The Fixer-Upper Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2)

by Maria Hoagland

  “If you’re asking what kind of person Tess is,” Anthony said, “I have to warn you. Even if I weren’t her cousin—and I am—” The protective side of Anthony reared up even more. “I would have to say she’s the best. She’s genuine. You’ll always know exactly where you stand with her. If she says she liked your kid, then she likes your kid. If she has accepted a second date with you, then she’s okay with it. Stop stressing about that. Don’t make something that isn’t a problem into one.”

  The man had a point. “Okay. But what if I’m not sure how I feel about her?” Logan asked.

  “She’s a big girl, man.” Anthony took a gulp of Logan’s water. “I’ll get you another.” He pulled the water glass closer and then got the waitress’s attention, pointed to the glass for her to bring another, and continued, “I’m guessing you’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, so let me give you some advice. Dating is supposed to be for fun, man. Fun.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. “Like your friend Frankie. She was in here last night with that guy Paul Harris—she’d probably told you about him. Word on the street is they’re not really dating, but, I don’t know, they looked like they were having fun together.”

  Of all the examples … Logan tried not to put a name to the feeling of his hopes plummeting and listened to Anthony.

  “What I’m saying is, don’t be looking at every woman you go out with under the matrimony microscope. Sure, you want to settle down, let your daughter have a mom, all that kind of stuff, right, but if that’s your main focus, you won’t find out if you actually like that someone first. You have to like someone before you can love them, am I right, or am I right?”

  Logan accepted the fresh glass of water from the waitress with an inaudible “thanks” so as not to interrupt Anthony.

  “Go out with Tess,” Anthony continued. “Be yourself. Let her get to know you, you get to know her, and stop worrying already. Just make sure you treat her right, capiche?”

  Logan sighed and speared a cube of cantaloupe. “You’re right.” He took the bite, feeling better than he had since Frankie talked him into getting to know Tess. “Capiche. Thanks.”

  “Not a problem. Tips for good advice are encouraged.” Anthony walked off with a hearty laugh, carrying his water glass with him.

  The guy was a character, and someone Logan was glad he’d run into in Cobble Creek. And he was wise at that. Tess was the kind of person Logan had been attracted to in the past, they had plenty to keep their conversations going, and she was a nice person. There wasn’t a thing wrong with going out with her again.

  He took a large bite of the cheeseburger, feeling the crunch of the specially made pickles that had Logan coming back almost every day for lunch—well, that and the fact there wasn’t anywhere else to eat. Someone else slipped into the chair across from him. Someone a heck of a lot prettier than Anthony—no offense, Logan thought. Brooke smiled bigger than he’d expected from a not-so-great first date. He’d worried he’d burned that bridge.

  He chewed and swallowed as quickly as he could. “Hi, Brooke. How are you?”

  “I need your help.” The woman didn’t mess with small talk, not when there was a job to do.

  Apparently, she wasn’t holding any grudges if she was so sure he would help and be happy doing it. And he would be, if it was a reasonable request.

  Brooke looked around to make sure no one was listening and dropped her voice low. “I’m guessing Frankie hasn’t told you, but her business is in trouble.”

  “Oh?” Logan swiped at his mouth with a paper napkin. Frankie hadn’t mentioned it to him. He wasn’t sure how to solve her problem, but it did reinforce his previous plan. “I was thinking of hiring—”

  Brooke held out a hand, physically stopping his words. “That would be a good idea, except she’ll see it as charity. Lucy and I were thinking that between the three of us—and with the help of more in the community, if you’re willing …” She drew out the suspense, taking time to throw her golden locks over her shoulder. “If everyone took turns going into her store and buying what you need—chairs, lamps, wall décor, end tables, the whole shebang—you could get your office fully furnished, Frankie would have the business she needs, and she would be none the wiser. You have to get the stuff from somewhere anyway.”

  Brooke leaned forward, speaking softly and inviting him more into her confidence. “She only has to make it through until ski season and Christmas shopping picks up again. She has a bit of trouble this time every year, but this year’s pinch is worse since they had to have the roof replaced. What do you say?”

  In the length of time it took Brooke to say all of this, Logan had eaten half his burger and a quarter of the fruit, nodding in response. “Good plan.”

  Brooke blinked, shocked into silence. “That’s it? Good plan? Of course it’s a good plan, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

  “Why not?” Logan took a swig of his non-Sprite. “I’d love to help her, everyone knows I need help, and it sounds like a good plan.”

  “Huh. Okay, then.” Brooke fidgeted with her hands, squirming in the chair as if trying to figure out if she should leave.

  Logan suppressed the urge to laugh at her discomfort and instead reached past his plate, putting a calming, heavy hand on each of her forearms to still her. He wanted to make sure she was comfortable with him. At his touch, she looked up, shocked. “Brooke.” As soon as he had her attention, he retracted his hands. “I wanted to say thank you. For not holding … it … against me.”

  Brooke smiled, and he could see the tension slip off her shoulders. “Of course, Logan. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. It wasn’t me. It just wasn’t right for either of us.” She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t supposed to feel like junior high. We’re both adults.” She laughed, and he knew it was going to be okay. “It looks like Harper’s had a lot of fun working on the dresser-turned-kitchen island with Frankie. Does she talk about it much?”

