Yuletide Hearts (4 page)

Translation: I'll stop around now and again to see Callie and maybe find you cutting code.

The latter insinuation didn't bother Matt. He refused to shirk and never used slip-shod methods in building. That had kept his reputation and business growing heartily in the northern part of the county. Now back home in the southern edge of Allegany County, where teenage bad choices dogged him, he'd be choirboy good to erase those dark stains on his character.

But realizing McGee would be stopping by to check Callie out?

That scorched.

And while Matt knew Callie was off limits, the way his neck hairs rose in protest when Finch McGee eyed her said his heart was playing games with his head. The way she'd faced the decision of crewing with him, upfront and honest, the way her hair touched her cheek, the brown waves having just the right sheen, like newly applied satin-finish paint…

Words weren't his forte, but feelings…those he got, and since he was fresh out of a relationship with a woman who'd wanted to change every single thing about him, he wasn't ready to charge head-first into another one, especially in a place where everyone knew his name and all the baggage that went along with it. With an employee. Nope. Wasn't going to happen for a host of good reasons.

“If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting, too…”

Kipling's famous poem soothed the angst McGee stirred up, the poem a gift from Grandpa back in the day. Matt had to trust himself. He couldn't afford mistakes or missteps. He'd already made his share.

“Matt, you wanna cut those sections we removed or have me do it?”

Matt turned, grateful for Buck's interruption. “Have at it, Buck.”

Buck nodded and swung down the ladder. “Be right back.”

Matt climbed back up, inspecting each seam before they added the underlayment and the shingles. A mistake now would cost time and money later, every builder's nightmare.

Do it once, do it right.

By the time Matt glanced at his watch again, it was nearly one o'clock. “Hey, guys, lunch.”

Hank waved a sandwich from the roof across the street. “Got mine right here, boss.”

Tom did the same thing.

Buck straightened and rolled his shoulders to ease muscle strain. “I'll bring mine up so we can keep going here. You want something, Matt?”

Their dedication touched Matt's heart. He'd worked with a lot of crews over the years, good and bad, and from both ends of the spectrum as low man on the totem pole and supervisor, but this…

He cleared his throat and nodded to Buck. “I've got a sandwich inside the truck. And some of those snowball cupcakes.”

“I love them,” Buck declared.

“Bring the box, we'll share. And see if the other guys want some.”

“Hank won't. Coconut bothers him since he got the Crohn's, but Tom will dig in. So will Callie. She loves chocolate. Thanks, Matt.”

“You're welcome.”

Callie headed across the roof just then, a soldier's satisfaction marking her gaze, her walk.

A really good-looking soldier.

With great hair and pearl-soft skin.

Stop. Now.

He couldn't afford to mess up this job. He'd seen the careful way Hank handled his daughter, although this woman didn't seem to need protecting.

The image of her quick wince revisited him, the way she'd cringed at McGee's teasing, and that brought back another Grandpa Gus-ism. “If you respect women, you'll respect life.”

Maybe Callie Marek
did
need protecting and was good at hiding it, but either way, she was off limits. Her warm voice reenforced that notion a short while later. “Jake's home.”

A yellow bus rolled toward them, lights flashing. Jake climbed down the steps, let the dog off the porch, then hurried their way with The General racing alongside. “You guys got a lot done today!”

Matt grinned as the pair drew closer, their enthusiasm contagious. “We did, but it's easy with a great crew.”

“I can help.” The boy's excitement made it tough for Matt to say no, but—

“We'd love your help,” Callie told him, staving Matt's refusal with a sidelong glance. “First, get changed. Put on proper gear including your boots and hard hat, then head over here. There won't be much time, but you can work on cleanup.”

“Okay.”

The kid dashed across the open lot at a run, the dog streaming alongside, his pace pretty solid for an eight-year-old. Matt turned Callie's way, disapproving. “I—”

She held up a hand to thwart his argument. “I know what you're going to say, but trust me on this. Jake understands construction sites. He's been working side-by-side with us for years with no harm, no foul. He's great on cleanup duty and this is a much better choice than television or computer games, right?”

“Yes, but…” Matt met her gaze, decided that was dangerous because her eyes made him remember how lovely she was, even in roofing gear, and he didn't want to go there. No woman in her right mind would find his teenage police record a good thing to have around an impressionable kid like Jake. A
good
kid, Matt reminded himself. “Doesn't he have homework?”

“Yes.” Callie nodded, chin down, focusing on her work, talking easily. “But he's got some processing problems so
school doesn't come easily. We'll do it together, step by step, after supper.”

