touched with a hint of curl, and made him want to reach out and feel its softness. Incredibly long lashes rimmed her almond shaped eyes and a slight pink tint colored her cheeks. His heartbeat quickened at the sight of the haunted shadows bruising the delicate skin underneath her eyes. “She’s one of the many who’ve welcomed me to town.”
“Dynamite Creek’s like that.” For some. Not for him. Unless he counted Mrs. Wendt.
“So you’re from around here then.” Fatigue laced her voice as she stared up at him. “That’s right. Delia mentioned one of the contractors was a local.”
Cole fought the impulse to comfort the woman and fix whatever problems troubled her. He was only responsible for the house, not the new owner, and he meant to keep it that way because he had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary. “I grew up a few blocks from here.”
The coffeemaker chimed from the kitchen in the back of the house. The woman turned toward the sound, giving Cole a quick view of her long, elegant neck. When she flipped her head back, her long hair bounced from underneath her scarf and settled around her thin shoulders. The freshly shampooed scent joined the aroma of the coffee. Uncertainty furrowed the area between her eyes and the urge to wrap his arms around her confused him. He fixed houses, not people.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Her words lifted his spirits. Maybe today wouldn’t be the complete and utter failure it started out to be the moment he set eyes on the house. “That would be great. Thanks.”
“Right this way then.”
Cole followed her, taking note of the ugly wallpaper and scratched oak floor. Between the two things taking up his vision, Cole’s heart couldn’t decide whether to beat with anticipation or dread.
“I have to warn you, I don’t have any milk or cream because I take mine black.” The woman’s words grounded him back to the here and now.
“So do I. Why ruin a good cup of java?”
“My sentiments exactly.” As she ushered him to the round Formica table in the corner of the kitchen by the bay window, a tiny smile flashed across her full lips.
A few moments later, their fingers touched when she handed him his coffee and a spark crackled between them. They both frowned in unison and stared guardedly at each other. Cole put it down to static electricity, nothing more. He was simply here to fix the house, not to find romance in the town he’d washed his hands of twelve years earlier.
Relationships were for people ready for a permanent commitment and willing to settle down. Something Cole wasn’t able to do yet. Unlike his father, Cole wouldn’t be trapped into a loveless marriage that ended in divorce, destroying his faith in the institution. Abby took the seat opposite him, placing the table between them. The distance suited him, yet gave him a clear view of her flawless skin, high cheekbones and delicate nose. His heart beat a little faster.
She eyed him above the rim of her cup. “So, Mr. Preston, have you taken a good look around you? Now that you’ve seen a little bit of what’s in store for you, isn’t it time to leave?”
Her question troubled him. It was almost as if she expected him to abandon the project. Why? But then again, given the brief history she knew about his defunct company, maybe she knew something he didn’t. He’d made some errors in the past, which continued to haunt him.
“The name’s Cole. What’s your first name?” He sipped the scalding liquid, glad for a way to occupy his hands. Something about the woman intrigued him and despite his reservations about the house, she made him want to linger long after he reached the bottom of his cup.
Hope and another emotion he couldn’t identify descended over the woman’s features. “You really intend to do the work? Even though the people who signed the contract are dead?”
He set the cup on the table, his grip tightening around the yellow ceramic. He needed to do the remodel so he could start over again somewhere else. “I won’t leave until I’m finished.”
“But you’ll leave. They always do.” The plea in her eyes and the softness of her voice chiseled away another piece of the wall surrounding his heart. Even though they just met, he realized that, for the time being, they needed each other.
Chapter Two
“Yes. Contractors usually do leave when the job is done.” Cole reached over and placed a calloused hand over her clenched ones. “If you’re looking for something more, I’m not the guy.”
Abby stared at the man, who wore his dark short hair styled in a way that suited him. Shallow laugh lines touched the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his skin had been lightly kissed by the sun. His quarter-zip light blue sweater accented his shoulders and muscular arms, but it was his earthy brown eyes that captivated her and made her want to dig in and sow the seeds of something more permanent.
His touch warmed and chilled her at the same time. Confused, she pulled back her hands and forced them onto her lap. Good going, girl. Push him away. Make him run for the hills. Cole Preston is the answer to what some would call prayers, but to her it had been a simple plea to the universe. Not only could he help her get the house done in time, he could help her be accepted into Dynamite Creek. If she turned him away, the people might do the same to her and then she’d never fit in or find a real home.
“Of course not. I never suggested you were, Mr. Preston.” Abby pulled out her calm facade, something she’d perfected years ago in each new neighborhood, each new school, each time she was ridiculed because of the cheap, discounted chain store clothes she wore.
“Cole. The name’s Cole, Ms. Bancroft. What’s yours again?” When he grinned, tiny dimples appeared.
Her breathing quickened. He affected her on a different level and in a way she didn’t understand in her limited experience with men. “Abby.”
“Abby. That suits you. Short for Abigail?”
“Yes.” The way he said her first name reminded her of liquid velvet. Her heart fluttered. Abby retreated to the coffeemaker to refill her cup. Distance. That’s what she needed. With the crook of an eyebrow or quirk of his lips, the man had the ability to get under her shell.
Turning away from the worn counter, she leaned against it, the edge cutting into her back. Cole had moved from the table and now stood less than three feet from her. An unexplainable intrinsic energy dragged her toward him so she stepped to the side to put more space between them. His nearness plucked at her sanity, pulling it apart one tiny strand at a time until she felt exposed and vulnerable. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Your grandparents already paid a hefty deposit. Until that’s exhausted, the labor is free.”
“The labor, but not the materials.” Ka-ching. Dollar signs blazed inside her brain. With the entire house needing attention, the paint, the flooring, and whatever else this monstrosity required, the labor would probably be the cheap part.
Abby dragged in a ragged gasp and caught a whiff of Cole’s aftershave. Masculine with a dash of adventure mixed in. Her pulse accelerated. But she didn’t need adventure; she’d had enough of that growing up. Suddenly she didn’t want him in her house or anywhere near her because he was dangerous to her peace of mind. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself falling for another person who had no intention of sticking around in her life.
Indecision clawed at her, tore at her insides. She had to make this work. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she glanced around the room. Morning sunlight filtered in through the window above the sink and highlighted every flaw and blemish in the kitchen. The rest of the house wasn’t any better, but she couldn’t get rid of him. Not now when she had only enough income to survive for two months and guests arriving at the beginning of May that expected a decent place to stay.
“We’ll work something out. When do I start?” His crooked smile sent her pulses on another one of those road trips her mother had been so fond of. “You won’t regret it.”
Abby already did. Suddenly, she wanted off of the emotional roller coaster but it was too late. Despite her earlier resolution, Abby decided she was going to be sorry she let Cole into her house and her life for the next few months.
“May as well start today since you’re here.” Her sigh filled the small area between them, yet when she glanced up, his mocha-colored eyes invited her to sit back and stay awhile. Something she wasn’t about to let happen. Until she could identify this crazy thing swirling around them, the more space she kept between them the better. “Even though you’ve already seen it, let me refresh your memory. You may change your mind.”
Abby pushed herself away from the counter and marched past him, grabbing another lungful of his masculinity. Once he realized the scope of the project, he’d probably disappear again. Disappointment made a home in her heart. Just once she’d like to lead a normal life. Just once she’d like to have someone stick around. But even more important, she wanted to find a permanent place to call home.
She stood in the doorway leading into the small kitchen and waited for Cole to catch up. More tension crystallized into tiny fragments of emotional energy when he moved in behind her.
His guarded whisper scraped her eardrums. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’ve never been inside here before. My ex-partner came and bid on the project and took the money. Until it’s paid back, I won’t change my mind. After you.”
Abby felt the weight of his gaze all the way down the hall. Something weird and crazy seemed to pass between them every time they came in close proximity. Maybe she should get a job? Surely there had to be someone in town who needed help. She had enough experience doing mundane things, and she could use the extra money. That would keep her away during the day, but if she did that, the restorations would take that much longer without her help.
Besides, who would hire Bancroft’s illegitimate granddaughter? Sure the people in town had been more than welcoming to her, but for how long? Don’t go there. Her teeth buried themselves into her bottom lip as she pivoted by the front door. “As you can see, this is the foyer.”
“Actually, it’s the reception area. People used to mingle here while waiting for dinner to be served. That’s why it’s wider than a normal hall. I like it, though the wallpaper and paint have to go.” Cole walked over to the wood staircase near the back right and ran his hands across the smooth, paint-coated banister that led to the second floor.
“No kidding.” Abby crossed her arms again and leaned against the fireplace, a blast of cold air permeating her thin sweater. She shivered uncontrollably, but more from Cole’s longing expression as he stared at the railing than from the temperature. “The rest of the house is just as bad, I’m afraid.”
“I figured as much, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Cole continued to run his fingers along the painted oak. Something about the new owner brought out his need to fix things. Except he’d learned the hard way, he couldn’t fix people. He’d tried and look where it landed him; back in his hometown, his name mud, his dreams shattered.
Cole was better off staying away from people and sticking with houses like this one. He loved the old styles, quirks and all, and renovating them was his specialty. Well, smaller ones, not one of the mansions he’d walked by almost twice a day going to and from school. His vision of owning one though had disappeared along with his scant retirement fund when he started undoing the damage caused by his ex-partner. But that was all in the past.
If God wanted him to have a house like this, He’d provide a way for Cole to achieve it.
He continued to stroke the banister, glad for the diversion from his thoughts. Passion infused his voice. “This house is a gem, Abby. We’re lucky so much of it has been kept intact, at least in this space. Let’s hope the rest of the rooms are the same. If we don’t have to replace any of the crown molding, corbels or ceiling medallions, our timeline will have just decreased. Stripping all the wood will probably take the longest. Did you know that underneath this layer of paint a beautiful piece of oak is just waiting to be exposed?”
“But I don’t want to replace things, all I want is for you to paint and wallpaper over everything. That’s quicker and easier.” She started pacing, determination with a hint of hesitation in each deliberate movement.
She glanced at her watch but Cole deduced she was really running through an imaginary calendar in her head. Frustration nipped at him. He wanted to do the job right and in the process uncover the secrets of the attractive woman at the same time he peeled away the layers of paint and faded wallpaper. He’d certainly be here long enough.
He softened his voice and unwillingly pulled his hand from the banister. “You can’t want to continue to cover up the beauty of this place. I believe your grandparents wanted to restore the place back to its original state. And that would involve stripping the paint down to the wood and re-staining it.”
“I’m not Charles or Sally.” Her gaze swept up the long staircase leading to the second level as if trying to see it through his eyes. “I suppose it would look much better, but I don’t have the time.”
“Why not? What are you going to do with the place?”
“Reopen the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast.”
Cole’s fingers curled into fists. Like he’d told Abby, this house was a gem and he could see the possibilities. In fact he could almost hear the clink of silverware and the lull of conversations coming from the dining room to his right, or guests sitting in comfortable lounge chairs in front of a roaring fire in the parlor to his left, or better yet, a posse of children clomping down the steps. These types of houses were meant to be lived in. Cherished. Filled with love and laughter. But after being inside its four walls, the spirit of the house needed mending, as well.
“My first guests arrive the Friday of the Founder’s Day Festival,” she continued and he heard an edge to her voice and saw her stiffen as if daring him to challenge her.
“That’s a little over two months away.” Incredulous at the deadline, Cole bit down on his tongue. His stomach churned. He owed Abby in a huge way because she was giving him the chance to clear his name. He’d do everything in his power to make sure the house was done in time even if he had to cut corners in not so obvious places and go without sleep during the entire job. “Fine. I’ll have it done by the festival.”
Abby faced him. Fear, determination, and what he sensed as abandonment, all warred for dominance in her expression. A faraway look glazed her eyes, yet her backbone remained fused into a rod. Her lips thinned as she pulled them into a grimace before her determined words spilled out. “This place needs to be ready by the end of April. I’ll help, too.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Plus six more people if anyone besides Abby would work for him.
Cole had an idea there was a lot more going on inside her brain than she divulged, but he let it slide. He had two months to draw her out if he wanted to. Especially if they were going to be working side by side during the remodel. A thought that chased away all the moisture from his mouth. He should get in his truck and hightail it back to Phoenix, but he wouldn’t walk away from his final obligation. Or Abby.
“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house and see what we’ve got to do.” Cole ushered Abby toward the front and into the parlor to the left, making sure to keep three paces behind her. Not only because he sensed she needed the distance, but because he needed it, as well.
His heart sank once he stepped through the double doors. No crown molding remained and the ceiling medallions had been removed. Plus the servant’s entryway and back wall had been covered by floor-to-ceiling wood paneling that had not been painted and darkened the room.
“Not very inviting, is it? Especially the mauve paint, the uneven chair rail and the fake brick finish on the fireplace.” Abby’s words created an instant headache.
Cole rubbed his eyes in hopes that the room would miraculously change when he reopened them. No such luck. This room would take a lot of time to correct. More days than he’d budgeted for, even with Abby’s help. “Not inviting at all. This parlor should be the most formal spot in the house and the most beautiful. This is where the guests would wait for the owners while the servants would bring them food and drink. Nothing remains of the original architecture. Okay then, let’s see what else we’ve got.”
His optimism elevated a bit at the sight of the wall-to-wall shag carpeting covering the living room’s hardwood floors. At least the hideous rug should have protected the oak underneath. And barring any unseen problems, the walls could be covered by a fresh coat of paint, or covered with wallpaper. He pivoted around. More things that showed promise were the original large ornate mantel and fireplace dominating the interior wall and the stained-glass portion of the windows at the top of the panes buried under several layers of paint. The integrity of this room had survived the multiple attempts of remodeling over the years.
