Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  “I’ve thought about you…”

  She shrugged and turned to watch out the window.

  “To be honest, Tara, I have no idea where to start overhauling this project. I know you don’t like one thing about my plan, and Muffy has her heart set on going with your design. She’s just keeping me around to torment. If this wasn’t such an important deal for me, I’d just bow out.”

  She turned to scrutinize his face as he drove. “I liked your design, just not for that property. The spa was a nice touch that I hadn’t considered.”

  He glanced at her a few times, careful to keep his eyes on the twisting highway. “If you could design a compromise, what would you come up with?”

  She smiled. “Since you asked…”

  He laughed. “How did I know you’d already have designs drawn up?”

  She squirmed in her seat and adjusted her seatbelt on her lap. “I’m not one to sit on my hands and wait.”

  “I can see that.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Do you want to hear my ideas or not?”

  He shrugged innocently. “Yesterday you said something about ‘old money’.”

  “Right, as I said, along the lines of a cottage in New England -- like the Hamptons. Are you familiar with cottage style?”

  “Does it involve torn ruffles and chandeliers?”

  She laughed. “Not so much. It’s all about textures of white, earth tones, solid colors, shades of blue, overstuffed furniture, and built-in book shelves.”

  He nodded. “Go on…”

  “Try to imagine where JFK would have grown up. Like that.”

  “Interesting. Why did you go that route?”

  She raised her hands to gesture. “Cottage style is part of the shabby movement, which Muffy likes, and yet it’s something Denny could handle. The difference from a home in the Hamptons is that cottage style isn’t real.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not real?”

  Tara pulled a magazine from her bag and flipped to a marked page. “I showed you this last night. I guess you can’t look now, but the furniture is solid and cozy with slipcovers. It looks lived in, time-worn quality. Only it’s not.”

  He looked confused. “Then what is it?”

  She laughed. “Well, the way I do it, it’s a little bit of everything.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I have a warehouse full of furniture I’ve been collecting for the past ten years, and I will dig through it and rework the pieces until they look the way I want them to.” She pointed. “This is our exit.”

  “You have a warehouse full of furniture?”

  She smiled. “Turn left.”

  * * *

  Justin blinked in surprise as he pulled his truck to a stop. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “It says Arapaho, doesn’t it?” she teased.

  “But there is a bunch of bikers going in, and I need work boots.”

  “Hold your horses.”

  They climbed out and he held the door to the store open for Tara, nodding to a large man in a mechanic uniform, who side stepped for them to pass. Justin watched the man as he lumbered across the parking lot with his purchase. When they entered the store. he paused in surprise.

  Directly inside of the entrance, the store was cluttered with glass counters containing a wide assortment of silver and turquoise jewelry. Dream catchers, books, carved boxes, trinkets, toys, Indian crafts, and western-style art filled one end of the long store. Posters, artwork, and T-shirts covered the wood panel walls, floor to ceiling. Turning the other direction, he saw rack upon rack of black leather jackets, chaps, fringed shirts, and vests. Beyond that were long aisles of boots – boxes and boxes of boots.

  Tara tugged at his arm. “Come on.” She headed toward the boots.

  He glanced longingly back toward the cases of trinkets and Indian goods but followed Tara. She shouldered her way past the bikers sorting through leather jackets and headed toward the second aisle of boots.

  Justin nodded to the bikers, interested in their long beards and the stitched patches on their backs. His eyes rounded big as saucers, flashing from boot to boot as Tara dragged him behind her. “What are met-a-tad-pole protectors?”

  She giggled. “Metatarsal, they protect the top of your foot.”

  He shook her hand off his arm and hefted the heavy boot, examining the weighty top flap. “Why would you need a boot like this?”

  Her lips pursed in irritation, but when she saw the wonder in his eyes, her expression softened. “For people who lift and move heavy things, or handle corrosive liquids, I suppose.”

  “Hmph.” He set the boot back on the shelf, and Tara grabbed his arm to drag him forward.

  He was distracted again by colorful, hand-tooled cowboy boots but Tara wasn’t stopping. When she finally slowed, her lips moved as she read the labels on the shelves below the boxes. “What size are you?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  She stared at him in question, her hands raised. “How do you not know your own boot size?”

  He glowered. “Maybe because I’ve never bought boots!”

  Her hands flopped to her sides. “Seriously?”

  Beyond irritated, he shouldered past her to lift a boot from the shelf. “Let’s start with a size thirteen.” He turned the boot over in his hands to inspect the sole.

  She grabbed it and put it back on the shelf. “You don’t want that one, it’s not steel-toed.”

  His fists planted on his hips. “You’re pretty damn bossy.”

  She had the decency to appear chagrined, but her eyes kept pursuing the shelves. Moving past him, she tapped her finger down a row of box labels, then she stopped and tugged out a box. “Hold this.” She shoved the box into his hands, tossed off the lid, and lifted out a brown leather boot. “Do you like this one?” Her eyes raised to his.

  He glared at her. “Looks like a boot.”

  “Try them on.”

  “You know what they say about guys with big boots?”

  She paused, tossing him a doubtful, questioning look.

  “Big socks.”

