Home Sweet Home. Kim Watters
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.