“Pretty ghastly, isn’t it?” Abby’s shoulders slumped and pretty much matched his current mood.
“Actually, it’s better than the parlor, but I’m not crazy that they partitioned off the back for an office even though I suppose it was necessary. They could have done a little better job in keeping with the lines of the house.” Maybe he should retreat to the kitchen and grab his coffee cup. But the more awake he became, the worse the house would look. Once he pulled up the carpet though, he hoped the floors underneath wouldn’t be that bad.
“I have no idea what your ancestors and grandparents were thinking when they changed the interior so much.” Cole scratched the back of his neck as he paced around the mismatched furniture interspersed with the antique pieces. With luck, Abby might be able to find some replicas and recover the antiques if she ventured to Phoenix. Maybe his sister could give Abby some ideas with the interior design if he could pry her away from her shop and daughter for a few days.
“You knew them?”
“Of course. Everyone in town did.” His fingers touched the cool surface of the fireplace. Solid. Good. He squatted down and stuck his head partially inside. Hopefully it just needed a good cleaning. He pulled his head out and rose to his feet and turned to face her. “I used to shovel their walk, rake the leaves and mow the lawn when I was a kid. Your grandmother always brought me out a cup of hot chocolate or a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Even though we were never allowed inside, she treated me like I was one of the family.”
Cole watched the color disappear from her face as she sank down onto the brown couch. A frown marred her pretty features, yet he couldn’t hear the mumbled words that passed through her lips. Resisting the urge to cross the carpet and sit down next to her, he thrust his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. His fingers found the change left over from his convenience store sandwich bought last night.
Something wasn’t right and he sensed he should tread with caution but somehow the question slipped out. “You never came to visit. Why?”
“I didn’t know they existed until I inherited this monstrosity.”
The regret and bitterness caught him off guard and her green eyes held his captive. Then it hit him, unsettling his nerves. In his brief survey of the room earlier, he saw no family pictures. No heirlooms. No personal items of people that had spent their lives here. Nothing to indicate that this was a home and not just a building with four walls and a roof.
This time he commanded his legs to move and he planted himself on the cushion next to Abby. He picked up her chilled hand and held it firmly in his grip. She tried to shy away from him and Cole sensed a war going on inside her, but he wouldn’t let her untangle her fingers. The pad of his thumb rubbed a circle on the back of her hand as he tried to infuse a bit of warmth into her.
“But how—” Cole answered the question himself. While Sally Bancroft had been a loving, giving person, her husband, Charles, could frighten a charging black bear with a look. The daughter had run away a few years before Cole was born. Obviously, she’d kept her own daughter’s birth a secret. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times. The day slipped away, yet Cole didn’t have the energy to move as he sat next to Abby and watched the sunlight spill in through the stained-glass portion of the windows and dye the room with multiple colors. Peace settled inside him and he sensed a new beginning. It wouldn’t be easy, nothing worthwhile in life ever was, but the Lord would see him through and steer him in the right direction once his obligations were fulfilled.
“It’s not your fault.” Abby pulled away from Cole, not understanding why she suddenly wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. “Who knows what we’ll discover while we’re fixing this place up. Someday you’ll have to tell me about them but not now. Too much to do.”
And that “too much to do” didn’t involve sitting next to Cole, being lulled into a sense of companionship and trying to figure out why she should keep her distance.
“I agree.” Cole stood and held out his hand to help Abby to her feet.
Another shift of energy passed between them, leaving her out of breath and out of sorts. Fortunately, the tremors in her heart didn’t show in her voice. “Come on. Let me show you the rest.”
Hours later Abby and Cole sat back down at her kitchen table, a legal-sized pad of paper between them. “You’re in luck, Abby. From what I can see, this place is structurally sound, and aside from some water damage to the front and side porches, the work is all cosmetic. There may be problems we can’t see though.”
The timer dinged from the coffeemaker as Cole drew bold slashes across the first yellow page. Abby refilled their cups and returned to the table before he flipped it over and started drawing on the next sheet. By the fifth page, Abby’s curiosity increased. With his head bent slightly to his left, she could see the tip of his tongue protruding from his lips as he worked. Strong, firm fingers wrapped around the pencil, and from Abby’s earlier experience, she knew they were rough from hard work, yet gentle when he’d held her hand in the living room.
The almost schoolboyish image he portrayed when he shoved the pencil behind his ear, and the excitement dancing in his eyes when he gazed up at her, made breathing more difficult. She definitely should have never let him into the house.
“Okay, Abby, here’s what I think needs to be done.” Cole shifted the pad across to her and then stood to reposition his chair around the table next to her. His nearness threatened her sanity again. Instinctively, she shied away even though she never moved her seat. “We need to get rid of all the wallpaper, the paneling and carpet and see how bad it is underneath. All the wood needs to be stripped of the paint and re-stained its original color. The walls can either be repainted or wallpapered. There should be original pictures that we can refer to somewhere in the town archives if there aren’t any here. That would also give us a sense of the furniture, too.”
More excitement laced his voice as he flipped over the first page. “The main floor should be our initial focus because that’s what people see first. The living room needs to be warm and inviting so your guests can unwind and relax after a long day. The French double doors can close and separate the parlor from the reception area, which could double as a temporary office for those who need to work, and you could offer Wi-Fi services for those who can’t live without internet for a few days. The dining room might be a little small depending on the number of guests, but in the summer months, they could sit out on the front veranda and enjoy the views and the weather.”
All Abby saw in his scribbled notes was sand sifting quickly through an hourglass. Her stomach clenched. What the man outlined would take way more time and money than she’d budgeted for and she hadn’t even started to furnish or decorate the place yet. She should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing in life ever was. Yet, selling wasn’t an option because she was determined to stick it out and put down roots so she could find an inner peace that had eluded her for her entire life.
“When does your crew arrive? Are you sure we can do all this in two months? How much money?” Abby had better get a time frame and a figure before she trudged to apply for a bank loan. Her fingernails dug into her palms, tamping down his enthusiasm before it could wear off on her.
“I don’t have a crew anymore.” Cole squeezed the bridge of his nose and his shoulders slumped.
Ragged breathing forced air into her lungs. Obviously Abby wasn’t the only one with past issues. A piece of hopelessness fell away and she fought the longing to comfort Cole as he had done for her.
Cole’s strained sigh filled the gap between them. “I’ll get it done. As for money, we’ll figure out what we’ll need in materials when you tell me what you want. Fortunately, your grandparents already added more bathrooms upstairs and converted the servant’s hallway into a powder room, but they need to be redone along with everything else in this house. You’ll also have to decide whether you want to convert the space in the attic into living quarters or take the room your grandparents used, and how big of a kitchen you think you’ll need. I’d suggest taking the butler pantry and enlarging the entire room, but that’s your choice.”
Everything Cole said spun around in Abby’s mind like a top. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table and she squeezed her eyelids shut, blocking out his drawings and scribbled notes.
“Abby?” His voice filled her ears, his warm breath tickling her lobe. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her heart wedged in her throat when she opened her eyes and turned to stare into his. The hammering in her brain intensified and swallowing became a chore.
The trill of the phone shattered the invisible thread binding them together. After scraping her chair’s legs against the linoleum floor, she lunged for the phone hanging on the wall next to the outdated refrigerator. At least this one was a little more current than the one in the office. “Hello? I mean, Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, Abby speaking. How may I help you?”
Abby listened to the voice on the other end. She stared at Cole, who still sat scribbling more notes on the paper, a slight frown hugging his lips. White knuckles protruded from his long, lean fingers as he squeezed the pencil. His actions contradicted his earlier words. “You’d like to book a room?”
Cole’s eyebrows rose, his brown eyes piercing her.
“Of course we do.” Turning away from the contractor, Abby found a piece of paper and wrote down all the necessary information to transfer to the ledger later. “Thanks, Mrs. Andrews. We’ll see you at the beginning of May.”
Lifting her chin, Abby twirled around and leveled her gaze on Cole again. Determination filled her. She was her mother’s daughter after all and until the end, nothing could stop Sharon Bancroft when she set her mind to something. “Great. Another reservation. I sense some conflict in you, Mr. Preston. I’m here for the long haul. I have to make this work. We have two months to pull this place together. If you don’t feel you’re up to the task, then leave. I won’t hold it against you.”
A dog barked from the neighbor’s yard, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“The name’s Cole. And I’m more than capable of the task.”
She hated pushing Cole, but she needed to know where he really stood. Her voice softened. “Fine. Then we’d better get started, hadn’t we? We can begin on the main floor and do the bedrooms as we need them. Right now I have two reservations, so that leaves four rooms we can work on later unless I book more guests.”
A knock at Abby’s front door caught their attention.
With the frown still hugging his lips, Cole set down the pen on the paper and stood. “Sounds doable. Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.” Abby pushed away from the counter, glad for the distraction as she headed for the sound. “It must be Mrs. Wendt again. She’s probably brought me something else to eat. She thinks I’m too skinny.”
Cole intercepted her, his gaze traveled slowly from the tips of her sneakers to the bandanna on her head. When his fingers tenderly brushed away a piece of dust from her hair, her breath caught in her throat and refused to move into her lungs. His appreciative glance finally settled on her face. “I think you look fine.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned and strode from the room. “I’ll get it.”
“No. I’ll get it. It’s my house.” A louder knock brought Abby out of her reverie. “Hang on, I’m coming.”
Heat flared in her cheeks as she scurried down the hall and overtook Cole in the reception hall. He hovered behind her but allowed her to struggle with the lock, until she finally managed to jiggle the dead bolt and open the front door. An elderly woman stood on the porch, her hand patting down a stray flyaway from her salon coiffed hair, a nervous smile gracing her brightly painted lips.
“Hello, Ms. Bancroft, My name is Kitty. Kitty Carlton. I used to help your grandmother with the housekeeping. I’m here to offer my services to you when you reopen.” The woman’s high-pitched words strung out in one big breath.
“Hi, Kitty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Abby’s lips pulled back, exposing her teeth, but a smile took a long time to form. She extended her hand to shake Kitty’s limp one. The woman’s clammy grasp reminded her of the worms she used to put on the hooks when she went fishing in the pond behind one of their many apartments in L.A. She did her best not to shake off the feeling when she let go or rub her hands across her jeans. Abby motioned for Cole to join her. “Thanks for your offer. I don’t need anyone quite yet. Not until the beginning of May. Cole and I are just going over the remodeling that needs to be done before I reopen, aren’t we, Cole?”
“Cole? Cole who? I’d heard that you came alone.” Kitty’s open curiosity stung at the privacy Abby guarded carefully. The less people knew about her personal life, the less likely they were to hurt her emotionally. A lesson she should learn with Cole, yet somehow she sensed, or maybe hoped, he’d be different.
Cole stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, Mrs. Carlton.”
All the color fled from the elderly woman’s face, her voice frigid with contempt. “You have some nerve showing your face in this town, Cole Preston.”
Abby’s stomach nose-dived to her feet. Between the handshake and her reaction to Cole, the woman wasn’t making a good lasting impression on her. It was all she could do not to shut the door in Kitty’s face, yet if she did, word would get around and probably ruin her chances of fitting in. Or would siding with Cole destroy it? Indecisions clawed at her until she knew what she had to do. “Why? He’s come to do the work.”
Kitty’s piercing gaze stayed on Abby. “He’s trouble, that one. A bad seed like his dad. I wouldn’t let him inside my house or anywhere near my property.”
The woman’s remarks continued to upset Abby. No one deserved such rude treatment no matter what the circumstances. If anyone should hold a grudge, it should be Abby, and yet she couldn’t find the way to do it. He had come to do the work after all, even if he was a year late. She lifted her chin and clenched her hands together. There was no way she’d ever hire Kitty Carlton to do one lick of work inside her home without a huge attitude adjustment. “Thanks for stopping by. When Cole and I are done with the remodel, I’ll let you know if I need your services.”
“Why, after what happened and how he killed your grandparents—”
“Now, now, Kitty. You know that’s not true. Charles had a bad heart and Sally couldn’t go on without him.” Mrs. Wendt tsked as she climbed up the front steps with a plate of fresh baked cookies in her hand. The aroma of oatmeal and cinnamon drifted by Abby’s nose, carried in on a small gust of cold air. “Besides, if I remember correctly, it was his partner that took the money. Why don’t you go bother someone else with your lies and sour attitude and leave these two alone?”
Abby could have hugged her neighbor as the other woman retreated down the steps. “Goodbye then.”
“Good riddance is more like it. Maybe if she found the Lord, she’d be more forgiving and accepting. Hi, Abby. Cole. It is good to see you again. It’s time you came home.” The older woman raised her eyebrows and stepped past him. Once inside the foyer, she glanced around. “My, my, this place does need some work, doesn’t it?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wendt. Yes. Abby and I were just going through what needs to be done.” Cole wedged a hand through his hair and stepped back. His gaze met Abby’s.
“Why, that’s wonderful. That means you’ll be here for a while.” Speculation sprinkled the elderly woman’s expression. “Phillip will be tickled. You don’t happen to have a son that can shovel our walk now, do you? Or rake our leaves or mow our lawn?”
“No. I’m not married.”
“Not married? What a shame.” Mrs. Wendt winked at Abby. “You’d be a fine catch for some lucky, single, young lady. Abby, I made you some cookies and came by to retrieve my casserole dish.”
Cole’s stiffening back didn’t go unnoticed. Her neighbor’s words made him uncomfortable; her, too. Abby wasn’t here to find romance.
“How’s your husband doing?” Cole questioned, as if trying to steer the conversation to a more neutral ground.
