Flipping off the lights, she locked the warehouse door.
One more stop to buy paint and hardware for the drawers, and I can go home and relax!
* * *
Justin pulled into his driveway. Through the windshield, he eyeballed the tree branch hanging precariously over his parking spot, then retrieved his briefcase from the passenger seat. Tossing his suit coat and tie over his arm, he slammed his truck door, and waded across the overgrown lawn.
An oppressive wall of heat and the musty smell of ancient mold greeted him as he walked through his front door. Dropping his armload on the dining table, he threw open the living room windows, hoping for a breeze, then wandered into the kitchen for a drink of water.
He tugged a paper cup from the bag on the counter and twisted the tap handle. Nothing but a sputter and the rumble of pipes came from the tap.
Something in the back of his brain snapped.
“That’s it!” he yelled, grabbing the hanging cabinet door under the sink and yanking it off the one good hinge. He flung it across the room, reveling in the crash as it slid down the wall. Another cabinet door followed the first, as he vented his anger and frustration on the broken- down kitchen.
“Muffy can have that wacko chick!” he yelled as he jerked the mustard-yellow oven toward the back door. “And she can have her rusty crap!”
He grunted in disgust and exertion as he shoved the oven onto the screen porch. On a roll, he put his loafer against the side of the oven and reached across to open the screen. One final push and he’d kicked the oven into the backyard. “So there!”
He stomped back to the dining room, wiping the sweat and dirt from his forehead directly into his eyes.
“Enough!” he growled, grabbing a stack of sketches off the table and tromping across the living room. The screen door slammed loudly against the frame as he crossed the yard, and his tires squealed as he backed from the driveway.
It’s time for an air conditioner and a decent kitchen!
* * *
Tara sighed tiredly as she rounded the end of the aisle, one hand full of vintage style cupboard knobs, the other swinging a gallon-can of paint. Justin rounded the aisle from the other direction, and they connected solidly, chest to chest. His sketches fluttered in the air as she teetered on her heels, her drawer knobs falling from her hand to roll underfoot.
He grabbed her shoulders as her free arm windmilled in the air, and the can of paint swung into his shin.
“You!” they both gasped with a grunt.
Chapter Nine
Justin was sure his blood had been at boiling point when he entered the store, but with his hands clamped on Tara’s shoulders and her startled green eyes locked on his, an entirely different heat raged under his skin.
She didn’t move. The can of paint fell from her limp fingers, landing squarely on his toe. He pushed away and reached for his foot, only to see Tara teeter backwards, arms flailing.
Diving forward, he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to gain equilibrium. The ball of her foot skated sideways on a drawer knob, and he pulled her tighter to his chest.
The pin on the back of Tara’s cameo brooch gouged into her skin. Her eyes rounded with pain.
“Are you okay?” he asked, forcing his eyes from hers to glance along the floor, in an attempt, to find safe footing. She struggled in his grasp, so he released his grip enough to allow her to find footing, then stepped back, one hand still on her waist in case she went down again.
Tara grabbed the brooch. “Ow!” The pin was caught in the delicate lace of her blouse. As she struggled to pull it away from her chest, Justin instinctively reached up to help. She twisted to look down at the tangle and his hand cupped her breast.
They both jumped back, their eyes huge; Tara still gripping the brooch in one hand and Justin with both hands in the air. “I’m sorry, Tara! I didn’t mean to, to—”
She dropped the brooch, both hands in front of her, and palms toward Justin. She stared at the floor, taking long deep breaths. Both struggled to regain their composure.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. Why is it every time I see this woman, I don’t know what to do with my hands?
He jerked his hands free. “Tara, look, we—”
Her hands pushed again at the air between them, telling him she needed another minute to calm down.
He sighed and bent to retrieve the cabinet knobs before anyone else could fall. Reaching for the last one, his shoe accidentally kicked the knob, sending it rolling toward her. Scrambling to reach it, he grabbed the knob just before it made contact with her heel. Proud of himself for the catch, he looked to meet her eye but was shocked to find he had a great view up her skirt instead.
His eyes hopped to Tara’s face, where she glowered down at him.
He stood and grabbed her hand, dumped the knobs into her palm, then clamped her fingers closed over them. Before she could say anything more, he collected his sketches and the can of paint, and then grabbed her elbow. “Come with me.”
“I don’t want—”
“I don’t care, come on!”
Justin hauled Tara toward the back of the store. She followed him, tugging at her arm, teetering on her heels, and scowling. “Justin, I—”
“Quiet. Just be quiet for one minute, okay?”
He ground to a halt at the kitchen section and pulled her up next to him. “Look Tara, we have to talk. This whole thing with us has gotten completely out of control. Let’s just sit down for a minute and have an actual conversation.” He pointed toward the kitchen design consultation desk.
“I don’t have time—”
“Just stop.” He raised a finger, pointing it in her face. “Every time we talk, every single time, you stomp off and I wonder what the hell happened. I can’t stand it anymore. You will sit and we will talk like civilized people, okay?”
She jerked her arm free. “This place is too crowded.”
“Exactly.”
