Write Me Home

by Crystal Walton

  Brushing back the strands refusing to stay in her ponytail, she boxed out the thought. It’s business, Cass. Don’t make it personal.

  She winced as soon as she put pressure on her heel. Nothing like pain to keep her focused. At least some things in life never changed.

  She rummaged through her bag for a bar of soap and plodded gingerly toward the bathroom in the corner. One foot inside, and she repressed a gag. So much for thinking the well water’s rotten egg stench might’ve diminished with time. And really, when was the last time this place saw a mop? Or better yet, a magic eraser?

  Okay, change of plans. First order of business: Disinfect the bathroom.

  Gravel rumbled outside the window, along with a series of honks that could only mean one thing. Ti. Smiling ear to ear, Cass scurried out as fast as her ankle would let her.

  A canary yellow car about the size of a Matchbox model glided into the space beside her Passat. Ti had barely pulled the keys from the ignition before jumping out. She flung her arms around Cass’s neck, a dozen bracelets clinking together. “Eeee! Girl, I’ve missed you so much.” She bobbed up and down like they were twelve again instead of twenty-seven.

  Cass untangled herself from Ti’s necklaces. “I can’t believe you actually came.”

  She stepped back, chin cocked. “And miss the chance to refurbish our childhood camp? You kidding me? Where else would I be right now?”

  A million answers could’ve filled in the blank, but Cass wasn’t about to give her any ideas. She nodded behind her. “Enterprise is renting out smart cars now?”

  Ti turned. “I bought it when I flew into LaGuardia. Got hooked on them in London—the gas mileage is totally worth it.” She shrugged. “I’ll sell it when I leave.”

  Which would be in about ten days, knowing Ti. At least she was here now. A lecture on impulsive buying habits could wait for later. Cass lifted a hand to the loose strands of hair dangling from under Ti’s edgy newsboy cap. “Brown again?”

  Ti’s grin slanted. She pulled her hat off, shook out her hair, and ran her fingers all the way down to bright blond tips. “Can’t be without some blond.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Hey, not all of us are blessed with your fiery red curls, chica.”

  Giving in to her smile, Cass took in the sight of her best friend. It didn’t matter what color she dyed her hair. Modeling in Europe for a year seemed to have only fueled her creative beauty. Had it really been that long since she’d seen her last?

  A darkish purple mark on her upper arm caught Cass’s eye.

  Ti flicked a glance at the bruise and covered it with her hand.

  Cass choked back the comment she wanted to make. “How’s Murray?”

  Fiddling with the hem of her sundress, Ti kept her gaze on the gravel. “He’s living it up on a photo shoot in Paris.”

  “You didn’t go with him?”

  “Wasn’t invited.” She fit her hat back on and detangled her necklaces.

  How many loser boyfriends would it take for Ti to see she deserved better? “Why do you stay with him?”

  “Because I’m me.”

  “Ti—”

  “Ooh, we have our own well?” She whirled around, obviously done with this conversation. Same old Ti. Deflecting.

  She skipped up the hill and leaned over the stones as if looking for a wish she’d lost inside it. “How did I forgot about this?” She turned, face glistening in the sunlight. “We can plant our own gardens, grow organic produce.”

  “Don’t go getting all Woodstock on me, girl. It’s a camp, not a commune.” Cass shucked off her jean jacket and lowered her shades to block the sunlight creeping over the treetops.

  “But wouldn’t it be cool if it were?” Ti bobbed her brows as she sauntered back through the field to the parking lot. “On our own again. The two of us against the world. Like old times.” She hooked an arm around Cass’s shoulders. “Oh, c’mon. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Adventure? “You do realize where we are, right? In the middle of the mountains. No Starbucks within fifty miles.”

  One blink. Two. “Okay, that’s just tragic.” She let go and breathed in. “Guess we’ll have to live off fresh air.”

  “Fresh air and utter silence.” Cass set her hands on her hips. “No thrilling city life. What are you going to do for entertainment?”