Abby released the breath she held and filled her lungs with much needed oxygen. Mrs. Wendt’s gaze kept darting between the two of them and mischief crept into her smile. Dread filled Abby. Cole had admitted earlier he wasn’t the stay-around-for-the-long-haul kind of guy.
“Just fine, though his arthritis is acting up with the cold weather. He wants to move but I can’t imagine leaving Dynamite Creek for Phoenix. This is my home and where I’m needed. So, Cole. Where are you staying while you do the restorations?” All innocence fled the woman’s expression and Abby’s knees threatened to have a meeting with the thin rug under her feet.
Abby watched Cole back up until the railing stopped him. “I haven’t given that much thought, Mrs. Wendt. My first priority was to come here and get started on the house.”
“Well, I know it’s not much, but Phillip and I have a small apartment above the garage that we’ve been wanting to rent out for a while. That way you won’t have a long commute to work.” Determination gleamed in her eyes. The woman’s grin released a million butterflies in Abby’s stomach.
It took a few seconds for Cole to formulate an answer that Abby suspected was more for her benefit than Mrs. Wendt’s. “That’s very kind of you and it would be convenient. I haven’t had a chance to speak to my sister, but I suspect her place probably isn’t big enough for a semi-temporary guest and my mother’s is out of the question.” Cole’s gaze flipped between the two. “As long as you understand it’s nothing permanent. I’ll be moving on when I’m done here.”
Relief and disappointment filled Abby, yet she schooled her expression to remain neutral. It was nothing she hadn’t expected anyway.
“I understand completely. I’ll go put fresh linens on the bed and find the extra key. Oh, and I have a coupon for Mama Zita’s. It’s the best pizza in town, you know. Phillip can’t have it because of his high cholesterol, but you just have to try it tonight. Neither one of you had any dinner plans, did you? No? Good. I’m sure you’ll still have lots to discuss for what needs to be done here.” Helen thrust the plate of cookies into Abby’s hands and hummed on her way out the door.
Abby’s jaw dropped and the butterflies inside her refused to be stilled. With Cole living next door during the restorations, she’d find no peace of mind at all. Especially when his new landlady appeared to have matchmaking on her mind.
Chapter Three
The knock on her front door just before seven o’clock still took Abby by surprise even though she expected it. Agreeing to Helen Wendt’s scheme of sharing a pizza at home with Cole so they could continue to go through plans probably wasn’t one of her smartest moves. Not like she had much choice in the matter. Her fingers smoothed out a tiny crease in the blue and white floral printed tablecloth she’d found in the linen closet. The automatic gesture reassured her, reminding her of how she used to rub her blankie between her fingers to calm down when she was a child. She glanced around the dining room before she stepped into the reception area.
Her low heels clicked against the wood flooring and now she questioned her sanity as to why she’d changed into a skirt. Or let her hair down. Or applied just a hint of makeup. Would Cole think that she was going to be a willing participant in Mrs. Wendt’s matchmaking scheme?
Her nervous sigh rattled all the way to her toes. Too late to change now.
Light spilled in through the stained-glass window and beyond the pane Abby could see Cole’s silhouette against the dark backdrop. Distorted and colorful, yet tied together into a recognizable shape, his image reminded her of a Picasso she’d studied in art class.
She took a deep breath, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, and then rubbed her damp hands over the black skirt. The lock didn’t want to slide back again, which didn’t help her nerves. Finally, using her shoulder, she pushed against the door to relieve some of the pressure on the lock and tried again. This time it worked.
Pulling back the oak door, she saw Cole balancing a large square box with a white plastic bag set on top. His hesitant smile signaled that, like herself, maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with the dinner idea, either. “Hi, again.”
“Hi, yourself.” Abby took the box and watched as Cole carefully wiped his feet on the mat before he shrugged out of his black jacket and hung it on a hook on the hall tree.
He retrieved the pizza. “Thanks.”
“We’re in the dining room tonight. I thought it would give us more room.”
“Good idea.” When he moved passed her, the hint of freshly applied aftershave drifted by her nose. His still slightly damp hair curled away from his forehead. Abby forced her hand to remain at her side instead of reaching out to touch it. This reaction to Cole was crazy. He was her contractor. Nothing more.
“Smells delicious.” Abby took her own seat kitty-corner from where Cole stood and settled the blue linen napkin onto her lap.
“It is.” Cole opened the plastic bag and pulled out a baggie full of celery, some Ranch dressing and a Styrofoam container and placed them on the table. “I also took the liberty of getting some barbecue chicken wings. Mama Zita’s place is the best in town. Or it used to be anyway.”
Then he flipped up the lid to the cardboard box, revealing the thin crust pie covered in pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers and olives. The tangy aroma teased her taste buds and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation because she hadn’t eaten anything since a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at noon.
“Wow. It looks wonderful, Cole.” Abby held up her delicate china plate so Cole could set the slice of pizza on it.
His eyebrows lifted. “Plates? I’m sure I could have gotten some paper ones at Mama Zita’s.”
Abby set it in front of her. “I found paper plates in the pantry. I didn’t want to use them.”
“Why not? They’re so much easier to clean up.” A frown emerged as his gaze roved over her face as if he were trying to make up his mind about her.
She could almost hear the imaginary taunts she’d thought she’d left behind in her awkward teenage years. She knew it had been silly of her to use the plates in the large, built-in cabinet behind her but Abby dared to hope Cole would understand her odd behavior. Her pointer finger traced the gold edge of the antique ivory plate with the multicolored floral print painted on the surface.
“Paper means temporary and on the move and seems a bit impersonal. I want permanence. They’re not exactly my type but they fit with the theme I envision for the house.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It just surprised me. Outside of a restaurant, I haven’t eaten off a real plate in years.” Cole tucked his napkin on his lap, a hesitant smile creeping across his lips. His confession only solidified his lack of willingness to stay in one place. “You and my sister would get along. She refuses to use paper or plastic because it brings up painful memories.”
“Oh. I’d like to meet her sometime.”
“I’m sure you will. Christine lives on the other side of town but she owns a cute boutique on Main Street. She makes candles for a living.”
Pleasure filled her, yet panic tried to take hold. Cole noticed. Abby bit her lip and glanced away from the twinkle in his eyes. She may have gone overboard though with the candle in the slightly tarnished pewter candelabra gracing the center of the table. The dancing flame created an almost intimate and romantic atmosphere, virtually blocking out everything but the two of them. She grabbed her crystal goblet and drank most of the water inside. While it quenched her parched throat, it didn’t come near to satisfying her need to fit in.
But her lopsided attraction wasn’t the only thing that made her squirm when she picked up her slice. After Cole helped himself to his own pizza and wings, he folded his hands together and bowed his head. Heat creeping to her cheeks, she quickly set down her food and mimicked Cole’s movements. At least he hadn’t asked her to say the prayer.
“Dear Lord, bless this food and this house. May the restoration go quickly and easily. Amen.”
“Amen.” Abby found herself saying the word. She didn’t choke, nor did any lightning bolts appear from the sky. Having heard it many times, she discovered it wasn’t as foreign to her as she’d thought. Abby had just never felt the urge to say it before tonight. Maybe she should go through more carefully the packet Delia gave her and explore the possibilities of religion when they finished the house. If she could open her practical mind and believe… Right.
If God truly existed, why did He let such bad things happen around the world? Why did He take her mom?
Abby picked up her slice again and bit into the pizza. As anticipated, the varied toppings exploded across her taste buds. “This is wonderful. I’ve never had such a combination before.”
“Really?” Cole rested his arms against the side of the table and searched her face. “I thought it was pretty standard. I would have gotten mushrooms, too, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like them.”
“I do, actually.” Abby fell into his warm and inviting gaze. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips and the flame’s reflection danced in his brown eyes. The combination of the candlelight, the inviting scent of pizza and the light sound of classic rock music from the old radio she’d found in the kitchen loosened her tongue. “But a lot of toppings are expensive. When my mom could afford to buy a pizza, we only got cheese. And that wasn’t often.”
Cole’s expression shifted in the flickering light. “I’ll remember that next time. Things changed in my family, too, when my parents split up. Going out to eat, taking in a movie, or even getting the bare necessities like winter gloves and a scarf was a challenge.”
“So that’s why you shoveled my grandparent’s walkway.” Abby gladly shifted the conversation back to Cole. She didn’t want to dwell on the next time or the idea that they had anything similar in their backgrounds because that would probably make her like him more than she already unwillingly did. “And probably why you moved to Phoenix.”
“Among other reasons. I couldn’t wait to get out of this place.”
Abby’s heart stalled at his words. All her life she’d wanted to stay in one place for more than six months. To have what her temporary classmates had. To belong and have a place to call home. She couldn’t imagine wanting to leave Dynamite Creek, and now that she’d found it, she would do everything in her power to be able to stay.
She chewed another mouthful of pizza, realizing she knew nothing about the man next to her except he was about her age and a contractor. If they were to work together, having more background information could only be helpful. Right. She forced herself to swallow, knowing her interest was more personal than professional. “How old were you when you left?”
“Nineteen.” A frown twisted his features as he placed another slice on her plate.
Unused to being served, his action addled her brain. The gentle way he scooped up the wayward bit of sausage and set it back in its place sent her pulse fluttering. If he treated her house that way, or even herself, Abby would have a hard time not falling for him and the way he seemed to care for everything around him. “Thanks.”
His gaze captured hers and Abby couldn’t pull herself from the depths of uncertainty or the hint of despair. Instinctively she leaned closer, wishing she could erase the haggard lines creasing his face, but to do so would be crossing the barrier she’d erected to keep people at a distance.
“I may as well tell you the truth before someone else does. I made some bad choices and got into some trouble here. Vandalism. A prank gone bad. One of my old neighbors intervened with the judge and hooked me up with his brother who owned a construction firm in Phoenix. I liked what I was doing and enrolled in trade school. A few years after I graduated, I struck out on my own.”
“Interesting.” Abby leaned back, any lingering intimacy shattered by Cole’s revelation. Not good. It reminded her of her mother and why they’d had to keep moving. Her head buzzed and her appetite disappeared. Trouble seemed to follow him. Or maybe he actively sought it out?
She should release him from his obligation, but then she’d never get the house done on time or anywhere close to the beginning of May. Would her association with him help or hurt her chances of fitting in? Judging from the few people she’d met, it could go either way, yet she didn’t have the heart to turn him away because she couldn’t reconcile the man sitting next to her with what his partner had done or the poor decisions he’d made in his youth. His actions spoke differently, which was why she needed to give him a chance.
Their conversation turned back to the house as she forced herself to eat the last slice of pizza. At the end though, she still struggled with her curiosity. “What made you decide to do restoration work instead of new construction?”
The clink of ice shared the space between them as Cole lifted his goblet to his lips and drank. Abby couldn’t stop staring at the strong column of his neck or the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he emptied the glass. Finally her glance shifted to the cleanly shaven skin covering his angular jawline and then upward to his firm lips. She wondered how they would feel against hers.
Her breath hitched. The atmosphere in the house only added to her confusion. Going along with Helen’s scheme and eating dinner with Cole had been a bad idea, especially since she couldn’t think of the last time she’d shared a meal with anyone other than lunch with one of her ex coworkers. Yet he sat at the head of the table like he belonged there. As if this space which had been built over 135 years earlier had been constructed with him in mind. He fit into her house, but from what she’d discovered, would never fit into her life. She had to remember that so she wouldn’t get hurt again.
Cole placed his goblet on the table and stared at it intently. His finger traced the intricate pattern cut into the crystal. “Look around you, Abby. This place is a work of art. Unlike the boxes being built today, it has character and life. I’m the artist, dedicated to bringing back the vision that the original builders had in mind. Nothing more. Nothing less. I built my reputation on that and I think that’s why your grandparents hired my company. They wanted to leave you a legacy.”
Her fingers mangled the pizza crust. “I doubt it. As far as I know, they didn’t even try to look for my mom or me. It would have been nice to know I had more family somewhere.”
Cole removed the remains from her hands and wiped her fingertips gently with his napkin. His actions made her dizzy and breathing a chore, yet she didn’t want the moment to end. “There’s always two sides to every story. Maybe someday you’ll discover them. Until then, let’s keep moving forward on the house.”
The house. Good idea. Focus on what’s important. Not the niggling notion that maybe things weren’t quite what they seemed.
Releasing her hand, he pushed the plates to the side. Abby knew it was for the best and willed her heart to quit its frantic beating. She inhaled sharply, forcing her attention from the man to the candle gracing the center of the table and blew out the candle. A puff of smoke wafted between them, temporarily breaking the spell.
“Good idea.” Her voice shook despite her attempt to act normal.
She grabbed for the pizza box the same time Cole scooped up the Styrofoam container. Stunned, Abby watched him wedge the container of Ranch dressing inside with the remaining chicken wings, dump the bones from one china plate to the other, and then stack the plates on top of each other. Cole must have seen her mouth drop open even though she tried to cover it with a yawn.
Shrugging, his lips twisted into a half grin. “What? I was raised to do my share.”
Her mother had obviously been hanging out with the wrong men during Abby’s childhood. Abby followed Cole into the kitchen, taking in the breadth of his shoulders underneath his pale blue collared shirt. She hadn’t paid attention earlier. She sure did now. Her mouth went dry. Somehow she managed to place the leftover pizza in the box on the counter but not before their shoulders grazed. The instant surge of awareness kicked her heartbeat into another rhythm. Heat colored Abby’s cheeks.
“Where did you put the garbage can?” Cole stepped to the side and held up the plate with the chicken bones.
The not-so-spacious area seemed to grow smaller the longer he remained. “Under the sink.”
