Yuletide Hearts (18 page)

Dustin hadn't spent the last eight years staying in top form.

Matt had.

Whatever Dustin had been doing for money didn't pump up his triceps and biceps. His abs.

Building houses, hauling lumber, lifting windows and cabinets into place kept Matt on an Olympic-training regimen
weekly. The reality of that knowledge shone in Dustin's nervous expression. He gave a quick nod, definitely in his best interest.

Good.

“And you'll sign the papers when you get them, and give them back to the courier who will then deliver them back here to Callie. Right?” He tightened Dustin's collar a smidge more, hoping he made his point.

Dustin nodded again. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” Matt loosened his hold but didn't back off. “I love that kid. And I love his mother. And I didn't spend eight years in the marines
pretending
to be a man, so when those papers come, you open the envelope, sign where noted and send them back. Got it?”

“I said yes.”

Matt angled his head slightly as Dustin faced him. “I heard you. I'm just making sure we understand each other.”

Dustin blew out a breath. “If it gets me out of any more of her stupid court filings, we're good.”

Matt had to take another step back. And nail his hands to his sides. And haul in a big breath. It had been a long time since the urge to pummel someone loomed with such ripe potential, but he pushed to keep his eye on the goal: making Jake his own. If Dustin signed off, Matt would be free to adopt Jake, if Callie gave her blessing.

Matt went back inside as Dustin strode off. He sat down, waiting for Don, his gut twisting. He couldn't make sense of walking out on a kid, maybe because it had happened to him. He'd lived the experience and suffered the fallout.

Why would God let that happen? Who watched out for little ones these days? Kids nudged aside by adult drama?

The strong words from the book of Joshua came back to him. “…then choose for yourselves this day who you shall serve…as for me and my house? We will serve the Lord.”

That's what he wanted with Callie. The piece that had been missing from his growing years. Not just a home. Or a family.
He longed for a family of faith, hope and love. God-abiding. Together. A tiny light flickered within as Matt realized how Dustin had used Callie for his own amusement. He'd never intended to stay, to be the husband Callie deserved and the father Jake needed.

Matt had every intention of doing just that.

And as Don turned the corner from the corridor leading to the treatment rooms, Matt comprehended something else. Life had sideswiped Don, just as it had him. Sure, Don was the adult. He should have and could have reacted better. Maybe with faith, he would have, but Don had been taken out at the knees when he learned he was living a lie, that his wife had cheated on him and passed off someone else's child as his.

He came toward Matt, his face tired. Worn. Matt moved down the hall and braced him with a soldier's arm.

“I'm okay.” Don tried to shrug him off, but Matt held tight.

“Hey, can't a kid help his old man now and again?”

Don's feet shuffled to a stop. He turned. Met Matt's gaze. “I—”

“Do you need a wheelchair to the car?”

Don shook his head. “No. Just a little tired.”

“Then lean on me, Dad. It's not that far.”

Don looked up at him. His light-eyed gaze grew moist. Matt had to choke back a lump in his own throat, a knot of regret for so much time wasted.

But that was over. He braced the older man and started forward. “I know where there's a pot of stew waiting. Should be just about done. And some fresh, homemade biscuits.”

“It sounds good,” Don admitted.

“Then let's go. You need to make another appointment?”

Don shook his head. “Not for a while.”

“Good, because we got a boatload of plasterboard delivered today, and you need to rest up. We're going to have one busy winter.”

Don's shoulders straightened. His chin came up. His step seemed just a little bit stronger. More invigorated. He gave a
quick swipe to his eyes and nodded back at Matt. “I'm looking forward to it, son.”

An old smile crept up on Matt, the kind of smile he used to share with his father, back in the day. He squeezed Don's arm as he led the way to the snow-filled parking lot, pretty sure his personal life paths had been freshly plowed, and glad of it. “Me, too.”

“W
hat's this?” Matt studied the envelope he received the next afternoon and quizzed the courier standing on the doorstep of the Cape Cod model. “Is this a summons?”

“I need your signature, sir.”

Foreboding made Matt hesitate, then he clenched his jaw, signed the form and waited as the courier separated a copy for Matt's records.

He stepped into the quiet and nearly complete home, tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of legal-looking documents. He scanned the information, got the gist of the contents, then sat down hard on the second step to read more carefully.

“…because the rules of due process were not followed in Mr. Marek's case, and because his ownership rights may have been revoked without due cause and/or proper documentation, Wellingtown General Bank will pay you a sum as decided by the appraisal firm of Littinger and Littinger in Olean, New York, as reparation. Amount due will include but will not be limited to wages paid, materials secured and monies invested to buy the afore-named subdivision ‘Cobbled Creek.'

“Wellington General regrets any and all difficulties this transaction may cause and sincerely extends its apologies while accepting no blame for the mistaken foreclosure involved.”

Mistaken foreclosure?

Reparation?

Had he just lost Cobbled Creek?

Matt stared at the paper and swallowed hard.

They were taking Cobbled Creek away from him. Could they do that?