  Ti sprawled her arms to her sides, faced the sky, and twirled. “Fly.” At her feet, a dozen dandelion heads released seeds into the air like a hundred wishes she could’ve added to the well. She stopped mid-spin. “Oh, by the way, do you have a razor I can borrow? After that eight-hour flight from London and then the haul up here, I’m way overdue for a bath.”

  “Um, you might not want to shower before we clean the bathroom.”

  Already headed to her trunk, Ti looked behind her. “What do you think the creek is for?”

  Cass shook her head without a response.

  While Ti toted a pink towel down the driveway toward the creek, Cass lugged two crates of cleaning supplies inside and set them beside the bathroom. She slipped off her wedge sandals and tied a folded-up bandana over her cut ankle, careful not to touch it.

  With a pair of rubber gloves, a rag, and a can of Scrubbing Bubbles, she got down on her knees to tackle a corner at a time. One of them had to get to work.

  The disinfectant fumes joined the sulfur odor assaulting her nose. She pinned her shirt over her face as best she could while scrubbing, but the smell kept penetrating, along with nonstop questions.

  Had she made a mistake taking this on? They needed the money from the sale. Mom would lose everything if the flower shop closed. It was her lifeline—past and future. Same way this place had been for Grandpa. If Mom wasn’t already behind on her mortgage, Cass might’ve had time to find an opportunity with a quicker return on investment so she could pay off the debt. Maybe would’ve been able to keep both places.

  Something stirred from around the corner. She froze, lowered her shirt. “Hello?”

  Jax scurried to the bathroom door and meowed.

  Cass’s pulse slowed. “There you are. Did you de-critter the house for me?”

  He rubbed his cheek along the trim, moseyed into the bathroom, and brushed against her knee. He looked up at her with round, expectant eyes as if she hadn’t fed him in weeks instead of hours. Well, at least that meant he probably hadn’t eaten any mice. She shuddered at the thought. No telling what they’d find in this place.

  She scratched his neck. “What do you think, Jax? Am I over my head here?”

  He stared at the ceiling behind her. The hair on his back puffed out, his tail twice its normal size. He crouched, backed up, and hissed.

  A loud thud echoed off the tub and sent adrenaline spiking. Clutching the spray can, she braced herself for whatever was behind them and turned. Something soared straight at her and knocked the can from her hands. Cornered in the tiny bathroom, all she could do was scream.

  chapter three

  Small Towns

  Ethan tossed his sweatshirt over the plastic grocery bags in the Jeep’s floorboard to keep them from rattling in the wind. Other than a few probing questions, which he’d managed to evade, the run-in with Fran at the mart hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d expected. Maybe Nonna was right about life moving on since he left.

  He shifted into third gear and rounded the tree-lined curve. Down the cliff, something bright pink moved by the giant rocks. Was someone bathing in the creek? He faced the road and shook his head. Nah. Couldn’t be.

  A distant scream shuddered through the trees on his left. In a trained reflex, he jerked the wheel toward the sound and gunned his Jeep up the driveway.

  Another series of screams rang from the building. Adrenaline hammering, Ethan darted inside toward rustling in one of the back rooms. He swiped a lamp off the dresser as he blew through the doorway.

  A multi-colored cat hissed at him from under a chair right before a girl skittered out of the bathroom, arm
s flailing around a nest of fiery red hair.

  Ethan caught her by the elbow. “Easy, there. You okay?” Still clutching the lamp in one hand, he peered behind her into a bathroom covered in drywall dust, from the looks of it.

  She stiffened and peeked through the tangled curls covering her face. “Is he gone?”

  “Who?”

  “The squirrel.”

  Mouth tipping, he stifled a laugh. “Let me see.” He moved around her to take a closer look inside and set the lamp on the floor. “I think you’re safe.” He pushed the door back and surveyed the damage to the ceiling. The drywall must’ve rotted and given the animal easy access to claw his way in. “But you probably want to get that hole patched up pronto.” He turned. “At least before the next . . .”

  Armed with the lamp-turned-weapon, she blocked the doorway, eyeing him as if he’d been the one to attack her instead of the squirrel.

