by Jen Peters
“But I don’t need—”
The lawyer waved a hand. “I pulled you in because of the quality of your detail work, not just your skill as a contractor. But other than you, I want to use locals as much as I can. Cooper’s from McCormick’s Creek. He’ll know the best sub-contractors and general labor, and he comes well recommended. I want him on the project. Can you deal with that?”
His voice was pleasant, but his eyes were penetrating, even demanding, and she knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Still, she was used to having sole control of her projects, from the construction workers she hired, to the job hours, to the priorities of what got worked on first.
Could she deal with a co-contractor? What if he was constantly trying to overrule her? Or worse, was a slacker? She pursed her lips, thinking hard.
When she met Mr. Blake’s eyes, she could read them easily: she accepted or she was out. She could suddenly see how he was successful in court. “Of course, Mr. Blake,” she finally said. “It’s your project.”
He nodded. “Cooper will be by late tomorrow morning. Good luck with everything.” He gave her the rolled up blueprints. “And call me Mitchell.”
“Mitchell,” she echoed as they shook hands. This was going to be interesting. She’d work with the other guy, but she’d have to let him know from the beginning who was really the boss.
Chapter 2
Justin Cooper repacked his tools and picked up the snips of wire he’d cut. “All done, Mrs. Mahoney. You’ve got new wiring to the dryer outlet now, no more danger of it shorting out and causing a fire.”
The elderly lady laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Justin. I always knew you’d grow up to be a good boy. Now what do I owe you?”
He smiled at his old teacher and named a figure less than what he should be charging. He never would have made it through sixth grade social studies without her.
He trotted down Mrs. Mahoney’s steps and checked his watch. Almost ten and a “delicious” spring morning, as his mother would say. Wispy clouds floated across a sky that would be deep blue by afternoon.
The thought of his mother brought back all the worries. It was a good thing he had this new contract or he wouldn’t be able to keep the financial problems from her.
The economy in McCormick’s Creek had him scrambling to manage things as it was. The town used to keep all three local electricians busy, but nobody was building new houses or remodeling now, which left them all vying for repair jobs at a time he really needed to be working 60-hour weeks. He had wired one new house, but it had ended up unfinished and he’d received a partially paid off truck instead of cash. Now he got by with odd projects—dividing a large bedroom into two so a growing family didn’t have to buy a bigger house, that sort of thing—and fixing the electrical problems in older homes like Mrs. Mahoney’s.
But last week, Mitchell Blake, a Portland lawyer, had approached him about the old mansion. The thing had been half-renovated and then abandoned for so long that the town had given up on it. They had buzzed for a while last year when the reclusive Mr. McCormick bought it back, returning it to family ownership for the first time in half a century. Nothing had happened with it, though, and the buzz had slowly died away.
The family was finally ready to move forward with the mansion and had put their attorney in charge. Blake had hired an out-of-town contractor named Billings, but he wanted someone here who knew the local talent. It was right up Justin’s alley—the mansion was built in the 1890s during the area gold rush, then added onto in a mishmash over the years.
The wiring was old aluminum and not only unreliable, but a major fire hazard. The job would give Justin plenty of electrical work, not to mention a cut of the contractor portion. Together, the work on the mansion should solve his financial difficulties just in time—if he could keep the project running on schedule.
He slung his toolbox into the back of his pickup and headed into town. Time to meet this Billings guy he’d be working with.
Justin knocked on the door, listened to the whine of a power saw that never stopped, and walked on in.
He made his way toward the noise, through the vestibule, past mind-blowing showcase stairs and walls that had been stripped to their studs. In a large room, a slender woman with a ponytail bent over a worktable, the muscles in her arms flexed as she held a board in place and brought the saw arm down. Sawdust flew from the spinning blade.
Justin smiled. He knew women worked construction all over, but he hadn’t seen any here in his quiet town. This job might be even more interesting than he’d expected. When she finished the cut, he spoke. “Hello?”
