Hardheaded (Deep in the Heart Book 1)

by Kim Law

  She stood on tiptoe and peered into the topmost cabinets. He’d taken the storage to the ceiling, though the doors were yet to be hung. They would get painted white before going up.

  Next she peeked into the space where a six-burner cooktop would eventually be hooked up, and when she finally spoke, she returned to the topic of his uncle. “I was a little surprised when I smelled beer on him. It wasn’t even noon yet. But even then, I wasn’t going to say anything. Maybe he’d had one with his lunch, you know?” She checked out the pantry, and gave a little nod. “But then”—she looked over her shoulder at him—“he weaved. Not a lot, but I thought I should . . .” She stopped talking long enough to give him a little shrug. She might not have known what she should do, but she’d done the right thing. “Is he okay, Cal? I’ve heard some things . . .”

  “He’s fine.” He didn’t ask what she’d heard, nor did he attempt to finish her sentence for her. “He was celebrating his TV debut. Just got ahead of himself.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything else, and the music above them changed yet again. This time to an instrumental. It also increased in volume. Not loud, but just enough to pull at them.

  Cal wanted to take Jill’s hand.

  “Please tell me there’s at least a radio up there?” She moved out of the kitchen to peer up the stairs.

  “There is.” Cal followed her. “I put it in there myself. For her.”

  Jill turned, and almost bumped into him. “You what?”

  He stayed where he was. “I did some asking around after Heather got me interested the other day, and I managed to locate one of Mrs. Wainwright’s nieces. She doesn’t live too far away, and she told me that Mrs. Wainwright used to sit in that room and listen to music until the day she died.” He let the back of his fingers touch Jill’s. “That was her favorite room in the house. Her niece has a theory that the man who’d been here that night might have been a musician.”

  Jill looked toward the stairs again. “That could be.” She closed her eyes, her head tilted slightly back, as if picturing a long-ago woman, unhappy in her marriage, and the man who did make her happy. “Or maybe they just liked to dance,” she said softly.

  “That could be it, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She opened her eyes and moved away from him, roaming through the front of the house. She trailed her fingers over the custom trim work they’d repaired on the built-in shelving, and as she continued to check out the area, she began to sway. Her hips shifted in time with the music, but her focus remained so intent on the work that had been done to the rooms that he suspected she had no clue she was dancing.

  “Whatever the man might have been,” he said, “Mrs. Wainwright has good taste in music.”

  Jill’s feet went still with his words, and she quickly looked down at herself. She tossed a casual glance back at him, as if to determine if Cal had been aware of her movements or not, and being the nongentleman that he was, he offered a wolfish grin.

  She rolled her eyes at him, but he only grinned wider.

  “You didn’t see that,” she muttered.

  She crossed back to the staircase and looked up as the music switched once more, this time to a lonely piano tune.

  He’d heard that one played before.

  “I can’t believe you’re so comfortable with this,” she muttered. She eyed the landing on the second floor, then leaned to her right as if trying to see inside the open door of the upstairs bedroom. She continued speaking, almost too softly to hear. “It’s so weird. I wouldn’t have believed any of—”

  Her words snapped off and she whirled to face him.

  “You really are just messing with me, aren’t you?” She groaned in disgust and headed up the stairs. “There has to be someone here. I can’t believe I fell for . . .”

  Her words trailed off as Cal followed her into the empty bedroom. The small radio sat on the bare subfloor in the corner of the space, and with the closet doors currently propped against the wall instead of closing off the smaller area, it was clear that no other living soul shared the space with them.

  “Want to dance?” he asked her. The volume lowered to a more reasonable level.

  She shook her head, but her eyes remained on the radio. It was as if Mrs. Wainwright had brought them to where she wanted them to be. Cal wondered if Jill had picked up on that, too.

  “Bring Marci up here if you want to dance,” she told him.

  “I don’t want to dance with Marci.”

  Ever again, he added silently. He didn’t share that he and Marci were no more.

  “What did she want with you the other day?” he asked. “When she came over to talk to you?”

  Marci had been close lipped about her conversation with Jill when she’d returned, but she had talked about other things. Such as the many specifics she—as a Hammery—required in a man.

  Jill didn’t answer his question. Instead, she walked to the window, and looked out over the darkening sky. She stood completely still as she took in the scene. Something was definitely running through the woman’s head, though. Cal had no doubt. But he also hadn’t the first clue what it might be.

  When she finally did speak again, the subject change caught him off guard. “Did you take Marci to your farm last weekend?”

  “No.” He moved to her side. “I didn’t even see her last weekend.”

  He didn’t offer up that he’d been out there, though. Nor did he tell her about the table he was making. He’d started building it thinking it would be a nice gift for whoever eventually moved into the place, but after getting to know Mrs. Wainwright, he now hoped the piece would be special enough to entice her into leaving this room. There was sadness in this space, and though he’d never been a big believer in the supernatural before this project, he couldn’t deny that this room felt different than the others.

