Their Forever Home

by Syndi Powell

  He let go of the drywall as she came down the ladder and pointed to another, ready to be installed. He stood so close to her that she could smell the soap he’d used. She tried to ignore the odd way it made her heart trip. They repeated the process until they were done and stood back to admire their work. “It’s coming along.”

  “But not as quickly as you’d hoped,” he said.

  “I’m thinking of hiring some extra help to get the last of the drywall finished. We’ll never make the deadline at this rate.”

  “I’m committed to do whatever we have to.”

  “I know. I appreciate that.”

  He reached over and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She swallowed and kept her gaze on his before he looked away, scanning the kitchen. “So, what’s next?”

  Her stomach growled and she put a hand to it with a grimace. Checking her watch, she groaned. “Is it really after five already?”

  “Why? Do you have a date?”

  “Hard to remember what those are since it’s been so long.” She noticed the corners of his mouth twitch, that he appeared happy at her words. “How about you?” she asked.

  “My fiancée broke up with me when I got laid off. Seems that being out of work wasn’t part of her plan for our life.”

  “Ouch.”

  He sounded casual about it, as if it didn’t matter, but she could see what it had cost him. Probably had hit his ego as much as losing his job had.

  “Do you mind if we bring dinner in and keep working? I’d like to get a little more finished here before calling it a night.”

  “I’ll do you one better. Let’s work another two hours, then I’ll treat you to dinner out at a place with actual tables and chairs.”

  That sounded amazing. A real dinner that didn’t come out of a box or wrapper? She looked down at her T-shirt, which was marked with some of the mud she’d used earlier that day. At her jeans, which had a large hole on one knee and a rip along her calf. “I’m not exactly dressed for going out to dinner.”

  “We can go home, shower and change and then meet at the restaurant. How does the Lotus sound?”

  Man, he was really trying hard to get her to go out with him. The Lotus served her favorite Chinese food, though she tended to get carryout instead. Besides, going to a restaurant with John felt like a date. Tempting... “As good as that sounds, I’d rather eat here and then keep working. Okay? I don’t want to lose our momentum.”

  “I’ll bring Lotus here then. What’s your poison?”

  She gave him her order, and he called it in. A half hour later, they sat on the steps in the backyard to eat their dinners, Evie at their feet waiting for any morsels that might fall. She pulled out a pair of wooden chopsticks as well as her carton of sesame chicken and dug into it. They must have both been hungry since they ate without words for a while, the chirp of crickets the only soundtrack for their summer evening.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “Thank you for dinner. This really hits the spot.” He nodded as he continued eating his lo mein. She put her carton beside her on the step and leaned back. “This is really a nice place. Almost better than any restaurant with linen tablecloths and crystal goblets.”

  “You enjoy the simple things.”

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Some things.”

  “Most things. I don’t know any other woman who is more content to be covered in sawdust.”

  “It’s what I grew up with.”

  “So did your sister, but only you followed in your father’s footsteps.”

  What he said was true, but she didn’t want to dwell on it just then. She stuck the chopsticks into her carton, her appetite gone. “I wanted to be just like him, but the man I thought I knew might be a crook. It’s hard. And has hurt my family badly.” She looked over at him. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Why does this contest really mean so much to you? Is it just to redeem your family name?”

  It had been at first. She had wanted nothing more than to prove that a Lowman could be honest and full of integrity. Could create a beautiful living space. That she was a good person as well as a fantastic builder. “I feel like my life was put on hold when my father’s supposed crimes came to light. His company had to cease and desist while the investigators sifted through its records. This meant I had no job. And that job was my whole life, so I had nothing. The contest was announced at the right time. I thought if I could win it, then I could find a life outside of my father. Work that meant something, which in turn would mean I was worth something, too.” She stared out into the backyard. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  “Sounds about right. Switch your dad with my employer, and we’re in the same exact place.” He sighed and stretched out. “I needed purpose, and the contest seems to provide that.”

  “What if we don’t win?”

  “We can’t think that way. We have to focus on being the best and proving to them all that we’re just as good as they are.”

  She rested her hand on his. “You are good. Better than good. You blow me away with your ideas and how positive you are. It’s been my privilege to work with you.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek. “The privilege has been all mine.”

  She dropped her gaze from his, aware of how vulnerable she’d made herself to him. Wondering if he would accept her words, accept her. And why did it matter so much that he would?

  “Cass,” he breathed her name before he pressed his lips against hers.

  She closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his kiss. Pressed into him, deepening the embrace and thrusting her hands into his curly hair. It was soft when she’d expected coarse. Her hands moved to his broad shoulders, and she tugged him closer until he held her just as tightly.

  She could have sat on the back step and kissed him forever, but they had work to do if they wanted to win.