“No,” said his lawyer firmly a few minutes later when Matt got through to him on the newly installed landline. “They can't just send you a letter that says ‘Oops, we goofed, sorry. Let's have a do-over.' This is their first step in trying to rectify a big mistake. They're hoping you'll give in gracefully so they don't look bad or careless, which is exactly what they were in this case and many others, using people to robo-sign documents.”

“Robo-sign?”

The lawyer sighed. “Instead of having bank professionals read each document the way they're supposed to, some banks hired new graduates to handle the influx of foreclosure documentation the past couple of years. Their job was to count the pages, make sure they were all there, then sign off as the bank's representative.”

“You're kidding.”

“I wish I was. And none of this was obvious last month when we closed. Then the scandal broke and banks started scrambling to put their houses in order.”

“So I don't lose Cobbled Creek? Is that what you're saying?”

“We have to fight it, but yes, you will be able to keep the subdivision because it's their fault. Not yours. And then it's up to them to pay Hank Marek some sort of compensation for taking it over illegally. And making restitution for his loss of income.”

“And his daughter's loss of income for those two years? Do they cover that?”

“No, that would be an indirect consequence unless she's listed as co-owner, but that wasn't the case.”

How could he grasp this? Make sense of it? Half an hour
ago he had his life mapped out before him, and it looked good. Sweet. Inviting.

Now?

One piece of mail and a bank's overeagerness to seize property put it all in jeopardy. “I need time to think, Jon. To figure this all out.”

“There's no hurry,” Jon told him, “but Hank Marek has most likely been notified at the same time you were. Just so you're prepared. He may pay you a visit.”

“I'm living with him.”

“You're what?”

It sounded weird considering this turn of events. “They let me stay in an extra room in their home because it adjoins the subdivision. And they've been working for me from the beginning.”

“That's not a good situation to be in right now,” the lawyer explained in a no-nonsense voice. “It's a conflict of interest at best and being professionally involved with a family you may bring litigation against could color your judgment.”

“I thought it would be against the bank.” Matt gripped the phone tighter. “You mean I might have to sue Hank?”

“Depending on how this plays out, yes. It's a numbers game, Matt. And a power play. But we've got the power because we have ownership.”

“Illegally.”

“Not on our end,” the lawyer said roundly. “We had no information that led us to believe any of this had occurred. This is the bank's error. Not ours. They're just hoping you bow out gracefully.”

Bow out gracefully? How about run screaming? “I've got to go, Jon. Think this through. Pray.”

“Don't think too long. Wellington General is no slouch in the money department, and they'll cough up a nice piece of change, but we need to respond quickly.”

A nice piece of change.

Is that what his hopes and dreams came down to? His at
tempt to come back home and make amends? Was he here to gain a “nice piece of change” at Hank's expense? At Callie's expense?

Callie.

His gut clenched as realization hit.

What would people think if he courted Callie now? If Hank regained ownership of Cobbled Creek? They would assume he was looking out for number one. People would see it as a ploy to maintain a Cavanaugh Construction interest in a lucrative business venture.

What should he do? What could he do? Sue the bank? That meant suing Hank's interest in Cobbled Creek as well.

What would Grandpa Gus do?

He'd pray, Matt realized. He'd pray hard, then man up and do the right thing, an upright man in all regards.

Matt climbed into his truck and drove north, away from the dream that just evaporated around him, knowing if he fought Hank on this, the entire lower half of the county would see what they'd come to believe twenty years before. A guy who put himself first, all the time.

He found a small church open in the college town of Houghton. He crept in the back door and found a quiet corner, a place to talk to God. Examine his options. And by the time he stood to leave a long while later, he knew exactly what he had to do, but didn't pretend acceptance. He'd be giving up his dream of a home with Callie. Of adopting Jake. Of being the father he'd never had, an upright man in all regards.

Keeping Cobbled Creek when Hank had been grievously wronged could never be considered right.

And the swirl of malicious gossip that would circle around Callie and Jake if he stayed in the picture was the very world he'd come back to fix. Not reinstigate. He wasn't a gold digger. Or a user. But marrying Callie would look that way, and Matt knew firsthand how tongues would wag, mostly because he was involved and he hadn't been in town long enough to prove his worth.

Lousy timing, all told, not unlike what happened to Hank Marek a few years before.

He headed back toward Jamison and the life he thought he'd have, now gone, and couldn't act as if the journey didn't break his heart.

 

“You worked late, Dad,” Callie observed as her father pushed through the side door that evening. “I'll start the burgers when Matt pulls in,” she added, then nodded Jake's way. “And this guy's teacher says he's doing great, he's hardworking and focused and she's pleased with his progress. So we'll celebrate that with cupcakes later.” She pulled a broiler pan from the lower cupboard, then turned toward her father more fully. His expression said something had gone wrong. Very wrong. “What's happened?”

Face set, Hank settled into a chair.

“Are you okay?”

He scowled and thumped the table with his fist. “Matt's gone.”

“Matt's…” Callie worked her brain around her father's appearance, his accelerated breathing, his heightened color and…

Nope. Couldn't do it. She sat next to him and was surprised to see a sheen of moisture in his eyes. Army men didn't cry. Ever. “Dad, you're scaring me.” She leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “What do you mean ‘Matt's gone'?”

