Yuletide Hearts (12 page)

“Today.”

“Want a suggestion?” She looked up at him, unsure of his reaction.

“Maybe.”

Callie grinned. “Don's the best seamer around when he's sober and he's been sober for nearly a year.”

He stared outside, then sighed. “I've already asked him. He's on his way.”

“Really?”

He directed his gaze down to her.

“No argument, no convincing, no appealing to your sensibilities?”

“Yesterday did that.”

“Perfect.”

“Even when I'm not sure why I should feel guilty about anything concerning Don.”

“Wanna talk some more?”

He pulled hardware out of the box and headed toward the living room. “No.”

Okay, then.

He popped his head around a few seconds later. “Sorry. Didn't mean to be short with you. None of this is your fault, and—”

“It's okay, Matt. Really.”

He looked relieved by her reaction. Sympathy rose from within, a whisper of the little boy lost showing in his eyes.

Gorgeous brown velvet eyes. Deep. Soulful.

“Besides, the walls have ears around here,” Matt added.

That was certainly true. “We could grab coffee later,” Callie mused.

His look of chagrin said he was busy. Worse, that she'd caught him out. “Another time might be better, huh?” Callie asked, her mind going back to the message from Reenie.

Her voice must have said more than her words because
Matt poked his head around the corner again. “I'm not dating anyone, Cal. And if you've got something to ask, darlin', just spit it out.” He flashed that smile again, the one that said he'd read her hesitation and countered it. “And just to straighten things out, Reenie is the gal who does doll-up for me. She sweeps, mops, wipes things down, makes sure everything's pristine before buyers walk in the front door. She's in her fifties, married and has four grandchildren. Although her macadamia brownies
are
a temptation.”

Callie sent him a scathing look, but he'd already ducked back to his side of the half wall. Just as well. She had work to do and conversation might pull her off-task.

“But I'd like to grab coffee with you,” he called back, sounding more serious this time, “Talk about things. But not tonight. I, um…”

“Have plans.” Callie filled in the blank without looking up.

“Yes.”

The guy was entitled to a life, right? And what business was it of hers what he did on a cold, wet Friday night? “Let me know when. As long as Jake's taken care of, we're good.”

“Thanks, Cal.” Relief colored his tone which meant he didn't realize she was quietly stewing on the other side of the wall, a ridiculous fact because they both understood the boundaries they'd established.

Maybe she'd be better off returning to the diner. Working for Matt paid better, but dealing with these rising emotions put her at risk.

Why?
Her conscience prodded.
You're here to do a job. You need money. And Matt's okay with the parameters, except when he's kissing you.

That kiss. That one sweet, gentle kiss, a glimpse of what could be.

“Mom! I'm here!”

Reality pushed her wandering thoughts aside. Jake was her certainty. Matt understood and respected that. He'd said so. And God had blessed her in so many ways already. Even
now, with losing the subdivision, they'd gained a friend and good employer in Matt Cavanaugh. Bad had turned into good. Callie was smart enough to recognize that.

“Hey, bud, can you keep going on those cabinet doors for me?” Matt called.

“Sure, Matt! Is it okay if The General comes in?”

“Jake. Wet dog.” Callie scooted back and frowned. “Really?”

Matt's cell phone rang, a straightforward sound, no fancy ring tones or songs. Callie liked that. He scanned the phone, frowned and headed to the garage, his look saying he wasn't getting a signal in the house, and the garage was a quieter choice as Hank and Jim's arrival added to the noise of doggie feet and Jake's excitement.

Besides, a guy was entitled to a little privacy. Callie refocused her attention on the walls, ignoring pinpricks of jealousy. She had a life. So did he. End of story.

 

Matt picked up the call in the garage and sighed relief when Mary Kay Hammond's voice came through loud and clear. “Mary Kay, good morning. You're working today?”