Instead of looking at Cole, or more specifically the light sprinkling of hair on his long, lean fingers, as they held the plates, Abby stared at the kitchen with new eyes. The room would be the last place she fixed up because guests wouldn’t be allowed inside, but it would be nice to have new amenities like a dishwasher and a refrigerator with an ice and water dispenser. All luxuries she’d grown up without and cost money she didn’t have. A new stove would be a good idea, too, if she could figure out how to use one to do more than the basic stuff.
Abby shook her head to dispel the images of fires and other cooking disasters. She had to learn how to make blueberry scones and other tasty treats to tempt her guests and make them happy. She’d promised her first customers. Of course, to begin with, she had to find the recipe.
“This will just take a moment. I’ll meet you back in the dining room when I’m done.”
Cole searched her expression as he put the two dishes in the sink and finally left the room, giving Abby a moment to breathe before putting the leftovers away. Turning on the hot water faucet, she washed the plates and wished she could wash away his imprint as easily as she did the crumbs.
Disappointment and exhaustion filled her. Turning on the tap again to rinse off the dishes, Abby watched the water spill over her hands and shoot out in different directions. Unlike her emotions, the water represented a release she dared not show. He was just like everyone else in her clichéd life. Here today, gone tomorrow. Cole was simply her contractor, not a prince in one of the fairy tales her mother used to read her. She’d best remember that before she made a fool of herself.
The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Her spine stiffened, and she shut off the tap before reaching for the dish towel on the counter. She spied Cole’s reflection in the window above the sink as he stood in the doorway and strangled the towel she’d picked up to dry her hands.
“Abby, I want to show you something.”
“No problem. I’ll be right there.”
When Abby finally returned to the dining room a minute later, Cole stood on one of the wooden chairs. Balancing his weight on the edges, he lifted his hands to the ceiling and knocked on the drywall. Hollow, just as he thought it would be.
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Kim Watters
Finally ready to settle down, Abby Bancroft has just inherited a place to put down roots. But her hopes for a successful bed-and-breakfast are placed on hold when she learns that her grandparents' run-down inn is in serious need of TLC.So is Cole Preston, the handsome contractor who offers to help make her dream a reality. His past mistakes won't let him consider settling in the close-knit town. Yet as he and Abby work together to repair the house, they also begin to mend each other's hearts. And they just may find that consulting their hearts is what creating a home is all about.
“So, now that you’ve seen a little bit of what’s in store for you, isn’t it time to leave?”
Her question troubled him. It was almost as if she expected him to abandon the project. Why?
“The name’s Cole. What’s your first name?” Something about the woman intrigued him, and despite his reservations about the house, she made him want to linger long after he reached the bottom of his cup.
Hope and another emotion he couldn’t identify descended over the woman’s features. “You really intend to do the work? Even though the people who signed the contract are dead?”
He set the cup on the table, his grip tightening around the yellow ceramic. He needed to do the remodel so he could start over again somewhere else. “I won’t leave until I’m finished.”
“But you’ll leave. They always do.” The plea in her eyes and the softness of her voice chiseled away another piece of the wall surrounding his heart. In that short span of time, he realized that for the time being, they needed each other.
KIM WATTERS
At twelve years old, Kim fell in love with romance after she borrowed a Harlequin Romance book from her older sister’s bookshelf. An avid reader, she was soon hooked on the happily-ever-after endings. For years she dreamed of writing her own romance novel, but never had the time until she moved from the hustle and bustle of Chicago to a small town north of Phoenix, Arizona.
Kim still lives in that same small town with her two wonderful children, one crazy dog and two high-strung hamsters.
Home Sweet Home
Kim Watters
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Do not judge, and you will not be judged.
Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven.
—Luke 6:38
For Shane and Emily, the loves of my life
who don’t quite grasp the concept yet
that these books don’t write themselves,
and my sister, Karin Roepel,
and my mom, Sharon Galitz,
who made sure it all made sense.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions For Discussion
Chapter One
“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”
—Luke 6:37
“This is it?” Wide-eyed and a little confused, Abby Bancroft stared out the passenger side window of the Ford Escort parked in front of the large Victorian house. Her stomach churned as her gaze flipped between the obviously outdated brochure in her cold hand and the three-story wooden structure to her right in need of a new paint job and some other cosmetic work. If the outside reflected the inside, her vision of reopening the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast by the Founder’s Day Festival the first weekend in May died a quick and painful death.
Disappointment pooled around her shoulders and matched the dismal early March skies. Puffy gray clouds threatened more snow in the sleepy town of Dynamite Creek in northern Arizona. The bare limbs of the tree standing guard by the long porch running along the front of the house looked more inviting than the empty windows that stared back at her. She should have guessed the house would be as welcoming as the people who once lived inside.
“Yep. This is it. We’re here.” Delia Wentworth, the receptionist from her late grandmother’s attorney’s office unbuckled her seat belt and opened the driver’s side door. Frigid air blew through the interior, making Abby shiver inside her inadequate jacket and miss the warm Southern California weather. Here wasn’t exactly the picture perfect place she’d expected to find as she sat frozen inside the car.
“It’s really a great house. It just needs a little TLC,” Delia responded enthusiastically before leaving the car.
“A little?” Abby’s skepticism showed in her voice. She knew nothing about general construction, but she had eyes, unless something in her brain had gone haywire in the long drive between Los Angeles and Dynamite Creek. Maybe she needed a pair of rose-colored glasses like Delia wore because Abby didn’t quite see the old Victorian in the same way.
Pulling her collar around her neck, Abby grabbed her purse, exited the car and walked to where the young woman stood. Abby held up the brochure and compared it with the house. Then she flipped the piece of paper over. The photo credit was from 1987. Figures. Over the years, beautiful and welcoming had morphed into dismal and uninviting. The yellow paint had faded over time and had begun to peel in several places and some of the porch railing sagged. And that was just what she could see.
A gust of wind frosted her legs and whipped a loose strand of hair into her eyes. Abby should have waited until May to collect her inheritance, but the letter from the attorney’s office hadn’t really given her much choice and she wasn’t fool enough to walk away from a place she could finally call home. If she found a way to fit into Dynamite Creek.
The cold, hard reality in front of her caused doubt to creep in. She didn’t have a lot money or time for a place that wasn’t turnkey, but she’d never be able to reopen the B and B until it resembled the picture in her hand. Her gaze skimmed the dull, faded exterior again. No one in his or her right mind would even consider staying in the house in its present condition. How the Bancrofts managed to attract customers the past few years amazed her. Even though the home had only been shut down six months ago with their deaths, neglect clung to every nook and cranny.
“Okay, the place needs more than just a little bit of care. Your grandparents—”
“Charles and Sally Bancroft?” Bitterness and disappointment pulsed in her heart. “Hardly. Grandparents only by name.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she stared at the numbers screwed to the fence post also in need of a fresh coat of paint.
The Bancrofts hadn’t cared that her mother, Sharon, had spent years working two jobs and struggling to make ends meet while raising their granddaughter. Nor had they bothered to visit while her mother was ill. They hadn’t even gone to her funeral when her mother finally succumbed to cancer ten years earlier. How apropos they’d saddle Abby with a falling down pile of wood that was probably as cold on the inside as it looked on the outside.
“Well, the Bancrofts had hired a contracting firm out of Phoenix with roots from Dynamite Creek to remodel the place about a year ago, but one of the partners took off with the hefty deposit money and never started the job.” Delia opened the gate and ushered Abby through. “That pretty much destroyed them physically and emotionally. Your grandfather died shortly afterward from a heart attack. Your grandmother didn’t last too much longer. Such a shame. Anyway, as my boss told you, aside from the house, there wasn’t much left once their medical bills were satisfied. Come on, let me show you the interior.”
Not much left was right. Abby guessed she had two months of inheritance money to survive plus what she’d stocked away in savings and her retirement fund. She had to open the B and B or be forced to accept another failure. Maybe she should sell the property? But who would buy the run-down place in this economy? And did she really want to walk away from where her mother grew up? Houses like this didn’t fall from the sky every day. Not for her anyway.
Following the younger blonde up the walkway, Abby’s gaze skimmed the brown patches of grass peeking through the thin layer of old snow. Dead garden beds lined the sidewalk and the base of the house. Only the partially visible green shrubbery showed any signs of life.
“You were their legal firm, why didn’t you sue?” The wooden steps creaked under her weight and the metal handrail only numbed her hand further. Bare branches rustled in the wind and dead leaves sounded nothing like the waves pounding against the shore of her favorite place in L.A. Dirt and debris piled on the porch looked nothing like the soft, grainy sand on the beach where she used to work as a teenager.
“Mrs. Bancroft didn’t want to. I think she had a soft spot for the partner left holding the proverbial bag, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The company filed bankruptcy.” Unlocking the front door, Delia stepped through and flipped the light switch. “I’ll bring over the contract and bankruptcy paperwork later if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary. I doubt I’ll ever run into any of them, so I won’t be able to give them a piece of my mind,” Abby replied as she stepped inside. The warm interior surprised her, as did the lighting from the old-fashioned stained-glass light suspended from the foyer ceiling. “Heat? Electricity?”
“I’ll bring it by anyway. My boss turned on the utilities yesterday for your arrival. In anticipation of your continuing the business, he even managed to get the phone service activated as of this morning under the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast name. Don’t be surprised if you start getting calls for reservations. Despite how it looks, the Bancrofts had standing reservations every year for the Founder’s Day Festival. Aside from this one, there’s only two other B and B’s in town, and they’re probably already full. There’s a file folder on the kitchen table with all the contact numbers so you can switch everything into your name. It’s right this way.”
Abby trailed after Delia, feeling as if she’d stepped back in time. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the long hall, the light merrily reflecting off the glass. A tall wooden chair with a beveled mirror that also doubled as a coat rack graced the faded wall by the fireplace. High doorways on either side of the foyer led to more rooms. Beneath her feet, small, multicolored tile peaked out from underneath the worn rug. Despite the scent of neglect, the house had a charm she could almost grow accustomed to. She spun around, trying to take it all in before she hustled after the other woman. At a first glance, the interior needed as much work as the exterior, especially the kitchen. It was way too small.
Her heart plummeted again as enormous dollar signs flashed in her brain. She’d have to take out a loan. The appliances looked like they hadn’t been updated since the late sixties. The lime green, orange and gold linoleum flooring had to go, but the Formica dinette table showed promise. It reminded her of Mrs. White’s, the elderly woman who lived in the apartment next door to Abby’s last place of residence.
“Here’s the information on the utilities.” Delia handed her the folder from the table. “And I thought you might appreciate this.” The assistant handed her another folder—a thicker one with several pamphlets inside. “It’s kind of like a welcome packet. I know what it’s like being new to town having moved here a few years ago with my husband, so I stopped by the Chamber of Commerce and got you this stuff. There’s also some information about the church we belong to in case you’re looking.”
Church. Another concept as foreign as the small town of Dynamite Creek. The only time she’d ever stepped foot in one was for her mother’s funeral. Not wanting to hurt Delia’s feelings, Abby took the folder. Aside from the church, the rest of the information inside could prove useful. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to look everything over when I get the chance.”
Frigid air swirled around them as they walked back to Delia’s car, the piercing wind sneaking inside Abby’s collar. She shivered and got inside to go back to the attorney’s office. Determination filled her when she glanced at the house again. Her mother had once told Abby that hard physical work brought rewards beyond compare. It looked like Abby was finally getting her chance to see if her mother’s wisdom rang true. And maybe she’d finally found the home she’d always been searching for.
The sound of the phone woke Abby from a deep sleep. Stretching in the dim dawn light, she unwound her stiff body from the sofa where she’d sat down to rest just after midnight. Her brain still full of cobwebs, she stumbled to the back room she’d discovered yesterday while exploring the place. She grabbed the phone on the antique desk before she turned on the stained-glass lamp. A kaleidoscope of color danced across her vision as light spilled over the dark patch of stain on the desk that hadn’t been worn thin like the rest of the surface. “Hello?”
“Hello?” A woman’s voice floated over the line. “Is this the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast?”
Dread and a tinge of anticipation chased away her exhaustion. Abby found a stray curl and wound it around her pointer finger. Breathing deeply, she stilled the butterflies whirling in her stomach. “Yes. Sorry. This is the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, how may I help you?”
“Yes. We’d like to make a reservation.”
Abby’s eyes widened at the sight of the old-fashioned black rotary phone. She didn’t even know these things existed anymore outside of the movies. The numbering in the circles even looked foreign to her like most of the antiques inside the house.
“Um. Sure.” With her computer still in a box on the floor next to the desk, Abby searched frantically for a piece of paper to write her first customer’s information on. Her hand stilled on what looked like an old ledger stuffed inside the top drawer. Blowing lightly to clear the dust, she placed it on the worn surface and yanked a pen from the holder next to the lamp, her hands damp with a bit of nervous moisture. A lump formed in her throat but she managed to find her voice. “Our reopening will be May 5. Or would you be looking for a date later in the summer?”
“Hang on a moment. Harry, I’ve managed to get a hold of someone. It looks like we can get our Founder’s Day Weekend after all.” Abby held the phone away from her ear as the woman conversed with her husband.
Her gaze froze on the peeling corner of dark orange wallpaper with silver and gold thread running through it. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to rest on the palm of her left hand. What was she doing? There was no way she was going to get this house in order to receive guests in two months’ time. Not without help and considering she knew no one in town except Delia and her boss, no one would be coming to her aid any time soon. Her breath rushed out in one big whoosh, sending a dust bunny fluttering to the floor along with her confidence.
“Fine. We’ll take that weekend. We always love coming to The Founder’s Day Festival. This is Harry and Edith Gordon. And we always stay in the blue room. This is Sally, right?”
