Yuletide Hearts (11 page)

Add it to the list,
his conscience scoffed.
And that list is getting a little long, don't you think?

It was, but Thanksgiving night was a time for rejoicing. Eating pie. Watching football and the first Christmas specials.

“More stuffing, Matt?”

Callie offered the green-glazed bowl full of the most delicious stuffing he'd ever tasted, the bowl's color contrasting with the lighter green of her eyes. “Yes, please. It's the best I've ever had, Callie.”

Gladness brightened her features, but she angled him a warning look, sassy and spritely, total Callie. “Don't get used to it. I'd rather build, remember?”

“I won't likely forget. Nor would you let me.”

But right then the thought of building together, eating together, grabbing frozen food together…

That seemed too good to be true, but for tonight, this night, he'd relax and enjoy the moment.

“C
avanaugh.”

Matt cringed inside the next morning. Outwardly, he showed no emotion as Finch McGee sauntered his way, the lumber yard registers doing a brisk Black Friday business. “Mr. McGee. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

McGee's glare contradicted his positive reply. “Fine.” He scanned the box of hardware Matt held, the bite in his look unbecoming. “Not taking time off?”

“Time is money.”

“It is.” McGee drew closer. Too close. Matt resisted the urge to step back, the people behind him too close to allow room, and not wanting to give Finch the satisfaction of knowing he crowded him. But he also didn't want to pick a fight with the building inspector.

“And you know I'm watching you, right?”

Matt fought a sigh. McGee's attitude was growing tedious. And unless he missed his guess, the faint scent of hops meant Finch hadn't gone to bed sober last night. Great. “Any advice I get on finishing those homes is welcome.”

“Oh, I'm not advising you.” Finch leaned in closer, the rising volume of his voice drawing glances from nearby shoppers, strains of Christmas music blotted out by the building inspector's mounting tirade. “I'm hounding you. Watching. Waiting. Wondering when you're going to screw up again because I know you will. Your kind always does.”

Should he set the hardware down and leave quietly, avoiding a scene?

The combined attention of the cashiers flanking them and the people in line said it was too late for that.

Change of subject?

One look at Finch's bloodshot eyes negated that option.

He'd punt the ball, figuratively. “Mr. McGee, what do you think of Councilman Gilroody's suggestion requiring all new housing to have metal roofs?”

McGee stepped back, confused.

Perfect.

“The one-time expense drives initial prices up,” Matt continued as he moved closer to checking out and a much-needed escape, “but the home's value stays steady and gives banks less reason to refuse a mortgage, so the long-run offering is substantial.”

“Gilroody's a good man.”

Matt knew that. And the quick change of subject had gotten him to the cash register, so mission complete. “And the extended life warranty on those roofs is attractive.”

Finch gathered his thoughts just long enough for the young woman to ring up Matt's purchases. He smiled at her, accepted the bag of hardware needed to finish off the kitchen in the Cape, then turned toward the door. “Remember, Cavanaugh.”

Matt headed out, saying nothing, unwilling to feed the other man's hungover angst.

Maybe Finch had a drinking problem. From the look of him, he shouldn't have been driving, and Matt could attest that he shouldn't have been talking either, his posture and words drawing attention from a crowd.

It was foolish behavior for a town official, but in Matt's experience, even a little power could turn a man's head. But Finch was in a position to cost Matt two things he couldn't afford to waste: money and time.

He needed Phase One complete before he requested Colby
as his inspector. That good faith initiative went far in town government, and Matt was determined to make the grade, but Finch's attitude said this was far from over, and that didn't bode well.

He paused as he backed up the truck. He could return to Cobbled Creek and think about offering Don a job or he could man up and do it.

The clock told him it was early, but construction crews weren't much for sleeping in and Matt had looked up Don's address the night before. He had an apartment in Wellsville, five minutes from the lumber store.

Jesus had seized every opportunity to bring his lambs home. He'd gone hungry and thirsty to teach. He'd supped with sinners regularly, pressing the message that all were welcome at God's table.

Doing less felt wrong because it
was
wrong. Matt shoved the truck into drive and headed into Wellsville, hoping Don was awake. And sober.

“Matt?” Don scrubbed a hand to a lightly whiskered face and squinted at him in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?”

