Home Sweet Home

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.