by Kim Law
Jill was at a loss. “What’s Texas Dream Home?”
“Good grief, Jill.” Heather dropped to a chair and scooped up the flyer, holding it up in front of Jill as if she hadn’t already seen it. Heather then jabbed a finger at the early-twentieth-century home pictured in the middle of it. “It’s only the most popular show on television right now.”
“Which you’d know if you ever bothered to watch television,” Trenton added.
Jill wanted to roll her eyes—and she would have if Aunt Blu hadn’t been in the room. Because they covered this argument at least once a month. Additionally, due to Heather’s rose-colored glasses, she had a habit of claiming anything she was currently enamored with to be “the best” or “the most popular.” But Jill highly doubted that a show about renovating homes in Texas was the most exciting thing on television right now.
“I doubt it’s—”
“The. Most. Popular,” Heather repeated before Jill could finish her protest. Heather gave her a just-try-and-test-me look, her head angled with attitude, and Jill gave in. She rolled her eyes.
But she used her hand to block her foster mother’s view.
“Like she doesn’t know what you’re doing behind your hand.” Heather smirked.
Jill kicked her under the table.
“Girls,” Aunt Blu chastised.
Trenton sat on the other side of the table batting her eyelashes, because for once, it hadn’t been her who got called out, and Heather turned the flyer back around to look at it.
“I’m just saying,” Heather tried again, “that it makes no sense in this day and age to be so unaware of popular culture. How can you stand to live like that?”
“And I’m just saying that having no TV is a perfectly valid life choice,” Jill responded. And it had been her choice since returning to Red Oak Falls. She had a habit of being hardheaded, she knew, but she also had a perfectly good reason for this particular decision.
Not that she’d ever gone into specifics on that reasoning.
Aunt Blu didn’t interrupt their argument again, but Jill could feel her foster mother’s steady gaze on her, so she plucked the paper from between Heather’s fingers and reread the details of the competition. The search for teams would be conducted statewide, two teams, two homes, with renovations to span six weeks.
Which would be fast renovations for an entire house. Not that they couldn’t handle it.
The renovated homes would then be donated back to the community, with town leadership to decide how best to use them.
Jill stared at the words, but she still didn’t get it. Why should they do this?
The donation to the community would be great, sure. For whatever community the chosen houses resided in. But there was no guarantee that would be Red Oak Falls.
Granted, their time and effort wouldn’t be a mere donation. A stipend would be provided for each team so no loss of wages would be incurred. But that didn’t take into account the existing customers already slated for work. And not meeting the deadlines of those paying clients while instead spending six weeks gallivanting around who-knew-what part of Texas—pretending they belonged on some television show—seemed like a death sentence to Jill.
“It’s exposure,” Heather finally said, her voice implying a metaphorical roll of her eyes.
“And exposure is what we need,” Trenton added.
“But we can get exposure with ads,” Jill reminded them. “Radio plugs, billboards.” She took in the others as she fought against her rising heart rate. They’d talked about this. “We don’t have to go on TV.”
“But this would be good exposure, Jilly,” Trenton clarified.
“And a lot of it,” Heather added.
Panic suddenly pierced Jill, a blistering hole threatening to open wide inside her. She refused to let it show, though. She didn’t show fear. Not even to her foster sisters.
She also didn’t want to be on TV. Or think about being on TV.
Or think about all the years she’d once tried to be on TV.
She didn’t say any of that, though, because only Aunt Blu knew that she’d wasted six years of her life attempting to be something she’d never been meant to be.
Jessica Grant.
She almost laughed at the thought—as if she’d ever actually needed a stage name. She’d been a failure from day one. But she was neither an actress nor a wannabe actress these days. She was a grown-up. One-third owner and project manager for Bluebonnet Construction. Not a girl with stars in her eyes.
Forcing herself to visualize the billboard standing in the prime location out on Highway 71, she pulled in a deep breath for a count of five. The advertising they’d tried through their social media accounts hadn’t paid off, so they’d been discussing other options. And that’s what they were going to do. Billboards. With any luck, they’d even outbid We Nail It Contractors, replacing each and every one of their biggest competitor’s ads with giant Bluebonnet ones.
Irritation bloomed at the thought of the other company—and its owner.
Then she wondered if Cal had signed up for the competition, too.
Her heart suddenly thundered. Surely not. We Nail It stayed so busy, they didn’t need the added publicity. They just needed more laborers. And maybe to let someone else in town win a bid or two.
“Everyone in town sees the billboards,” she argued when the others remained silent.
“But everyone in the country would see this.”
Jill stilled at Heather’s words, then she slowly turned to face her foster sister. “The country?”
Was she really that out of touch?
Heather nodded, and Jill swallowed around the lump in her throat. There was a highly popular television show that filmed practically in their backyard, doing the very thing that Jill was now putting her heart and soul into? She refused to think life could be that ironic.
But what if it was?
And what if Heather and Trenton were right about the attention that they could get?
Could they finally show the town that they were more than foster sisters playing construction crew?