“He left. This afternoon. Packed up his stuff, signed Cobbled Creek back over to me and took off.”

None of this was making any sense. “He signed Cobbled Creek over to you? What does that mean?”

Her father withdrew a bundle of papers from inside his jacket. “The bank messed up. They seized Cobbled Creek illegally. And now they want to fix things, which means they'll pay Matt to give it up.”

“Illegally? How?”

“Not following procedures. So they notified Matt and me
today and Matt got it in his head that he'd be better off bowing out and letting me take it back.”

“But—”

“I know.” Hank lifted his gaze to Callie's. “He
belongs
here. I felt it. You felt it. For pity's sake,
he
felt it, but then this.” Hank grabbed the papers and lofted them into the air. “This happens and everything gets messed up.”

“He left.”

“Yes.”

Without saying goodbye. Because that was the story of her life, it shouldn't come as any big surprise.

Callie stood, her legs wooden, her jaw tight. Suddenly the act of flipping burgers seemed like too much work.

But there was Jake to think of. What would he think when he found out Matt had left? How would he react?

She moved back to the kitchen, her head spinning, trying to make sense of things and failing, but she knew one thing. She'd stepped out of her comfort zone and trusted a man whose heart seemed to match hers. Kind. Caring. Loving to build, to see beautiful things rise from the ground, take shape against a God-given sky.

She'd been stupid. Again.

Old doubts consumed her. How needy was she that Matt's bright smile and sweet compliments won her over so quickly? Hadn't she wondered from the beginning?

Yes.

But she'd let foolish hopes and dreams color her judgment, pull her off task. Make her think Matt really cared about her. About Jake.

Jake.

He'd be brokenhearted, and it was all her fault.

Regret warred with anger and sadness, a sorry threesome. Simple math filled in the rest. Matt would get bank money for Cobbled Creek and her father would have his business back. For a win-win situation, this felt like a total loss.

She swallowed tears around a lump the size of a stair
runner and slapped ground beef together with way more power than necessary, but better to take her anger out on meat than on her father. Or her son. Or…

No, that's right, Matt wouldn't be around anymore. At all. Ever. And just like that her hopes and dreams disappeared in the blink of an eye. Just as well, really. Better to count on herself. She knew that. And she'd be fine. Just fine.

“Can we play Christmas music, Mom?” Jake poked his head up from an internet site about the battle at Midway. “And did Grandpa forget to turn on the Christmas lights?”

“I did.” Hank pushed to his feet, looking anything but festive. “I'll see to it right now.”

“When's Matt coming?” Jake continued. “I'm starved.”

Callie ignored the first question by zeroing in on the second. “I'll make the burgers. They can always be warmed up later.”

“Okay.”

She wanted to shout that Matt wasn't coming back. That he'd moved out. Moved on. He had his money and he'd taken the quickest path north. But she couldn't say any of that, couldn't even think it without wanting to bawl her eyes out. Except soldiers don't do that. They keep on, keepin' on.

By the time Jake went to bed, Callie felt numb. Numb from pretending, numb from fielding questions, from avoiding the looks of concern her father shot her.

Mind-bending numb, but nothing an all-night crying jag wouldn't cure. And she was headed that way when her father stopped her. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Do?” She raised her shoulders, dropped them and shook her head. “About?”

“Matt.”

“Matt's gone, Dad. End of story.”

Hank stared at her, then swiped a hand across his face. “You're not getting this, are you?”

“That Matt needs distance, he's got his money and he
booked out of here like a race car driver? I'm getting it just fine, Dad.”

“No.” Hank settled his hands on her shoulders and met her anger with compassion. “He didn't leave because he didn't want to be with you. With us.”

“Um, right.” Callie sent him a look of disbelief and when he smiled, she had to remember why it was wrong to fight with your father.

“He left because he thinks it's the
right
thing to do.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Hank countered. “Matt came here and helped our dream come true, but when that letter came today he realized we'd been wronged. That the bank acted too quickly. And that wasn't fair.”

“So he left without saying goodbye to me or Jake? Right. Thanks for the pep talk, Dad.”

She moved to step away, but Hank wouldn't let her. “He loves you.”

Callie snorted. Very unfeminine, but then that was the story of her life. Unloved. Unfeminine. Uncherished.

“He does,” her father insisted, “but think about this from his perspective. Either he loses Cobbled Creek or he fights us for it. Matt cares for us and doesn't want to hurt us.”

“Very altruistic of him. But he still fled for places unknown without saying goodbye, therefore final chapter. End of story.”

“It's nothing of the sort, and you've got your mother's stubbornness,” Hank replied. “How will it look to people if Matt starts showing interest in you after he's had to relinquish the subdivision?”

“I—”

“Like he's a gold digger. Like he's trying to hang on. People talk, Callie.”

“I don't care what people say,” she told him, but a sheen of reality started to seep through. “Why would Matt?”

“Because Matt was talked about for years,” her father re
minded her. “And he came back here to fix things, not stir them up. He'd never want you and Jake to be targeted by gossip.”