  “Why would you think I took Marci out there?” He had no clue where she’d gotten the idea, nor why it would matter.

  And then he realized it was more than that she’d thought it. She’d been upset about it. That’s why she’d made that dig about Marci not getting enough of him the other day. She’d been jealous.

  He grinned at that thought, no more able to control the smile growing on his face than he was the urge to be closer to Jill.

  “Stop it.” She watched his reflection in the glass.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You’re thinking things again.”

  He chuckled. God, he’d missed her. “I am thinking things. Want to hear what they are?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, Jilly. You’re such a chicken these days.” He turned to her, eager to see her face instead of a reflection, and he allowed himself to do what he’d been wanting to do since she’d walked in. He took her hands in his. “When did that happen?”

  Her fingers wiggled inside his. “It’s not that I’m a chicken. I’m simply more mature these days. I don’t jump quite as fast. It’s saved me a few falls.”

  “Yet sometimes falling is good for you.” He studied her. “You ever go out on dates, Jill?”

  Her brows knotted. “Where did that come from?”

  He wasn’t sure himself. “I never see you out anywhere. Not with a man.”

  And, fair or not, this had pleased him immensely.

  “I stay pretty busy,” she answered.

  She pulled her hands from his and left the room, stopping only when she got to the open loft. Her fingers closed around the unfinished railing, and she peered out over the space below.

  Cal watched her as she stood there, trying to imagine seeing the upgrades through her eyes. The designs for the two houses weren’t identical, but they had similarities. Both with an open concept below and a vaulted ceiling in the back half of the house. And both with a sitting nook in the space where they stood now.

  But he’d seen her plans. They would be installing wooden beams and keeping the tone more rustic, whereas he’d decided to go with a more cont
emporary edge. Not too much, but a hint of sleek and modern. More airy than the look she was going for.

  Jill put her back to the railing then and looked at him, and the intensity of her face made him realize that she hadn’t been taking in the design below her at all. She’d been in her head. “Why don’t you get angry anymore?” she asked him. “You used to be as bad as me.”

  “I was never as bad as you.”

  “Fine. But you were close. That’s why we . . .”

  She pressed her lips together instead of finishing her sentence, so he finished it for her.

  “Why we connected?”

  She nodded. That’s what had drawn them to one another to begin with, and how it had remained strong for so long. They’d both needed the type of person who understood them.

  “I still get angry,” he told her. No one in his life knew that about him. He hid it well.

  “But you don’t show it. And it’s so unfair. Both then and now.” She laughed drily and looked beyond him. “Everyone watches me with an eagle eye, just waiting for me to blow. And back then, I was the one who had to go to anger-management classes.” She brought her gaze back to his. “And you know you should have been right there with me.”

  He gave her a smart-ass smirk. “You shouldn’t have gotten tossed in jail.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Almost gotten tossed, then.” He smiled at her again, and for the first time since he’d been a teenager, he felt an honest connection with another human being. “Thank goodness for Blu, huh?”

  “Every day,” she said softly.

  Blu had saved him, too. He didn’t know if she’d been aware of what she was doing at the time, but without her hiring him at sixteen, giving him a steadying after-school job, he suspected he’d have turned out much differently than he had.

  Jill pushed away from the railing and prowled through the other rooms on the floor. There was a converted attic space not large enough for a bedroom, which he planned to turn into a small library, as well as an even smaller bathroom. The bath was large enough for a claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, both original to the house, and other than the toilet, that was it.

  When she resurfaced from the bathroom, she stopped in the doorway and propped herself against the frame. “So how do you do it? If you still carry around that anger, then how do you never let it show? You’re always so . . . charming.” She made a face with the word, and he chuckled. “Always laughing.” She pointed at him. “Like now. You seem so happy. So . . . content,” she finished on a whisper.

  He went silent. Because he wasn’t content. He’d merely learned how to pretend better than she had. He wasn’t willing to show that much of himself, though. Letting her see his place was one thing. But see him?

  Best to get back to joking.

  “How do you know I’m so charming?” he teased. “You been watching me, Sadler?”

  She huffed in disgust. “Not watching so much as hearing. The whole damned town loves you. Every time we lose out on a bid, we get told how that nice Reynolds boy just seemed like the better option.” She fired off a knowing look. “You go after our bids on purpose, don’t you?”

  Cal found himself nodding. He’d gone after them for years.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to win,” he said. Because it had infuriated him that she’d come home and refused to speak to him. As if she’d been the only wronged party in their breakup. Blocking her company from winning bids had been his only way to fight back.

  “Same way as you want to win this competition?” she asked. “You said you agreed to do it because of me. But you didn’t actually say why.”

  “I agreed because I wanted to make you speak to me again.”

  Shock colored her features for a moment, then she angled her head in acceptance. “And you did. I’ll give you that one. You got me to speak to you.” Then she did a quick one-eighty on the subject. “So since we’re talking again, tell me how you forgave him. Because there’s no way you still hold as much anger as you once did.”

