by Jessica Berg
She glanced back to the revolving rack of hot and bubbly pizza. Nothing icky there. Peering past the cheesy, gooey goodness, she spotted a boy with hair as greasy as the slick of oil on a slab of pepperoni. Maybe he wears a hat. The boy picked his nose, studied the green object on his finger, and ate it.
She gagged. Dominick made a grab for the snack food. “Here, let me hold this for you.”
“Nah. Thanks though. I got it. Thanks for the advice on the pizza purchasing. I don’t like boogers with extra cheese.”
He grinned and accompanied her to the cash register. He greeted the clerk and asked to put Grace’s purchases on his charge account.
She interrupted him. “Oh, no. I can get my own.”
“My treat. Besides, you can consider this our first date. A guy always pays on the first date.” He picked the paper sack off the counter and walked out the door with Grace on his heels.
“Date?” She stumbled and caught herself by placing her hands squarely on his butt.
“Whoa now, little missy, I don’t usually get to second base on the first date.” His eyes crinkled. “Are you okay, though? I’ve talked to the manager more times than I can count about fixing that sidewalk.”
Her face burned. She whipped a glare at Phoebe, who howled with laughter from inside the pickup. “Yes, I … I tripped, you see … and well … I kind of ran into your … your …”
“Butt?”
“Yeah, your butt.” She licked her lips. “An accident. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s too bad.”
She huffed, tore the bag from Dominick’s arms, and stomped to her pickup. Climbing in, her toe caught on the running board. Blushing again, she glared at Dominick, daring him to say a word.
He reached a hand into the open passenger window of his pickup and handed her an envelope. “Here is the estimate. Give me a call with your decision.” He picked up the box of Mike and Ike’s that had fallen to the pavement and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers. “Have a good day, ladies.”
Grace banged her head on the steering wheel. Phoebe chirped out a little ditty to the tune of “La Cucaracha.” “I think you like him, I think you want him, you want to date him, you want to squeeze him—”
“Enough.” Grace shook her head. “Where do you come up with this stuff, anyway?”
Phoebe tapped her temple. “It would stun you to know how much is going on up here. My happy meal isn’t missing any fries.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Next time, it’s my turn. You always get to do fun things.”
* * *
Dominick drove down Main Street, a chuckle building in his chest. It had been a long time since any woman made his blood warm, made him smile, made him want to live again. For too long he had wallowed in self-pity, sinking his future and those he loved into the dark pit. No longer. Grace might be the one to breathe new life into him. She might be crazy enough to accomplish a feat worthy of an avenging angel.
He turned right off Main and on to Orchard Avenue. He knew this street like the back of his hand. It had been his home before he’d run away to make something of himself. Whether or not he succeeded was still up for debate. He’d done what he had set out to do, explored the world. Maybe he’d seen too much, done too much. Through sheer mental will, he locked his ghosts away for the time being. For now, he needed to concentrate on the one good thing he did bring back home.
As he pulled into his driveway, his heart grew lighter at the sight of a little girl with blonde pigtails running down the porch steps. With a squeal of delight, she threw herself into Dominick’s waiting arms. “Daddy!”
Chapter 5
Conversation stopped as the girls bounced over the wash- boarded gravel road to the old house. Grace eyed the Mike and Ikes but knew better than to eat and drive at the same time. The landscape outside her driver’s window and windshield bumped along with a jarring rhythm. They passed a pasture where cattle grazed and dozed in the hazy summer heat. Several cows stared at the old pickup shuddering over the road, but for the most part, they were seemingly oblivious to the world of humans.
“This place reminds me of the ranch. I wish I had the strength to go back,” Phoebe murmured.
Even after a year, the pain of their father’s death still hummed incessantly. Grace brushed at the tear tracking down her face. She’d faced her demons before, but the memory of her father’s lifeless body flung across Scout’s saddle as the wild-eyed horse galloped into the safety of its familiar corral haunted her.
