Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  “I figured you’d be going to the county offices today to submit prints. You’ll want to take me with you.”

  He leaned up on one elbow. “Why is that?”

  “Because if you don’t, the drawings might get…misplaced.”

  He flopped back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe. Anyway, if I go along, you’ll be fine. They may review them while we’re there.”

  He shook his head. “You people…”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing, when do you want to go?”

  “I have a million things to do, so the sooner the better.”

  He sighed and scratched his head. “Okay, I’ll shower and be over. You at home?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Justin rolled onto his stomach and pulled another pillow over his head. Just hearing Tara’s voice had him going. Or maybe it was just morning. Either way, he was in no mood to fight the urge to tackle her today. She exhausted him. Maybe if he found someone else to date, he could relieve some of the sexual tension that was building beyond control.

  Tossing off the pillow, he climbed from the bed. Or he’d take another cold shower. At this rate he’d likely come down with pneumonia.

  * * *

  Winnie came down the back stairs, carrying a loaded laundry basket. Tara jumped up from her stool at the kitchen island. “Here, let me take that.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Tara shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Winnie set the basket on the washer and turned to watch Tara, who sat staring at her laptop, humming a tune and tapping her foot. The old woman shook her head and turned back to the washing machine.

  Tara shuffled through a pile of photos then called over her shoulder. “Hey, do you remember those drapes we made for Clarisse a few years back? Did we keep a picture of them?”

  Winnie grunted and stooped to push laundry into the washer. “I miss washers with the hole on top.”

  “What?”

  “I said, that was before you took pictures with your phone.” She straightened and rubbed her lower back. “There should be a scanned photo in the file on the front office computer.”

  Tara tapped her index finger on her pursed lips. “Hmmm, I’m not sure those are what I want.”

  Winnie started the machine and tottered into the kitchen. “Well, what exactly are you looking for then?”

  Tara scrolled through a file of photos on her laptop. “I’m not sure. I need something for the bedrooms. I can’t decide if I should go with a soft, loose, breezy ‘summer at the beach’ feel, or a more formal plaid.” She scratched her head and flipped through more photos. “I love the beach feel but I tend to go too soft.”

  “What does Justin think?”

  Her forehead puckered. “He doesn’t care.”

  Winnie’s head tilted to one side. “Are you sure?”

  A knock at the back door interrupted their conversation. Tara grinned knowingly. “I guess we can ask him.” She leaned back on her stool to reach and twist the knob, then returned to her photos.

  “Come in, Justin.” Winnie waved him in.

  Justin stepped hesitantly over the threshold.

  “Morning.” Winnie smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Are you hungry? I can scramble up some eggs.”

  He nodded a greeting, then glanced from Tara to Winnie and back. “I’m good but thanks. You ready?”

  Winnie clattered pots in the sink, but her eye was on Justin as he leaned in to look at the laptop over Tara’s shoulder. His hand rose to rest on her shoulder, then stopped short and stuffed into his pocket.

  He cleared his throat. “What are you looking at?”

  “Bedrooms.” She clicked the window closed.

  Justin straightened with a jerk.

  Tara shuffled through the papers, sketches, and photos on the island counter top. “Which do you like better?” She lined up two pages torn from a magazine for him to view.

  One bedroom had white walls, a bed with classic, three-panel, white knobbed head and footboard, white dresser and nightstands, and soft, teal-colored cotton drapes tied to the rod. The linens and pillows were muted aqua green and blue print patterns. The lamps, clock, and curtain rods were silver. The overall effect was soft as a whisper.

  The walls of the second bedroom were covered with light blue, lined wallpaper with framed pen sketches of birds. The upholstered headboards and drapes were covered with matching blue and brown plaid fabric. The dresser and nightstands were unpainted pine, with pewter knobs to match the lamps. The dust ruffles were brown to match the wood furniture and the bedding was taupe, with blue and brown trim.

