by Marina Adair
“Not yet. But she will.” Brett grabbed Hattie by the arm and dragged her off the porch. If Joie was hesitant before, there was no way she would come out with spiky gray hair and judgment plastered to her windows.
Hattie dug her feet in and Brett felt anger boiling up. If he didn’t get to see Joie, then there was no way to make this right. No way he’d win her back.
“Did one of you ever stop to think that maybe this was what Letty wanted? That Joie came here to finish building the dream she had shared with Letty?”
“Letty would never want this.” Hattie waved a hand at the inn.
“Really?” Brett said, surprising himself with how harshly the question came out. “Because I saw the sketches and plans, and half of those were Letty’s, including the salon. She wanted to pamper her guests, give them a place to recharge.”
“Post-soil-spoil,” Hattie whispered, recognition setting in. Taking his face between her crinkled hands, her voice wobbled as she said, “Oh, Brett, I was so scared that she was going to ruin what Letty had worked so hard to build. When she started talking fancy people’s getaways and mud tubs, we got scared, all of us. I didn’t even think—”
“Yeah, well, this town should have had more faith in her, Grandma,” Brett said, including himself in that equation. “Because as far as I can tell she was the only one thinking about Letty.”
“I did that girl wrong, and it breaks my heart that I wound up hurting her. And you.”
“Mine, too, Grandma.” Because the damage went so much deeper than anyone realized and Brett didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to make Joie’s world okay again.
“But she waltzed in here with her big-city ideas and we didn’t know her from a Democrat. She isn’t our people.”
“I wanted her to be my people.” Brett patted his chest. “Do you get that? She thinks golf is boring. She doesn’t take my crap. She makes me want to stay in Sugar, put down roots, be a better man. The kind of man Dad was.”
Saying you believe in someone and actually believing in them are two separate things.
“Christ.” Brett’s lungs stopped working.
Cal had been right. Time and again she’d given him the chance to be the kind of man she needed, but instead of giving her the same consideration, he’d tried to manipulate the situation, control it so she wouldn’t fail—and in turn leave. Leave Sugar. Leave Georgia. Leave him.
Too bad that he’d turned out to be just like all the other a-holes in her life. A selfish liar.
“So you finally figured it out,” Cal said, clapping him on the back, a smug-as-shit grin widening across his face.
“Yeah.” Brett leaned down to give Boo one final pat.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough to let her find her happiness.”
* * *
A week later, a pounding came from right outside Josephina’s window. She shot up, taking the blankets with her and sending Boo flying to the ground. He landed with a thump, his big doggie eyes glazed over and confused. She knew how he felt. The sun was barely even peeking over the mountains, a strange person in a prison-yard-orange track suit and a trucker’s cap was levitating outside her second-story window and, according to the bedside clock, she had achieved less than two hours of sleep.
Another sound shot through the air. This time it sounded like a gun going off.
“Not this time, Annie Oakley!” Josephina said, pulling on a pair of sweats.
Try as they might, she wasn’t leaving town. Well, at least not until her mom arrived on Saturday with Rosalie in tow to help pack up Josephina and her dreams for the move back to Manhattan.
She hadn’t wanted to leave, even promised Spenser and Charlotte that she wasn’t giving up on her dreams for Fairchild House. But after hiding out for the better part of the week, she realized that whatever magic had originally drawn her to Sugar was now buried under a pile of broken string. Strings that hurt so much, there were moments when remembering to breathe seemed too daunting.
It was one of those moments in which her mom had convinced Josephina that the best option was to come home. But she’d be damned if she’d let these old ladies get the last word.
Grabbing Letty’s shotgun off the wall, she charged down the stairs, out the front door, and stuck her barrels in the first face she saw.
“Christ!” Cal jerked up, stumbling backward over the leg of the ladder and down two steps, landing on the ground. “What are you doing?”
“I can ask you the same. And since I’m the one holding a gun, I guess you get to answer first.”
“Finishing up your house.” Cal looked at the gun but didn’t move. “I thought you were more of a blunt object kind of girl.”