  And they both had good, complicated reasons to do just that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOHN WOKE UP Sunday morning with thoughts of Cassie’s mouth on his. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but her sweet innocence and raw honesty had drawn him to her until he couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. She had finally ended their kisses with a reminder that they ought to be hammering and painting. And reluctantly, he’d agreed.

  But not before stealing one more kiss.

  He rolled onto his back and put his arm over his eyes. What had he been thinking? Mixing business with pleasure had never lead to anywhere good. Or lasting.

  The sun had started to rise, creating streaks of light across his ceiling. He should get up and get ready, but maybe he’d stay in bed for just another moment and relive those kisses.

  Because they wouldn’t be happening again.

  The day stretched out before him with nothing planned. Despite the work that still needed to be done and their looming deadline, the four of them had elected to give themselves the day off. To reset. Reenergize.

  He’d been going so hard on the house lately that his free time had disappeared to the point that he didn’t know what to do now that he had some. Most of his friends had families that preoccupied them. Maybe he could call his cousin and see if he wanted to hang out.

  Instead, John ended up at the house with the idea of planning the design of the garage. Without the whine of saws and tapping of hammers, the neighborhood was quiet. The residential area had mostly single family homes with mature trees lining the street. Miss Loretta had told him that an elementary school sat in the middle of the neighborhood three streets over, so many young families had once lived here. When the housing bubble hit, many folks lost their homes and most had sat empty ever since. It was only in the last few years that working families had started to move back.

  He opened the garage door and stared inside. At the moment, it was still full of supplies for fixing up the house. He moved things around
to make a path toward the back wall.

  Pushing a box of tiles aside, he heard a noise coming from the house. He hadn’t seen any cars or trucks nearly, so no one should be inside. Remembering the trouble that had happened earlier, he pulled a two-by-four from the bin of scraps. He brandished the hunk of wood like a baseball bat and walked into the backyard. Opening the metal gate of the fence, he then crept up the stairs and quietly opened the back door. He stepped inside the mudroom. His heart beat out of his chest and a thrumming rang in his ears as he moved into the kitchen and saw the ax buried into the cabinet that waited to be installed.

  He put his hand on the deep gash and barely registered the dark blur before something hard struck the back of his head.

  * * *

  CASSIE PULLED UP behind a police car and an ambulance, its lights flashing. She hopped out of her truck and ran to where John sat on the porch steps with a towel pressed to his nape. The police officer put up a hand out to stop her from rushing up to hug him. “I’m with John. He called me.”

  John looked up at her, and she noticed the pain reflected in his eyes. She squatted before him. “What happened?”

  “I dropped by to get a better sense of the garage space. Spark some ideas. An intruder got the jump on me.”

  “How are you? Are you all right?” Cassie put her hand on his knee. “Did the paramedics look at you?” She moved to check the abrasion on the back of his head.

  She started to remove the towel when John grabbed her wrist. “Cass, it gets worse.”

  “What could be worse than you getting hurt?” She glanced at the police officer. “More sabotage?” She closed her eyes, then ran into the house. The living room looked okay. No spray paint or garbage. She ran down the hallway, peeking into each room. Nothing there. She returned to the living room and moved through the arch to the kitchen and gasped.

  Every one of the cabinets they’d planned to install had been smashed, an ax buried deep into the surfaces and one of the doors. She started to reach out for the handle and remove the ax but remembered the cops would want to check for fingerprints.

  Why would anyone do this? Just to make it harder for them to win? Or was it someone who didn’t want the contest to be in their neighborhood? The possibilities made her head hurt. The police officer behind her cleared his throat. “Sorry, Ms. Lowman, but I need you to come outside. The technician is here to process the crime scene.”

  Her house was a crime scene. She gave a nod and reluctantly left the kitchen.

  She joined John on the porch and sat next to him on the top step. “I don’t understand why this is happening to us.” She turned to look at him. “How’s the head?”

  “The paramedic wants me to get checked out at the hospital, but I told her I’d be fine.”

  Cassie stood and waved over the paramedic. “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

  “That’s what I told him, but he refused treatment.”

  Cassie tugged on his arm and pulled him to his feet. “That’s it, mister. I’ll drive you myself if you won’t go in the ambulance, but you are going to the hospital.”

  “I’m okay.”

  Cassie removed the towel and winced at the blood that trickled down his neck. “No, that needs to get looked at.” To the paramedic, she said, “I’ll make sure he gets there. Thank you.”

  John sighed. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “And I really don’t want to replace all those cabinets, but we both have to do what we have to do.” Back inside the house, the policeman stood over the photographer, pointing out angles to take pictures. He turned to her when she tapped his shoulder. “I need to take John to the hospital. I’m sure you’ll have questions for us later.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll follow up with you both then.”

  She walked out and linked her arm with John’s to bring him to her truck. She opened the passenger door and was about to help him up, but he stepped back. “I can get in by myself.”

  “Then do it.”

