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.