Abby paused a moment and furrowed her brow. Making sure she said the right thing was as important as making sure she correctly wrote the information down in the faded yellow ledger. “No, this is her granddaughter, Abby. I’m sorry to say that both Charles and Sally passed away last year.”
“Oh, how sad. I’m so sorry, dear. Funny, they never mentioned you, though.”
She almost snapped the pen in two as she wrote in the date on the first available space she could find. “You’ll still be coming, won’t you?”
“As long as you don’t give us some ridiculous rate or change things too much. We’re creatures of habit, you know. And we hope you know how to make those blueberry scones your grandmother was famous for.”
Biting her lip, Abby nodded until she realized the woman couldn’t see her reaction. “Of course, Mrs. Gordon. Your rate will be the same as last year since you’re a repeat customer. I’ll be taking care of a few repairs and painting and such, but everything else should be pretty much as you remember it. Thank you for staying with us again. Have a nice day.”
After hanging up the phone, more butterflies gathered in her stomach. What kind of businesswoman was she? Not a very good one. She’d been a lifeguard, a waitress, a store clerk, a pizza delivery girl and had worked in an insurance office. The few business classes she’d taken in junior college hadn’t prepared her for the real world. Figuring out how to make blueberry scones was the least of her problems. She hadn’t secured the room with a credit card or gotten any of the Gordons’ contact information. Hopefully her grandparents had been good bookkeepers.
Soft sunlight filtered in through the slats of the old wooden blinds as she sat at the desk. The chair squeaked in disapproval as she leaned back. Bookshelves and file cabinets filled the entire side wall. It would probably take until May to figure out what rate the Gordons’ had paid last year, especially since the only technology in the room seemed to be the calculator by the memo pad.
On a whim, she paged through the ledger and breathed in a hint of lilacs. Her fingers traced her grandmother’s writing. The flowery loops and swirls made her wonder what type of woman wore that scent or wrote with such flourish. Nothing indicated the image of the hardened bitter woman that Abby associated with the name Sally Bancroft.
Closing the book, Abby pushed back the chair and stood. No time to waste another minute. After she drank some coffee and went for her morning run, she had a computer to set up, a house to get in order, and more customers to find to fill the rooms. With the Gordon reservation, there was no turning back now.
Cole Preston stepped out of his battered white pickup truck and almost slipped on the patch of ice. Pain shot up his arm when the side of his palm connected with the cold metal of his driver’s side door. Not exactly a good way to start his final obligation but he wouldn’t turn back now like he had the first time when he’d discovered the elderly Bancrofts had died.
No, his twin sister, Christine, who stilled lived here, had told him yesterday a granddaughter had taken up residence, and he’d returned immediately. Once he finished with the restorations of the Bancroft place, the town might not see him as a crook and his dignity would be restored. Hopefully.
He winced. Guilty by association. Cole had known about Robert’s gambling problem, and tried to quietly intervene, but without success. He would have never believed his partner of ten years would run off with the company money and assets and leave such a mess in his wake.
But he wasn’t one to judge. Only God could do that.
Straightening his back, he slammed the door, and then turned and leaned against it, careful to make sure his feet stayed clear of the ice. The air squeezed from his lungs. He remembered this house and the people who’d lived inside. While Mr. Bancroft had been sour and gruff, his wife was one of the few people who’d treated him with decency when he’d worked for them in his youth. He wondered what the granddaughter would be like.
The monstrosity across the street gaped at him with its blank windows and peeling paint. His ex-partner had been crazy to take on a project this size without consulting him, but then again, Robert had never had any intention of actually doing the job in the first place. He just wanted the money that came with it. The Bancrofts had come to their company because Cole had been a local. Bile found a spot at the back of his throat. His partner’s actions had erased his good name from the all the directories in Dynamite Creek.
He rubbed his eyes. Leaving Phoenix before dawn to make the two-hour drive north to the mountains had caught up with him. Not that he slept much anyway these days. That would change when he finished the Bancroft place. He would be able to hold his head high again. His gaze scraped the exterior a second time. Or maybe he’d have to slink away with his tail between his legs because he didn’t trust his own judgment anymore.
Gingerly making his way across the empty street, he paused in front of the white picket fence in need of paint and took in the glow of the sun rising behind the house. A clear, bright sky that promised another glorious day had begun.
A light turned on in the front part of the house, accentuating the stained-glass squares at the top of the large bay window, but he couldn’t see the person who flipped the switch. His watch said eight in the morning. At least the new owner wasn’t a night owl that slept half the day away, which would make part of his job easier if he could start at a decent hour. The part of his brain that could still think told him to go back into town and grab another cup of coffee from Sunrise Diner and catch up on the local gossip. The other part made his hand move to open the gate, and his feet to march down the cracked sidewalk, up the creaky stairs and across the recently swept porch.
He was here. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish. His lips pursed. As long as the interior was in better shape than the exterior he might be done by the end of summer.
“Okay, Lord, I need You to have my back here.” His words hung in the clear, fresh air. A few years into his new faith, Cole still found it hard to ask for help when he needed it but God’s love had helped him through the darkest times with his partner’s betrayal and would continue to do so.
Cole pushed his finger on the doorbell, not surprised he couldn’t hear the chime inside the house. He shifted his weight. At least that would be an easy fix. After rapping his bare knuckles on the wood section beneath the inlaid glass in the door, he shoved his bruised hand inside his jacket pocket and waited.
After a few moments of struggling with the lock, the person on the other side finally opened the front door a crack and half a face stared back at him. Wisps of curly, blond hair escaped from the red bandanna tied around her head, but the deep green eyes held him spellbound and unsure of his next action. “Ms. Bancroft?”
Hesitation fell over the woman’s fatigued expression. “Yes.”
“Good morning.” That cup of coffee sounded better and better, especially when he smelled the telltale aroma of the brewing liquid coming from somewhere behind the woman. He should have gone to the diner and asked some questions. Except he knew the moment he stepped inside, he would be the topic of everyone’s conversation.
“Good morning. May I help you?”
Cold seeped through the open neck of Cole’s jacket. What he wouldn’t give to get out of the bitter snowy mountains and retreat down the hill back to Phoenix. Too many years he’d spent the winters shoveling people’s driveways, the frigid temperatures chapping his hands and cheeks because all his money went to help his mother so he hadn’t been able to afford gloves or a scarf. Snow was only good for sledding and even then, he left it behind him after he finished with the hills. Until he fixed the wrong his ex-partner had done though, he was stuck in Dynamite Creek.
His sister would be happy. His mother wouldn’t even care.
“I’m Cole Preston. I…” His tongue refused to work as he stared at her. The young woman—only a few years younger than him—didn’t resemble either of the elderly Bancrofts he’d remembered from his youth, and he had no idea what their daughter had looked like because she’d run away when only eighteen years old which was before Cole was born.
Silence expanded between them. Cole took a step back. His fists clenched inside the pockets of his jacket. He turned at the sound behind him. A lone jogger ran by on the sidewalk, his warm breath fanning in the still morning air. The man’s attention stayed on Cole until they made eye contact and Cole recognized him. Mr. Turner turned away without acknowledging him. Small town living hadn’t changed. He couldn’t wait to escape again.
Coming back had been another error in his judgment and the weight of the couple’s death surrounded him in a pile of guilt. Determination pushed away his sudden insecurities. He had a job to do albeit several months past the deadline.
“Mr. Preston, what did you need? I’ve got a lot to do today.” The woman blinked.
Cole’s heart sunk along with the promise of the new day. He heard a car slow down as it passed by and his ears burned. In the distance, a dog howled, as if mocking his attempt to move on with his life. “I’m here to fulfill the contract your grandparents signed with Preston Restorations to remodel the house. May I come in?”
The inviting scent of coffee still drifted past his nostrils. Too bad the woman didn’t complement the aroma inside the house. “So you’re the contractor that bailed out on my grandparents. You’re finally here to fix the house? A little late, aren’t you? You really have a lot of nerve coming back here after everything that’s happened. Why, I ought to—”
Cole bent his head in frustration and clenched his fingers. Instead of finishing this project first, he’d saved it for last, choosing to do the other contracts in order of signing date. He’d hoped to retreat back to Dynamite Creek and rebuild. Instead he faced even more animosity than before he’d left. “I know and I’m sorry. I had my reasons, but I’m here now.”
Disappointment pummeled his heart. Coming home had been a mistake.
The woman sighed, deflated as she shook her head. “Look. I’m sorry, too. I had no reason to go off on you like that. I’m tired and a bit overwhelmed right now. Please just take your reasons and go away. I don’t need you.”
She did need him but she didn’t trust him. No surprise there. He didn’t trust himself these days but if he wanted to move on, he had to complete this one last job.
Okay, Lord, I really need Your help on this one. “I deserved that and more.”
The woman’s green eyes intrigued him to the point of distraction. Maybe he should forget about the contract. He didn’t owe it to the new owner since he’d closed shop and filed bankruptcy, but he couldn’t walk away. He was determined to finish this project so he could move on.
“Yoo-hoo, dearie. Good morning.” A voice from the yard cut the stillness.
At the familiarity of that tone, Cole’s back stiffened. He knew the owner of those words. He’d shoveled her walk and raked her leaves, too.
A smile spread across the young woman’s face, changing her whole demeanor. Cole wondered if he’d ever be on the receiving end of such promise of sunshine on a cloudy day. “Good morning, Mrs. Wendt. Your tuna casserole was delicious. Thanks. We can chat later, okay?”
“You’re more than welcome.” The voice grew closer. “Oh my goodness. Cole? Cole Preston, is that you?”
Tension pulled his shoulders back. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that Mrs. Wendt recognized him after all these years. He turned, pulled up the corners of his lips and waved, willing the elderly woman, the town gossip if his memory didn’t fail him, to go back into her house. Cole didn’t need an audience to his humiliation. He shifted his weight. His presence was sure to start her lips flapping again. “Good morning, Mrs. Wendt. Nice to see you again.”
“You, too, Cole. Welcome home.” It figured the one person to welcome him was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. To Cole’s relief, the elderly neighbor started down her driveway to retrieve the morning paper, but he also noticed she lingered staring up at them as she tapped the roll against her palm.
Welcome home. What an oxymoron.
Another millisecond passed as he heard the door hinges squeak behind him. Cole swiveled back around in time to see the door open wider. “Fine. Come in then.”
“My condolences again on your grandparents.” Cole stepped inside.
“Not that it means anything, but thanks.”
He shrugged off her nonchalant comment and rubbed the back of his neck with stiff fingers. The heat inside warmed him as his gaze took in the interior. Despite the dingy light and dark green paint and ugly wallpaper, he fell in love with the heavy oak chair rail and the recessed paneling that skirted the room. Some of his apprehension disappeared when he noticed that most of the original corbels and molding remained, as did the double doorways to each of the rooms that fed from the reception area. Too bad everything was covered with layers of paint. The marble fireplace and the partially scraped oak floors looked good compared to replacing the entire porch and stairs outside. Still, the inside needed more cosmetic work than the exterior. He gritted his teeth. He might be done before next Christmas if he hired some outside help. If anyone in town would work for him.
Building a reputation took years, tarnishing it only took days.
“I see Mrs. Wendt still lives here.” Winter seeped in through the space under the door.
“Yes.” The woman folded her arms under her chest and stared at him, a million questions etched in her very being. Now that he had a full view of her, her honey blond hair peeking out from beneath her scarf was touched with a hint of curl, and made him want to reach out and feel its softness. Incredibly long lashes rimmed her almond shaped eyes and a slight pink tint colored her cheeks. His heartbeat quickened at the sight of the haunted shadows bruising the delicate skin underneath her eyes. “She’s one of the many who’ve welcomed me to town.”
“Dynamite Creek’s like that.” For some. Not for him. Unless he counted Mrs. Wendt.
“So you’re from around here then.” Fatigue laced her voice as she stared up at him. “That’s right. Delia mentioned one of the contractors was a local.”
Cole fought the impulse to comfort the woman and fix whatever problems troubled her. He was only responsible for the house, not the new owner, and he meant to keep it that way because he had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary. “I grew up a few blocks from here.”
The coffeemaker chimed from the kitchen in the back of the house. The woman turned toward the sound, giving Cole a quick view of her long, elegant neck. When she flipped her head back, her long hair bounced from underneath her scarf and settled around her thin shoulders. The freshly shampooed scent joined the aroma of the coffee. Uncertainty furrowed the area between her eyes and the urge to wrap his arms around her confused him. He fixed houses, not people.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Her words lifted his spirits. Maybe today wouldn’t be the complete and utter failure it started out to be the moment he set eyes on the house. “That would be great. Thanks.”
“Right this way then.”
Cole followed her, taking note of the ugly wallpaper and scratched oak floor. Between the two things taking up his vision, Cole’s heart couldn’t decide whether to beat with anticipation or dread.
“I have to warn you, I don’t have any milk or cream because I take mine black.” The woman’s words grounded him back to the here and now.
“So do I. Why ruin a good cup of java?”
“My sentiments exactly.” As she ushered him to the round Formica table in the corner of the kitchen by the bay window, a tiny smile flashed across her full lips.
A few moments later, their fingers touched when she handed him his coffee and a spark crackled between them. They both frowned in unison and stared guardedly at each other. Cole put it down to static electricity, nothing more. He was simply here to fix the house, not to find romance in the town he’d washed his hands of twelve years earlier.
Relationships were for people ready for a permanent commitment and willing to settle down. Something Cole wasn’t able to do yet. Unlike his father, Cole wouldn’t be trapped into a loveless marriage that ended in divorce, destroying his faith in the institution. Abby took the seat opposite him, placing the table between them. The distance suited him, yet gave him a clear view of her flawless skin, high cheekbones and delicate nose. His heart beat a little faster.