  He raised his palms. “. . . rain.”

  Though only slightly taller than Nonna, she had her determined stance down pat. Her gaze drifted to a piece of crumbled drywall stuck in her hair and shot right back at him. Eyes as green as her cat’s all but dared him to comment on her appearance.

  She jutted the lamp at him. “Who are you?”

  If it weren’t for the pink rubber gloves and that cluster of freckles on her nose, she might’ve pulled off the look of intimidation she was obviously going for.

  He lowered his hands but failed to conceal a smile. “Ethan DeLuca. I was driving by and heard you scream, so . . .”

  “So, you came running to my rescue?” She looked him over.

  His station gear. Right. He squeezed the back of his neck. “Guess you could say that. Though, I’m not technically on duty at the moment.”

  “Small towns,” she mumbled while returning the lamp to the dresser. “Someone yells, and the fire department comes running.”

  What, was she some big city girl or something? Probably from the Bronx, with that thick accent. “Up here, sweetheart, we call it hospitality.” Maybe she could take a few lessons.

  She shucked off her gloves. “In Queens, it’s called breaking and entering.”

  He held her unrelenting gaze until he cracked. He couldn’t help it. The whole scene had to be a joke.

  She pinned her hands on her hips. “Is something funny?”

  Fighting another laugh, he gestured toward the bathroom. “Uh, yeah. The whole flying squirrel thing. You, waving that lamp around, giving me the third degree for helping. C’mon, you gotta admit. It’s kinda funny.”

  “Helping?”

  “Yeah, I—” He sucked in a breath, turned, and sneezed into the crook of his arm. “Excuse me, it’s—” Another sneeze folded him in half.

  Her forehead creased. “I haven’t had a chance to dust yet.”

  “No, it’s the cat.” He pointed at the fur ball still cowering under the chair. “I’m allergic.”

  She sidestepped toward the wall and scooped the cat into a protective hold as if worried he was going to exterminate it or something. Paranoid much?

  The dander bag hissed at him again, and she clutched him tighter. Great. Now he had two pairs of fiercely green eyes staring him down. He wasn’t about to gamble on whose claws left a deeper sting.

  “You might want to get a watchdog instead.”

  “Jax is a male calico. You know how special that is? And he knows how to spot trouble just fine.” She let him down. He took off, stopped in the doorway long enough to shoot a scathing glance at Ethan, and kept trucking down the hall.

  He cocked his chin. “Like I said.”

  Her gaze marched down to his suspenders. “You a dog lover? Let me guess. You have a Dalmatian.”

  He arched a brow at her. “You’re not into stereotypes or anything, are you?”

  “Only if they fit.”

  What was her problem? She didn’t know anything about him. Who was she to size him up like he was second class? “From the way I see things, you’re in the position of needing some help around here, so you might want to try being cordial to those offering it.”

  She stretched her little five-foot-two frame as tall as it would go. “I don’t need any help.”

  “Really?” He dipped his head toward the bathroom. “You gonna patch that hole by yourself?”

  “Maybe.”

  Man, she was as strong-willed as Nonna.

  The thought practically slapped him upside the head. The girl obviously needed a worker. He needed a room. The camp was less than a mile from Nonna’s. So what if he had to live in the same proximity as Crazy Cat Woman. He could hack it for a month or two. Looking out for Nonna was worth any cost.

  He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “Or maybe you need a handyman.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How about you let me work a few days a week in exchange for a room.” He motioned to the ceiling. “A place this size . . . There’s got to be, what, at least six bedrooms upstairs?”

  She blinked. “A room.”

  He nodded.

  “You come running into my house uninvited, and now you’re asking to live with me?”

  Okay, that might’ve sounded bad, but this wasn’t Queens. “Relax, City Girl. I’m just trying to look out for my grandma. She had a heart attack a few days ago and needs me nearby to check up on her. She lives up the road, so staying here will be perfect.” Well, almost.

  She didn’t lower her guarded stare. “Your grandma.”

