“It’s been tough for all of us.” He looked down at his tired white tennis shoes. Anything not to look into Beth’s eyes and see the quiet sorrow that mirrored his own.
“But seriously.” Beth pressed her hand to his forearm and thankfully changed the subject. “How’s the house? I’ve always loved this place.” Her expression was wistful as she gazed around the wide porch that ran the length of the front. “This is the perfect porch for a swing. I wonder why she never had one.”
“Probably because she was afraid the roof would cave in.” His tone was dark, and she looked at him, a question in the green eyes that were so like his own. “Let’s just say I shouldn’t have skipped the inspection.”
She grimaced. “I wondered. But you seemed so sure…. How bad is it?”
“Well, according to the neighbor, there’s a break in the main sewer line, which is going to cost about six grand. Add that to the water heater that doesn’t work, the missing garage door opener, and the dishwasher door that fell off. Oh, and the fridge doesn’t work. And the power in half of the house is out, and the breaker panel looks like there’s been a fire recently.” Her face grew horrified as he spoke.
“Oh my God, Davy. It’s The Money Pit.”
He’d watched the movie with Beth when they were kids. It featured Tom Hanks and Shelley Long, and they’d bought an old mansion where everything possible was wrong with it. He chuckled reluctantly.
“Except for the size, it really is.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Shit. Dad would have kicked my ass for skipping the inspection.”
She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and her hair, the same honey blonde as his, brushed his cheek in the breeze. “Yeah, he would have. So, what are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Fix it, I guess. Go through my savings.”
“Isn’t having two mortgage payments already doing that?” He didn’t respond. She scowled. “Is Asshole going to start paying to live in your condo?”
“He’s on the mortgage too.”
“The only reason he isn’t making the payments himself is that he knows you’re the one with the credit rating worth saving.” She growled. “God, I really hate that guy.”
David gave her a wry look. “You never liked him.”
“No, but now I hate him. Did you eat?”
“I had a sandwich.”
She scowled. “I asked if you ate dinner, not if you had a snack. You’ve dropped enough weight already.”
Beth had put on at least thirty pounds as she aged, and she wore a comfortable layer of padding around her petite frame. As a result, she always thought he was too thin and should eat. He’d never admit it to her, but he had noticed his slacks were getting too big at the waist.
She stood, brushing off the seat of her denim capris. “Come on. I brought Mom half a pot roast and veggies, and she won’t eat it all.”
Pot roast sounded wonderful, but it was the principal of the thing. He loved his sister, but she nagged him more than he liked. “I already ate.”
“Stop arguing with me. Lock up your dark house and come visit with your family.” He gave her an exasperated look. “What are you going to do? Sit out here until it’s completely dark, then sit in the dark in there? Do you even have any candles?” He didn’t respond, but she no doubt knew the answer. “Get off your butt and lock the place.” She went down the stairs. “I’ll tell Mom you’re coming over and see if she’s got some candles.”
“Beth, for God’s sakes, I’m not a kid.”
“Then stop acting like one.” She grinned. “Come on, Mom and I can fuss over you. It’ll be fun.”
David grimaced. He wasn’t sure how fun it would be, but he couldn’t claim he had other plans. He rose and gathered his plate and tablet. Beth was still standing at the base of the stairs, smiling faintly, and he gave her a quizzical look. “What?”
“It’s nice to see Dolly back.” She gestured toward his shirt. “I thought she was long gone.”
Trevor was very vocal about the more flamboyant pieces of David’s wardrobe and hadn’t made any secret of hating them. Desperate to please him, David banished not just Dolly but all the brightly colored clothes he loved to the spare bedroom. He was glad he remembered to take them when he left, and ran his hand fondly over the faded picture.
“I thought she was too. I found her in the back of the closet in the guest room.”
