by Kim Law
Cal flicked a glance toward the Cadillac House. “And no one was over there?”
“No cars. I thought I saw someone in the room for a second, though. Just a shadow, really.” Heather leaned in and whispered, “Did you know the story is that she and her lover used to make love in that very bedroom? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be in her marital bed with another man, but that she didn’t want him to have to be there. She even bought a new bedroom suite for ‘their’ room. Just for—”
“Heather,” Jill interrupted. She shot a pointed look at her foster sister. “Get back to what you saw last night.”
“Right.” Heather made a face indicating that Jill was a stickler for “the facts,” and Cal chuckled in solidarity. It made Jill want to stomp on both their toes.
She was still mad at the man, darn it. He shouldn’t even be here!
Yet there they were, all whispering about a supposed ghost.
“So I thought I saw a shadow,” Heather said, picking her story back up. “Just a flicker of movement behind the window, and I went out into the yard hoping for a better view. I was thinking about Mr. Wainwright coming home that night and seeing them up there, you know? Wondering if I could see what he’d seen.”
Jill cleared her throat, and Heather shot her a scowl.
“I watched for several more minutes, but then . . . nothing.” Heather shrugged. “So I left.”
“Was the light still on when you left?”
She nodded. “Was it on when you got there this morning?”
“No.”
“You two do know that interns went through both houses,” Jill said.
Cal and Heather both stared at her as if she made no sense.
“This morning,” she stressed. “They could have turned off the lights. They could have moved the tools.”
She pointed out the can of primer sitting in the corner that had been one of the many items pulled from the totes. “They went through every room.”
“It wasn’t the interns,” Cal told her.
“How do you know?”
“Because she was over there,” Heather whispered again. “I saw her.”
Jill fought against rolling her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
She turned to the window, picturing being at the house late at night and seeing a light on next door. Thinking she’d seen a shadow in the room.
It couldn’t have been a ghost. Why would a woman hang around an old house for years, just waiting on some man? Especially when she’d already had one? The whole story sounded as ridiculous as something her mother would do. No one needed a man that badly.
A movement from below caught her eye, and she ignored the idea of ghosts and “good men” and women too desperate to move on with their lives—or afterlives—and looked down. Where she found Marci peering up. Marci’s cream pants and top were chic and stylish, but they were no match for a construction jobsite.
Jill’s stomach soured. “Your girlfriend is here, Calhoun.”
She nodded to the ground below them, and Cal stepped up beside her to look out.
“What’s she doing here?”
“Didn’t get enough of you this weekend, I’d imagine,” Jill grumbled.
He shot her an odd look before leaving the room, and once he was gone, Jill reached behind her to unmute her mic. They had to get back to work, and she didn’t have time to be worrying about ghosts, girlfriends, or the rumors that Cal and Marci had both been AWOL for the last two days.
She’d wondered if their absence meant that Cal had finally taken Marci out to his place. Had they spent the entire weekend holed up on his farm?
It didn’t matter. Cal could do whatever with whoever he wanted.
She and Heather got back to installing the windows, but it wasn’t long before they were interrupted yet again. This time, by Marci.
“Hey, girls,” Marci called out as she navigated the unstable stairs.
Jill eyed the four-inch heels on the other woman.
“Hi, Marci,” Heather said.
Trenton came out of the back room, and when she saw the photographer, she broke into a wide grin. “Amazing photos,” Trenton told her. “I know I replied to your e-mail and said that already, but seriously. Amazing.”
Marci beamed. “Thank you.”
Marci had e-mailed the proofs for the calendar the weekend before last and had offered her suggestions on which ones should make the cut. Jill had wanted to hate them all the second she’d seen the e-mail in her in-box, but Trenton was right. Amazing.
“I’ll print you each a copy of the one with all of you,” Marci told them. “Blu was right. That last setup was the way to go. It’s a special photo in a way that had nothing at all to do with my skill.”
Jill appreciated the honesty. “Thank you. So what can we do for you today?”
Marci tilted her head and studied Jill, her eyes never leaving Jill’s, yet seeming to take in every potential imperfection, whether obvious or only imagined. Then she tossed a quick glance at the other two. “Could you and I talk privately for a moment?”
Jill’s eyes widened when Marci’s gaze returned to her. “Me?”
“If you have a minute.”
“Sure.” Jill drew the word out. Why would Marci want to talk to her?
“Maybe outside? Away from all the cameras?”
Jill glanced out the newly installed window and saw Cal now back over at his place, his attention turned up toward them. He wore the same kind of perplexed expression that Jill assumed covered her face.
She led the way downstairs and out of the house, circumventing the newly collected debris—this time scraps of new material instead of demo of the old—and she didn’t stop moving until she made it to the oak tree in the front yard. In a moment of petty rebellion, she didn’t mute her mic. This conversation would be private only if the producers decided to keep it that way.