“I don’t understand what happened, Pheebs. I mean, what coward would shoot a man in the forehead and go through the trouble of putting him back on Scout. Did he know the horse would take him back home to the ranch?”
“I talked to Detective Landry before moving here. There were no new leads. The case has gone cold. It sickens me that the person who killed Dad is out there somewhere.”
“But who?” Grace’s knuckles blanched white as she gripped the steering wheel harder.
Phoebe didn’t answer, and Grace watched as a tumbleweed twisted and tumbled over the prairie. Her father had often told her tumbleweeds were the souls of long gone cowboys, still searching for fulfillment and purpose. She shook her head at the foolish notion, yet she still had the urge to plant the unfortunate weed with no direction of its own. It would no longer be pushed and driven where the wind willed.
Her life was the same: people telling her what to do, when to do it, and who to do it with. Her mother’s face and her finger wagging with disdain flashed before her eyes.
Nothing she’d ever done had been good enough. Her father had been the only one to truly understand her and her need for freedom. Another tear traced her face and plopped onto her lap. The driveway leading to the old house a blur.
“This house is so sad.” Phoebe opened the door and jumped out. “Because it’s day time and ghosts don’t wander around during the day, we should explore the attic. Maybe we’ll find —”
“Squirrel babies.”
“Right. Always dangerous.” Phoebe slammed the door shut with her foot. “Maybe we can have Carpenter Hottie fetch the squirrel babies for you.”
“Are you kidding? I don’t want him thinking I’m a loser.”
“Too late. Besides, you don’t care what he thinks of you, right?”
Grace hopped out and slammed the driver’s door shut. “You suck.”
“Sticks and stones, my friend, sticks and stones.”
Grace stopped dead in her tracks. With a strained whisper, she called for Phoebe. “Pheebs. Quietly get over here. Now.”
Phoebe crept up beside her and came to a quick halt. “Is that what I think it is?”
A mamma skunk and her little babies lay curled up in the corner of the porch. Snoozing away the late afternoon, the mamma skunk was oblivious to their presence.
Grace and Phoebe backed away. Within several feet of the pickup, they broke out in a run and hurled themselves in it.
Grace slammed the truck into drive and barreled out of the driveway in the direction of town and safety.
That evening, they sat tucked in their hotel room, munching on chips, drinking Miller Lite, and weeping over the movie Beaches.
“This is the saddest movie ever made,” Grace blubbered through a tissue.
Phoebe dabbed her eyes, bunched the twice-used tissue, and chucked it at the television screen. “Stupid movie.”
Grace hiccupped through her tears. “Today has been the pinnacle of all days, especially with the addition of the skunk mom and her children. If only every day were this good.”
“Hey, the babies were kind of cute. It’s not their fault they’re smelly.” Phoebe studied her nails and ambled to the sink. “We need a vacation.” Placing a band of toothpaste on her toothbrush, she proceeded to talk, “We’ve only been at this for three days and look at us. We’re worn out. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Grace flopped onto her back and studied the estimate Dominick
had given her. “According to this, Pheebs, we will be able to afford Dominick and his crew doing the majority of the work. Besides the minor stuff we’re doing anyway, there’s not much more we’re capable of doing.”
Phoebe stopped brushing and spoke through the foamy toothpaste in her mouth. “True. How much did Dominick estimate again?”
“One hundred grand. A lot of money. But look at what we bought the house for and the things that need to be completed. It’s not such a huge number after all.”
Phoebe spit, rinsed, and gargled. Bounding to bed, she snuggled under the covers, her smile fading when she glanced at Grace’s face. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
“Andrew Carnegie. There’s something about him.” Grace tapped her front tooth with a fingertip. “Dominick called earlier and said Andrew had called him.”
Phoebe chewed on her bottom lip. “So? If the guy doesn’t work out, have Dominick fire him, right? No fuss, no muss.”