Beth’s smile ripened. “No one should put Dolly in a closet.” She batted her lashes, and he rolled his eyes when she giggled. Giving up, he put the tablet and plate inside the door, then locked the house and jogged down the stairs. When he joined her, Beth smiled, linked her arm through his, and they crossed his lawn, kicking at the first of the fall leaves, the setting sun making the rhinestones in Dolly’s hair sparkle.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN HIS phone alarm went off, David blinked awake, rolled to his back, and stared up at the ceiling. Cold air brushed his face, but the pale early morning sun painted the room in soft, mellow light. He enjoyed the beautiful wood trim and the soft butter color on the walls, thinking it was the only room in the house that didn’t need to be painted. His alarm beeped again, and David sighed and swiped his finger over the screen, shutting it off.
He’d returned from his mom’s with a flashlight, a bag full of candles and matches, and a ziplock baggie full of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She’d tried to get him to stay in his old bedroom, but he’d insisted he’d be fine. Now he pushed up and crawled out of the sleeping bag he’d owned since his Cub Scout days, and gooseflesh broke out above the neck of his sweatshirt. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, and started for the bathroom. It was damned cold in the house and he didn’t look forward to climbing into a freezing shower. He longed for a cup of hot coffee and chided himself for not accepting his mom’s invitation.
“You’re an ass,” he muttered. And stubborn. He’d wanted to stay in his house, dammit, even if it meant his dick shriveled up to the size of a vienna sausage when he stepped under the arctic blast in his shower.
Thirty minutes later he was still shivering, even fully dressed. Making his way quickly through the house, he paused at the built-ins in the dining room to pick up his keys, and his gaze fell on a lone business card, the ecru cardstock pale against the dark wood. His mother handed it to him when he was sitting at her table the night before. He’d put away more of his sister’s roast than he cared to admit and was enjoying a slice of his mom’s chocolate cake.
“What’s this?” He wiped his mouth and read the neat, even print on the card. “Jackson Henry, Handyman.” Handyman? His lips twisted. “What does that even mean?”
“A man who’s handy,” Beth quipped. “Which much as I love you, dear brother of mine, you are not.” He shot her a dark look. “Okay, big guy, how do you plan to fix your little power problem? Hire an electrician? That’ll only cost you a hundred dollars an hour. Why don’t you give this guy a call?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but she had him. He could decorate a home beautifully, but fix wiring? Not so much.
“Besides,” she went on, a sly smile on her face. “You won’t be sorry.”
“Elizabeth.” There was no way to miss the quelling look their mother shot his sister. Beth snapped her mouth closed and pinched her lips together, looking the other way.
“That was subtle,” he drawled. “What? Does he have two heads or something?”
“Well….” Beth’s lips quirked.
“Elizabeth Anne!” their mother scolded, but a laugh lingered in her eyes. “Behave yourself!”
“All right, you two are being weird.” David pushed his chair back. “And when that starts, I know it’s time for my exit.”
“If you won’t stay the night, at least come back for breakfast,” his mother said as he stood. “You won’t even be able to make coffee over there.”
She was right. His elite edition Keurig machine was sitting on the counter in the condo across town. With Trevor. “I’ll run by Star
bucks, Mom.” He bent and kissed her cheek. The softness of her skin and her floral perfume filled his senses, swamping him with nostalgia; she’d worn the same fragrance for all his life. Youth-Dew, by Estee Lauder. His dad bought it for her every Christmas. Feeling a pang of loss, he realized he’d be the one making a trip to Macy’s this year. “I’ll be fine.”
He started to throw the business card back on the cabinet. His mother and sister acted far too weird and that was never a good thing. But at the last moment, he’d thought better of it and slipped the card into his slacks pocket as he headed out the door.
BY THE time David pulled back into his driveway, the sun was slanting low over the trees and the streetlights had come on. It was nearly seven, and he was tired and irritated after spending the day dealing with a manufacturer who was holding up a large installation in Boise. Six months into the project, the furniture supplier suddenly decided he didn’t like the terms of his contract. Add in an infuriating phone call from someone claiming to be Trevor’s lawyer, threatening legal action if he didn’t make the upcoming mortgage payment on the condo, and it made for a Friday from hell.