She turned to Aunt Blu. “How would we justify spending weeks doing this? Assuming we could even get chosen, of course. We’d have to delay projects that are already lined up. Wouldn’t we risk moving backward instead of forward?”
“Yet that risk could bring in hundreds of jobs for every one project we’d have to delay,” Trenton answered before Aunt Blu could form a response. Trenton reached over and covered Jill’s hand. “This is a good idea, Jilly. I know we like to be unanimous in major decisions, but I think we might need to take this one to a vote.”
“We’re not voting.” The finality in Aunt Blu’s tone brooked no argument.
“Fine.” Trenton made a face. “But if we really want to be known as more than Queens of the She-Sheds, this is our shot.”
“We need the chance to prove what we can do,” Heather supplied. “And this show would do that for us. Even if we didn’t win”—Heather stared at Jill, her gaze as earnest as her words—“I promise you, just being a competitor would boost the company into a new realm. And I am not just talking about being sought after in Red Oak Falls.”
Jill looked from Heather to Trenton. Could they possibly be right?
Even if the show only got Texas viewers . . .
She thought about the size of Texas. About the number of homes that likely did have televisions, even when only considering Red Oak Falls. Many of the locals would watch—if for no other reason than to see if “that little Sadler girl” really had turned out okay. And that’s when she, Heather, and Trenton could win their way inside other people’s homes. Because from the way the flyer read, the teams wouldn’t be stuck building a froufrou she-shed out in a backyard somewhere. They’d be tackling a full-sized renovation.
They’d either prove themselves capable—or they’d know they should give up for good.
Hope replaced the burn of panic. Bluebonnet Construction could finally be
heading in the direction they’d worked so hard to attain. While at the same time, she’d get the chance to validate herself in front of the camera once and for all.
She could do this. She was older now. More mature.
She wouldn’t have to do anything “untoward” to get cast on the show.
It would be a win-win for all of them.
But then her gaze landed on the fine print at the bottom of the page, and the optimism that had just begun to glow shriveled like a dried-out twig. She sagged in her chair. “The date for notifying finalists has come and gone, Aunt Blu.” She pointed to the stated date. “We apparently didn’t make the cut.”
Aunt Blu slid the legal-sized envelope onto the table. “Except you did. Interviews start this week.”
Chapter Two
“If it walks like a skunk and smells like a skunk . . . plug your nose and head for the door.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #28
“And . . . cut.”
At the three-letter word, Calhoun Reynolds let the overdone smile fall from his lips and stepped from the circle of lights set up on the back porch. The Texas Dream Home film crew had been at the house since early that morning, capturing footage for the opening credits of the upcoming competition. They’d slapped makeup on him, traipsed through every inch of the seventy-year-old Craftsman where his grandparents had once lived, and asked more questions than he could have imagined. Yet he sensed they remained less than satisfied with what they’d gotten.
He wasn’t sure what else he could offer, though.
Of course, there was the fact that he was sitting on a farm no one knew about. They’d be all over that.
Single, eligible bachelor, with his own three-hundred-acre ranch? And renovating the original log house himself? They wouldn’t be able to resist. They’d likely even encourage him to strip down to his jeans and drive in a nail or two—just for the women viewers. No one had been shy about stroking his ego today, nor about how they’d love to play up his looks for the viewers.
“Hey, Cal.” His uncle Rodney stepped through the sliding back door, a practiced smile on his face, as his gaze sought out who might be in charge of the madness going on in the secluded backyard. This was the first Cal had seen of his uncle since the other man had left for a date the night before. “I didn’t realize filming started today.”
Rodney could be an exceptional liar when he wanted to be. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, plaid shirt tucked into his best jeans, and he’d even brought out his lucky boots. The ones he typically only wore when he wasn’t positive a date was a sure thing.
“They wanted to get a few shots before everything starts Monday morning,” Cal told him.
The cameraman had once again stepped behind his equipment, and as Rodney’s smile swung toward the glowing red light, Cal wouldn’t have been surprised to see his uncle whip out a cowboy hat and plop it on his head. He’d been looking forward to this.
“It’s all still hush-hush,” Cal reminded him. He turned his back to the lens. Though word had leaked out about the production company’s purchase of the two one-and-a-half-story bungalows over on Pear Street, it remained a secret just who had been selected to compete in this year’s competition. Or if any local company had. Texas Dream Home typically chose one team from the area where the houses were to be renovated, as well as one crew from another part of the state. Therefore, rumors had been running rampant.
“Not a problem for me,” Rodney assured him. “My lips are sealed.”
He zipped his finger across his lips as if to prove his words, while Cal took a step closer to catch a better look at his uncle’s eyes. Not bloodshot.
At least not yet.
“Any way I could get in on the action?” Rodney asked. Lack of subtlety was another of his charms.
“I think they’re—”
“Mr. Reynolds!” Patrick Whitaker, the show’s producer, caught sight of Rodney and made fast work of eating up the distance between him and them. He easily maneuvered Cal and Rodney so that anything said or done would be caught on tape, and thrust his hand out in greeting. A boom mic hovered above them. “We were hoping you’d show up today, sir. Good to see you again. Since you started We Nail It Contractors, we absolutely want to get you on screen. Can you stick around?”