That's what they'd been doing last night, Matt realized. “After working here all day, you'll do homework duty at night?”

She gave a brisk nod. “Of course.”

He'd have given anything to have a mother like that. He'd tackled educational difficulties on his own and failed miserably. “That's amazing, Callie.”

She turned, surprised. Their eyes met.

She went still, her eyes on his, her mouth slightly open, the parted lips looking very approachable.

And she read his gaze, his thoughts. It was there in her slight intake of breath, the way she blinked, the quick flex of fingers as realization struck.

Amanda Slaughter created a welcome diversion by pulling into the tract with promised coffee.

Matt was pretty sure he didn't want to be diverted.

Callie turned toward the ladder, breaking the connection. That was good, right? Neither of them had the time or energy to put into that quick flash of recognition. Obviously they'd be smart to ignore it.

But he caught her shifting a surreptitious glance his way moments later, and that confirmed what he'd been struggling with all day.

Working side by side with Callie Marek meant he couldn't ignore her. And the over-the-shoulder look said she wasn't oblivious to the spark of attraction.

But a kid like Jake deserved to be surrounded by the best examples possible. Matt had been anything
but
a good example for a long time. Sooner or later Callie would discover his past. No self-respecting woman wanted a guy with a record setting an example for her kid, and Matt understood that. Respected it, even. He needed to remember he was in the southern sector of the county for two things only: to make amends
to those he'd hurt and help Cobbled Creek become what Hank Marek meant it to be.

And although he was thrilled by the skill level and dedication shown by Hank and his crew, no way, no how was he looking for anything else. Especially where Callie Marek was concerned.

M
cGee's truck reappeared while the crew grabbed coffee from Jim's wife. He braked quick, scattering stone, then climbed out, strode their way and met Matt's gaze head-on, his expression taut. “You living here, Cavanaugh?”

Matt's face showed surprise, not a good thing, but Hank's quick reaction spared a clash. “Of course he is, Finch. Wouldn't make sense to travel back and forth to Nunda while daylight hours are scarce, winter's closing in and every penny he's got is invested in Cobbled Creek.”

“You don't have a C of O,” Finch barked, his typical attitude more evident this afternoon. “There's reasons we've got regulations, Cavanaugh, although you were never real good at following rules, were you?”

Matt's flinch surprised Callie, but then Hank sighed and frowned as if wondering what the clamor was about. “Finch, I don't know any rule that says Matt can't live with us while he gets the model done and inspected. It makes good sense, all in all.” Hank kept his voice easy and his surprise genuine, as if taken aback by Finch's intrusion.

Callie swallowed a lump in her throat the size of a small two-by-four. Live with them? Was her father kidding?

“He's staying at your place?” Finch swept Callie a look, then drew his gaze back to the two men.

Hank shrugged, sidestepping the truth. “We have extra room. Matt needs to be on site. It works out for everyone.”

Everyone but me, Callie wanted to shout. She was having a hard enough time keeping her distance from Matt in the short time they'd been working together, but to have him staying at their place?

“A perfect solution,” Matt added, as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory. “And just so you know, I'm ordering us a fresh turkey for Thanksgiving.”

Finch scowled.

Hank grinned.

Tom covered a laugh with a cough.

Callie decided more coffee would only tax her already-twining gut and headed back to the roof, trying to untwist the coiled emotions inside.

Yes, she was attracted.

No, she shouldn't be.

And having him under their roof, sharing their home, their food?

Way too much proximity and she had too much to lose, but Hank had extended the invitation and Hank Marek carved his word in stone. He kept a General Patton quote framed on his dresser: “No good decision was ever made from a swivel chair.”

Great. Just great.

Finch would be annoyed, which meant he'd annoy others. She'd have Matt underfoot which would entail having her guard up 24/7. And the guys were clearly delighted with the prospect of having Matt around, his friendly grin and storytelling a welcome addition to their circle, a perfect match.

But she'd found out the hard way there were no perfect matches. Not for women who strike a different path, a career that includes tool belts weighted with claw hammers and tape measures. Nails and utility knives. Unfeminine suspenders to distribute the tool weight appropriately.

Some lessons a girl never forgot.

Matt's footsteps followed her. He crouched by her side, pretending to work, his gaze down. “Hey, if it bothers you
that much, I'll just get a place in town. Or stay at my brother's house in Wellsville. That way I'm not breaking the rules and McGee won't have anything to complain about.”