She turned to face the other woman, and as she did, Cal’s uncle pulled up at the far end of the street. Jill smiled at the sight of his truck. She’d been hoping Rodney would stop by. They’d once been close, since Cal had lived with his uncle while the two of them were dating. She and Rodney had bumped into each other over the years, but she hadn’t seen him in a long while.
“What can I do for you?” Jill asked, still smiling at the thought of chatting with Rodney.
Marci pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Could you stay away from Cal?”
The smile fell from Jill’s face. “Excuse me?”
“He’s been different since you came back in his life. And not in a good way.”
“I’m not in his life.” Jill glanced across the yard and noted that Cal continued to keep an eye on them.
Marci followed Jill’s line of sight. “But still . . . you are, aren’t you?”
Jill began to protest again, but then she thought about her and Cal’s drive the week before. She didn’t want to believe she was “in” his life, but she could admit she’d felt a kind of contentment while sitting beside him in his truck. Or the better word might be a calmness. The kind she hadn’t felt since well before her mother had died.
But still, that didn’t mean she was in his life.
Nor did him telling her about his ranch—while not telling his girlfriend—mean anything. That had just been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Similar to her sharing that she hadn’t watched any TV since she’d moved back home. Something neither of them had intended to reveal. It had just happened.
But who the hell did Marci think she was, making this request? Because the fact was, if Jill wanted to be around Cal, then she darned well would be around Cal.
She turned her bubbling anger to sweetness, though, refusing to let anyone else have a glimpse at the thoughts inside her head, and when she next spoke, her words came out practically coated with a layer of sugar. “And if I were in his life?” She smiled from ear to ear. “Why would I choose to stay away from him?”
Marci looked her up and down then, and her top lip curled in th
e way that only people with money seemed to be capable of doing. And there was nothing sugary about it.
“Because he can do better than a two-bit orphan.”
Jill gaped at Marci’s back as she walked away, unable to believe the woman had just said that to her, and watched the overexaggerated sway of the other woman’s hips. What a bitch.
No wonder Jill had never liked her.
Before she could turn back to the house, a hand touched the middle of her back, and Rodney leaned in close. “Whoo-wee. Looking good all dusty and dirty like that, Jilly-Bean.”
Jill laughed and pulled the man in for a tight hug. He and Cal had been the only ones to ever call her that. She smelled beer on Rodney’s breath as she pulled away. “Don’t even think of turning that charm on me, Mr. Reynolds. You know it won’t work.”
“And why’s that, Ms. Sadler? Because I’m the wrong Reynolds?”
Jill’s smile faltered, and she suddenly wished she’d muted her mic. That would teach her to be petty. But she recovered quickly enough. “Because you’re the wrong decade.” She played it off with a laugh.
She turned her back at the sight of Marci, who was now primping for the cameras.
“What brings you by here, Rodney? Wanting to get your hands dirty with some real work again?”
Aunt Blu had hired We Nail It to do the addition at the house before Jill graduated high school, and she, Heather, and Trenton had helped. That’s when they’d learned the majority of what they knew about construction. Cal had been working for Rodney by that point, so he’d been out there with Rodney every day, instead of only the couple of afternoons after school he usually spent there.
She had good memories of that time—with both the Reynolds men.
Rodney scrubbed his palms down over his shirt front now, as if straightening some imaginary lapel, and puffed out his chest. “Got me an interview for the show,” he told her.
“Is that right? That why you’re wearing your lucky boots?”
He looked down, and when he did, he weaved a little. “How do you know about my lucky boots?”
“Small town, Rodney. Everybody knows about your boots.”
“Hmmm. I might have to rethink them then. Maybe that’s why they ain’t been working so good lately.”
Patrick laid eyes on the older Reynolds not long after that and made a beeline for them, and as the two men walked away, Jill pulled out her cell and sent Cal a text.
Might want to keep an eye on your uncle.
He was still standing with Marci, while Marci talked a mile a minute, but Jill saw him look down at his phone.
Then he looked at her.
Marci turned her way, too—though her look could be classified more as scathing than Cal’s questioning one—and when Cal refocused on his cell, Jill directed an intentional look at him before slowly bringing her gaze back to Marci’s. She sent the other woman a smug purse of her lips.
Marci bristled. Which only made Jill laugh.
Why?
Rodney was in the interview hot seat now, and Jill tapped out a quick reply.
Because he smells like beer.
When Cal immediately left Marci’s side, she fired a hate-filled glare at Jill. Jill returned the look with an innocent-looking finger-waggling wave—then added one more smile for good measure.
Tired of playing with Marci, she headed back to the house. She had work to do. But as she neared the porch, she realized that both of her foster sisters had been standing just inside the door and had witnessed her exchange with the other woman. Her favorite cameraman had also been zeroed in on her.
Instead of letting any of it bother her, though, Jill simply stuck her tongue out as she passed Len, and Len responded with a quick thumbs-up.
Chapter Ten
“Be there for others when they call. You might be the next one picking up the phone.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #39
Cal rose from his kneeling position in the living room where he’d been putting down new subflooring and grunted at the ache in his knees. He lifted his arms above his head, stretching out his back, then bent over and unclipped his kneepads. He’d been at it for too long without stretching, but a setback with the stability of the underlying floor support had meant he’d needed to stay late to catch up.