“Sure.” Don pushed the door open wider and let Matt into a threadbare apartment that smelled like coffee. “Want some coffee?”

“Please.”

Don led him into the galley kitchen and filled two chipped mugs. “Got milk here.”

“Black's fine.”

“Sugar?”

Matt shook his head and figured they'd pretty much exhausted small talk. “You said you needed a job.”

Don flushed, tentative. “I'm doing fine, actually. I've got some things lined up in Florida…”

“Except you're not going to Florida.”

Don frowned. “Hank told you, huh?”

“Look, Don.” Matt sat down in one of the two available chairs and pretended to be at ease. “I need a good drywall seamer. Hank says you're the best around.”

“He's right.”

“You've got to have steady hands to run seam.”

“That's your way of saying no drinking.” Don paused, glanced around, then met Matt's gaze. “I don't drink anymore, although there are days I want to. And the more I sit around, the harder that seems, but I don't want a job out of pity.” He shifted forward, his gaze intent. “I did you wrong, Matt. I got mad at your mother for living a lie and I walked out, thinking biology made a man a father.”

Matt gripped his coffee cup, unwilling to interrupt.

“I tossed eight years of loving you, being your dad, being so proud I could bust, into the trash over a cheating woman. It was a shameful thing to do. Between your mother and me, we did a lousy number on you and you ended up hanging with the wrong crowd, getting into all kinds of trouble. Considering that,” Don hunched forward, his eyes clear, his expression guarded, “why would you offer me a job?”

“Because it's the right thing to do.” Matt leaned forward as well, but not as far.

Regret shadowed Don's his features.

“I messed up big time,” Matt continued. “But that was my fault as much as anybody's. I didn't hang with the wrong crowd, Don. I
was
the wrong crowd.” He took one last long swig of coffee and stood. “I'm not good at all this talking stuff.”

“Me neither.”

“I need a seamer. I'd like us to get along. I can't have drinking around me, but if you're comfortable with that, I'd like to have you on board while the others work on sealing the remaining houses before the weather gets worse.”

“Snow's forecast for next week.”

“Which gives me just enough time if all goes well.”

Don stretched out a hand, not a tremor in sight. “I'm in. And thank you, Matt.”

A simple handshake between two construction guys. Why did it feel like so much more? “Head over once you're ready. I'll be in the model.”

“Callie's house.”

Don's easy remark made the words more real. The model reflected Callie in so many ways. Strong. Beautiful. Attentive to detail.

The idea of selling it made Matt feel guilty, but that was silly. She and Hank had designed the house with no intention of living there. Why should he feel bad?

He climbed into the truck and stared at his phone, knowing Sunday loomed two days away. And Sunday meant church. And Katie, if he went to the White Church at the Bend again.

So he wouldn't. Why would he intentionally encroach on her life? So what that he felt at home the minute he walked in the door. That he eyed the structural problems of the old building, wondering what he could do to help.

He took Route 19 North and hung a right toward Jamison, taking the shortcut back to Cobbled Creek. As he followed the Park Round curve, Simon MacDaniel waved from the driveway of the church.

Matt slowed the truck and rolled down the window. “Hey, Si. What's up?”

Si pulled a worn but thick hoodie closer and grimaced. “I can't believe I'm hoping for snow, but this rain is wreaking havoc with our roof.”

Matt thrust his chin toward the church and nodded. “I noticed that. And your interior damage will spread if it doesn't get fixed.”

“And money's nonexistent with so many of the congregation heading south this time of year,” Si told him. “We've gotten a couple of decent bequests and memoriam donations, but roofing is crazy expensive. We were hoping to hold off until next summer, but I don't think we can.”

“I agree. But maybe we can patch the bad spot. Want me to have a look?”

Si stared at him. “You do roofing?”

Matt shrugged. “I own a construction company.”

Happiness brightened Si's face. “Providence, right?”

Matt pulled into the drive, climbed out and met the other man's gaze. “You didn't know? Really?”

“Scout's honor,” Si promised. “I was just out there, wondering what to do, praying and staring up while realizing I know nothing about constructing buildings…”

“But a fair piece about mending souls,” Matt cut in.