  Cal stared at her, unblinking. She didn’t have to say who “him” was. She meant his dad.

  And whether she realized it or not, she was talking about her mother, as well. Because he suspected she’d never figured out how to forgive her mom, either.

  He didn’t immediately give her an answer. His dad was high profile in banking, both when he’d lived in Red Oak Falls and even more so now. And that was pretty much all he cared about. Cal had always compared his father to his uncle, which had only made the divide between the two of them wider. Neil and Rodney Reynolds had both lost a brother early in life. Tragically. They both had the same parents, both came from identical circumstances.

  Yet Rodney had turned out normal. He could care about people.

  He wanted to care about people.

  But Cal’s dad . . .

  Cal ground his teeth together. He’d never understand why the man couldn’t love his only son. Even when they were all the other had.

  Jill kept her gaze on his, unwilling to look away even though Cal knew the message he was sending made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about this. She simply stared. Demanding he provide an answer. And damned if he didn’t feel locked into her gaze. As if he physically couldn’t look away.

  Eventually he sighed. He’d give her something, and hopefully she’d back off.

  “I didn’t forgive him,” he admitted. “But I also don’t let that anger run my life. I’ve learned that two grown men can be cordial when need be. He sees Granny twice a year and sends a care package once a month. That’s enough to make me cordial.”

  “And how often do you see him?”

  He looked away from her. “Twice a year.” The man had never once come back to the house he’d grown up in. Didn’t visit his only son.

  And Cal had never done anything but try to love him.

  “Then why does no one see your anger?” Jill asked again. The anger that he knew she could see resurfacing now.

  “Because I don’t want them to,” he snarled out before he could stop himself.

  He stomped down the stairs then, not looking to see if she would follow, and slammed out the front door.

  Jill remained rooted at the top of the stairs as the echo of the slamming door reverberated through her ears, and the second Cal’s footsteps disappeared from the porch, the music in the other room stopped. She eyed the bedroom, now cast in shadows, and she swore she could feel the other woman in there urging her down the stairs.

  “What?” Jill asked. “I suppose you want me to follow him?”

  The piano music started again.

  “Fine,” she ground out. She couldn’t believe she was listening to a ghost.

  She hurried down the steps and out the front door, slamming it as Cal had, hoping he’d hear her and slow his strides. But he kept plowing ahead. She’d been pushing at him back there. Intentionally. Because every time she’d looked his way over the last five years, he seemed to have pulled himself together with no lingering effects from his own childhood. While she bumped into metaphorical walls at practically every turn.

  Yet the last few minutes had shown her that all was not as it seemed. Cal did have unresolved issues with his father. And that should not make her feel better about herself.

  She jogged along the sidewalk and crossed the road, heading for the path that ran parallel to the stream. Cal hit the head of the path, and she picked up speed, but she also noticed that he finally slowed. By the time she caught up with him, his feet were barely moving.

  They walked in silence while she caught her breath, the lampposts that lined the walkway casting light on them every thirty feet, and once they reached the footbridge that led into the city park, Cal stopped walking altogether. She moved to his side as they both faced the railing and stared at the water beyond. There were still a handful of people in the park, and kids’ squeals and laughter could be heard, as well as the lower tones of their parents trying to round them up. A couple of ven
dors that were routinely in the area were likely still there, as well, no doubt closing up shop. The hot dog cart made a repetitive squeaking noise as it rolled, and after a few minutes of standing on the bridge, Jill picked out its squeak heading their way.

  “You okay?” she finally asked.

  Cal nodded. “Told you I still get angry.”

  “That was nothing compared to me.”

  He looked at her then, a wry smile on his lips, and motioned toward the entrance to the park. “Let’s walk.”

  Together they turned to pass under the double rows of elm trees, whose canopies were so wide and overlapping, they blocked what was on the other side. She and Cal were greeted by a lone biker and several harried mothers on their way out, and then they found themselves on the other side of the trees, where a quieter, more private space awaited them. The acreage for the park had been donated to the city over three decades ago, and along with the traditional playground equipment, picnic tables, and walking paths, it also backed up to Red Oak Lake. That’s where the beauty came alive.

  Without either suggesting it, they headed for a bench overlooking the lake, which also overlooked the sunset. Though the sun had officially dipped beneath the horizon, pink-and-purple-hued clouds remained stretched flat across the sky.

  They met the hot dog vendor heading in the opposite direction, and Cal lifted a hand.

  “Hot dogs?” the vendor asked. He opened a cover to show that he still had several available, and Cal glanced her way.

  “You haven’t had dinner, right?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hot dog in the park.

  “I’m starved, actually,” she told him.

  Cal paid the man for four hot dogs and two drinks, then passed half of everything over to her. They each added mustard and relish, before Cal handed the vendor a large tip, and with food in hand, they made it to the bench offering the best view of the lake. As they ate, the remaining colors in the sky faded away.

  Jill stretched her legs out in front of her and propped her elbows on the back of the bench. “Want to talk about it?”