The Realtor laughed. “Make money when you can, I say. And while this never happens on a major holiday weekend, I got a call this morning from someone interested in Cobbled Creek. They're in town for the weekend, and they're coming by my office later to look at plans. They'd like to stop by tomorrow and see the model.”

“They know it's not done, right?”

“They don't care. They're moving here from downstate and Cobbled Creek reminded them of the Catskills. They're enamored.”

Matt laughed. “Enamored is good. What time tomorrow?”

“Ten-thirty. We're looking at a couple of existing homes as well, but these folks seem to prefer a new build.”

Matt understood the difference. Some people cherished the feel of old wood, past times. Others? Nothing but new would do. And those were the ones he hoped to court with Cobbled
Creek. “See you then. And they know we can upgrade any way they want, right?”

Mary Kay laughed. “I've got it covered, Matt. You build. I'll sell. And I won't promise them anything you can't deliver, okay? And we'll adjust the pricing accordingly.”

“Excellent.” Mary Kay's promise sounded light, but Matt had worked with salespeople who didn't have a clue what upgrades meant to the contractor's bottom line. Mary Kay? She got it, which is why she still had a business when others bellied-up with the housing downfall.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“We'll be there.”

Matt headed back inside, whistling softly. Callie looked up at him and smiled. “You look happier.”

He shrugged, sheepish. “A prospective buyer coming tomorrow.”

“Really?” Callie grinned, no hint of envy or remorse shading her features. “Matt, that's wonderful.”

“It sure is,” cut in Hank as he rounded the corner from the family room. “On a holiday weekend. And this time of year. I figured we wouldn't see anybody until February.”

Matt had thought the same thing. He'd hoped for earlier, but knew it was unlikely.

“They interested in the model?” Hank asked.

Matt shook his head. “I don't know.” He wanted to sneak a peek at Callie to see if that bothered her, but he'd already figured out that Callie was adept at painting on a game face as needed. “They're exploring their options.”

“It would be wonderful to lock in a contract,” Callie said from the floor. She stretched to finish the last corner, and Matt thought how nice it was to have her there, keeping the bottom line in sight. Callie's pragmatism about getting a job done kept things focused. Balanced.

“I'll do a really good job on the doors,” Jake promised.

Matt rubbed Jake's head as he went by. “Thanks, bud. Oh,
and here's Don,” he added as the aging car pulled into the drive. “He's going to start seaming today.”

Hank slowed Matt's progress with a hand to his arm. The older man didn't say a word, but the approval in his eyes told Matt he'd done well.

But because flashes of the unresolved scene with Katie were fresh in his mind, Matt could only hope Hank was right.

Hank tipped his head toward the driveway. “This will be good for him. He's having a rough go right now.”

“Due to?” Matt scrutinized Hank's calm look, then thought back. Don's pallor. His words. “He's sick?”

“I can't say more, but it's treatable. Still, a hard road when you're alone.”

“Cancer.”

Hank confirmed nothing, but Matt read his face. “Is he healthy enough to do this?”

“Best thing in the world for him. Purpose. Focus. He's never been much of one for leaning on God no matter how much I yammer at him.”

Matt had no trouble envisioning that. “Thanks, Hank.”

Hank sent him a cautionary look as he moved toward the stairs. “Between us, okay?”

“I hear ya.”

Don pushed through the side entry and paused, inspecting what they'd done. “Nice.” He turned and saw Matt there, and the tentative smile punched another little hole into the hard core of Matt's heart. “This is beautiful, Matt.”

“Thanks. Hank's upstairs.” He jerked a thumb toward the stairway. “He can get you started.”

Don headed up, looking more confident with a box of tools in his hand. What had Hank said? Purpose. Focus.

Matt hadn't realized what wonderful gifts they were, but seeing the quick difference in Don's gait? His expression?

That combination made Matt glad he'd manned up and
stopped by Don's place. Now if only things went well with Katie.

But recalling the look on her face that morning, that didn't fall into the realm of likely.

“Y
ou goin' out, Matt?” Jake asked as Matt descended the stairs that evening.