He stared at the lopsided garage door, lips pursed. The idea of walking into the cold, dark house held no appeal whatsoever. Glowering at his front porch David shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the business card. Jackson Henry. It brought to mind a burly straight guy with a beard, wearing a flannel shirt over a dirty ribbed tank top, low slung Levi’s and a tool belt. And a healthy butt crack when he bent over. David grimaced. He’d been called too picky more than once in his life, and he supposed he could concede the point, but he liked his men lean and clean-shaven with at least a passing acquaintance with style. Like Trevor, his mind provided unhelpfully. It was one of the things that had drawn David to him in the beginning, the way Trevor was always so beautifully put together. But he needed someone to fix his water heater, not a date.
Flicking the card against the steering wheel as he stared thoughtfully at the listing garage door, he grabbed his cell phone out of the holder on the dash and punched in the phone number before he could talk himself out of it. It rang four times, and David was about to hang up when it was answered abruptly.
“Henry, here.”
David blinked. The voice was deep and smooth, and sent a little fissure of pleasure down David’s spine.
“Uhm, hi,” he managed. And then he wasn’t sure what to say. Silence lengthened awkwardly.
“Hi,” the guy said finally. “And as fascinating as this is, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Who is this?”
Heat filled David’s face. If he had sounded like a jerk, he probably would have hung up. But actually, he sounded… amused.
“My name is David Snyder.” David finally managed to pull himself together. “I was given your business card by my mother.” He grimaced.
“Who’s your mom?”
David heard the sound of rustling coming through the phone, as if Henry had gone back to work on something.
“Beverley Snyder. She lives on Sixteenth on the south side.”
“Oh sure, Mrs. Snyder. Nice lady. What can I do for you?”
“I bought a house in the same neighborhood, and I’m discovering that what people say about old houses is true.”
“Lots of little things,” Jackson said, his tone knowing.
“Well, and some big ones, I’m afraid.” David swallowed, forcing himself to push forward. “I was wondering if you might have some time to stop by and take a look at the issues?”
“One second.” There were more rustling sounds; then the voice returned, slightly out of breath. “Does tomorrow morning work for you?”
He couldn’t imagine starting another week with no lights and a cold shower. “Absolutely. What time is good for you?”
A soft chuckle came through the line, and gooseflesh broke out over his shoulders. David couldn’t remember ever having such a visceral reaction to a voice. If the man matched that sexy laughter…. No. He couldn’t think that way. There was no way this guy was gay. Besides, his last choice had been such a disaster he needed to stay single for a while. A long while. Maybe forever.
“How about nine?” Jackson Henry pulled David’s focus back to his phone. “I usually start about seven, but it’s Saturday, and I could use an extra couple of hours’ sleep.”
“That’s fine.”
David gave him the address to the house and hung up, hoping his mother knew what she was talking about. After the week he’d had he just wanted something, anything to go right. He put the card back in his pocket, retrieved his messenger bag, and got out of the car. His stomach gurgled loudly as he walked up onto his porch, and he wished he’d stopped at a damned drive-thru on the way home.
God, he hoped this guy could fix stuff.
CHAPTER THREE
DAVID GOT up at eight the next morning and decided to pass on the cold shower. His hair looked okay, and the light covering of pale beard seemed more stylish than “homeless man behind a dumpster.” What do I care, anyway? He studied his face in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t a date for God’s sakes. He combed his hair, straightened the collar on his very bright green polo shirt, another refugee he’d found while packing, and walked out of the bathroom.