“Sent my ex’s clubs to Japan last week, just in time for his big Pan Pacific Moment.” She’d even cleaned them up. Aside from the drivers that she’d used for torches they looked good as new. Durable suckers. “And what’s she doing up there?”
Not only were there a dozen men in steel-toed boots and professional-grade tool belts, Rooster on the roof, her girlfriends waist high in weeds, but Hattie was on top of a really high ladder, cleaning out the gutters in an orange pants suit.
“Work release.”
Josephina couldn’t help but laugh at just how that conversation went down. A laugh that died in her chest even before it could surface as she began adding up the daily rate for all the bodies currently swinging hammers. “I doubt everyone here is on work release. Even if they are, there’s no way I can afford all these people.”
What really got her heart thumping, though, was the thought that one of those tool-belt-wearing studs might be her stud. She didn’t want to see him like this, here, working on her house. Didn’t want to think about how hard it would be to watch him do what they had spent the summer doing together, knowing it would never happen again.
“He isn’t here,” Cal said softly. “He went back on tour. Played a game yesterday in Canada.”
“Oh.” Canada? Josephina’s heart dropped to her toes.
“As for the cost, I figure that after what my family put you through, think of it as a gift.” He sent her an apologetic look, and cautiously added, “Plus, Brett wanted to make sure your place was ready for your parents’ visit.”
“Because he didn’t think I could do it alone?”
“I couldn’t do this alone, and I’ve been building houses since I was a teenager.” He reached out his hand. “Now you going to give me the gun so I can get up? Or would you rather shoot? At this point, either decision is fine with me.”
Josephina didn’t give up the gun, but she did rest it across her legs after she sat down on the top step.
Cal dusted off his backside and, walking in the way only a McGraw man could pull off, dropped down next to her. They sat silent, watching two men tear off the rotted siding on the closest of the servants’ quarters. When finished, Josephina had imagined glass block walls, billowing gauze, and oatmeal-colored Adirondack chairs for her Hampton Suite. Now when she looked at it, she had a hard time picturing anything. Maybe because clean lines and loft décor implied couples getting away from the big city for the weekend, and Fairchild House with its fishing and hiking and welcoming landscape was almost made for families.
Letty had always said that the house came to life when Josephina visited because only children could sense the magic hidden in the walls. Magic that she was walking away from.
“I’m leaving on Saturday,” she blurted out.
She watched as Cal looked from her to the ground, before running a hand over his face. “You think that’s what Letty would want you to do?”
Tears sprang to her eyes at the familiar feeling of disappointment. “I don’t know anymore. She didn’t even mean to leave me Fairchild House. I got it on a technicality.”
“She’d tell you to suck it up and use whatever magic was being offered to get this place up and running.”
“That magic being Brett’s money and your charity?”
&nb
sp; “Oh, my guys aren’t charity. And Brett may not always think with the right head, but when it comes to money he’s all about calculated risk and return on investment. I’m not sure about all of what’s going on between the two of you, but I can tell you that my brother would never have invested in you if he didn’t believe you’d make it.”
Josephina looked at her toes, unwilling to let him see the emotion in her eyes. She wanted so badly to believe that Brett had faith in her ability to make Fairchild House a success. “I intend to pay him back every penny.”
“Good, then add my guys to what you owe him, since I’m billing him for this mess, and prove that you are Letty’s niece by making a good life for yourself here.”
Josephina snorted. “In a town that hates me?”
“They don’t hate you.”
She shot Cal a disbelieving look, and he had the good manners to grimace.
“They just have a hard time with change, and you blowing into town, renovating Letty’s place, showing up everyone with your fund-raising skills, stealing the golden boy right out from under them.” Cal looked out over the oak trees and lake. “That’s a lot to take in for a town that took eleven years to agree on a color for the new town hall.”
“Town Hall is white.”
“Exactly.”
“The inn was mine to do with as I chose,” she said, feeling, for the first time in days, a sense of ownership of the house. “And I only offered to plan the Pucker Up and Drive to end all the arguing and feuding.”