She eyed him above the rim of her cup. “So, Mr. Preston, have you taken a good look around you? Now that you’ve seen a little bit of what’s in store for you, isn’t it time to leave?”
Her question troubled him. It was almost as if she expected him to abandon the project. Why? But then again, given the brief history she knew about his defunct company, maybe she knew something he didn’t. He’d made some errors in the past, which continued to haunt him.
“The name’s Cole. What’s your first name?” He sipped the scalding liquid, glad for a way to occupy his hands. Something about the woman intrigued him and despite his reservations about the house, she made him want to linger long after he reached the bottom of his cup.
Hope and another emotion he couldn’t identify descended over the woman’s features. “You really intend to do the work? Even though the people who signed the contract are dead?”
He set the cup on the table, his grip tightening around the yellow ceramic. He needed to do the remodel so he could start over again somewhere else. “I won’t leave until I’m finished.”
“But you’ll leave. They always do.” The plea in her eyes and the softness of her voice chiseled away another piece of the wall surrounding his heart. Even though they just met, he realized that, for the time being, they needed each other.
Chapter Two
“Yes. Contractors usually do leave when the job is done.” Cole reached over and placed a calloused hand over her clenched ones. “If you’re looking for something more, I’m not the guy.”
Abby stared at the man, who wore his dark short hair styled in a way that suited him. Shallow laugh lines touched the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his skin had been lightly kissed by the sun. His quarter-zip light blue sweater accented his shoulders and muscular arms, but it was his earthy brown eyes that captivated her and made her want to dig in and sow the seeds of something more permanent.
His touch warmed and chilled her at the same time. Confused, she pulled back her hands and forced them onto her lap. Good going, girl. Push him away. Make him run for the hills. Cole Preston is the answer to what some would call prayers, but to her it had been a simple plea to the universe. Not only could he help her get the house done in time, he could help her be accepted into Dynamite Creek. If she turned him away, the people might do the same to her and then she’d never fit in or find a real home.
“Of course not. I never suggested you were, Mr. Preston.” Abby pulled out her calm facade, something she’d perfected years ago in each new neighborhood, each new school, each time she was ridiculed because of the cheap, discounted chain store clothes she wore.
“Cole. The name’s Cole, Ms. Bancroft. What’s yours again?” When he grinned, tiny dimples appeared.
Her breathing quickened. He affected her on a different level and in a way she didn’t understand in her limited experience with men. “Abby.”
“Abby. That suits you. Short for Abigail?”
“Yes.” The way he said her first name reminded her of liquid velvet. Her heart fluttered. Abby retreated to the coffeemaker to refill her cup. Distance. That’s what she needed. With the crook of an eyebrow or quirk of his lips, the man had the ability to get under her shell.
Turning away from the worn counter, she leaned against it, the edge cutting into her back. Cole had moved from the table and now stood less than three feet from her. An unexplainable intrinsic energy dragged her toward him so she stepped to the side to put more space between them. His nearness plucked at her sanity, pulling it apart one tiny strand at a time until she felt exposed and vulnerable. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Your grandparents already paid a hefty deposit. Until that’s exhausted, the labor is free.”
“The labor, but not the materials.” Ka-ching. Dollar signs blazed inside her brain. With the entire house needing attention, the paint, the flooring, and whatever else this monstrosity required, the labor would probably be the cheap part.
Abby dragged in a ragged gasp and caught a whiff of Cole’s aftershave. Masculine with a dash of adventure mixed in. Her pulse accelerated. But she didn’t need adventure; she’d had enough of that growing up. Suddenly she didn’t want him in her house or anywhere near her because he was dangerous to her peace of mind. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself falling for another person who had no intention of sticking around in her life.
Indecision clawed at her, tore at her insides. She had to make this work. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she glanced around the room. Morning sunlight filtered in through the window above the sink and highlighted every flaw and blemish in the kitchen. The rest of the house wasn’t any better, but she couldn’t get rid of him. Not now when she had only enough income to survive for two months and guests arriving at the beginning of May that expected a decent place to stay.
“We’ll work something out. When do I start?” His crooked smile sent her pulses on another one of those road trips her mother had been so fond of. “You won’t regret it.”
Abby already did. Suddenly, she wanted off of the emotional roller coaster but it was too late. Despite her earlier resolution, Abby decided she was going to be sorry she let Cole into her house and her life for the next few months.
“May as well start today since you’re here.” Her sigh filled the small area between them, yet when she glanced up, his mocha-colored eyes invited her to sit back and stay awhile. Something she wasn’t about to let happen. Until she could identify this crazy thing swirling around them, the more space she kept between them the better. “Even though you’ve already seen it, let me refresh your memory. You may change your mind.”
Abby pushed herself away from the counter and marched past him, grabbing another lungful of his masculinity. Once he realized the scope of the project, he’d probably disappear again. Disappointment made a home in her heart. Just once she’d like to lead a normal life. Just once she’d like to have someone stick around. But even more important, she wanted to find a permanent place to call home.
She stood in the doorway leading into the small kitchen and waited for Cole to catch up. More tension crystallized into tiny fragments of emotional energy when he moved in behind her.
His guarded whisper scraped her eardrums. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’ve never been inside here before. My ex-partner came and bid on the project and took the money. Until it’s paid back, I won’t change my mind. After you.”
Abby felt the weight of his gaze all the way down the hall. Something weird and crazy seemed to pass between them every time they came in close proximity. Maybe she should get a job? Surely there had to be someone in town who needed help. She had enough experience doing mundane things, and she could use the extra money. That would keep her away during the day, but if she did that, the restorations would take that much longer without her help.
Besides, who would hire Bancroft’s illegitimate granddaughter? Sure the people in town had been more than welcoming to her, but for how long? Don’t go there. Her teeth buried themselves into her bottom lip as she pivoted by the front door. “As you can see, this is the foyer.”
“Actually, it’s the reception area. People used to mingle here while waiting for dinner to be served. That’s why it’s wider than a normal hall. I like it, though the wallpaper and paint have to go.” Cole walked over to the wood staircase near the back right and ran his hands across the smooth, paint-coated banister that led to the second floor.
“No kidding.” Abby crossed her arms again and leaned against the fireplace, a blast of cold air permeating her thin sweater. She shivered uncontrollably, but more from Cole’s longing expression as he stared at the railing than from the temperature. “The rest of the house is just as bad, I’m afraid.”
“I figured as much, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Cole continued to run his fingers along the painted oak. Something about the new owner brought out his need to fix things. Except he’d learned the hard way, he couldn’t fix people. He’d tried and look where it landed him; back in his hometown, his name mud, his dreams shattered.
Cole was better off staying away from people and sticking with houses like this one. He loved the old styles, quirks and all, and renovating them was his specialty. Well, smaller ones, not one of the mansions he’d walked by almost twice a day going to and from school. His vision of owning one though had disappeared along with his scant retirement fund when he started undoing the damage caused by his ex-partner. But that was all in the past.
If God wanted him to have a house like this, He’d provide a way for Cole to achieve it.
He continued to stroke the banister, glad for the diversion from his thoughts. Passion infused his voice. “This house is a gem, Abby. We’re lucky so much of it has been kept intact, at least in this space. Let’s hope the rest of the rooms are the same. If we don’t have to replace any of the crown molding, corbels or ceiling medallions, our timeline will have just decreased. Stripping all the wood will probably take the longest. Did you know that underneath this layer of paint a beautiful piece of oak is just waiting to be exposed?”
“But I don’t want to replace things, all I want is for you to paint and wallpaper over everything. That’s quicker and easier.” She started pacing, determination with a hint of hesitation in each deliberate movement.
She glanced at her watch but Cole deduced she was really running through an imaginary calendar in her head. Frustration nipped at him. He wanted to do the job right and in the process uncover the secrets of the attractive woman at the same time he peeled away the layers of paint and faded wallpaper. He’d certainly be here long enough.
He softened his voice and unwillingly pulled his hand from the banister. “You can’t want to continue to cover up the beauty of this place. I believe your grandparents wanted to restore the place back to its original state. And that would involve stripping the paint down to the wood and re-staining it.”
“I’m not Charles or Sally.” Her gaze swept up the long staircase leading to the second level as if trying to see it through his eyes. “I suppose it would look much better, but I don’t have the time.”
“Why not? What are you going to do with the place?”
“Reopen the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast.”
Cole’s fingers curled into fists. Like he’d told Abby, this house was a gem and he could see the possibilities. In fact he could almost hear the clink of silverware and the lull of conversations coming from the dining room to his right, or guests sitting in comfortable lounge chairs in front of a roaring fire in the parlor to his left, or better yet, a posse of children clomping down the steps. These types of houses were meant to be lived in. Cherished. Filled with love and laughter. But after being inside its four walls, the spirit of the house needed mending, as well.
“My first guests arrive the Friday of the Founder’s Day Festival,” she continued and he heard an edge to her voice and saw her stiffen as if daring him to challenge her.
“That’s a little over two months away.” Incredulous at the deadline, Cole bit down on his tongue. His stomach churned. He owed Abby in a huge way because she was giving him the chance to clear his name. He’d do everything in his power to make sure the house was done in time even if he had to cut corners in not so obvious places and go without sleep during the entire job. “Fine. I’ll have it done by the festival.”
Abby faced him. Fear, determination, and what he sensed as abandonment, all warred for dominance in her expression. A faraway look glazed her eyes, yet her backbone remained fused into a rod. Her lips thinned as she pulled them into a grimace before her determined words spilled out. “This place needs to be ready by the end of April. I’ll help, too.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Plus six more people if anyone besides Abby would work for him.
Cole had an idea there was a lot more going on inside her brain than she divulged, but he let it slide. He had two months to draw her out if he wanted to. Especially if they were going to be working side by side during the remodel. A thought that chased away all the moisture from his mouth. He should get in his truck and hightail it back to Phoenix, but he wouldn’t walk away from his final obligation. Or Abby.
“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house and see what we’ve got to do.” Cole ushered Abby toward the front and into the parlor to the left, making sure to keep three paces behind her. Not only because he sensed she needed the distance, but because he needed it, as well.
His heart sank once he stepped through the double doors. No crown molding remained and the ceiling medallions had been removed. Plus the servant’s entryway and back wall had been covered by floor-to-ceiling wood paneling that had not been painted and darkened the room.
“Not very inviting, is it? Especially the mauve paint, the uneven chair rail and the fake brick finish on the fireplace.” Abby’s words created an instant headache.
Cole rubbed his eyes in hopes that the room would miraculously change when he reopened them. No such luck. This room would take a lot of time to correct. More days than he’d budgeted for, even with Abby’s help. “Not inviting at all. This parlor should be the most formal spot in the house and the most beautiful. This is where the guests would wait for the owners while the servants would bring them food and drink. Nothing remains of the original architecture. Okay then, let’s see what else we’ve got.”
His optimism elevated a bit at the sight of the wall-to-wall shag carpeting covering the living room’s hardwood floors. At least the hideous rug should have protected the oak underneath. And barring any unseen problems, the walls could be covered by a fresh coat of paint, or covered with wallpaper. He pivoted around. More things that showed promise were the original large ornate mantel and fireplace dominating the interior wall and the stained-glass portion of the windows at the top of the panes buried under several layers of paint. The integrity of this room had survived the multiple attempts of remodeling over the years.
“Pretty ghastly, isn’t it?” Abby’s shoulders slumped and pretty much matched his current mood.
“Actually, it’s better than the parlor, but I’m not crazy that they partitioned off the back for an office even though I suppose it was necessary. They could have done a little better job in keeping with the lines of the house.” Maybe he should retreat to the kitchen and grab his coffee cup. But the more awake he became, the worse the house would look. Once he pulled up the carpet though, he hoped the floors underneath wouldn’t be that bad.
“I have no idea what your ancestors and grandparents were thinking when they changed the interior so much.” Cole scratched the back of his neck as he paced around the mismatched furniture interspersed with the antique pieces. With luck, Abby might be able to find some replicas and recover the antiques if she ventured to Phoenix. Maybe his sister could give Abby some ideas with the interior design if he could pry her away from her shop and daughter for a few days.
“You knew them?”
“Of course. Everyone in town did.” His fingers touched the cool surface of the fireplace. Solid. Good. He squatted down and stuck his head partially inside. Hopefully it just needed a good cleaning. He pulled his head out and rose to his feet and turned to face her. “I used to shovel their walk, rake the leaves and mow the lawn when I was a kid. Your grandmother always brought me out a cup of hot chocolate or a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Even though we were never allowed inside, she treated me like I was one of the family.”
Cole watched the color disappear from her face as she sank down onto the brown couch. A frown marred her pretty features, yet he couldn’t hear the mumbled words that passed through her lips. Resisting the urge to cross the carpet and sit down next to her, he thrust his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. His fingers found the change left over from his convenience store sandwich bought last night.
Something wasn’t right and he sensed he should tread with caution but somehow the question slipped out. “You never came to visit. Why?”
“I didn’t know they existed until I inherited this monstrosity.”
The regret and bitterness caught him off guard and her green eyes held his captive. Then it hit him, unsettling his nerves. In his brief survey of the room earlier, he saw no family pictures. No heirlooms. No personal items of people that had spent their lives here. Nothing to indicate that this was a home and not just a building with four walls and a roof.
This time he commanded his legs to move and he planted himself on the cushion next to Abby. He picked up her chilled hand and held it firmly in his grip. She tried to shy away from him and Cole sensed a war going on inside her, but he wouldn’t let her untangle her fingers. The pad of his thumb rubbed a circle on the back of her hand as he tried to infuse a bit of warmth into her.