Finch would dog Matt's steps, Callie knew. He wasn't above pestering contractors he didn't like, and he'd had his eye on Callie for the last several months. She'd kept it cool and friendly at the diner, but Finch added another component in an already-complex puzzle. She didn't want Matt targeted by the zealous building inspector, but she didn't want him living with them either.

Nevertheless, the invitation had been extended, and Hank wasn't a man to go back on his word, a quality she shared.

She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. “It's fine. It just came as a surprise.”

“I'll do my own laundry.”

His earnest words almost made her smile. “You bet you will.”

“And I can cook.”

“Excellent.”

“How big a turkey shall I get?”

“You weren't kidding about that?” She turned to face him and felt the draw of those deep, brown eyes, tiny hints of gold sparking warmth and laughter. “I got a couple of frozen turkeys at Tops while they were on sale. That's a lot of good eating at a bargain price. Fresh birds are expensive.”

“Have you ever tasted one?”

She brushed that off and turned back to the task at hand. “Turkey's turkey.”

He grinned and moved a step away. “It's not, but I'll let you discover that next week. And now—” he shifted his attention back to the nail gun “—we need to get back to work. Can you help your dad and Buck get started on number twenty-three?”

Across the street and two houses up. Just enough distance to calm things down. Smooth them over. “Sure.”

“And Callie?”

She turned at the ladder and arched a brow, waiting for him to say more.

He eyed her a moment and shifted his jaw. “You do good work.”

His awkwardness told her he meant to add something else but thought better of it. Just as well. Too much fun and teasing could be misconstrued. She headed down to ground level, crossed the street, moved up the block and joined her father on the elongated roof covering the well-designed ranch house. Hank noted her presence with a welcome smile and nod.

“Ready?”

Ready for roofing?

Yes.

For having Matt's teasing smile, his easy manner, his firm jaw around every day?

No way.

But Callie had withstood basic training and a deployment in Iraq. She could handle this.

She adopted a noncommittal look and started handing her father shingles, pushing thoughts of Matt aside, but with the steady pop of his nail gun keeping time with his whistling, she was mostly unsuccessful. Luckily no one knew that but her.

 

He'd be moving in tomorrow.

Ignoring Matt's light proved impossible as Callie helped Jake recognize consonant–vowel patterns for his language arts class. Her chair faced the front window, overlooking Cobbled Creek and the unshaded reminder of Matt's existence.

Change chairs,
her conscience scolded.

She could, she supposed, warm yellow light pouring from the uncurtained windows of the model home. But…

“Mom, can I help Matt this weekend?” Jake asked, pulling her attention away from cute guys and broken dreams, definitely in everyone's best interest.

“We'll all be working this weekend, as long as the weather
holds,” Hank told him. “Your mom has a couple of shifts at the diner—”

“I switched them up with Gina,” Callie cut in.

Hank eyed her, speculative.

“I make more crewing and we have no guarantee on the weather this late in the game,” she explained to Hank, then turned her attention back to Jake's word list. “Yup, short
I
words here, long
I
there. Perfect.”

Jake beamed. “Mrs. Carmichael told me to picture them like puzzle pieces, looking for clues.”

God bless Mrs. Carmichael,
Callie breathed silently. Between Hannah Moore's tutoring and Jake's teachers, he'd come a long way academically, and since his ADD prognosis, his continued progress thrilled Callie. She knew strong middle school academics required a solid foundation now, and she'd worked extra hours to pay for his tutoring, his book club, his interactive educational games, anything it took to surround him with learning opportunities.

So far, so good.

She smiled, ruffled his hair, tried not to glance out the window and failed, then said, “Yes, you can help, but The General can't be over there all the time, okay? We can't have someone's attention diverted when they're on a rooftop.”

“Okay.”

“And I want to get those Christmas lights strung this weekend. Thanksgiving's next week and I'd rather do it before we get big snows than after.”

“That's a good idea,” Hank agreed. “If we use both ladders we can do it together and get it done in half the time.”

“True.” The ladders were about the only thing not seized when Hank's business bellied up. The bank had considered them household use instead of business inventory. “I want to finish scrubbing that side, too. Get rid of the mold.”

“Not much sense if we don't have time or the right temperature to paint,” Hank told her.

“It looks better when it's clean.” Callie didn't elaborate, but
something about coming home to that worn facade weighed on her. Painting could wait until spring, but decorating for the holidays with the front of the house looking tired and worn…

That didn't sit right.

“When can we get our Christmas tree?” Jake's eagerness refused to be contained.