Matt shrugged into his jacket and nodded. “For a little while.”

“Oh.” The boy's chin dropped.

“What's up, bud?”

“Nothing.” Jake shook his head and Callie wasn't sure whether to chastise him or kiss him for making Matt feel guilty. She'd decide that later. For right now she folded laundry while the dishwasher hummed and Jake gazed up at Matt with hero-worship eyes and a quivering jaw. “See ya.”

Matt hesitated, torn.

Callie caved. “Jake, Matt spends lots of time with you. It's not nice to make him feel guilty for going out.”

“Sorry, Matt.”

Matt stooped low. “I'll be here tomorrow, bud. And we can wage war along the Pacific Rim if you want.”

“I have to go to a birthday party tomorrow.” Jake droned the words as if attendance was a fate worse than death.

Matt moved back, surprised. “Birthday parties rock. Ice cream. Cake. Games.”

“For a girl.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jake looked up, woebegone. “Mom said I have to go.”

“Well…” Matt wavered, then nodded. “We've got to be polite.”

“To girls?”

“Especially to girls.”

“Jake, we've had this discussion,” Callie cut in. “You're going, you will be polite, and Matt's going to be late for whatever it is he's doing tonight.” And looking wonderful, Callie added silently, but then, this was Matt. He looked great no matter what, but tonight he was freshly shaved and had on a classy black leather bomber jacket.

Gorgeous.

“Be good tonight, okay?” Matt ruffled Jake's hair as he stood.

“I will.”

“Good.” He shifted his attention to Callie. “I don't know how long I'll be…”

“Grown-ups don't have curfews,” Callie assured him, hoping her smile wasn't stretched too tight. “You have a life, Matt. It's okay to lead it.”

He faced her across the table, his hands fisted.

She couldn't decipher the tense look in his eyes, or read the clench of his jaw, but instinct told her he might need help. She moved around the table slowly, holding his gaze, needing to reassure him. She stopped just short of him and reached up a hand to cup his cheek, his jaw. “If God is with us, who can be against us?”

His eyes softened. He leaned his cheek into her hand, just enough to send a message of gratitude, the feel of his skin warm beneath her palm. He smelled of pricey aftershave and clean leather, and when he smiled at her it was all she could do not to melt.

“Thanks, Cal.”

“See ya.”

He nodded, sent her mouth a look that said he wished they were alone, then moved toward the door.

He wasn't whistling. And she recognized the haunted look
in his eyes, the stolid set of his face. She went to the door and gazed out, Matt's taillights growing smaller as he headed toward town. “God, bless him. Whatever this is, keep him safe. Sound. Peaceful. Help him bridge this gap, dear Lord. He's such a good, gentle man.”

“Mom, can we start decorating inside tonight?”

Callie sighed and shook her head. “No, kid. I'm beat. But tomorrow, yes. However,” she added, seeing his look of disappointment, “we can get the stuff out tonight and then we're ready for tomorrow. We can probably get a bunch of things done before the birthday party.”

His smile uplifted her. Such a little thing to decorate for the holidays. And Jake's smile?

Totally a gift from God.

 

Matt paced the sidewalk in front of the café, half wishing Katie would stand him up.

She didn't. She headed his way from across the street, the village quiet, even on Black Friday. He stepped forward, not sure where to begin. Hello seemed appropriate. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

She studied his face as if looking for something, then shrugged. “I didn't want to.”

“I know.”

“But I had to,” she went on as though he hadn't spoken. “Because
I
don't want to be the person who walks away and never looks back.”

Matt felt the direct shot. He jerked his head toward the door. “Let's go in. If we're at a back table, we won't get overheard by too many.”

A tiny smile flashed momentarily. “This is Jamison. All it takes is one.”

True, but Matt wondered if that was such a bad thing. If a person chose honor and goodness, would they care what was said about them? Of course not.

Which meant small towns were fine as long as you be
haved yourself. He glanced around once they were seated in the Green Room, surprised by the flurry of customers. “I thought it would be quiet.”

