Yuletide Hearts

Too long, actually, don’t you think?

Callie pushed the internal caution aside. Survivors survived because they manned up, took the shot and stood their ground. Four years in the military taught her how to draw down the mask, put on the face, pretend disinterest as needed.

“Great bread, honey. Thanks for picking it up.”

Callie turned, flashed the men a smile, laid a gentle hand on Jake’s shoulder and nodded. “You know I’ll do anything to keep you boys happy. Any word on when this storm’s going to let up?”

Jake took her lead, such a good boy, so much like his grandpa. “Supposed to be nice tomorrow, Mom.”

“Perfect.” She smiled, ruffled his hair and sank into a seat alongside him. “We’ve got to finish the front of the house while we can, get it cleaned up so we can decorate for Christmas. We’ll save cleaning the gutters—”

“Again?”

Callie sent Jake a “get serious” look and nodded. “Yes, again, they’re filled with leaves and maple spinners. You know we can’t leave them like that for winter.”

“We don’t want ice damming that porch roof again,” interjected Hank.

Tom took up the thread, his face saying he’d play along, pretend everything was all right. “I remember Callie up on that roof last winter, luggin’ that smaller chain saw, cutting through the ice.”

“Bad combination of events, all around,” agreed Buck. “To get that much snow, then warm up just enough to get a quarter inch of ice. Rough circumstances.”

“But nothing we couldn’t handle,” Callie reminded them all. She’d used the short chain saw to hack through the pileup, pretending she didn’t recognize the risk of being on a roof bearing thousands of pounds of unwanted ice, chain saw in hand. The roof’s shallow slope helped steady her, but that flattened slope caused the initial problem, the lack of height allowing snow to gather and drift beneath the second-story windows.

“Exactly why we used steeper roof pitches on the subdivision,” Hank reminded them. His expression said he was determined to face this new development like he handled life, head-on. “Quick water shed is crucial in a climate like ours.”

“It is, Dad.”

“Right, Grandpa.”

Mouths full, Buck and Tom nodded agreement, pretending all was well, but Hank’s old buddies were no fools. Faced with the new realization that Hank’s dream was in someone else’s hands just beyond the big front window, Callie was pretty sure that nothing would ever be all right again.

Chapter Two

“What do you mean you’ve got no crew?” Matt asked his roofing subcontractor the next morning. “I can’t do a thing until we get these places under cover with good roofs. We’ve got water-damaged plywood to replace, it’s November and I need the crew you promised today. Not next April.”

Jim Slaughter, the owner/manager of Slaughter Roofing and Siding sighed. “I’m tapped out, Matt. Fewer housing starts and reroofs. I’m filing for bankruptcy restructuring and hoping I can keep my house so we’re not tossed out on the street. I had to let the guys go.”

Matt’s marine training didn’t allow temper tantrums or bad vibes, even though he was tempted. “Who else might be available?”

Jim went silent, then offered, “You’ve got the Marek family right there, and Hank is friends with Buck Peters. They’ve all done roofing.”

Ask the guy whose dream got yanked out from under him to finish that dream for someone else? Matt didn’t have the callousness to do that.

Did he?

Matt eyed the farmhouse across the way. A ladder leaned up against the front. While he watched, the woman came out of the house with a bucket. She climbed the ladder, the unwieldy bucket listing her to the right until she settled it on the ladder hook. She pulled out a large green scrubbie and began washing the faded paint systematically, until she’d extended as far as she could, then she climbed down, shifted the bucket and the ladder and repeated the process despite the cold day.

A scaffolding would be so much easier. A power washer? Better yet.

He clenched his jaw and shook his head internally. “Another option. Please.”

“I’ve got nothing. Literally. There aren’t a lot of roofing contractors close by and making time for your job would be hard with a clear schedule. For anyone with jobs lined up, getting yours in would be next to impossible and a lot of people let their crews go from November to March because of the holidays and the weather. I was hoping to hold out, but the closing took too long.”

It had, through no fault of Matt’s. Bankers didn’t comprehend weather-related restrictions and rushed work meant shoddy work.

Matt didn’t do shoddy. Ever. He inhaled, eyed the house across the street and released the breath slowly. “If I get help, can you crew with them?”

“If it means fighting my way out of this financial mess, I’ll work night and day,” Jim promised.

“Can we use your equipment?”

“Absolutely.”

Matt made several futile phone calls, carefully avoiding people who wouldn’t give him the time of day for good, if old, reasons. And while plenty of construction workers were laid off, most had left the area, unable to survive on nonexistent funds. Half the remaining subcontractors were the type Matt wouldn’t trust with his hammer, much less his livelihood, and the others were too busy to take on a huge project like Cobbled Creek.

Matt eyed the Marek place again and squared his shoulders, determined to find another way. He took two steps toward his truck, then gave himself a mental slap upside the head.

Jim made two very important points earlier. Was Matt willing to risk his investment on the possibility of bad workmanship?

No. His intent was to implement the appealing design plan that drew him initially. Of course it was less than beautiful now, and that had steered other developers clear. But Matt saw the potential and was determined to watch this pretty neighborhood spring to life under his guidance.

But rot problems would continue if the homes sat unroofed for another winter, and in the Allegheny foothills, rough weather came with a vengeance. He could complete inside work between now and spring, but outside endeavors were dictated by conditions. Lost time meant lost money, an unaffordable scenario to a guy who’d just invested a boatload of his and Grandpa’s money into this venture.

He pivoted, then headed across the front field, his gaze trained on the house facing him, uncertainty and determination warring within.

Callie strode into the house after her lunchtime waitressing stint and came to an abrupt halt when she saw Matt Cavanaugh seated at their kitchen table, sipping coffee like he was an old friend. A heart-stopping, good-looking old friend.

Except he wasn’t.

“Callie, Matt needs some help.”

Callie bit back a retort, trying to separate the tough-as-nails guy before her from the situation that wrested her father’s dream out of his hands.

Nope. Couldn’t do it.

She moved past the table, set a couple of plastic grocery bags on the counter and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave you men to your discussion.”

“It’s a family decision, Cal.”

Callie swallowed a sigh, one hand on the baluster, her feet paused, mid-step, then she shielded her emotions and faced them, albeit slowly. “About?”

“I need a work crew for roofing,” Matt explained. His deep voice kept the matter straightforward and almost a hint detached, as if this wasn’t about as insulting as life could get because he was talking about roofing their homes, their dreams, their project. “Jim Slaughter’s run into bad times, he had to let his crew go and you guys know how crucial it is to get these houses roofed.”

Hank nodded. “It broke my heart to see them sitting unprotected. Uncovered.”

Callie knew that truth firsthand; she’d lived, breathed and witnessed her father’s depression. His Crohn’s disease had contributed to the ruination of what could have been a beautiful dream, a feather in his cap. She’d prayed, promised, cajoled and bullied God and this…

She swallowed a sigh, eyeing Matt, trying to look beyond the tough-guy good looks, the steel gaze, the take-charge attitude so necessary in a good contractor.