  She snorted. “Try this on.” She traded him the boot for the box.

  He stood watching her. “You do know there is a difference between helping and harping, right?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Harping!”

  “If the boot fits…”

  “Fine, do whatever you want.” She tossed her hair and turned to stomp away.

  Justin dropped the box and the boot and grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pulling her to his chest. Their eyes met -- hers angry, his heated by a different fire. “Your eyes snap when you’re mad.”

  She attempted to shrug off his grip, but his other hand came around her back. Her eyes flew back to his. “Let go.”

  His lips interrupted her retort as he kissed her soundly. Within fractions of a second, her stance relaxed, and her lips parted, allowing his tongue entrance to taste her deep and long. Her hands fluttered at her sides, then rose to clasp his upper arms. He pressed her into the shelves for leverage, causing her to stumble over the discarded boots and box.

  The sound of a throat clearing interrupted their kiss. Justin pulled back, irritation showing on his handsome face as he glared toward the disruption. Tara stumbled from Justin’s grasp, her hands covering her heated cheeks.

  “Can I help you find something?” asked the clerk, her arms folded across her chest.

  “I was about to find it…” Justin grumbled.

  Tara leaped in front of him. “We were just looking for steel-toed work boots.” She bent to pick up one of the boots. Holding it toward the clerk, she glanced toward Justin, her lips twisted in irritation. Clearly, she blamed him for the debacle.

  “Do you need help?” The clerk glanced from Justin to Tara.

  Both shook their heads. Tara turned away, embarrassed beyond repair. Justin leaned one hip on the shelves and grinned wickedly.

  The clerk turned to
leave, paused, then turned back. With her index finger raised, her gaze shot from Justin to Tara. “This is a family store. Got it?”

  He nodded once in deference. “Yes ma’am.”

  Tara watched the clerk disappear around the end of the aisle, then swung toward Justin. “What the hell was that?”

  He bent to pick up the box and the other boot, placed them nonchalantly on the shelf, and turned to her. “That, my dear, is what will happen when you get too bossy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Winnie’s hand clamped over her mouth, then dropped to the table. “You mean to tell me he kissed you right there in the store?”

  Tara nodded, her mouth full of mashed potatoes.

  Leaning back in her chair, Winnie regarded Tara across the dinner table. “How interesting.” Surprise registered across Tara’s face and the older woman attempted to cover a smile by taking a sip from her water glass.

  Tara dropped her fork. “It’s not interesting, he’s a barbarian.”

  Recovering quickly, Winnie straightened her napkin on her lap. “So how did you respond to this ‘barbaric’ act?”

  Tara retrieved her fork and poked at her pork chop.

  “Well?”

  Tara shifted in her chair. “I didn’t have time to do anything really.”

  “And why is that?”

  “A clerk interrupted and asked if—”

  “He kissed you in front of a clerk?”

  Sawing on her pork chop, Tara ignored the question.

  “Why would he kiss you in front of a store clerk? This is a very odd story, Tara.”

  The younger woman poked a large piece of chop with her fork and shoved it in her mouth. She didn’t look up, just chewed angrily.

  “Start at the beginning, dear, so I can understand.”

  Tara chewed and chewed some more. She swallowed, balanced her fork on her plate and took a long drink from her water glass. Finally, she answered. “I was showing him boots and we argued a little bit, then he just grabbed me and kissed me. I don’t know why.”

  “Argued about what?”

  Tara’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.

  “I’m just trying to understand, dear.”

  Picking up her fork, Tara shook it at Winnie. “He said I was harping not helping. Can you believe that?”

  Winnie smiled. “Were you? Harping, I mean?”

  “What? Winnie…” The fork clattered back onto her plate.

  “Well, were you acting like his friend or his mother?”

  Tara sat immobile staring at Winnie. A wrinkle appeared across the bridge of her nose. She pinched it and scrunched her eyes closed.

  “Honey, I know you’re not used to being around men who don’t work for you. You’ll have to mind your actions while you’re working with Justin. I just have one question…”

  Tara continued to pinch the bridge of her nose. One hand waved, as if telling Winnie to continue.

  “What did he have to say for himself after this kiss?” Winnie lifted her water glass, giving Tara time to answer.

  The girl’s hands flopped into her lap, and she gazed up at Winnie. “He said he would do that whenever I get too bossy.”

  Nearly spitting water across the table, Winnie choked, raising her napkin to her mouth, coughing and sputtering. Tara stood to help but Winnie waved her off. Once she was in control, she readjusted her napkin across her lap. “Well, how very Rhett Butler of him,” she mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing dear. Shocking indeed. You better keep your eye on him.”

  Tara’s eyes narrowed as Winnie stood to clear the dishes. “Oh, I will…”

  * * *

  Justin rearranged the blueprints across his kitchen table, scratching his head and muttering under his breath. No matter how he looked at his design, he couldn’t find a way to combine it with Tara’s vision.

  He leaned back in his chair. The drawings rolled up and flopped to the floor. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the far wall. What if I allow her to keep the house and the barn? Hmph…as if I allow that woman to do anything!