  What was with the two-word reiterations? Exhaling, he strained to prevent his eyes from circling toward the ceiling. “I’m not talking about anything permanent. Just a month or two until she recuperates.” He dipped his head. “C’mon, you could use an extra pair of hands around here. Admit it.”

  Her scowl gave way to the slightest grin. “So, you’re a fireman and a handyman. You should have your own theme song. Any other superhero traits I should know about?”

  “I make a mean lasagna.” He flashed his best disarming smile at her.

  Someone came through the front door. “Cassidy? Forget needing Starbucks,” a girl called on her way down the hall. “That creek will wake you up in a second. The water’s freez—” She stopped two steps inside the room, gaze bouncing from Ethan to her friend and back. A slow smile crept up her face. “Whoa. What calendar did you pull this hunk out of?”

  Ethan scratched his cheek, fairly certain it’d turned almost as pink as the towel wrapped around the girl’s body. So, he had seen someone bathing in the creek.

  Sighing, the redhead splayed a hand toward him. “Ti, this is . . . Sorry, forgot your name somewhere between the breaking-and-entering routine and your pitch to live with me.”

  Better than the tough-as-nails routine she was trying to pull. He extended a hand to the lanky brunette. “Ethan DeLuca. The new handyman,” he added without glancing in Ice Queen’s direction. Maybe with her friend here, she couldn’t say no.

  The girl adjusted her towel and slipped a soft hand into his. “Treble Russo. Pleasure.”

  Russo? He angled his chin. “Italian?”

  She curled her long hair over her shoulder. “On my dad’s side.”

  He gave a short bow. “Piacere di conoscerti.”

  “Not that Italian.” Biting her lip, she inched closer. “But you can talk to me in that accent all day.”

  A gagging noise erupted from the corner but didn’t seem to faze Treble. Her focus drifted from City Girl’s tousled appearance to the bathroom and back to Ethan. Her face lit up. “Don’t move.” Humming, she whirled around and flittered out the way she’d come in.

  Ethan rubbed the back of his head. “Well, she seems . . .”

  “Eccentric?” Cassidy bent to pick up a rag and a can of cleaner. “You’ll have to excuse her. She’s a little on the outspoken side.”

  He laughed. “She can blame her Italian genes for that one. Though, I gotta say, I’ve never met someone named Treble.”

  “That’s because her real name’s Trina.
” She turned, mumbling something. “Just call her by the first letter of her name. You’ll be fine.” A handkerchief dangled off her ankle as she struggled to walk without a limp toward the bathroom. She bumped into a chair and dropped the cleaning spray.

  He swooped down for it, but she cut him off. “I got it.”

  Would it kill the girl to lower her guard for half a second?

  A flash went off from the doorway. They both turned to meet another camera flash. Still in her towel, Ti leaned against the trim, lowered the lens, and shrugged. “Memories.”

  “You’re a photographer?”

  “Some days. Other days I’m a painter. A musician. A writer.” She sauntered in. “But always a storyteller, capturing and sharing the memories I find.” She tipped the camera at him. “I’ll be watching you, Calendar Boy. You’ve got a story to tell.”

  He backed up. “Um, wow. I’m not sure if I should be flattered, or if I should call the cops.”

  “That depends. Are they as cute as you are?”

  “Okay.” Eyes rolling, Cassidy grabbed Ethan’s forearm and directed him into the hall. “Time for you to go. We’ve gotta get back to work.”

  “What about our arrangement?”

  “How about you start with fixing the ceiling. Then we’ll talk.”

  He stopped her around the corner. “And the room?”

  “After the ceiling.”

  So, he’d have to prove himself. Fine. Like he hadn’t been doing that his whole life.

  She hobbled past him. “I’ll have a contract ready on Monday.”

  Contract? Great. What had he gotten himself into?

  “Want me to check on that for you?” He met her at the door and motioned with his eyes toward whatever injury she was hiding under that bandana around her ankle.

  “You’re a medic, too?”

  He grinned. “I have some cross training.”

  “I bet.” She opened the door. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  Directly in front of her, he matched her arrogant gaze and grinned. “I bet.”

  The screen banged behind him before he reached the steps.