Her lips pursed and her gaze slid along the floor. One fist planted on her hip and her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. She chewed her bottom lip, then chanced a glance at Justin through her lashes. Finally, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and met his eye. “Really? I have stomped off every time?”
“Every time.”
“Hmmm.”
He nudged her arm and she lowered herself into a consultation chair. She opened her fist over the desk, releasing the knobs to roll in circles. He plunked the paint can and sketches next to the knobs and pulled up the opposite chair to face her. She fidgeted, her eyes on her lap. Finally, she raised her gaze to his, contrition shining in her eyes, as if she were going to cry.
He reached for her hand, gently untangled her fingers, and squeezed them. Laying her hands on her knees, he smoothed her fingers until they relaxed. “Hey, I can only assume that I make you crazy too, so don’t— Let’s just let it go, okay?”
* * *
Tara was surprised at herself for allowing Justin to touch her hands in such an intimate way. Usually she allowed no one to penetrate her protective walls, but he was right – she had been acting childishly. His touch was warm and gentle. Soothing.
A wrinkle creased the bridge of her nose as she thought back to that morning. Muffy had swept away, leaving Tara devastated; yet, Justin had been upbeat and considerate. She realized that she didn’t have many friends for a reason, and that was because she was selfish. She viewed situations from her own viewpoint with stubborn pride. Or was it isolated insecurity?
She blinked, one side of her mouth twisting. “I told you I don’t work well with others.”
* * *
Justin smiled. “Yes, you did but we’re not working now, we’re talking.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankle over one knee, pleased that she had softened enough to listen to him. He was also thrilled that she had allowed him to touch her. He understood, however, that he was on shaky ground, so he searched for a safe subject to lighten the mood. “You were bu
ying knobs and paint…”
She glanced at the cabinet hardware and nodded. “For the Harrison house.”
“What are you going to paint?”
“The kitchen cabinets.”
He turned the paint can to see the smear of color and label. “Deep Sea Foam?”
She scowled.
His hand flew up. “Hey, sounds awesome, really. I just think of cabinets as wood colors.”
She sighed and touched the smear of paint. “Teal is very popular right now. I usually don’t do kitchens with anything trendy, but I like this color.”
He watched her expression soften as she touched the paint can. “What’s wrong with trendy?”
She gazed back up at Justin. “Well, trendy goes out of style within about three years. If I update a kitchen with cabinets and fixtures true to the age of the home, the look stays classic and won’t need to be remodeled as soon.”
He hadn’t considered that line of thought. “Explain more. Why is this green color okay with you, if it’s popular?”
She cocked her head, trying to decide if he was truly interested. He nodded for her to continue, so she cleared her throat and went on. “The Harrison home was built around 1930, the depression years. Teal green was popular then, so this color is actually accurate to the house. All but one bank of the cabinets we are installing were salvaged from another home built about the same time. They are tall and narrow, and this color will accent the white subway-tile backsplash.
He nodded in understanding. “Which is also trendy, but time appropriate to the house.” This was a new approach. He loved cutting-edge design, but she had a point, within a few years many of the dark stylish designs he loved would look dated. For a guy who made a living designing remodels that was great, but for a home owner with a long-term plan…
Tara interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe you’d like to drive out and see it when it’s finished.” She smiled, doubt creeping into her eyes as she waited for him to reply.
“That would be cool.”
She pointed to the sketches on the desk next to the paint can. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled broadly. “I’m here to buy an air conditioner and to order cabinets and appliances for my kitchen, see…” He spread open the sketch, showing the new layout for his kitchen. “I’m going to knock out that back wall, like you suggested.” His eyes met hers, and her surprise was evident.
“Really?”
“Well yeah, it was a great idea.”
He handed her the sketch, and she contemplated it for a few seconds. “The sink is under the window, that’s nice.” One side of her mouth tugged down as she chewed her bottom lip. “You may want to rethink the oven location though.”
He uncrossed his knee and leaned forward. “Why?”
She pointed at the sketch. “If the oven door is open, the back door will hit it.”
He bent forward to inspect the sketch. “I’ll be damned.” He glanced up, shocked momentarily to find her so close, her eyes locked onto his face instead of the sketch. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and his breath caught in this throat. He released the sketch and relaxed back in his chair.
She glanced up, from his lips to his eyes, embarrassed to be caught thinking about kissing him, and a blush crept across her cheeks. He smiled and her color deepened.
“See any other problems?” he asked, referring to her interest in his lips.
She shook her head, then dropped the sketch on the desk and twisted her bracelet.
He took pity on her and changed the subject. “I’m starving. Want to get something to eat?”
She considered his suggestion. “Where?”
“I don’t care.”
“What about your cabinets?”
“I’m going to rethink the design now, but I do want to grab that air unit. I can’t last another night in the heat, tossing and turning.” He stood and collected his sketches, covertly watching Tara squirm at the thought of him in bed. He enjoyed seeing emotions flicker across her face.
She stood and gathered up the knobs. “The air units are back over that way.” She pointed with her elbow. She reached for the paint can, but he scooped it up, meeting her eye with a smile. Allowing him to carry the paint, she smiled up at him through her lashes.