“Not on weekend nights. People come in for the music,” she trailed a look to a pair of guitar players settling in near the fireplace, “and the food. And the coffee is marvelous.”

“Katie, hey.” The taller guitarist moved their way, comfortable in the close-knit setting. “Did you bring your fiddle?”

She laughed. “It's at home, Cedric. It's not my night to play.”

“Impromptu becomes you, Katie girl.”

Katie leaned forward and gestured toward Matt. “Cedric MacDaniel, this is Matt Cavanaugh.”

The man turned his way and extended his hand. “The builder.”

“Yes.”

“I'm Simon's brother. He told me you were coming by to patch his roof.”

Matt nodded. “Hopefully we can get it taken care of this week.”

“I roofed my way through college,” Cedric told him. “If you need help, I'm available on weekends.”

“Thanks.”

Katie turned as Cedric headed back across the room. “He and Simon are fraternal twins.”

“They're not from here.”

“No.” Katie shook her head, gave the waiter her order, paused while Matt did the same, then continued, “Simon took over the White Church ministry, then Cedric followed. Their parents were killed in the attack on the World Trade Center.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded, rimmed her water glass with one finger, then sighed. “Simon was an associate pastor in Connecticut. Cedric was working in the financial district, but several blocks up.”

“So he was right there.” Matt couldn't fathom it, to be on
hand and know your parents worked in the towers that came crashing down. “That's rough.”

Katie turned her attention full back to him. “Rough stuff happens, Matt. To most of us. Then we pick up the pieces and move on, which you've obviously done.”

Her tone didn't make it sound like a compliment. “I hope so.” He paused, drew a breath and waded in. “I came back to apologize, Katie.”

“And build houses.”

Her cryptic tone said she wasn't buying his apology theory.

“That, too, but the reason I bought Cobbled Creek was to help make amends. To make something pretty out of threatened property.”

“And make money.”

“Let's hope.” He met her gaze. “You don't stay in business if you don't make money.”

“Or maybe,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes locked on his, “You came back to show everyone how successful you are. How industrious. The bad boy returns and waves his success in the face of the people who wronged him.”

“No one wronged me,” he corrected her. “I was the one who messed up. I ruined a lot of things in my day, but the worst…” He shifted his attention away, then brought it back, reluctant. “The worst was what I did to you.”

“Not calling me? Not coming to see me? Not writing?” She sat back, letting one rhythmic finger tap against the table top.

“Hurting you.” He waved toward her leg. “Causing your injuries. Driving drunk and stupid.”

“So seeing me is your reparation?”

Matt frowned. “Katie, it's…”

“Because, for your information, Matt Cavanaugh, totally ignoring me after the accident was way more painful than losing a limb ever thought of being.”

“Katie—”

“Do you know how long I was in that hospital? In rehab? How I longed for a friendly face?”

“Your father wouldn't let anyone near you, Katie. You know that.”

“Then you should have tried harder, Matt.”

He scowled, wishing she was wrong.

“You let shame and guilt rule you. And you didn't even help the public defender when your court case came up. You could have pleaded down, you could have told the judge about your life, you could have helped yourself and maybe lessened your sentence…”

“I didn't deserve a lesser sentence. If anything, I should have served longer.”

“Shut up.”

He sat back, amazed.

“You.” She half stood and shook a finger at him, her expression tough and tart. “You acted like a sacrificial lamb, like the whole thing was your fault, like Pete, Joe and I didn't have options. We had choices, Matt. We were stupid drunk just like you, and it was only by chance you were driving. The accident happened because four of us were stupid. Not one. And it was more hurtful to lose your friendship than to lose my leg, and if you think I'm not one-hundred-percent serious about that, then you don't know me.”

Her words hit home, but was she right or sugar-coating a horrible circumstance? “I was driving.”

“Only because Joe got sick,” she reminded him. “Matt, listen.” She edged forward again.