No answer. She flipped her tape measure out and double-checked the length of the board.
“Hello?” Justin said again, stepping forward and touching her shoulder lightly.
“Son of a sea monster!” she exclaimed, whirling around. She lifted her safety goggles and glared at him. “Where did you come from?”
He grinned. It was the gal he had pulled out of the ditch.
She stared at him, recognition suddenly in her eyes. “Oh, sorry.” She pulled ear plugs out. “You’re the guy with the red Ford yesterday. Thanks again for rescuing me.”
“That was my good deed for the day. Call me next time and I’ll be there sooner.”
That brought a frown. “Do you need something? I don’t usually forget to lock the door.”
“You couldn’t hear with your ear protectors. I’m Justin Cooper. Mr. Billings is expecting me.” He stuck his thumbs in his back pocket.
She put her hands on her hips and looked more stern, if that was possible. At least she was trying to. It was hard to think of her as stern when she had freckles sprinkled across her nose and the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. And with sawdust sprinkling her face and her hair sticking out from where she’d pushed her goggles up…
She interrupted his musings. “So you think all a woman can do is look pretty? That we can’t have brains or muscles?”
Whoa, where did that come from? That hadn’t been in his mind at all—just the opposite, in fact. Time to put his eyes back in his head and get on with business. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… anyway, the whole town has been waiting to see what old McCormick was going to do with the mansion. He’s hired me to help the contractor on the project. I’m also a licensed electrician ….” Why was he bothering to tell her the details? “Look, can you point me in Billings’ direction?”
“Electrician is good,” she said. “Whoever updated this old lady in the fifties didn’t touch the wiring. It’s still aluminum from the turn of the century. You got references?”
“Of course,” he said. “But—
She stuck out her hand, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “Cat Billings. I guess Mr. Blake didn’t tell you everything.”
Cat Billings? She was the contractor? He reached his hand out to meet hers. “Justin Cooper, pleased to meet you. Again.”
“But just so you know, I’m not thrilled with this situation.” She crossed her arms. “Mr. Blake pulled me up from Sacramento because he liked my work, because I have a passion for my projects. I’m used to running my own crew, not working with a partner. And you’re an electrician, not a construction contractor.”
Justin stared her down. “Sorry to disagree, but that’s not your decision, ma’am. Mitchell Blake hired me, just like he hired you. And I’m the one who knows who does good work in this town and who doesn’t.”
Ms. Billings pulled her safety goggles all the way off and wiped her arm across her forehead. It only smeared the sawdust and made him want to smile, but he guessed he’d better not.
“So if you’re so valuable, why’d he hire me first?”
Justin shrugged. “Don’t know, only know he did. And we’d better find a way to work together because I need this job to come in on schedule.”
“Have you ever known a remodel job to come in on schedule?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Justin leaned against a door jamb and forced h
is body to relax. He didn’t want to come across as desperate. “The plans are laid out, we aren’t going to have homeowners putting in a lot of change orders, and most of the demo is done, right?”
“Downstairs, plus a bit of the second floor.” She tilted her head, setting her ponytail swinging. “We have no idea what we’re going to find behind the walls upstairs. We’ll do the best we can, and you’ll have to be satisfied with that. What’s the big hurry, anyway?”
“Just like to follow the plan,” he said. He wasn’t about to share the details of his private business with her.
She pursed her lips, thought a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever. You at least sound like you have the experience he said you did. Why don’t you go browse around while I put in this stair tread, and then we can create a working plan.”
Justin looked at the dark staircase. Mahogany? Ebony? It sure wasn’t going to match the light pine she had just cut—maybe he should be asking her for references. He lifted one eyebrow.
“No, it’s not going to stay there,” she responded to his look. “But we need something for safety and the old one was rotted through.”