“For however long you need me.”
Cal kept his features blank. He’d been so close to getting everyone out of the house.
“Will you be doing any of the work with Cal for the show?” Patrick asked.
“I’m pretty much out of the game these days,” Rodney informed the producer. “Cal and I still talk business and I jump in when needed, but I mostly prefer spending my time . . . giving back. I’m either giving to the horse races down in Selma—or I’m giving the ladies who’ve yet to have the pleasure of Rodney a firsthand chance.” Cal’s uncle gave a wink, and Patrick responded with the appropriate guffaw. “My nephew is perfect for the cameras, though, don’t you think?” Rodney slapped Cal on the back. “Boy’s got the Reynolds charm on his side. Not to mention the looks.”
Another round of laughter came from Patrick.
Rodney was right about the Reynolds charm, though. At least where it concerned Rodney. The man was in a league of his own. It was how he’d managed to get married three times.
The divorces, however, were another story.
But even with multiple exes, Rodney still had no problem reeling in the ladies. It was impressive, actually. There’d been a time when Cal had thought he wanted to be just like his uncle.
“Maybe we can talk you into stopping by the house,” Patrick went on. “Swing a hammer to show where Cal gets his skill. We like the episodes to be about family as much as the renovations, and I know the viewers would love seeing you two together.”
Cal remained silent. He didn’t point out that his skill had actually started as a kid. Back when his grandfather had been alive. Nor that neither he nor his competition would have much in the way of family on camera. Rodney would be it for him. And Cal planned to do his best to limit the amount of time that attention would be pointed his uncle’s way.
“Sounds good to me.” Rodney put an arm around Cal. “I’d do anything for this one.”
Cal kept his own arms at his sides, but he did fire a winning smile at the camera. Rodney was mugging for the potential viewers, he knew, but Cal didn’t doubt the sentiment. They’d lived together in his grandparents’ house for thirteen years now, Rodney having once provided Cal both a roof over his head and a job in his business, and in that span of time, any pretense with the other had fallen away. Cal could have moved out years ago, but he liked being surrounded with childhood memories. He also liked his grandmother knowing that her house still had life in it.
Plus, Rodney needed him here. Rodney wasn’t someone who handled being on his own well. Nor was he someone who handled the business side of things well. Which was why Cal had taken over the company several years back. They’d made a gentleman’s agreement. Cal would purchase Rodney’s remaining portion for a single dollar bill—while also providing Rodney a salary for life. It had been a win for both of them.
And though his uncle had practically run the company into the ground, since taking ownership, Cal had made it his mission to turn We Nail It into what it was today. Which was a thriving business that stayed so busy both in and around Red Oak Falls that he certainly had no time to be filming a reality show. Nor had he applied to be on one. Yet when Texas Dream Home had come calling, he’d found himself signing on the dotted line.
“We start filming at the houses on Monday,” Patrick was saying to Rodney now, his words cutting into Cal’s thoughts. “We’ll interview you here today, but let’s also plan on talking to you at the jobsite before the week is over.”
“I’m in,” Rodney confirmed. He shook the man’s hand. “Just tell me when and where.”
And not to be drunk, Cal thought. His uncle had a problem that was fast becoming harder to hide.
Patrick an
d his uncle moved away from the porch as they continued to talk, and Cal returned to his thoughts. He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to do the show. The last thing he’d ever imagined for himself was being the “star” of a television show. That had been his ex’s so-called dream. Therefore, when Texas Dream Home had sought him out, he’d refused. Even when Rodney had pointed out the obvious. That if Cal truly wanted to be the best in the business, it wouldn’t do to shun an opportunity like this.
And it was a heck of an opportunity. Cal could admit that. We Nail It was already the most well-known construction company within a one-hundred-mile radius, and they’d been voted Red Oak Falls’ Best in Biz three years running. But if they were to be on TV . . .
If Cal was on TV, even his father would have to take notice.
Still, Cal declined. He had too many irons in the fire to take on the additional role of reality-television personality. Not to mention, Cal didn’t make decisions based upon his father.
Ever.
But then the executive producer had played his trump card. Jill.
And everything had begun to look different.
Unbeknownst to Jill, Cal would be his ex’s competition. And he swore, nothing could have gotten him interested faster. Because, dammit, he might have been the one to walk away from their twenty-four-hour marriage, but she’d been the one to throw down the gauntlet. And then she’d had the nerve to sashay back into town six years later and open a competing business.
Texas Dream Home had been aware of all those facts, though how, Cal hadn’t bothered to ask. They’d even waved around the knowledge that Jill had refused to speak to him in the five years she’d been home. They felt they had a gold mine on their hands by pitting two exes together for this year’s competition, and they’d made it clear they would do whatever it took to sign Cal.
Shamefully, it hadn’t taken all that much. A chance to finally put Jill in her place?
Done.
Bluebonnet Construction would have to concede that they simply couldn’t compete in the same arena. Construction was his game. And the fact that Jill would be spitting nails when she found out she would be going up against him? Icing on the cake.
