Home Sweet Home. Kim Watters
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