“But how—” Cole answered the question himself. While Sally Bancroft had been a loving, giving person, her husband, Charles, could frighten a charging black bear with a look. The daughter had run away a few years before Cole was born. Obviously, she’d kept her own daughter’s birth a secret. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times. The day slipped away, yet Cole didn’t have the energy to move as he sat next to Abby and watched the sunlight spill in through the stained-glass portion of the windows and dye the room with multiple colors. Peace settled inside him and he sensed a new beginning. It wouldn’t be easy, nothing worthwhile in life ever was, but the Lord would see him through and steer him in the right direction once his obligations were fulfilled.
“It’s not your fault.” Abby pulled away from Cole, not understanding why she suddenly wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. “Who knows what we’ll discover while we’re fixing this place up. Someday you’ll have to tell me about them but not now. Too much to do.”
And that “too much to do” didn’t involve sitting next to Cole, being lulled into a sense of companionship and trying to figure out why she should keep her distance.
“I agree.” Cole stood and held out his hand to help Abby to her feet.
Another shift of energy passed between them, leaving her out of breath and out of sorts. Fortunately, the tremors in her heart didn’t show in her voice. “Come on. Let me show you the rest.”
Hours later Abby and Cole sat back down at her kitchen table, a legal-sized pad of paper between them. “You’re in luck, Abby. From what I can see, this place is structurally sound, and aside from some water damage to the front and side porches, the work is all cosmetic. There may be problems we can’t see though.”
The timer dinged from the coffeemaker as Cole drew bold slashes across the first yellow page. Abby refilled their cups and returned to the table before he flipped it over and started drawing on the next sheet. By the fifth page, Abby’s curiosity increased. With his head bent slightly to his left, she could see the tip of his tongue protruding from his lips as he worked. Strong, firm fingers wrapped around the pencil, and from Abby’s earlier experience, she knew they were rough from hard work, yet gentle when he’d held her hand in the living room.
The almost schoolboyish image he portrayed when he shoved the pencil behind his ear, and the excitement dancing in his eyes when he gazed up at her, made breathing more difficult. She definitely should have never let him into the house.
“Okay, Abby, here’s what I think needs to be done.” Cole shifted the pad across to her and then stood to reposition his chair around the table next to her. His nearness threatened her sanity again. Instinctively, she shied away even though she never moved her seat. “We need to get rid of all the wallpaper, the paneling and carpet and see how bad it is underneath. All the wood needs to be stripped of the paint and re-stained its original color. The walls can either be repainted or wallpapered. There should be original pictures that we can refer to somewhere in the town archives if there aren’t any here. That would also give us a sense of the furniture, too.”
More excitement laced his voice as he flipped over the first page. “The main floor should be our initial focus because that’s what people see first. The living room needs to be warm and inviting so your guests can unwind and relax after a long day. The French double doors can close and separate the parlor from the reception area, which could double as a temporary office for those who need to work, and you could offer Wi-Fi services for those who can’t live without internet for a few days. The dining room might be a little small depending on the number of guests, but in the summer months, they could sit out on the front veranda and enjoy the views and the weather.”
All Abby saw in his scribbled notes was sand sifting quickly through an hourglass. Her stomach clenched. What the man outlined would take way more time and money than she’d budgeted for and she hadn’t even started to furnish or decorate the place yet. She should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing in life ever was. Yet, selling wasn’t an option because she was determined to stick it out and put down roots so she could find an inner peace that had eluded her for her entire life.
“When does your crew arrive? Are you sure we can do all this in two months? How much money?” Abby had better get a time frame and a figure before she trudged to apply for a bank loan. Her fingernails dug into her palms, tamping down his enthusiasm before it could wear off on her.
“I don’t have a crew anymore.” Cole squeezed the bridge of his nose and his shoulders slumped.
Ragged breathing forced air into her lungs. Obviously Abby wasn’t the only one with past issues. A piece of hopelessness fell away and she fought the longing to comfort Cole as he had done for her.
Cole’s strained sigh filled the gap between them. “I’ll get it done. As for money, we’ll figure out what we’ll need in materials when you tell me what you want. Fortunately, your grandparents already added more bathrooms upstairs and converted the servant’s hallway into a powder room, but they need to be redone along with everything else in this house. You’ll also have to decide whether you want to convert the space in the attic into living quarters or take the room your grandparents used, and how big of a kitchen you think you’ll need. I’d suggest taking the butler pantry and enlarging the entire room, but that’s your choice.”
Everything Cole said spun around in Abby’s mind like a top. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table and she squeezed her eyelids shut, blocking out his drawings and scribbled notes.
“Abby?” His voice filled her ears, his warm breath tickling her lobe. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her heart wedged in her throat when she opened her eyes and turned to stare into his. The hammering in her brain intensified and swallowing became a chore.
The trill of the phone shattered the invisible thread binding them together. After scraping her chair’s legs against the linoleum floor, she lunged for the phone hanging on the wall next to the outdated refrigerator. At least this one was a little more current than the one in the office. “Hello? I mean, Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, Abby speaking. How may I help you?”
Abby listened to the voice on the other end. She stared at Cole, who still sat scribbling more notes on the paper, a slight frown hugging his lips. White knuckles protruded from his long, lean fingers as he squeezed the pencil. His actions contradicted his earlier words. “You’d like to book a room?”
Cole’s eyebrows rose, his brown eyes piercing her.
“Of course we do.” Turning away from the contractor, Abby found a piece of paper and wrote down all the necessary information to transfer to the ledger later. “Thanks, Mrs. Andrews. We’ll see you at the beginning of May.”
Lifting her chin, Abby twirled around and leveled her gaze on Cole again. Determination filled her. She was her mother’s daughter after all and until the end, nothing could stop Sharon Bancroft when she set her mind to something. “Great. Another reservation. I sense some conflict in you, Mr. Preston. I’m here for the long haul. I have to make this work. We have two months to pull this place together. If you don’t feel you’re up to the task, then leave. I won’t hold it against you.”
A dog barked from the neighbor’s yard, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“The name’s Cole. And I’m more than capable of the task.”
She hated pushing Cole, but she needed to know where he really stood. Her voice softened. “Fine. Then we’d better get started, hadn’t we? We can begin on the main floor and do the bedrooms as we need them. Right now I have two reservations, so that leaves four rooms we can work on later unless I book more guests.”
A knock at Abby’s front door caught their attention.
With the frown still hugging his lips, Cole set down the pen on the paper and stood. “Sounds doable. Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.” Abby pushed away from the counter, glad for the distraction as she headed for the sound. “It must be Mrs. Wendt again. She’s probably brought me something else to eat. She thinks I’m too skinny.”
Cole intercepted her, his gaze traveled slowly from the tips of her sneakers to the bandanna on her head. When his fingers tenderly brushed away a piece of dust from her hair, her breath caught in her throat and refused to move into her lungs. His appreciative glance finally settled on her face. “I think you look fine.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned and strode from the room. “I’ll get it.”
“No. I’ll get it. It’s my house.” A louder knock brought Abby out of her reverie. “Hang on, I’m coming.”
Heat flared in her cheeks as she scurried down the hall and overtook Cole in the reception hall. He hovered behind her but allowed her to struggle with the lock, until she finally managed to jiggle the dead bolt and open the front door. An elderly woman stood on the porch, her hand patting down a stray flyaway from her salon coiffed hair, a nervous smile gracing her brightly painted lips.
“Hello, Ms. Bancroft, My name is Kitty. Kitty Carlton. I used to help your grandmother with the housekeeping. I’m here to offer my services to you when you reopen.” The woman’s high-pitched words strung out in one big breath.
“Hi, Kitty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Abby’s lips pulled back, exposing her teeth, but a smile took a long time to form. She extended her hand to shake Kitty’s limp one. The woman’s clammy grasp reminded her of the worms she used to put on the hooks when she went fishing in the pond behind one of their many apartments in L.A. She did her best not to shake off the feeling when she let go or rub her hands across her jeans. Abby motioned for Cole to join her. “Thanks for your offer. I don’t need anyone quite yet. Not until the beginning of May. Cole and I are just going over the remodeling that needs to be done before I reopen, aren’t we, Cole?”
“Cole? Cole who? I’d heard that you came alone.” Kitty’s open curiosity stung at the privacy Abby guarded carefully. The less people knew about her personal life, the less likely they were to hurt her emotionally. A lesson she should learn with Cole, yet somehow she sensed, or maybe hoped, he’d be different.
Cole stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, Mrs. Carlton.”
All the color fled from the elderly woman’s face, her voice frigid with contempt. “You have some nerve showing your face in this town, Cole Preston.”
Abby’s stomach nose-dived to her feet. Between the handshake and her reaction to Cole, the woman wasn’t making a good lasting impression on her. It was all she could do not to shut the door in Kitty’s face, yet if she did, word would get around and probably ruin her chances of fitting in. Or would siding with Cole destroy it? Indecisions clawed at her until she knew what she had to do. “Why? He’s come to do the work.”
Kitty’s piercing gaze stayed on Abby. “He’s trouble, that one. A bad seed like his dad. I wouldn’t let him inside my house or anywhere near my property.”
The woman’s remarks continued to upset Abby. No one deserved such rude treatment no matter what the circumstances. If anyone should hold a grudge, it should be Abby, and yet she couldn’t find the way to do it. He had come to do the work after all, even if he was a year late. She lifted her chin and clenched her hands together. There was no way she’d ever hire Kitty Carlton to do one lick of work inside her home without a huge attitude adjustment. “Thanks for stopping by. When Cole and I are done with the remodel, I’ll let you know if I need your services.”
“Why, after what happened and how he killed your grandparents—”
“Now, now, Kitty. You know that’s not true. Charles had a bad heart and Sally couldn’t go on without him.” Mrs. Wendt tsked as she climbed up the front steps with a plate of fresh baked cookies in her hand. The aroma of oatmeal and cinnamon drifted by Abby’s nose, carried in on a small gust of cold air. “Besides, if I remember correctly, it was his partner that took the money. Why don’t you go bother someone else with your lies and sour attitude and leave these two alone?”
Abby could have hugged her neighbor as the other woman retreated down the steps. “Goodbye then.”
“Good riddance is more like it. Maybe if she found the Lord, she’d be more forgiving and accepting. Hi, Abby. Cole. It is good to see you again. It’s time you came home.” The older woman raised her eyebrows and stepped past him. Once inside the foyer, she glanced around. “My, my, this place does need some work, doesn’t it?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wendt. Yes. Abby and I were just going through what needs to be done.” Cole wedged a hand through his hair and stepped back. His gaze met Abby’s.
“Why, that’s wonderful. That means you’ll be here for a while.” Speculation sprinkled the elderly woman’s expression. “Phillip will be tickled. You don’t happen to have a son that can shovel our walk now, do you? Or rake our leaves or mow our lawn?”
“No. I’m not married.”
“Not married? What a shame.” Mrs. Wendt winked at Abby. “You’d be a fine catch for some lucky, single, young lady. Abby, I made you some cookies and came by to retrieve my casserole dish.”
Cole’s stiffening back didn’t go unnoticed. Her neighbor’s words made him uncomfortable; her, too. Abby wasn’t here to find romance.
“How’s your husband doing?” Cole questioned, as if trying to steer the conversation to a more neutral ground.
Abby released the breath she held and filled her lungs with much needed oxygen. Mrs. Wendt’s gaze kept darting between the two of them and mischief crept into her smile. Dread filled Abby. Cole had admitted earlier he wasn’t the stay-around-for-the-long-haul kind of guy.
“Just fine, though his arthritis is acting up with the cold weather. He wants to move but I can’t imagine leaving Dynamite Creek for Phoenix. This is my home and where I’m needed. So, Cole. Where are you staying while you do the restorations?” All innocence fled the woman’s expression and Abby’s knees threatened to have a meeting with the thin rug under her feet.
Abby watched Cole back up until the railing stopped him. “I haven’t given that much thought, Mrs. Wendt. My first priority was to come here and get started on the house.”
“Well, I know it’s not much, but Phillip and I have a small apartment above the garage that we’ve been wanting to rent out for a while. That way you won’t have a long commute to work.” Determination gleamed in her eyes. The woman’s grin released a million butterflies in Abby’s stomach.
It took a few seconds for Cole to formulate an answer that Abby suspected was more for her benefit than Mrs. Wendt’s. “That’s very kind of you and it would be convenient. I haven’t had a chance to speak to my sister, but I suspect her place probably isn’t big enough for a semi-temporary guest and my mother’s is out of the question.” Cole’s gaze flipped between the two. “As long as you understand it’s nothing permanent. I’ll be moving on when I’m done here.”
Relief and disappointment filled Abby, yet she schooled her expression to remain neutral. It was nothing she hadn’t expected anyway.
“I understand completely. I’ll go put fresh linens on the bed and find the extra key. Oh, and I have a coupon for Mama Zita’s. It’s the best pizza in town, you know. Phillip can’t have it because of his high cholesterol, but you just have to try it tonight. Neither one of you had any dinner plans, did you? No? Good. I’m sure you’ll still have lots to discuss for what needs to be done here.” Helen thrust the plate of cookies into Abby’s hands and hummed on her way out the door.
Abby’s jaw dropped and the butterflies inside her refused to be stilled. With Cole living next door during the restorations, she’d find no peace of mind at all. Especially when his new landlady appeared to have matchmaking on her mind.