It was so fucking cold in the house, he’d bet there was frost out front on the grass. It wasn’t uncommon in late October. He’d tried the thermostat but there was no sound of the heater kicking on. The real estate agent had told him about the unit when she showed him the house, but he couldn’t recall exactly what she’d said. He hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest, but it didn’t help. The Dolly shirt hung on the back of the bathroom door and he retrieved it, yanking it on over his head. So what if between the neon polo and the lavender, rhinestone-encrusted sweatshirt he might as well be wearing a sign that said Nellie Queen? At least he’d be warm. Ish.
He walked into the nearly empty living room, arms crossed tight over his chest, going to look out at the neighborhood through the huge picture window. A couple of kids bundled up against the cold rode by on bikes, and white smoke rose gracefully from the chimney on the house across the street. David watched it, then looked at his own fireplace. It was situated on the wall to his right between two long windows, a beautiful mantle above it. The inside of the dark firebox was scrupulously clean, the grate empty. And he’d seen a pile of firewood against the side of the garage.
He didn’t even pause for second thoughts. The fireplace in the condo was gas, but the one he’d grown up with was wood burning, and his dad taught him how to make a fire when he was a kid. He unlocked the front door and hurried down the steps, his breath rushing out in a cloud when the cold air hit his face, reinforcing his decision. He had a newspaper in the house on the kitchen counter, and he grabbed a handful of smaller twigs, then three medium-sized logs. The wood felt dry in his hands, which he knew was critical for a clean-burning fire. Once he had it started, he could come back out for a larger log. He needed to get his hands warm. They were so cold, they ached.
Back in the house, he dumped the armload of wood on the hearth and went for the paper. Coming back and lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, he made sure the mesh metal fireplace screen was pushed all the way back on each side. After balling up the paper, he shoved it under the grate, put the twigs on top, and used the lighter from his mom’s emergency supplies to ignite the paper. It lit instantly and the dry twigs began to burn with a satisfying pop. Holding his hands toward the flames, David sighed in relief when he felt the warmth start to reach out toward him. Wanting more of the blissful heat, he placed two of the split logs on the merrily burning twigs, thinking it was a fire even his dad would have been proud of.
Then it began to smoke.
“Oh, shit.” Dirty, gray smoke filtered into the room. He hadn’t checked the flue.
Grimacing, he got to his knees, keeping his eye on the flames and reaching up into the fireplace. He found the cast-iron handle of the flue and
pulled on it, and it moved forward with a dull clunk. Cold air brushed his hand, and with a whoosh the smoke pulled back into the fireplace and disappeared.
“Thank God.” David sat heavily on the hardwood floor, brushing soot from his fingers.
His relief was short-lived.
Within moments the smoke was coming back into the room. Only instead of an anemic trickle, as the log caught fire, it rolled into the room like a noxious cloud.
David pushed to his feet, trying to remember if his dad had ever said anything about a smoking fire. He dimly thought he’d heard something about cracking a window open if a fire smelled smoky, so he rushed into the kitchen and opened the window over the sink. But when he went back into the living room, the smoke was getting worse and his throat and eyes started to burn.
This wasn’t good. The fire burned brightly now, but it felt like none of the smoke was going up the chimney. He rushed through the room, opening the windows, coughing, then into the dining room to do the same. A sinister thought went through his mind: what if he pulled the burning logs into the middle of the room and let the damned place burn to the ground? He knew it was far more likely he’d end up with third-degree burns and in jail for insurance fraud. What the hell had he been thinking when he bought the place?
He hadn’t, he reminded himself, leaning into the open window and taking in a deep breath of icy cold air. He’d been hurt and angry, and he’d bought the house in an effort to replace the home he’d lost. He blinked quickly, and he didn’t know if it was the smoke or if his emotions had finally gotten the better of him, but he was about to have a good cry. He’d been so numb from the loss of his dad that he hadn’t cried once over the death of his relationship, but he was afraid he was about to. Tears slipped from beneath his lashes and his chest grew tighter and tighter until it felt like there was a vise around it.
David, Renewed Page 2