“It is yours. And you stepped up with the Pucker Up and Drive to protect Brett.” Cal nudged her shoulder with his. “And, Joie, in this town arguing and feuding is as important as church and football. It’s how we show our love.”
“Kind of like pampering,” Josephina mumbled, thinking of Letty and the inn and just how far she’d come.
She took in a deep breath and looked around. Maybe the town wasn’t the only thing fighting change. She had come here with her big-town ideas, never thinking that there were people right here, in Sugar, who needed pampering, too.
“So what do you say? Do I send my men home?”
She shook her head and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be thought of as un-neighborly.”
“Good girl, now can I have that gun so my men can get back to work?”
Josephina handed Cal the gun and stood. The plaque that she hadn’t bothered to read since her first day here was now polished and glimmering in the morning sun.
FAIRCHILD HOUSE
HAS BEEN DESIGNATED A HISTORICAL NATIONAL LANDMARK.
BUILT IN 1838 BY, JEREMIAH SUGAR, THE FIRST MAYOR OF SUGAR.
UPON HIS DEATH IN 1839 HIS BRIDE-TO-BE, PEARL FAIRCHILD,
TURNED THE RESIDENCE INTO A BOARDINGHOUSE FOR
THE ADVENTUROUS.
Josephina might suck at love but that didn’t mean she was a failure. Staying meant she’d have to see Brett from time to time, and it would hurt, but Pearl had mended her broken heart here, and so had Aunt Letty. Josephina would just be another in a long line of strong women, sharing the magic of this house with those adventurous enough to search for it.
That’s it, she thought, knowing what she needed to do. And it was exactly what Fairchild House was made for. More imporant, it was what this town needed. What she needed.
Her eyes rested on the servants’ quarters. “Where was the medical center planning on keeping the families while their kids were receiving treatment at the new ward?”
“They haven’t figured it out yet. Why?” Cal asked, a smile tugging up one side of his lips.
“I was thinking that there is an awful lot of fairy dust around here.”
Chapter 21
That’s no way for a lady to behave,” Josephina scolded, snatching her hand back a second before it got ripped off.
“Come on, sugar,” she cooed, once again offering up her peanut-butter-laced finger. “You know you want some.”
The one remaining set of beady black eyes blinked at her from inside the vent and took a tiny step closer. The problem was the other set of much larger eyes, which were accompanied by razor teeth and a terrifying hissing sound that filled the air vent every time Josephina got close to luring the last baby out.
Using her bare toe for leverage, Josephina pushed off the top of the ladder so she could reach the extra inch she needed to grab the baby opossum by the scruff. The mama lunged forward, going for Josephina’s face.
“Shame on you, Mrs. Pearl,” Josephina tutted. “What kind of example are you setting, trying to rip off somebody’s face? Especially when that somebody happens to be your neighbor.”
Backing out of the vent, the metal cutting into her stomach, Josephina cuddled the shaking little baby to her chest. She tipped her catcher’s mask up on her forehead and unzipped her backpack, which she had secured to the roofline, and smiled at the five sets of eyes and whiskers looking up at her.
She placed the final baby in the pouch, zipped it up, extracted a set of leather gloves, and grabbed a handful of cheesy pretzels. Gloves on, mask firmly in place, she slid the upper part of her body back through the narrow passageway.
The minute she came into sight, the hissing started up again. Fangs bared, Mrs. Pearl leaped forward, claws in the air, and slammed against the catcher’s mask. Josephina held her ground, letting Mrs. Pearl know that she wasn’t budging.
She felt for the opossum. She really did. Mrs. Pearl was only trying to create a safe space for her babies. Too bad her ideas on remodeling were in direct conflict with Josephina’s—no matter how cute the little guys were, sketchy power and leaky roofs would not pass code.
Mrs. Pearl lunged again, only to stop about an inch from the leather-gloved hand.
