Black Creek Burning (The Black Creek Series, Book 1) (5 page)

"Dad, why couldn't we get those wooden sleds with the metal thingies on the bottom?"
Andy zipped his coat, tucked his hat on tighter and held out his hands with fingers
spread for Nathan to put on his gloves.

"The plastic ones go faster." He wiggled his eyebrows as he pulled on Andy's new snow
gloves, carefully tucking them into the sleeves of his coat. "All set."

It took them several small steps to turn and face the front door. They made their
way around to the back.

"Look," he said to the boys. "Our footprints are still here."

The boys carefully put their feet in each leftover print until they realized there
was no need with their snow pants and boots. They, then, barreled through the snow
and around back with Goldie racing, falling, rolling and running again.

At the top of the hill, he started to remind them to keep the string from dragging
under the bottom of the sled. Instead, he gave them both a running push down the little
hill. They would figure out that sort of thing best by trial and error. Goldie ran
next to them so fast his feet couldn't keep up with his body. He somehow ended up
on his back. Nathan grinned as he watched the dog get stuck, even if for just a second,
like a turtle on its back, kicking his legs in the air.

As the boys pulled the sleds back up the hill, he felt better about his choice to
uproot them from the South, from the only place they remembered living. Not to start
over, but to start fresh.

* * *

As Macey waited by the front door, Brie laced her worn running shoes and tied her
hair back in a few quick twists. Her dog's tail thumped against the umbrella stand.
Clicking on her leash, they started out the door.

There wasn't much traffic to dodge other than an occasional car or snowmobile. She
and Macey ran in the street where most of the snow had been cleared. She thought about
the neighbors who had lived here longer than her. Lucy Melbourne had lost her husband
years before. Clifford Piper, who also lived in their short cul-de-sac. His granddaughter,
Amanda, lived with him on and off over the years.

As she rounded the corner with Macey at her side, she looked at the lovely Colonial-style
home the Delaneys lived in. They must be at least eighty by now. Still, they got out
to pull weeds and sweep the walk when the weather was nice.

She did the major projects for them. She ran in the street over the bridge that crossed
Black Creek. Macey didn't hesitate at the swimming huddle of ducks but did manage
to give them a yearning gaze. "Good girl." She gave Macey a quick scratch on the top
of her head.

Their feet crunched through the snowy street, and the breath that steamed just in
front of her led the way. As they rounded the next corner, a familiar, large, yellow
Lab came bounding toward them with its tongue hanging to the side.

Chapter 4

Macey stopped and dropped her head. Pulling her ears back, she exposed her teeth and
let out a deep growl.

"Down girl," Brie commanded.

Macey quieted, although she didn't loosen her stance. Brie recognized the Labrador
as it galloped down the weedy drive of the old farmhouse as belonging to the new family.
The dog's front legs locked as it halted at the sight of Macey's teeth. Then, it rolled
on its back, legs in the air. Brie couldn't help but smile.

The dog must have decided it was safe and flopped around like a fish before making
it back to its feet. It circled Macey, sniffing her. When it passed her back side,
Macey looked up at her, desperately seeking permission to take a bite out of him.
Brie grinned, but when the dog started to climb on Macey's back, she took it by its
collar.

"Whoa there, stud. That's where I draw the line." Simultaneously, she tugged on his
collar and down on his back, easing him into a sitting position. Opening her hand,
she placed her palm in front of the dog's face, far enough away in case he decided
to take a bite of her. "Sit," she said in a commanding tone. Keeping her fingers outstretched,
she scratched his head with her other hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man walking with a slight swagger toward
them. His work boots were soaking wet and mostly covered by faded blue jeans. A layer
of stubble men often thought of as sexy covered his face, not that she didn't. It
was just annoying. A mass of jet-black hair curled just around his ears and down to
the collar of his coat. As he neared, she realized she had to look up to keep eye
contact. Not many men were much taller than her five feet, nine inches.

He had nearly run again—saving her this time from his obnoxious dog. But Nathan understood
for the second time that this woman didn't need his help. She wore a pastel yellow
fleece jacket and was taller than she seemed from her backyard. Her glossy brown hair
was tied in a tail that threaded through the back of a Giants' ball cap. She wore
loose, black running pants.

The woman was different today than when she rolled in the snow, laughing with her
dog. Her chin was up, her shoulders stiff. Nonetheless, he felt a tug in his gut.
"How did you get him to do that?" he asked as he tilted his head toward his still-sitting
Lab.

"Easy. Is he fixed?" The woman turned her head slightly to the side, keeping her eyes
on his.

"If you mean neutered, no. I keep meaning to, but I just don't know if I can do that
to a fellow member of the male species. I'm Nathan. The boys making their way down
the drive are Duncan and Andy, Duncan being the taller of the two. And the overly
anxious dog is Goldie. Come meet our first neighbor, boys," he called out over his
shoulder.

Now that she was closer, he saw her eyes were an intense, moss green. Her lips were
full, her skin golden. She wasn't pretty in the standards of society, but she carried
herself with an attractive self-awareness. The tug turned into a pang. He'd been celibate
for so long, he'd forgotten what that felt like.

"Goldie?" Her eyebrows lifted to him before she squatted down and rubbed around the
dog's ears.