The mystery nagged at her, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t get Andrew out of her mind. She raked a brush through her hair and tucked herself into bed. After saying goodnight to Phoebe, she rolled over and watched the curtains dance in the cold air from the air conditioning unit. She needed to think but brushed away a stray tear instead. She was tired of crying. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, she finally fell asleep. And dreamt of her father. A blurred figure put a gun to her father’s head and pulled the trigger. A scream tore out of her, and the figure pivoted. With deliberate paces, he closed the distance. Frozen, she watched as the same gun used to murder her beloved father aimed for her head.
With a jolt, her eyes opened. The blinking red light on the smoke detector winked at her in the dark. Gasping for air, she raked a shaky hand through her sweaty hair and gripped the sheets around her, trying to erase the images from her head. She eased back on her pillows and willed the morning to come soon.
* * *
Thursday morning dawned with a vengeance. The sun grilled the land, and heat waves shivered in the air. Grace melted to the old truck’s cheap vinyl seats the instant she jumped in.
“Son of a baby duck!” Grace slammed the key into the ignition. The truck roared to life, and hot air spewed from the vents. The temperature lever was slammed as far in the blue as it could get, and the fan lever was on the highest blast. “Seriously?” Grace smacked the dashboard.
“Interesting swear word. You still haunted by what Father McNally told you about swearing?” Phoebe checked her makeup in the sun visor mirror.
“Hey, I don’t want God to cry every time I swear. And that makeup is gonna melt right off your face.”
“Jeez, what crawled up your butt and died? Besides, don’t you remember who’s going to be at the house today? Carpenter Hottie and his crew of miscellaneous hotties.”
“Sorry. I had this awful dream last night, and I can’t shake it.” She opened the window for more air. “How do you know he has hotties working for him?”
Phoebe cocked her head as if Grace had grown ten eyes.
Minutes later, Grace pulled into the driveway leading to the old house. Men mill around the house. Several heads turned as the old pickup backfired a greeting. “Sorry to disappoint you, Pheebs, but there doesn’t seem to be too many hotties walking around our property.”
Phoebe hid her disappointment. “Good, wouldn’t want there to be any distractions while I’m working. Oh, hey, it’s Andrew.”
Grace grabbed Phoebe’s hand. “Be careful, please. We only met him, and I can’t shake —”
“I’m not a child, Grace. I am twenty-seven and capable of handling myself, thank you very much.”
“Sorry. I trust your judgment.” Resigning herself to leaving Phoebe alone, she dealt with another pressing issue. “You think the skunks are still around, waiting for us to return?”
“I’m assuming the skunk family has vacated the premises beings the men aren’t overly concerned.”
“Your mind’s a steel trap, isn’t it, Pheebs.”
“That was an insult, wasn’t it?” Phoebe gave her a finger wave and sauntered over to Andrew. He was nothing but shy and kind. Telling herself to relax, she glanced around. Men on the roof, men throwing things out the top-story windows, and men working on the porch. Men were everywhere, but the one she wanted to find couldn’t be found.
“Looking for me?”
She jumped. “Dang it. You need to quit sneaking up on me. Like I said yesterday, it’s rude.”
“I will keep you and name you Spitfire.” His eyes crinkled, humor sparking from their depths. “You’re fun to have around.”
Ignoring his comment, she kept her eyes on the house. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“We’re ripping out all the rotted wood and debris. I’ve got some men ripping off the old shingles.” He glanced at her. “You’ll have to get me your color choices so we can get shingles that will complement those colors.”
In honor of her father, who had argued with her mother over what to paint the ranch house, she wanted white. Her father’s stubbornness had much to do with his wife’s hatred of the color white, but she also knew he loved the color. Had stated that white was not the absence of color but a combination of them all. The house before her, the place where the ghosts began, shrunk upon itself and its dingy grayness. Time to spruce the old girl up. It had been colorless for too long.
She blinked against the stinging tears. “White.”
“White?”
“Yeah. It’s all the colors of the rainbow. This old thing needs all the color it can get.”
Dominick never took his eyes off hers. “Perfect choice.”
She leaned against the picket fence. Crack! And went thud to the ground in a pile of splintered wood and shame. Ducking her head to hide her embarrassment, she hoped he would think her blush the result of her fall, not the fact his hands on her arms made her all gooey on the inside.