  He pointed to the photo of the formal bedroom. “Where is the shabby chic in this one?”

  Tara grinned. “Well, see the lamps? I’ll make those from candlesticks, and the dressers and nightstands I’d use are currently purple. I’ll sand them down and stain them. They won’t look exactly like that because stain after paint— Anyway, I have a chair similar to that one in the corner, but it’s covered in a dirty, orange coffee-grinder print now, so I’ll recover it and add a slip cover. Those bird pictures I’d take from an old book I bought at a yard sale and put them in frames I got at Goodwill.”

  His eyebrows rose and stuck high on his forehead in shock. “Oh…”

  “Which one do you like best?”

  Winnie pulled up a stool. “This one is more masculine and this one more feminine. You should probably do both.”

  Tara cocked her head. “Good point.”

  Justin picked up the photo of the bedroom. “So, let me guess, this headboard and footboard are in your warehouse, and they are not white.”

  “You’re catching on.”

  “Dare I ask what color they are?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He shook his head and dropped the photo. “No.”

  Winnie chuckled. “Where are you two headed today?”

  Tara logged off her computer and closed the screen. “We’re taking prints to the court-house to get them approved and stamped for construction.”

  Winnie stood and brushed off her apron. “Well, have fun, and tell Harold I say hello.”

  Justin shook his head in amazement as Tara gathered her purse and slipped on her sandals. “You folks are connected.”

  “Not really,” Winnie grinned. “Just busybodies.”

  Justin laughed and waved goodbye as they walked out the door.

  * * *

  “Turn here.” Tara pointed to the left.

  “The GPS says to go straight.” He didn’t turn.

  Tara grinned wickedly. “Did the GPS tell you that Homer Coleman is driving his combine from his south pasture to his north fields this morning, and he will be going about two miles an hour?”

  Justin glanced at her then back to the road. “Seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “How do you know that?”

  She flapped down the visor and checked her make-up in the mirror.

  He glanced at her again. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “Okay.”

  They rounded the curve and Justin hit the brakes. Sure enough, a large, green machine blocked most of the road.

  “Surely, he doesn’t do this on a specific day each year.” They slowed to a crawl behind the combine.

  “No, but he does work the late shift at the Get-Go where I filled up my tank last night.”

  Justin laughed. “I was about to be amazed.”

  “Maybe you still should be.”

  They drove in silence, each glancing at the other without getting caught. Justin punched radio buttons. “Are all the stations country music out here?”

  “No, there is NPR.” She grinned.

  He sighed. “Well, grab a CD from the glove compartment, will you?”

  She reached for the CDs, then shouted, “Stop! Stop!”

  Justin swerved to the shoulder and slammed on the br
akes. “What?” With his knuckles white on the steering wheel, he glanced frantically to the left and right. “What’s wrong?”

  Unbuckling her seatbelt, Tara reached for the door.

  He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going? What’s wrong? What happened?”

  She pointed to the end of the driveway ahead of them. “They set out furniture and I want to look.”

  His eyes rounded and his mouth fell open. “You scared the hell out of me so you could look at junk by the side of the road?”

  She shrugged off his hand and climbed from the truck.

  He stared in disbelief as Tara tromped to the pile of trash and began pulling boxes from the pile. Jamming the truck into park, he yanked the keys from the ignition and climbed out to follow her. Traffic crept past him, also stuck behind the combine. People stared at him in curiosity as they inched by.

  By the time he reached Tara and the pile of garbage, his face was red from embarrassment, far more than from the sun beating on his back.

  She was happily digging through warped and torn boxes. Tossing a black trash bag and two boxes to her left, she uncovered an old bench with a broken leg. She braced her feet and tried to tug it from under the pile.

  Justin planted his fists on his hips, glanced at the parade of traffic, and then back to Tara. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  She walked around the bench to tug on it from the other side. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  With his temper rising out of control, he ground his teeth. “It looks like you are a homeless person.”