Callie laughed and stood. She stretched and fought a yawn. “Let's tackle Thanksgiving first, okay? And decorating the front of the house.”

“Can we put up Shadow Jesus?”

Hank exchanged a grin with Callie. He'd created a plywood Holy Family years ago, the images of Jesus, Mary and Joseph done in silhouette, then painted black. Two spotlights tucked into the grass bathed the cutouts in light at night, making their shadowed presence appear on the white house. The simple, stark visual was an eye-catcher for sure.

Jake had referred to the infant in the manger as “Shadow Jesus” from the time he could talk, a sweet memory and a good focus on the true meaning of the upcoming holy season. “Next weekend,” Hank promised. “It doesn't take long, but let's get the outside lights up first.”

Jake nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Good night, Grandpa.”

“Night, Jake.”

He was such a good boy, Callie thought as Jake headed upstairs to bed. She would never understand Dustin's cool disregard for his beautiful son, but then she hadn't understood Dustin for a very long time.

Maybe ever.

“He's doing fine, Callie.” Hank drew her attention with a nod toward the stairs. “Don't borrow trouble.”

“I know. It's just rough at holiday time, when most kids get presents from their dads. Visits. Cards.”

“He's happy enough.”

“But he wonders, Dad.” When Hank went to speak, she held up a hand to pause him. “I know he's content, but it weighs on his mind from time to time. His birthday. Christ
mas. When they do father-son events at school and church. And those are the times when I could wring Dustin's neck for brushing him off.”

“And brushing you off.”

She shrugged. “Not so much. We married young, we were both in the service, we thought we could conquer the world and when that didn't work, we grew apart.”

Hank's snort said more than words ever could. “In my day skirt-chasing was called just that, and it didn't involve growing apart. It involved breaking vows, going back on your word. A good soldier never goes back on his or her word.”

His righteous indignation struck a chord with Callie. “You're right, Dad, but it's in the past and I've moved on. We all have.”

“And the future is ripe with possibilities,” Hank reminded her. “Seek and ye shall find. Knock and the door will be opened unto you.”

Callie leaned forward and planted a kiss on Hank's bushy cheek. “Are you letting your beard grow to keep your face warm on those rooftops?”

“Yes I am.” Hank scrubbed a hand across the three-day stubble and grinned again. “One of the advantages of age and gender. I can grow my own ski mask.”

Callie shook her head, laughing. “And I'm just as thankful I can't.” She headed for the stairs. “I'm turning in early so I can work on the front of the house before first light. I'll turn on the small spotlights to help me see. Another few hours of washing should do it.”

“If we had a power washer…”

Hank's quiet aside made her shrug. “We don't want to disturb the paint too much anyway. It's pretty loose in spots and a power washer might peel it off. Hand washing is fine for this year.”

Hank hugged her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You make me proud. You know that, don't you?”

She did. And she appreciated Hank's commonsense take
on Dustin's behavior, but the image in the mirror once she climbed the stairs showed a strong, rugged woman, a laborer. And while her father's approval was a lovely thing, and Callie took pride in her work, her dexterity, her intrinsic knowledge of building, some days it would be nice to look in the mirror and have downright beautiful looking back at her, the gracious swan that evolved from the misunderstood fictional duckling.

But that wasn't about to happen.

 

Startled awake, Callie stared at the clock, rubbed her eyes and peered again.

She'd overslept the alarm. Not only would she not be scrubbing clapboard that morning, but she'd be lucky if she got lunches made before the bus pulled up for Jake. And what on earth was that noise?

Her father sent her an amused smirk as she ran down the stairs in her robe. “Tired?”

Grr.

Hank held up Jake's lunch bag. “We're good to go.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a half hug as she kissed his cheek on her way to the coffeepot. “I have no memory of turning the radio off or hitting the snooze bar. I must have zonked. And what is going on out there?” She jerked a thumb toward the subdivision.

Hank shook his head. “Not there.” He pointed toward the street side of the house. “Here.”

Here?

Callie followed the direction of his finger, pulled back the curtain and stared.

Matt Cavanaugh had brought over a small power washer. Using care, he splayed the jet of water against the siding in a slow and steady back-and-forth sweep, his attention locked on the task at hand.

“Pretty nice of him.” Hank's words drew her gaze around.

“Very.”

“Must have seen you working out there.”

Callie was pretty sure the flush started somewhere around her toes and worked its way up. “Probably just wants to make sure we can use daylight hours on the subdivision.”