Chapter Three
The knock on her front door just before seven o’clock still took Abby by surprise even though she expected it. Agreeing to Helen Wendt’s scheme of sharing a pizza at home with Cole so they could continue to go through plans probably wasn’t one of her smartest moves. Not like she had much choice in the matter. Her fingers smoothed out a tiny crease in the blue and white floral printed tablecloth she’d found in the linen closet. The automatic gesture reassured her, reminding her of how she used to rub her blankie between her fingers to calm down when she was a child. She glanced around the dining room before she stepped into the reception area.
Her low heels clicked against the wood flooring and now she questioned her sanity as to why she’d changed into a skirt. Or let her hair down. Or applied just a hint of makeup. Would Cole think that she was going to be a willing participant in Mrs. Wendt’s matchmaking scheme?
Her nervous sigh rattled all the way to her toes. Too late to change now.
Light spilled in through the stained-glass window and beyond the pane Abby could see Cole’s silhouette against the dark backdrop. Distorted and colorful, yet tied together into a recognizable shape, his image reminded her of a Picasso she’d studied in art class.
She took a deep breath, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, and then rubbed her damp hands over the black skirt. The lock didn’t want to slide back again, which didn’t help her nerves. Finally, using her shoulder, she pushed against the door to relieve some of the pressure on the lock and tried again. This time it worked.
Pulling back the oak door, she saw Cole balancing a large square box with a white plastic bag set on top. His hesitant smile signaled that, like herself, maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with the dinner idea, either. “Hi, again.”
“Hi, yourself.” Abby took the box and watched as Cole carefully wiped his feet on the mat before he shrugged out of his black jacket and hung it on a hook on the hall tree.
He retrieved the pizza. “Thanks.”
“We’re in the dining room tonight. I thought it would give us more room.”
“Good idea.” When he moved passed her, the hint of freshly applied aftershave drifted by her nose. His still slightly damp hair curled away from his forehead. Abby forced her hand to remain at her side instead of reaching out to touch it. This reaction to Cole was crazy. He was her contractor. Nothing more.
“Smells delicious.” Abby took her own seat kitty-corner from where Cole stood and settled the blue linen napkin onto her lap.
“It is.” Cole opened the plastic bag and pulled out a baggie full of celery, some Ranch dressing and a Styrofoam container and placed them on the table. “I also took the liberty of getting some barbecue chicken wings. Mama Zita’s place is the best in town. Or it used to be anyway.”
Then he flipped up the lid to the cardboard box, revealing the thin crust pie covered in pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers and olives. The tangy aroma teased her taste buds and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation because she hadn’t eaten anything since a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at noon.
“Wow. It looks wonderful, Cole.” Abby held up her delicate china plate so Cole could set the slice of pizza on it.
His eyebrows lifted. “Plates? I’m sure I could have gotten some paper ones at Mama Zita’s.”
Abby set it in front of her. “I found paper plates in the pantry. I didn’t want to use them.”
“Why not? They’re so much easier to clean up.” A frown emerged as his gaze roved over her face as if he were trying to make up his mind about her.
She could almost hear the imaginary taunts she’d thought she’d left behind in her awkward teenage years. She knew it had been silly of her to use the plates in the large, built-in cabinet behind her but Abby dared to hope Cole would understand her odd behavior. Her pointer finger traced the gold edge of the antique ivory plate with the multicolored floral print painted on the surface.
“Paper means temporary and on the move and seems a bit impersonal. I want permanence. They’re not exactly my type but they fit with the theme I envision for the house.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It just surprised me. Outside of a restaurant, I haven’t eaten off a real plate in years.” Cole tucked his napkin on his lap, a hesitant smile creeping across his lips. His confession only solidified his lack of willingness to stay in one place. “You and my sister would get along. She refuses to use paper or plastic because it brings up painful memories.”
“Oh. I’d like to meet her sometime.”
“I’m sure you will. Christine lives on the other side of town but she owns a cute boutique on Main Street. She makes candles for a living.”
Pleasure filled her, yet panic tried to take hold. Cole noticed. Abby bit her lip and glanced away from the twinkle in his eyes. She may have gone overboard though with the candle in the slightly tarnished pewter candelabra gracing the center of the table. The dancing flame created an almost intimate and romantic atmosphere, virtually blocking out everything but the two of them. She grabbed her crystal goblet and drank most of the water inside. While it quenched her parched throat, it didn’t come near to satisfying her need to fit in.
But her lopsided attraction wasn’t the only thing that made her squirm when she picked up her slice. After Cole helped himself to his own pizza and wings, he folded his hands together and bowed his head. Heat creeping to her cheeks, she quickly set down her food and mimicked Cole’s movements. At least he hadn’t asked her to say the prayer.
“Dear Lord, bless this food and this house. May the restoration go quickly and easily. Amen.”
“Amen.” Abby found herself saying the word. She didn’t choke, nor did any lightning bolts appear from the sky. Having heard it many times, she discovered it wasn’t as foreign to her as she’d thought. Abby had just never felt the urge to say it before tonight. Maybe she should go through more carefully the packet Delia gave her and explore the possibilities of religion when they finished the house. If she could open her practical mind and believe… Right.
If God truly existed, why did He let such bad things happen around the world? Why did He take her mom?
Abby picked up her slice again and bit into the pizza. As anticipated, the varied toppings exploded across her taste buds. “This is wonderful. I’ve never had such a combination before.”
“Really?” Cole rested his arms against the side of the table and searched her face. “I thought it was pretty standard. I would have gotten mushrooms, too, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like them.”
“I do, actually.” Abby fell into his warm and inviting gaze. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips and the flame’s reflection danced in his brown eyes. The combination of the candlelight, the inviting scent of pizza and the light sound of classic rock music from the old radio she’d found in the kitchen loosened her tongue. “But a lot of toppings are expensive. When my mom could afford to buy a pizza, we only got cheese. And that wasn’t often.”
Cole’s expression shifted in the flickering light. “I’ll remember that next time. Things changed in my family, too, when my parents split up. Going out to eat, taking in a movie, or even getting the bare necessities like winter gloves and a scarf was a challenge.”
“So that’s why you shoveled my grandparent’s walkway.” Abby gladly shifted the conversation back to Cole. She didn’t want to dwell on the next time or the idea that they had anything similar in their backgrounds because that would probably make her like him more than she already unwillingly did. “And probably why you moved to Phoenix.”
“Among other reasons. I couldn’t wait to get out of this place.”
Abby’s heart stalled at his words. All her life she’d wanted to stay in one place for more than six months. To have what her temporary classmates had. To belong and have a place to call home. She couldn’t imagine wanting to leave Dynamite Creek, and now that she’d found it, she would do everything in her power to be able to stay.
She chewed another mouthful of pizza, realizing she knew nothing about the man next to her except he was about her age and a contractor. If they were to work together, having more background information could only be helpful. Right. She forced herself to swallow, knowing her interest was more personal than professional. “How old were you when you left?”
“Nineteen.” A frown twisted his features as he placed another slice on her plate.
Unused to being served, his action addled her brain. The gentle way he scooped up the wayward bit of sausage and set it back in its place sent her pulse fluttering. If he treated her house that way, or even herself, Abby would have a hard time not falling for him and the way he seemed to care for everything around him. “Thanks.”
His gaze captured hers and Abby couldn’t pull herself from the depths of uncertainty or the hint of despair. Instinctively she leaned closer, wishing she could erase the haggard lines creasing his face, but to do so would be crossing the barrier she’d erected to keep people at a distance.
“I may as well tell you the truth before someone else does. I made some bad choices and got into some trouble here. Vandalism. A prank gone bad. One of my old neighbors intervened with the judge and hooked me up with his brother who owned a construction firm in Phoenix. I liked what I was doing and enrolled in trade school. A few years after I graduated, I struck out on my own.”
“Interesting.” Abby leaned back, any lingering intimacy shattered by Cole’s revelation. Not good. It reminded her of her mother and why they’d had to keep moving. Her head buzzed and her appetite disappeared. Trouble seemed to follow him. Or maybe he actively sought it out?
She should release him from his obligation, but then she’d never get the house done on time or anywhere close to the beginning of May. Would her association with him help or hurt her chances of fitting in? Judging from the few people she’d met, it could go either way, yet she didn’t have the heart to turn him away because she couldn’t reconcile the man sitting next to her with what his partner had done or the poor decisions he’d made in his youth. His actions spoke differently, which was why she needed to give him a chance.
Their conversation turned back to the house as she forced herself to eat the last slice of pizza. At the end though, she still struggled with her curiosity. “What made you decide to do restoration work instead of new construction?”
The clink of ice shared the space between them as Cole lifted his goblet to his lips and drank. Abby couldn’t stop staring at the strong column of his neck or the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he emptied the glass. Finally her glance shifted to the cleanly shaven skin covering his angular jawline and then upward to his firm lips. She wondered how they would feel against hers.
Her breath hitched. The atmosphere in the house only added to her confusion. Going along with Helen’s scheme and eating dinner with Cole had been a bad idea, especially since she couldn’t think of the last time she’d shared a meal with anyone other than lunch with one of her ex coworkers. Yet he sat at the head of the table like he belonged there. As if this space which had been built over 135 years earlier had been constructed with him in mind. He fit into her house, but from what she’d discovered, would never fit into her life. She had to remember that so she wouldn’t get hurt again.
Cole placed his goblet on the table and stared at it intently. His finger traced the intricate pattern cut into the crystal. “Look around you, Abby. This place is a work of art. Unlike the boxes being built today, it has character and life. I’m the artist, dedicated to bringing back the vision that the original builders had in mind. Nothing more. Nothing less. I built my reputation on that and I think that’s why your grandparents hired my company. They wanted to leave you a legacy.”
Her fingers mangled the pizza crust. “I doubt it. As far as I know, they didn’t even try to look for my mom or me. It would have been nice to know I had more family somewhere.”
Cole removed the remains from her hands and wiped her fingertips gently with his napkin. His actions made her dizzy and breathing a chore, yet she didn’t want the moment to end. “There’s always two sides to every story. Maybe someday you’ll discover them. Until then, let’s keep moving forward on the house.”
The house. Good idea. Focus on what’s important. Not the niggling notion that maybe things weren’t quite what they seemed.
Releasing her hand, he pushed the plates to the side. Abby knew it was for the best and willed her heart to quit its frantic beating. She inhaled sharply, forcing her attention from the man to the candle gracing the center of the table and blew out the candle. A puff of smoke wafted between them, temporarily breaking the spell.
“Good idea.” Her voice shook despite her attempt to act normal.
She grabbed for the pizza box the same time Cole scooped up the Styrofoam container. Stunned, Abby watched him wedge the container of Ranch dressing inside with the remaining chicken wings, dump the bones from one china plate to the other, and then stack the plates on top of each other. Cole must have seen her mouth drop open even though she tried to cover it with a yawn.
Shrugging, his lips twisted into a half grin. “What? I was raised to do my share.”
Her mother had obviously been hanging out with the wrong men during Abby’s childhood. Abby followed Cole into the kitchen, taking in the breadth of his shoulders underneath his pale blue collared shirt. She hadn’t paid attention earlier. She sure did now. Her mouth went dry. Somehow she managed to place the leftover pizza in the box on the counter but not before their shoulders grazed. The instant surge of awareness kicked her heartbeat into another rhythm. Heat colored Abby’s cheeks.
“Where did you put the garbage can?” Cole stepped to the side and held up the plate with the chicken bones.
The not-so-spacious area seemed to grow smaller the longer he remained. “Under the sink.”
Instead of looking at Cole, or more specifically the light sprinkling of hair on his long, lean fingers, as they held the plates, Abby stared at the kitchen with new eyes. The room would be the last place she fixed up because guests wouldn’t be allowed inside, but it would be nice to have new amenities like a dishwasher and a refrigerator with an ice and water dispenser. All luxuries she’d grown up without and cost money she didn’t have. A new stove would be a good idea, too, if she could figure out how to use one to do more than the basic stuff.
Abby shook her head to dispel the images of fires and other cooking disasters. She had to learn how to make blueberry scones and other tasty treats to tempt her guests and make them happy. She’d promised her first customers. Of course, to begin with, she had to find the recipe.
“This will just take a moment. I’ll meet you back in the dining room when I’m done.”
Cole searched her expression as he put the two dishes in the sink and finally left the room, giving Abby a moment to breathe before putting the leftovers away. Turning on the hot water faucet, she washed the plates and wished she could wash away his imprint as easily as she did the crumbs.
Disappointment and exhaustion filled her. Turning on the tap again to rinse off the dishes, Abby watched the water spill over her hands and shoot out in different directions. Unlike her emotions, the water represented a release she dared not show. He was just like everyone else in her clichéd life. Here today, gone tomorrow. Cole was simply her contractor, not a prince in one of the fairy tales her mother used to read her. She’d best remember that before she made a fool of herself.
The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Her spine stiffened, and she shut off the tap before reaching for the dish towel on the counter. She spied Cole’s reflection in the window above the sink as he stood in the doorway and strangled the towel she’d picked up to dry her hands.
“Abby, I want to show you something.”
“No problem. I’ll be right there.”
When Abby finally returned to the dining room a minute later, Cole stood on one of the wooden chairs. Balancing his weight on the edges, he lifted his hands to the ceiling and knocked on the drywall. Hollow, just as he thought it would be.
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Kim Watters
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Finally ready to settle down, Abby Bancroft has just inherited a place to put down roots. But her hopes for a successful bed-and-breakfast are placed on hold when she learns that her grandparents′ run-down inn is in serious need of TLC.So is Cole Preston, the handsome contractor who offers to help make her dream a reality. His past mistakes won′t let him consider settling in the close-knit town. Yet as he and Abby work together to repair the house, they also begin to mend each other′s hearts. And they just may find that consulting their hearts is what creating a home is all about.