Justin nodded and left her to her temporary boards, skipping the missing stair on his way up to explore the second floor. Blake had said he’d be needed for the initial push, maybe a month, with the possibility of more. He glanced over the railing at Cat Billings. The time ought to go quickly, but he wondered what it would be like working for a spitfire.
Chapter 3
Bella danced with excitement, her toenails clicking on the linoleum of Mrs. Vanderhoof’s kitchen as Cat snapped the leash on her collar.
“Just turn behind the video store, dear, and you’ll be smack in front of Mac’s mishmash of a hardware store.” Mrs. Vanderhoof’s brassy blonde hair bounced as she shook her head. “Why that man can’t straighten up a few things is beyond me. Here, would you like a muffin before you go?”
Cat declined the rock-hard offerings politely and smiled goodbye. She was glad to have found a decent Air BnB room in the small town, but Mrs. V. would soon have Cat calling her “Auntie” if she didn’t watch out.
Cat let Bella lead her into the crisp morning air. The traffic on Main Street and the long line of cars at the Coffee Shack attested to the number of people who lived in McCormick’s Creek but worked down in the Willamette Valley. The greetings from storekeepers along the few blocks to Mac’s Building Supply proved the friendliness of the town.
She and Justin had butted heads a few times as they did the prep work yesterday—he wanted to have crews working late, and she needed to stay on budget. She’d have to wait to see how the balance of competent, sexy builder meshed with the in-a-hurry, take-over-everything personality she’d seen so far. She wasn’t about to let someone push her around, and she hated that she owed him for rescuing her from the deer episode.
Cat took a deeper sniff at the rich smells emanating from the Coffee Shack, but she hurried Bella towards a breakfast cafe. She wanted actual food while she waited for Mac’s to open. As they passed the hardware store, though, the lights were already on. A nicely placed lamp pole gave her an anchor for Bella’s leash.
She entered, a bell tinkling overhead to announce her arrival, and a crusty old man looked up. Cat smiled at the sight of him. He had bushy white eyebrows and a grizzled three-day growth of beard. His pale blue eyes must have been brilliant when he was younger, but were still fierce. He clamped an unlit pipe between his teeth.
“I didn’t expect you to be open this early,” Cat began.
He interrupted her. “Can’t sleep, may as well be here,” he grumbled. “What can I help you with, Missy?”
She introduced herself, and he raised those bushy eyebrows almost to his hairline when she said she was renovating the old McCormick mansion.
“A little bit of a thing like you? Never thought I’d see the day.”
Someday, in a perfect world, nobody would ever be surprised that women could be strong and capable. This small town evidently had a ways to go. “Here’s what I need to start out,” she said, plastering a smile on her face and handing him her list. “Can you help me?”
The eyebrows lowered a bit as he read slowly, muttering under his breath. “Have to order that much wire. Let me check on a couple of these other things.”
Cat followed the old man up and down aisles, wishing she could just find what she needed herself, but the shelves only had room for single items, and she was soon tapping her foot at the counter while Mac checked the stock in back. If a big DIY store moved in, he’d be out of business in no time. Of course, the lack of big box stores was what gave McCormick’s Creek much of its charm.
Mac finally meandered back from the depths of the store. “Got the rest of your list, all right, except one saw blade. Deliver this afternoon, or do you want to take it?”
“I need the dust masks now, but afternoon’s fine for the rest,” Cat said. She had plenty to do until then. “I’ll be needing some specialty wood later—will you be able to order that?”
Mac jammed his pipe between his teeth and talked through the side of his mouth. “Well, we got us your usual cedar and oak, but Marty’ll have your mahogany, teak, whatever you want. He uses it for his fancy pieces.”
Cat took down Marty’s contact info, thanked Mac, and took the bag of dust masks. Her stomach growled as she untied Bella, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, and the Sunshine Café beckoned from the other end of the block.