  Tara’s sundress billowed in the breeze as she clambered onto the bench to peer over the pile. Silk panties appeared once, then twice, before she climbed down and brushed her hands together. “Help me with this, will you?”

  Justin tore his gaze from a car full of teenage boys pointing at Tara, his expression grim. “We are leaving here. Now.” He grasped Tara’s elbow.

  “Get your hands off me,” she snapped, jerking her arm away, to grasp the end of the bench. When she pulled as hard as she could, the bench shifted, then came loose from the pile. She would have landed on her backside but instead, ran into Justin, who was still glaring at the boys.

  She and Justin both tumbled backward into a shallow, dry, weed-lined ditch by the road --Tara in Justin’s lap.

  Driven by humiliation, Justin jumped up, tossing Tara onto her hands and knees, her skirt around her hips. The boys in the car hooted with laughter and pointed at Tara, making lewd gestures.

  She got to her feet, brushed off her knees and headed for the bench, but Justin grabbed her around the waist. “That’s it – we’re leaving!” He nearly roared. The thought of those boys leering at her was more than he could take.

  Tara flailed in his arms. “I’m not leaving without my bench!”

  “Fine!” He snapped, dropping her back into the ditch. He stomped to the bench, snatched it up, and tossed it unceremoniously into the back of the truck. Barely rational, he yanked open the passenger door of the truck and pointed at the seat. “Inside, now.”

  Tara brushed off her skirt, tossed a glare at the retreating car of boys, and sauntered to the truck with measured steps, obviously in no hurry. Giving Justin a dirty look, her chin in the air, she climbed into the truck. He slammed the door with a huff and trudged around to the driver side.

  After slamming his door, he turned to Tara. She glared at the dash, raking her fingers through the hair over her shoulder.

  He tossed his hands in the air and then dropped them to the steering wheel, struggling to calm down. Finally, he turned to her. “What is wrong with you?”

  Her glare swung to him and her mouth fell open. “Wrong with me? What is wrong with me? Where do you think I get all my furniture? And besides, you’re the one always losing your temper and freaking out!”

  “Excuse me? Have you forgotten the 500 snits you have thrown?”

  She sighed, her hands falling to her lap. “I really don’t understand why you’re so mad. I always stop to get stuff from the side of the road.”

  “You looked like a wacko in front of half the county.” He gestured out the window.

  She tossed her head. “Half the county has seen me dig through trash piles for most of my life. It’s what I do!”

  “Oh, and I suppose you do it with your skirt over your head? Do you have any idea the peep show you gave?”

  She blushed. “That was your fault. I asked for your help, not to be pitched on my head.”

  He glowered out the windshield. “Let’s just drop it, shall we?”

  She shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  * * *

  Justin rubbed his hand over his face. The courthouse had been beyond his wildest dreams. Instead of filling out a stack of forms and waiting in line behind velvet ropes, he had been seated, served tea and coffee cake, and regaled with fishing stories.

  Tara nudged him with her elbow as they walked down the courthouse steps. “You okay? You look a little glazed over.”

  “That was surreal.”

  “Well, it got the job done, right?” She dug in her purse to find her phone and check for messages. Satisfied, she dropped it back into her bag. “I’m hungry, are you?”

  He swapped the roll of drawings to his other hand and unlocked the truck door. Tossing the prints inside, he scrubbed his hands across the top of his head. “I guess so.”

  As they wandered down Main Street, Justin sifted back through the morning in his mind. He was more convinced than ever that Tara could accomplish anything she put her mind to. Lamps made from candlesticks? Art from yard sales and Goodwill? Furniture for his resort from a roadside trash heap? Surely, no one but Tara could pull that off.

  Frowning, he remembered the fierce jealousy that blinded him when those boys had leered at Tara. He’d wanted to lock her in the truck and kill them. Once again, his temper had gotten the best of him and he’d handled her roughly. The whole day had validated that he was the wrong man for her.