He bent down next to her and placed his hand on his dog's head. He noted that she
moved back as he moved down. "It's the name the pound gave him. I couldn't get the
boys to change it. Andy got the notion I just may change his name, too."

"Dad, I did
not
." Andy stomped his foot and buried his head in his side.

"Duncan, Andy, this is... "

"Brie, sorry. I live—"

"I know where you live." He stood up slowly and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets.

He lifted one side of his mouth.

"Right," she answered. "This is Macey." Brie took a step back, placed her hands on
the backs of her hips with her thumbs facing forward.

He looked down at the dog that hadn't moved through the introductions. "It's nice
to meet both of you. If I scratch her head will she chase me around my house, lunging
and trying to bite me?"

Brie grinned.

Not much to say, but a very nice smile. A warm and sexy smile. Down boy, he told himself.
Gloves hid whether or not she wore a ring.

"No. You're safe. I, um, heard you say I'm the first neighbor you've met. There'll
be a gathering for New Year's Eve at my home. Most of the neighbors stop by." She
paused. "You could come."

"No sitter, but thanks." He looked over and noticed the boys moving snow to form what
looked like a wall for a fort or maybe a foxhole.

"We'll have good babysitters at Mr. Piper's. He lives across the cul-de-sac from me.
If you're comfortable, they're welcome there."

He narrowed his eyes as he noticed hers were focused behind him.

"You're about to get pelted. I'm going to finish my run. Nice to meet you. It starts
at eight."

He watched as she ran. He held onto Goldie's collar to keep him from chasing after
her. A snowball hit the side of his head, then one on his leg. He let out his own
growl and started balling up snow before the boys ducked down safely below their makeshift
wall.

* * *

He worked the house from top to bottom and front to back. Systematically ripping down
window and door trim, Nathan kept what he liked, if it could be salvaged, and labeled
each piece carefully as to which room and wall or window it belonged. He made notes
as he measured each room, calculating how much material he'd need to purchase to replace
rotted boards and add what he wanted.

The formal dining room would showcase cross beams along the ceiling, much like the
master bedroom. He planned for tight-grained, rift-sawn oak for most of the first
floor. On the pages of his notebook reserved for the dining room, he drew a quick
sketch of an arched entrance along the eighteen-foot-wide opening. A shipment of hardwoods
would arrive soon, and he could start on it all. He pondered using the attic space
above the garage to store it.

He heard tires coming up the gravel drive and realized he'd gotten carried away with
his piles of trim. He was ready for a disruption. When he heard the air release of
the braking system, he figured it was the moving truck and headed out to help the
driver unload.

Pulling out his notebook from his back pocket, he wrote as he walked, jotting down
that each garage door needed replacing. The garage was one of the reasons he had picked
the house. Double-deep, it could easily fit six cars, but that wasn't what he wanted
it for. It was added on years ago and nicely done. The roof dipped from the line of
the house just enough to give character and yet balance to the home as a whole. The
end of the garage bumped out slightly and gave the back of the house added personality.
It was large enough to hold all of his tools, his work space and his truck, along
with his Saab that waited in storage with the furniture. A guy's gotta have his toys.
Only the basics would be on this truck. Still, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

He helped the movers unload and carry the kitchen appliances to the mudroom for now.
It was his tools he was anxious to retrieve. Other than his truck, the garage was
empty, clean and ready for his planer, table saw, and all of the hand tools and boxes
of drill and router bits he needed to make this ancient home live again.

As he and the movers placed each tool and work table precisely where he'd planned,
a squad car pulled up behind the moving truck. He set down a box of routers and hand
sanders, and let out a long whistle as a police officer walked through the entrance
to the front of the garage.

"Aren't you looking important? You're gonna make the neighbors think I brought trouble."
He gave his childhood friend a quick embrace of two, quick thumps on the back.

"Nathan, what are you thinking? This place is a dump." the cop said.

"Don't hold back, Davey, tell me what you really think."

"Son-of-a-bitch, Nathan, don't call me Davey. We're not in high school anymore. I
have a rep."

Dave towered over the movers. Nathan remembered him to be right at six feet, four
inches. Brief introductions were made with Dave's partner as they looked around at
the tools.

"Where're the boys?" Dave asked as he walked around the spotless garage, hovering
over boxes.

"My folks are taking them for a few hours during the day until school starts so I
can get going on the place."

"I thought maybe they already carted them off on a trip. You were hardly in town growing
up."

"We just got here, but I'm keeping an eye on that. I want them to get a feel for the
place, start feeling like home, and besides, it's good for them to chip in and learn
something."

"I expect they have a
feel
for this place." The radio at his hip beeped.

"Time to go. Good luck with the house. We'll have a beer soon," Dave said, walking
to his squad car. "Welcome back. Tell the boys I said, 'hey,' and that I've got a
present for them."

* * *

The movers unloaded the boys' bedroom furniture. Their rooms would be the first Nathan
would finish. He walked over and ran his hand across the top of Duncan's dresser.
He noted the dent in the side from when Duncan fell into it with his baseball gear.
Duncan felt so badly at the time. He was much like his dad; he had to be in control
and be the responsible one. Nathan had assured him it was only wood and could be repaired.
Now, he couldn't bring himself to fix it. Memories, he figured.