“You okay?” He tilted her chin, flicked something from her hair.
For a second, she couldn’t breathe. His finger on her chin fit. Warm, strong. No, her mind reminded her. She stepped away, his hand dropping to his side.
“I’m fine.” She rubbed at the sticky wetness on her elbow. “Really.”
“You’re bleeding,” Phoebe joined them and reached for Grace’s arm.
“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” She tucked her arm to her side. “Well, Dominick, what’s the first thing on the list.”
He gazed at her, his eyes warm and searching. “The first thing you’ll want to do, ladies, is put a security and fire alarm system in. There are some hooligans in this town, and we don’t want this place vandalized. I can have my men get right on that. Also, I figured you ladies might be a little tired of staying at the hotel. I put your two bedrooms and the kitchen as top priorities.”
Dominick placed his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on forth on his heels studying Grace. “Oh, and by the way, one of my men told me there’s some old stuff in the attic. You might want to sift through it, keep what you want to, and throw the rest.” He grinned. “He also told me he found fresh footprints in the dust.”
The red Kansas dirt on her tennis shoes fascinated her. “Well, I went up there to check things out, and I didn’t look around much because …” she dug her toe into the dirt. At a prompting hand gesture from Dominick, she sucked in a breath. “There were squirrel babies up there.”
“Squirrel babies are vicious this time of year.”
“Ohhhh!” Grace clenched her fists at her sides.
“Well, ladies, if you need me, I’ll be around.”
Phoebe watched him leave and grinned at Grace.
Grace rolled her eyes. “It’s not that good.”
“Yeah, right.”
“What did Andrew say to you?” Grace asked as they entered the parlor.
“Oh, nothing much. He’s just shy and awkward around girls. I even made him blush.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I just said it’d be nice to have such a handsome cowboy on the premises.” Phoebe snorted and stuck her tongue out. “Don’t you feel foolish now? You and your feelings.”
* * *
Grace bent her mind to the task at hand: finish ripping apart the parlor. But her eyes were drawn to the stairs. Tired of pretending to work, she climbed the wooden staircase. After her initial reaction to the room, she hesitantly opened the door to the old nursery. Nothing had changed. The same old stuffiness and heat poured out at her.
Refusing to dwell on “what ifs,” she closed the door and ascended into the hot, stale air of the attic. Cobwebs clung to the exposed rafters, and the small ticks and scratches of scurrying feet nearly sent her screaming out of the encroached space.
Biting her lip, she crouched forward, avoiding the low-hanging rafters, to a cluttered pile of dusty and rotting things.
An old kid’s tricycle, some old sports equipment, and some faded and torn children’s books were placed to the side. Looking in vain for a clean place to sit, she wilted onto the dusty floorboards. A dust cloud erupted around her. Coughing and waving a hand in front of her face, she wriggled her butt to find a comfortable spot. Finding none, she dove into the pile with reigned anticipation.
Old newspapers ranging from the 1940s on up nearly crumbled in her hands. She threw them to the side.
The patter of tiny, claw-tipped feet surrounded her.
Squirrels are cute. Squirrels are cuddly. Her fingers brushed against cloth. A porcelain doll with a missing arm. Its blonde curly hair filmed with the dust of time hung limply around a smudged white cherub face. Blue glass eyes stared unseeing at the world around, and its once pink frilly dress demoted to a moth-eaten rag. She hugged the small doll to her chest. How long had it been since it was loved? Where was the girl it once belonged to? Had she grown up and abandoned it, as she’d left her hair ribbons and imaginary friends?
Setting the doll aside, she dug farther in the clutter. An old pipe clattered to the floor. She sniffed it. Whatever was smoked last still lingered after all this time. Some hairpins, empty hat boxes, and moth-eaten clothes later, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Small dark stains spread under her armpits and her back. The oppressive heat cooked her, and she knew the squirrel babies huddled in some corner, concocting a plan to eat her alive.