“All bark and no bite. I know some other ornery ladies just like that. Maybe when you get settled in your new house we should invite them over for poker and moonshine.”
Josephina set down a cheesy pretzel, then another, leaving a trail of crumbs that went to the end of the vent. Straddling the top step of the ladder, she snapped her eyes shut, trying to ignore the sweat building behind the mask.
“You got the ladder?” she hollered down.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rooster said at the same time as Boo barked. “Although, you know that I think this makes about as much sense as those clothes you put on your hound. I could have had them out weeks ago.”
“Yes, and they would have been traumatized. Sometimes all people need is a little understanding and patience.”
“They aren’t people,” he mumbled, but she knew he held the ladder all the same.
After what seemed like an hour, a pink heart-shaped nose covered in a smattering of white whiskers poked its way out.
“Come on, Mrs. Pearl. Your family is waiting.” She slid the backpack through her arms with the pouch resting against her chest and pulled open the center zipper.
Mrs. Pearl leaned forward and, with her eyes firmly on Josephina’s, sniffed the inside of the bag, her body softening when she saw her babies. Slow as molasses, Mrs. Pearl made her way into the opening and immediately started licking her brood. All the babies fought to get on their mama’s back. Giving them privacy in such an intimate moment, Josephina swallowed hard, zipped up the pack, and slid it on her back.
“Well, look at that. Letty’s girl is catching herself a coon.”
Holding on to the top rung, the Pearl family securely on her back, Josephina chanced a glance. She wasn’t sure if it was altitude sickness, cheesy pretzel overdose, or the pressure of the catcher’s mask on her forehead, but she had to blink several times to make sense of what she was seeing.
On her porch, in Bible-blue choir robes, stood the poker-playing posse and the entire Sugar Ladies Baptist Choir with a covered dish in one hand and a hymn book in the other, fanned out as if they were about to bring it on home. In the center, holding a mile-high cake with three silk blue ribbons hanging off the lip of the plate, was Hattie, the smell of coconut and vanilla cutting through the thick summer ai
r.
“No coon. Just a family of opossums that I’m relocating.” Josephina carefully made her way down the ladder, feeling ridiculously proud. She’d just helped out her first family and the biggest busybodies in town were there to pay witness.
“Relocatin’?” Hattie asked, and the women all started mumbling amongst themselves, their murmurs picking up speed, but so did Josephina’s heart. Maybe they had come to support her after all. “You could have had your face ripped off?”
Then again, maybe not. “I’m fine, just trying to earn my wings.”
“Aside from losing her good sense, Miss Joie wasn’t ever in any danger, ma’am,” Rooster confirmed.
When her feet hit the wood of the deck, Josephina, making sure her back was to the choir, closed her eyes and willed her breakfast not to make a second appearance. She hung on to the ladder and took slow, calming breaths. In and out.
Okay, maybe fine was an overstatement. But she had faced her fear of heights, and rodents, and lived to tell the tale.
When her hands stopped shaking and she was certain that her face was a color other than green, she handed the backpack to Rooster. “Why don’t you go put them in their new house?”
Rooster mumbled something about women as he disappeared behind the barn.
Josephina walked across the porch, down the steps, and, without a word, tilted back her mask. When Hattie didn’t move, just kept shooting Jelly-Lou sharp looks every time Jelly-Lou shoved her forward another inch, Josephina decided to offer the first branch. “Can I offer you all a cold beverage?”
A small smile spread across the older woman’s face and she gave Josephina a long once-over. Something flickering in Hattie’s eye that Josephina had never seen before with regard to her—respect. “Huh, well, look at you.”
Josephina stepped back and looked down. Besides the baseball mask and leather gloves, she was wearing jean cutoffs, a camouflage tank, two braids, and no shoes. She looked as if she was ready to walk the redneck runway. And it felt good.
“What’s all this?” Josephina asked, addressing the army of covered dishes. Even though just about every person in town had been by this past week to help get the house ready for tonight’s Pucker Up and Drive kickoff potluck, Josephina still wasn’t sure if these casseroles came in peace.