  He stood and scrubbed his hands across his face. Strolling to the front window, he drew his phone from his pocket and pulled up Google Images to search “Hampton cottage.” As he scanned through the photos of homes with wood-shingle siding and rich-looking interior spaces, he tried to imagine the forlorn structures on the property resembling anything remotely close. Tara is either crazy or has more vision than I thought.

  Pocketing the phone, he grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall near his door and strode to his truck. Ten minutes later he stifled the urge to curse at the new culvert as he drove across it and bumped down the dusty drive to the Harrison house. Jamming his truck into park, he surveyed the changes in the house since he’d first met Tara there.

  The front porch was level and covered in fresh, clean boards. Workmen were collecting stray shingles and tar paper, tucking them into the overflowing dumpster. The siding had been repaired and new windows sported stickers and plaster dust. The roof now topped the home like a ten-gallon hat, secure in its grandeur, guarding the house from harmful weather.

  He climbed from his truck and sauntered up onto the porch. The front door stood open and he wandered in, calling out hellos. Smoothing his hand along the shining wall unit, he smiled in appreciation.

  The plumber’s head popped around the kitchen doorway, the rest of his body following. “Well, hello, young man.” He wiped his hands on a dirty rag and perused Justin from head to foot. “Them’s mighty fine new boots,” he drawled, pointing towards Justin’s feet with his elbow.

  Justin chuckled. “Yes, they are. How are things going with this place?”

  Mac the plumber tilted his head to one side. “Tara know you’re here?”

  “She invited me out to see the new cabinets.”

  The man’s expression registered genuine astonishment. “She did, did she?”

  “Yes sir, she did.” Justin replied, shouldering past the older man.

  He was immediately impressed with the fresh lines of the kitchen. He felt as if he’d stepped back in time to when the kitchen was new, but the appliances were sparkling stainless steel and the room was spotless. Tara had selected butcher block for the counters, and they glowed with oil. The teal-green cabinets fit perfectly in the room as if they had always been there. An island in the center of the kitchen contained a new cooktop and a stainless-steel hood vent rose to the ceiling, creating a focal point. The white subway tile backsplash blended perfectly. Even the drawer pulls look to be original to the home, though he knew he’d seen them in Tara’s hands at the hardware store.

  The back door stood open, leading to the new deck. He wandered out, rubbing his palm across the top of his head. The forest behind the home edged a green, freshly-cut yard. A crew was digging postholes for fencing, the auger rumbling as it twisted up soil.

  Justin turned back toward the house and met the critical eye of the plumber as he stuffed the rag in his pocket and leaned against the door jam. “Marge tells me you’re sweet on Tara.”

  Taken aback, Justin jammed his hands in his pockets. “She’s a very interesting woman, I’ll admit that.”

  “She’s been through enough in her life, our Tara has. You be sure you treat her right. You hear me, young man?”

  Justin pulled his hands from his pockets. “About that, what the hell is up with her and this town? She seems to think she owes you all some debt.”

  The older man’s face went blank. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, far as I can tell, she’s scared spitless that she’ll somehow let you all down. She’s afraid if the resort we’re building doesn’t pass mustard, you’ll all stop caring about her.”

  “Well, that’s just nonsense!”

  “I figured as much, but how did she get that idea in the first place? She’s consumed by this weird fear of all of you.”

  The man scratched his head, then ran his fingers the length of his dr
ooping mustache. A frown darkened his grizzled face. “She was just a little bitty mite when Winnie demanded he hand her over. We all kind of watched over her since, but she don’t owe us a damn thing!”

  “Wait a minute.” Justin planted a hand on his hip. “Who is ‘he’?”

  “That no good son-of-a— Her old man. The drunk.”

  Justin sighed. “That explains a lot. So…Winnie demanded he hand her over? Where was her mother?”

  A myriad of expressions crossed the old man’s face. “Well, her momma died when she was a new baby.”

  His back arching in shock, Justin’s hands flew in the air. “Then why wasn’t she with her grandmother in the first place?”

  Mac stared hard at Justin. “Son, Winnie ain’t her grandma.”

  Shaking his head as if he hadn’t heard, Justin’s mind reeled. “Excuse me? Who is she if she’s not Tara’s grandmother?”

  “Her neighbor.”

  Justin shoved his hands in his pockets, the air taken out of his sails. Evidently, he didn’t understand anything about Tara or this town.

  The plumber turned and headed into the kitchen, leaving Justin to stare off into the forest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In a blind haze, Justin maneuvered his truck through the turns of the highway. Turmoil roiled in his gut and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

  How had the child of the town drunk grown into a self-possessed beauty who owned half the county? Not to mention, she had earned a master’s degree, opened a boutique, and rehabbed multiple properties-- all before the age of thirty.

  Her compassion, vision, and creativity astounded him. The Harrison house had undergone a transformation he would not have believed possible, and she had been the one to see the possibilities and bring her vision to fruition.

  On the other hand, since the day they’d met, he’d been aware of a current of tension pulsing just below her thick but delicate façade. There was a tenderness and vulnerability that drew protectiveness from him, like smoke from a flame. She made a little more sense now that he knew a little about her past. Had that bastard of a father hurt her more than just…?