Matt leaned back. “Are you going to hit me?”

The tiny smile he glimpsed outside returned. “I'm tempted, but no. We were young. Stupid. We stole that car and went drinking and driving late at night, but each of us made a conscious choice to be there. We were just as wrong as you. But you…” she reached out and smoothed a hand to his face. “You took it on the chin for us.”

“Katie, you lost your leg,” he reminded her, hating that she felt sorry for him when he'd cost her so much. “I maimed you because I was reckless. I can't forgive myself for that.”

“Well, then you're still stupid,” she told him, but her voice was softer. Gentler. “Because I forgave you a long time ago. And I forgave my father for being so tough and critical,” she added, wrinkling her nose, an expression he remembered as though it was yesterday. “Although I try to avoid him as much as possible, and that's tough in a small town, but Matt,” she bent farther forward, her tone strong but sincere, “our families were a piece of work for different reasons. God doesn't hold that against us. He knows kids make mistakes and need forgiveness. It's what we do as adults that counts. And did you ever stop to think the accident happened for a reason? That it might have been the wake-up call we needed?” She accepted her latte from the waiter and paused as Matt took his coffee.

“We were on the road to early graves,” she continued. “That accident put the brakes on. Made us grow up. Now we've all got successful careers. Pete's got two beautiful kids and is a grocery manager at Tops. Joe's a mechanic at a big car dealership in Olean, and loves it.”

“He always loved tinkering under a hood,” Matt mused.

“And you've done well, Matt,” she reminded him. “You've served your country, you've built a business, you're honest and upright.”

“How do you know all this?”

She scoffed a laugh. “The web. I've watched you along the way, just checking to see if you were okay.”

“I am.” Saying the words out loud, Matt almost believed them. “I was nervous about meeting you.”

“Me, too. But mostly mad,” Katie added, grinning.

“I saw that, which might have been the source of my fear,” Matt admitted. “You look wonderful.”

“You, too. And I love that you've taken over Cobbled Creek,” she added. “Not because I didn't want the Mareks successful,” she hastened to add. “But just because they looked so sad that the whole thing fell apart. Callie is about one of the toughest, strongest gals I know…”

“She's incredible. I don't know what I'd do without her,” Matt agreed. Something in his tone deepened Katie's smile.

“She is. And she works so hard at everything she does, and her little boy?” Katie lifted her shoulders. “He's wonderful even though his father walked out on him when he was a baby.”

“A feeling I can relate to,” Matt noted. “But Jake seems fine.”

“He does,” Katie agreed, “but it's got to bother him. Look back at you and me when we were young. There was a lot we didn't let show.”

She was right. They'd hidden their emotional wounds, but things surfaced when they acted out as young teens. “I can't believe the dumb things we did.”

“Me neither. And if I'm ever a mom,” Katie continued, “I want to be a great one. With a wonderful husband who's committed to God and his family. And a good dog.”

“You always loved dogs.”

“Still do.” Wistfulness softened her expression. “But I can't have one in my apartment in Wellsville and I'm never there anyway. I work as a nurse at Jones Memorial, play violin for the church and teach skiing on winter weekends.”

Skiing? Matt didn't shield the surprise on his face quick enough and her finger waved again. “Don't make assumptions about what my life is like, Matt. You see me as broken, but I prefer to think of it as just another challenge. An extra mogul in the downhill slopes of life.”

“You're incredible.”

“Well.” She patted her leg as the waiter brought a serving of spinach and artichoke dip with a side of pita chips. “Computerized prosthetics are a wonder these days. And they're using me to test new apparatus that responds to the brain.”

“Your brain tells the leg what to do?”

“And the leg does it.” She grinned and grabbed a chip. “Not quite as perfect as the real deal, but amazing, nonetheless. So yeah, I ski, I bike, I run, I play, I work.” She reached out
and held his hand, her fingers soft and warm. “I decided that I needed to work harder, better and longer to conquer those early demons. So I did. Same as you.”