In fact, several setbacks had kept him late on numerous occasions.
As he worked the kinks out of his neck, a door closed with a soft click above him, and he smiled to himself. Mrs. Wainwright had decided a couple of days ago that she wanted some attention, and she’d been playing with him ever since. It seemed to happen most often when he was there alone.
He glanced at his watch as he moved through the downstairs, double-checking that all the flooring issues had been resolved, then glanced outside to see if anyone was still around. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but he’d cut his crew loose a while ago, with Pete following not far behind. It looked as if the crowd across the street had packed up for the day, too.
No production crews remained, and he caught sight of a lone pair of taillights as a dark-brown SUV drove down the quiet street. Heather was heading home. And he’d seen Trenton pull out some time ago.
He ducked his head so he could make out the house next door from where he stood in the living room, and saw only a navy-blue pickup remaining in the driveway. That made him smile. Jill was still there.
When footsteps shuffled in the room upstairs, he pulled out his phone and sent a text.
Any way you could help me out for a minute? Come over?
He held his breath as he waited for a reply. The tension between him and Jill had definitely lessened over the last week, and although he hadn’t spoken directly to her since she’d warned him about his uncle two days before, they’d passed in the yard several times.
She continued avoiding Patrick’s attempts to interview them together, and Cal had even backed off helping the producer with his plight. But every time Jill thwarted an attempt, instead of seeing anger or smugness written on her face, Cal now usually caught a smile. She was enjoying herself.
A soft knock sounded at the back door, and he made his way to the kitchen to find an unsmiling face peering in at him. He opened the door, but instead of saying anything, Jill shot a look at the upper corner of his kitchen.
“I know, right?” Cal said. “What’ll they think? Cavorting with the enemy.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Competition.”
“No longer the enemy?”
She sighed. “You were never my enemy, Cal. Just my ex. Whom I’m still angry at,” she added quickly.
He nodded with contrition. “And whom you don’t speak to.”
“Right.”
He held the door open wide and invited her in with a nod, and as he did, he didn’t take his eyes off hers for one second. When she smirked, acknowledging his smart-ass comment about her still not speaking to him, a grin spread slowly across his face.
“Stop it,” she grumbled. But she came into his house.
“I’m not doing anything.”
She smelled like sawdust and Sheetrock mud, and he found it strangely arousing.
“You were thinking something, so stop it.”
He was thinking a lot of things. “Fine. I’ll stop it. For now.”
She checked out every inch of the kitchen and new dining space as she walked in a small loop, and after her initial curiosity was met, she returned to the newly installed kitchen island. Where she crossed her arms and cocked out a hip. “So, what did you bring me over for?”
He pointed to the ceiling. “Listen.”
She stood motionless and listened, even closing her eyes to hear better, and Cal could tell by her face when the soft music playing in the upstairs bedroom had made it to her ears. She opened her eyes. “What? You left a radio on?”
He shook his head.
“Then what is it?”
“Mrs. Wainwright.”
Her gaze shot toward the staircase. “No, it’s not.”
The music changed to a jazz number, and Jill’s eyes stayed locked in the direction of the upper room.
“I told you,” he said.
“Pete has to be up there.”
“Pete went home an hour ago. Want to go up with me and see for yourself?”
The music changed once again, this time to an ’80s hair band, and Cal almost laughed out loud. Mrs. Wainwright had a sense of humor.
“I don’t think I do,” Jill answered.
“Scared?”
“Heather’s the one into ghosts. Call her next time.” She inched around to the other side of the unpainted island. The side that was closest to the door.
“I don’t want to call Heather.”
Blue-green eyes locked on his. “Then call your girlfriend.”
“I don’t want to call her, either.”
He took a step closer, putting him at the island as well, only standing on the opposite side as her, and was pleased when she didn’t turn and run. He’d wanted to talk to her again since Monday. Not about anything specific. Just to talk.
Just to see her.
It thrilled him that his text had brought her over.
“Thank you for letting me know about my uncle the other day,” he said, and at his comment, her gaze moved to his collar. When she didn’t see what she was looking for, her eyes inched lower. “Mic pack is off,” he told her. The camera crew had unwired him before they’d left. “Yours?”
“Gone.” She looked at the upper corner of the room again.
“The cameras in the house don’t pick up sound.”
“Really?” Relief washed over her. “I’d been afraid to ask.”
His brows shot skyward. “What have you been saying over there that you don’t want heard?”
“Nothing.” She laughed softly. “Not really. Just some stuff about Len’s beard that first night. You know, the night I lost my shit on the cabinets?”
His entire body relaxed with her joking reference to the evening he’d gone over to her house, and at the same time that his comfort level rose, Jill’s feet went into motion. Cal stayed where he was, but turned in place to watch as she scoured the area. He feared getting any closer. If he did, he might find an excuse to touch her. And that would send her running the other way.