“As nice as that sounds,” Si replied, “it won't keep us dry when spring blasts us with torrential rains.”

“True enough. You got a ladder, Si?”

“Back here.”

They set the ladder against the lowest part of the church roof. Matt started up, then paused, looking back. “Thank you for not picking a church with a towering cathedral. Right now small and country seems a whole lot friendlier.”

Hinted sadness darkened Si's eyes, passing almost quick enough for Matt to doubt his eyesight. But not quite. “I couldn't agree more.” He ascended the ladder behind Matt and hung there while Matt surveyed the roof.

“You're frowning.”

“Yup.”

“In my experience, frowns equate expensive.”

“Yeah. But the good news is, I think I can patch it,” Matt told him. “Monday and Tuesday are both supposed to be clear. If I bring a couple of guys by, can we jump up here and get it done for you?”

“I'd be forever in your debt,” Si declared.

Matt smiled as he climbed down. “No, you won't, but I wouldn't mind some extra prayers if you've got a mind to. They'd come in handy these next few weeks.”

Si clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, his bright blue eyes meeting Matt's. “Consider it done, my friend.”

Matt nodded, grateful, then pivoted to climb into the truck, only to stop dead.

Katie approached the two men, and there was no mistaking her look of surprise as she recognized Matt. “Matt, you're back.”

He squirmed inside and out. “Katie.”

“You're back and you haven't called,” she corrected herself, her expression tart.

“I…um…”

“In nearly twenty years,” she went on, moving closer, her stride smooth even with the driveway's upgrade. To see her move, he'd never suspect she was handicapped.

“You two know each other.” Si offered the interpretation as though heading off trouble, but he needn't have bothered. The look on Katie's face said “storm front coming.”

“I thought we did,” Katie told Si, her voice signaling otherwise. “But friends don't desert each other when the chips are down. Friends don't abandon one another when things go wrong. Friends—”

“I get it.” Matt faced her, feeling unprepared, but wasn't this what he came back for? To have it out with each and every person he'd wronged? Obviously it was Katie's turn.

“So that's it? You stumble across me here, shrug your shoulders and move on?”

He wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that. If God provided this unexpected opportunity, there was obviously a reason. “I have to get back to work right now, but I'd like to talk to you. See you.”

Simon shifted beside him, as if wondering about Matt's intent.

“How about tonight?” he continued. “We could meet at that little coffee shop.” He jutted his chin toward the café across the green, the artistic sign proclaiming great music, espresso and food beneath a bright yellow flower. “If you're free, that is.”

She stared at him with little emotion, but her eyes…

Oh, those eyes said so much. Two decades of anger and disappointment deepened the pale gray to steel. But she nodded and took a broad step away from the truck. “Seven-thirty.”

“All right.” He turned back toward Simon. “And I'll be sure to come by either Monday or Tuesday with the guys. We'll get that patched up for you.”

Simon didn't look quite as happy now, but Matt had enough on his plate. He climbed into the truck, eased it into reverse, and rolled down the driveway, carefully not looking left or right. He didn't need to see Katie's face to read the disappointment there, or Si's to acknowledge the look of question.

He gave up the idea of stopping for coffee, his gut advising him to wait, and headed toward the outskirts of town and Dunnymeade Hill, wondering why he hadn't taken the long way around in the first place.

He knew he had to talk to Katie. Apologize. Set things straight.

But he'd envisioned a more controlled approach. With considerable distance. A phone call, perhaps, or better yet, an email. That's how he'd imagined his first contact with Katie, just enough to give them both time to think. Ponder. Pray.

As he headed into Cobbled Creek, lights in the model told him the Mareks were already at work. The realization calmed him. He'd get through today, then face tonight. Either way, it would be over and done before his head hit a pillow, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad.

But he'd find out soon enough.

 

“Morning, boss,” Callie called as Matt came through the side entrance of the model. His look appraised the work she'd gotten done. He whistled appreciation, the clean white primer pulling the kitchen's look together.

“You got here early, Cal.”

She nodded, concentrating on cutting in along a cabinet's edge. “Couldn't sleep and I wanted this done before the countertop guys come on Monday. Then we can install the sink.”
She ducked low to do the baseboard, then asked, “What's your time frame on wallboard seaming?”