The air was crisp and clean, and she inhaled deeply, tugging gently on Bella’s leash to let her know just who was setting the pace. They passed a little brick library with books packed into every visible space—not much else to do up here during the winter, she figured. She peered in the windows of the furniture store and discovered where Mrs. Vanderhoof had gotten the furniture for her rental rooms.
A florist shop boasted cheery displays of iris and carnations, followed by a boarded up storefront window, and a bank. Across the street was an obviously new “Mountain Bike Sales and Service” shop. Evidently the B&B wasn’t going to be the only new offering in town.
At the café, the line was long and two baristas scurried to fill orders, but Cat reveled in the smell of coffee and fresh-baked bread. A few customers sat at small tables, but most took a bag and a covered cup to go. Every one she watched fumbled their way into their cars and headed out of town toward the highway, most likely down to Eugene. She might be eating her breakfast on the run too, but at least she didn’t have to spend an hour in the car before she even started work.
* * *
Justin expertly cracked the last egg, added a dash of milk before whipping them quickly, and poured them into the omelet pan. A sprinkle of salt, a handful of grated Monterey jack, lift around the edges … perfection. He inhaled deeply, savored one delicious bite, then devoured the rest in twenty seconds. As good as his mom could make.
Some of his best childhood memories were of making brownies from scratch with his mother, which had led to more involved cooking techniques as a teen. The lessons tapered off when she bought the restaurant—the business took all the time she had plus some—but his skills were still pretty decent. He wasn’t too adventurous and he never could make meatloaf as good as Mom’s, but he was a master with eggs, a whiz with chili, and he grilled a mean steak.
Pip’s high-pitched barks pulled him out of his thoughts. He reached down and ruffled the little fuzzball. He glanced at the sky, glowing with rosy golds now that it was half past seven, although it would be full daylight before the sun actually crested the mountains. Ms. Catherine Billings, evidently not a workaholic, had said 8:00 when he had wanted to start at seven. He slid his feet into cold boots on the porch, then nudged Pip back inside, climbed into the Ford, and headed for the mansion.
He discovered he was right about Cat as he pulled in—the mansion driveway was empty and not a sound came from inside. But daylight was wasting and he itched to start.
He climbed out, slammed the door with a so
lid thunk, and stamped around in the chilly air. He checked out the porch. White paint peeled in long strips but the front steps had already been replaced.
He knew the McCormicks wanted the old house back in the family, but couldn’t imagine how they were going to make a go of the bed and breakfast they’d planned. There wasn’t enough business in town for a decent shopping center, let alone a high class B&B. There was nothing to draw tourists here. Nothing to keep the town alive, for that matter.
Since the sawmill shut down, times had been hard. Some of the DIY-ers were even trying to do their own electrical. None of them had landed in the hospital yet, but they did provide a bit of work when something went wrong.
Justin chuckled, remembering when one guy had shocked himself, landing on his back six feet away. That had deterred a couple of other amateurs and had sent the jobs to him.
What this town really needed was a makeover. Something to make it pretty, enough business to liven it up, and a solid company that would hire a whole lot of workers. If there were jobs, parents could keep their families going. The kids graduating from high school might not leave so fast. If they could get some big business to relocate here, the town might be worth something.
He checked the time—eight on the dot. What was with Miss Supposedly Dependable? If he couldn’t get in, he couldn’t get started. He stomped up the steps, tried the door handle and peered through a dusty window. Nothing.
Was he going to have to deal with a habitually late partner on a regular basis? It would be bad enough if she stayed a control freak, but he shouldn’t have to work his schedule around hers.
He growled to himself and stomped down the steps, around the side, through the overgrown garden. He tested a window—locked. And another and another. And then, three-quarters of the way around, he found one that he could wiggle loose.
He rocked it back and forth until it gave, then slowly worked it up. The framing looked solid enough. He hefted himself onto the window sill and was just pulling a knee up when he heard an engine. Tires skidded on the gravel and a truck door slammed as he lowered himself back to the ground.