  He grumbled but got in and allowed her to buckle his seat belt. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You could have a concussion, and I’m not taking any chances.” She slammed his door shut and ran around the truck to get in the driver’s side. She started the truck and carefully backed out of the driveway to avoid hitting the folks who’d congregated on the sidewalk. “I can’t believe we got hit by this jerk again. And that you startled him in the process.” She turned on to the avenue and started driving toward the hospital. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, he was behind me. I didn’t see a thing. And when I came to, he was gone.”

  “Is there anyone you want me to call? Your mom, maybe?”

  “Definitely not my mom. I don’t want to worry her.”

  The drive to the hospital didn’t take long, and Cassie pulled her truck in front of the entrance to the emergency room. “You go in, and I’ll park.”

  “You don’t have to stay with me.”

  “Nice try. I’m not leaving until you see the doctor.”

  He shot her a dark look but got out of the truck and entered the ER. She found a spot at the edge of the lot and soon joined John in the waiting area. There were quite a few people ahead of them, and Cassie wondered if she should call her mom to let her know she’d be missing Sunday dinner. She glanced at her watch, noting it was a little after two. Hours yet.

  * * *

  JOHN SAT, STRETCHING his leg muscles just as Cassie checked her watch again. “Need to be somewhere?”

  “How long does it take to get looked at? It’s been over an hour.” She leaned back in the plastic chair and slumped down. “I hate these places.”

  “I told you that you didn’t have to wait with me.” But part of him was glad she had stayed. He didn’t like hospitals any more than she did.

  She eyed him and shook her head before crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re stuck with me.”

  “John Robison,” a female voice called out.

  He signaled to the nurse and got to his feet, but it must have been too fast, because he swayed. Luckily, Cassie was there to put her arms around his middle and hold him upright. “Whoa there. Still think you don’t need to see a doctor?”

  “I stood up too quickly.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The nurse who had called his name brought over a wheelchair, but he shook his head. He might be woozy but he wasn’t an invalid that needed to get pushed around. “I can walk just fine.”

  The nurse and Cassie both pointed to the wheelchair, and he growled as the nurse wheeled him into an exam room. “Miss, can you help me get him onto the exam table?”

  Having Cassie so close as she put her arms around his waist and guided him onto the bed felt like sweet torture. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the pretty scent.

  Cassie pulled back, her hand on the top of her head. “Did you just sniff me?”

  He managed a small grin.

  She took a seat in a metal chair next to the bed as the nurse recorded his vitals on her tablet. “Mr. Robison, the intake nurse said you hit your head.”

  “Someone blindsided him on the back of the head. With what we don’t know.”

  The nurse wrote down the notes. “Did you lose consciousness?”

  Cassie replied for him again. “Yes, he did, but he doesn’t know for how long. He called me right after he woke up.” She shifted to look at him directly. “I told you before, there are reasons we don’t go alone to the job site.”

  John tried to seem casual, though he had to admit he appreciated Cassie’s fierce concern for him. “I didn’t expect to be in any danger.”

  She rolled her eyes and the nurse continued her questions. “Headache? Nausea? Vomiting?”

  “He complained about a headache on the way over here.”

  The nurse looked at John. It didn’t se
em that he needed to answer any questions with Cassie around. “What she said. But no vomiting.”

  “Nausea, then?” He managed to nod, and she made more notes on her tablet. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly, Mr. Robison. You’re lucky to have your wife with you. She told me a lot more quickly than you did.”

  “She’s not my wife,” he said but the nurse had already left and pulled the curtain shut behind her.

  Cassie’s cheeks were pink when he looked back at her. “I can’t believe you took such a risk, John. You knew there was a vandal running around the neighborhood, and you went in alone to check out a noise?”

  Concerned Cassie had been replaced by an angry version. “I couldn’t let them do any more damage.”

  “So you call 911. You don’t run into danger, especially by yourself.”

  He closed his eyes, but the room started to spin. Not good. Opening his eyes, he rested his head against the pillows. “Do you have to be so loud?”

  “I get loud when I’m irritated.”

  “Can you go back to being sweet and worried?”

  The curtain was swept aside, and a young doctor with short curly hair, wearing pastel pink scrubs, entered the room. “Mr. Robison, I’m Dr. April Harrison. Nancy told me that you’re showing symptoms of a concussion after getting hit on the head. Can I see the wound?”

  He gritted his teeth as the doctor’s fingers gently probed against his neck. “That’s quite a wound you’ve got. Looks like you’ll need a few stitches. Then I’m sending you for a head CT.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “It’s likely a concussion, but I want to rule out a closed head injury, which could make things get serious really quickly.” She shone a light in his eyes, and he winced at its brightness. “Now follow my finger with your eyes.” He did so. “And now squeeze my fingers with yours. Good.”

  Once the examination was over, the doctor explained, “We had a multiple car accident earlier, so the wait for your CT scan could be a while. In the meantime, I’ll have Nancy suture your wound and give you something for the pain.”