  * * *

  Tara frowned and dragged her feet as they walked, certain that now Justin had an even worse opinion of her. Not only had he been horrified that she dug through piles of other people’s garbage and kept what she found, but that she enjoyed it. She’d hoped to impress him by having friends at the courthouse, but he’d sat like a deer in headlights though their meeting with the building inspectors. His opinion of her was sliding downhill faster each day.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As the dozer pushed through the wall of the outbuilding, Tara cringed and covered her eyes. She knew the structure was not satisfactory for the spa but tearing anything down rubbed her the wrong way. Glancing across the yard, she saw Justin watching her and she dropped her hands. He nodded his head in acknowledgment and she nodded back.

  For the first time since arriving in town, he didn’t seem out of place. His polo shirt was tucked into snug work jeans with a masculine grace that drew her eye like a magnet. Add the hardhat and boots, and Justin fit in with the work crews buzzing around the property.

  She had been surprised to find his management style calm and competent. Beginning each morning with a planning and safety meeting over coffee and donuts, the crews respected his vision and experience.

  Justin folded his arms across his chest, watching the dozer clear the sight for his new spa. Tara watched him from the corner of her eye. One of the crew said something funny, and Justin’s head tilted back with a laugh.

  The group of men, occupied with animated conversation, didn’t notice her interest. Justin spoke with his hands, his smile and laughter contagious. They were evidently swapping stories because one of the men stomped comically around in a circle, made a face, ripped off his hardhat, and threw it on the ground. The men broke into hoots of laughter.

  Seeing Justin relaxed and contented turned Tara’s heart in her chest. She had never seen him so comfortable in his skin, so at ease. The realization dawned that it must have been difficult for him to come to a place where eve
ryone treated him as a pariah. Where even his work was stilted and difficult.

  She thought of his little house. It had been a rat hole when he’d arrived. Yet every time she’d stomped out, she couldn’t help but notice the improvements he’d made. It was beginning to feel like a home.

  The outbuilding collapsed to the ground, emitting a loud crash, forcing a cloud of dirt and dust into the air. Tara jumped and turned back to the site, irritated that she had been distracted from the task at hand. A cheer went up from the crew as the dust cleared. The loss of the old building twisted a knot in her stomach, yet even the local workers were grinning and excitedly moving forward, ready and anxious to clear the debris and move forward with the project.

  She’d never torn anything down, and the fact that the local guys weren’t disturbed was a revelation. This whole project was straying way outside of her comfort zone.

  Yanking open the door to her truck, she looked over the figures she’d put together for hardware and carpentry trim. She knew Justin planned to talk with her this morning about pricing, and she wanted to show him her A game.

  As he approached her truck, she glanced up, irritated by the flutter in her stomach. The city boy shine that had annoyed her from the start was wearing thin. His hair had grown longer, and he needed a shave. His newfound scruffy confidence was attractive. Very attractive.

  His expression grew guarded. “Morning. Did you get through that demo okay?

  She nodded, a lump in her throat. Obviously, the demolition still had her on edge.

  “I was worried I’d come out here this morning to find you chained to the building or something.”

  Even though he was teasing, his comment held a barb that left a sting. Her chin lifted. “I know it had to come down. I’m not impractical.”

  He chuckled, his eye not quite meeting hers. “No, you are practical, I’ll give you that. So, did you get a chance to go over numbers for the hardware and finishes?”

  Tara regarded him for a long moment. The vague feeling she’d first felt on the trip to DC and again on their trip to the courthouse, remained. She could sense his concern, even interest, in the subject at hand, but the intensity when his eye met hers was gone. As she assessed him further, she realized he wouldn’t meet her eye. His gaze was always off to the left or right, over her shoulder, or on the paperwork. She hadn’t liked the heat that had built in her belly when his eyes had blazed into hers, but now that it was gone, she felt the loss. His rejection stung on a level she wouldn’t have thought possible.