He followed her toward plumbing, perfectly happy to watch her stride on her heels a few paces ahead.
Her voice wafted back to him, interrupting his scrutiny of her backside. “How many rooms do you want to cool?”
“Uh, my bedroom for sure, and I guess the kitchen and living room too.”
Her blouse was pulling out from her wrinkled skirt on one side, and she looked tousled and tired. Heat crept up his spine. He imagined her tucking the blouse back into the top of her skirt, her fingers smoothing the flimsy lace down her hips, dipping under the edge of the skirt…
She was saying something. “Hmmm?” he asked, not particularly interested in the questions.
“Have you figured out how many BTUs you’ll need per the square footage of the rooms?” Tara asked again over her shoulder.
He shook his head, grinned, and continued walking.
Chapter Ten
Justin paced back and forth in front of his truck. Glancing at his watch, he wondered again where Tara could be. He checked his phone to be sure he hadn’t missed a call, then raised his hand over his eyes, scanning the length of the driveway for her old white truck.
Sweat beaded on the back of his neck as he turned back toward the old house. Does Tara really plan to save this thing?
The evening before, over burgers at the Snow Queen, they had agreed to meet at the resort property to start negotiating a plan. As he scanned the length of the house, he noted dry rot, peeling paint, broken lattice, a cracked window, and the sagging screen door. The roof needed to be replaced, and the yard was an overgrown mess.
Tara had tried to convince him that the house had charm, and he’d promised he would keep an open mind, but this was a stretch. He rounded the end of the building and saw that the entire roof of the porch was pulling away from the side of the house. He groaned, knowing the porch would have to be replaced. He hadn’t stepped inside the building yet, and dollar signs were flashing in front of his eyes.
He glanced down the driveway one more time, then climbed the steps to the front door. Twisted and warped, and attached only by the top hinge, the screen door sagged onto the porch deck where dry leaves and dirt lay piled against the bottom of the door. He kicked at the pile with his loafer, raising a poof of leaves and dirt into his face. Sputtering and spitting dust, he rubbed one eye and swore under his breath.
Leaning toward the window in the door, he cupped his hands around his eyes to look into the house. Rags, trash, and empty boxes were scattered across the floor. The knob turned under his hand, so he pushed the door open with a long loud creek. Glancing over his shoulder, as if he were trespassing, Justin walked into the dimly lit room and immediately his nostrils flared at the overpowering stench of animals, urine, and dust.
Stepping into a spider web, he waved his arm over his head and twisted, wiping his face on his upper arm.
The stairs in front of him disappeared upward, trailing a dismal carpet runner that was torn on every step. “First-rate trip hazard,” he mumbled. The rail leaned off the edge of the stairs, broken and rotting. Grimy drapes, which had most likely matched the green shag carpeting, hung at the front windows.
He moved on toward the kitchen where strips of sunlight faded the ugly brown wallpaper through dirt-streaked windows. An old fashioned, rounded-top fridge stood in the center of the room. He grabbed the handle and pulled down to open the latch and a horrid stench assaulted his senses. “Oh Gawd!” he coughed, covering his nose with his arm, slamming the door in disgust. “That’s it. I’m waiting outside.”
As he turned to leave, a flutter passed his right ear. “What the?” He poked his head into the living room and a small black object fluttered back past him.
“Ahh! What was
that?” He ducked and waved one arm over his head. The black thing flew across the room and settled on the far wall, clinging to the shredded curtains. He squinted, trying to make out the bird or moth in the dim room. It was motionless, partially concealed by the curtains. The odd pattern of the fabric, some type of orange and brown rooster print, covered one side of the thing. He bit his lip and carefully placed one foot in front of the other as he crossed the kitchen, never taking his eyes from the curtains. When he was a few feet away, the thing sprang from the drapes, emitted a high-pitched squeak, and swooped past his head.
“Bat!” he yelled frantically, covering his head with his arms. “Get away from me!” Ducking, he ran back toward the living room.
Tara stepped through the front door, a greeting on her lips. Justin ran past her, grabbing her arm. “Look out! There’s a bat in here!” he cried, as he dragged her out through the front door.
She stumbled behind him out onto the porch and jerked her arm from his grasp. “Good grief, Justin! What has gotten into you?”
He slapped at his face and hair to remove some unseen object. “Phew, that was gross!”
Tara planted her fists on her hips and regarded him with bewilderment. “What happened?”
He bent at the hips, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Finally, he stood and brushed at his arms and chest. “I was attacked by a bat,” he huffed, his expression incredulous.
“Attacked?” One of her eyebrows raised.
“It buzzed me three times.” He stopped brushing at his clothes, sniffed, and lifted his foot to examine the bottom of his shoe. “What is that?”
She leaned down to inspect his shoe, then straightened and met his eye. “Looks like bat guano all right.”
“Guano?”
“Droppings. Poo.”
“Yuck!”
“You know what they say,” she said, turning back toward the open door. “It happens.” She chuckled and headed into the living room.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 8