  “Does Harper talk about it?” Logan laughed derisively. “That’s all Harper talks about. That and the lamp-mirror-clock thingie. Harper hopes to have a ton of projects done by the art festival, I think so she can brag to her friend Sarah Jane that she helped.”

  Tension gone, Brooke and Logan worked out all the kinks to solve both his decorating deficiency problem and Frankie’s lack of cash flow.

  Chapter 11

  The bell over the door at Frank & Signs rang again, for the third time probably that day with another actual, paying customer—this one a middle-aged woman with grown-out highlights that weren’t quite covering all the grays. Frankie didn’t know what had sparked an interest in antique shopping on a lazy September Wednesday, but she’d take it. Perhaps the DIY and decorating TV shows had started their new seasons. That would make sense. The increase in business was making it difficult to finish any of her other projects—especially the desk that she worked on only while Harper was at school—but the sacrifice was worth the trade-off.

  “I’m looking for a coat rack.” The woman drew a green cardigan around herself, despite the still-warm outside temperatures.

  After showing her a couple of items, Frankie stepped back to let her browse, especially when the woman showed interest in far more than the coat rack. Lucy, Brooke’s sister and Logan’s receptionist, stood near the cash register, an expectant look on her face and her wallet open.

  “You ready to check out?” Frankie noted the milk can umbrella stand Lucy had next to her and the reclaimed wood sign leaning against her leg.

  “Sure am. I can’t believe I spent my whole lunch break here—you have so much great stuff. But Logan’s expecting me back any minute.” Lucy pulled a platinum credit card from her pocket rather than her purse and swiped it. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. You’ll never believe who came in this morning … Denzel Washington!”

  Frankie laughed; Lucy was joking, right? When Lucy looked at her with a straight face and wide eyes like You don’t believe me? Frankie tried to get hold of herself. “Y
ou’re serious.”

  “Absolutely.” Lucy’s face was devoid of humor. “I swear. He was gorgeous, with that a-maz-ing voice all buttery and smooth.” Was Lucy going to swoon right there?

  “In Cobble Creek?” Frankie was still skeptical.

  Lucy scrunched her face in an of course look. “It’s what all the stars do. I mean, they have to have doctors too, you know, but if they can come in to one of these small towns, throw on a pair of dark glasses, and skip all the cameras … Without the makeup and the fancy clothes and stuff, no one ever recognizes them, and they can pass for regular people.” She fanned herself. “Except I would have known Denzel Washington anywhere.”

  Frankie wasn’t buying it. “I’m sure his medical record said Denzel Washington too, right?” Maybe Lucy hadn’t thought about that, but it would have to be in his legal name, wouldn’t it?

  She shook her head. “He used a fake name. Paid with cash. Said he’d be out of town for the next week, but he’d be back to pick up his prescription sunglasses and contacts.” She leaned on both elbows on the tall counter to get closer. “Wouldn’t leave his cell number. That alone is suspicious.”

  Frankie breathed out a chuckle and shrugged. “You may be right.” But she doubted it. Wouldn’t a star just have Lasik surgery and be done with it? She handed Lucy her receipt. “Thanks for coming in today.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy carefully folded the receipt and put it in the pocket with the credit card.

  Frankie waited a couple of beats after the door closed behind Lucy before tracking down the cardigan lady. “Any questions?”

  “No, thank you.” The woman barely looked up before inspecting a few of the antique toys, a nostalgia fog shrouding her.

  “No problem. Take your time.” Frankie backed off. “Feel free to holler if you need anything.”

  “Will do.” The woman selected a few of the old games, the kind with the fold-out game boards, and handed them to Frankie. “Do you mind setting these on the counter for me?”

  “Of course.” Frankie didn’t mind a bit.

  After making her way back to the cash register, Frankie decided she didn’t want to get sucked into working on a project with a customer on hand, so she pulled out her phone to send Logan a quick text. Denzel Washington came to see you today? You’re famous by association!

  She looked at the thick text bubble as it sent. She was probably the only person in her twenties who sent texts with full punctuation and all the words spelled out. Whatever. If it prevented misunderstandings, it was worth it.

  She didn’t expect Logan to text back while in the middle of work, but LOL came back almost immediately. Lucy tell U? She’s fixated on that poor man being Denzel. Must have asked him 10x. Acted like she was playing along with some big charade. That was the funniest part.

  By the time Harper came in after school, Frankie couldn’t believe it was that late already. Having a steady stream of customers had kept her occupied with more than just her tools. She’d sold several pieces, big and small. She had a clock repair waiting and a house call for piano tuning lined up. A good day. Maybe fall had finally started.

  Even Brooke was there shopping, although when pressed to know what she was looking for, she remained elusive. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “What are we going to do today?” Harper skipped past Brooke, eager to help with the kitchen island project.

  “I want your opinion about something.” Frankie hoped this wouldn’t backfire on her, because she had her own opinion about the way she wanted to go, but she also wanted Harper to have some design decisions and to feel some ownership in the piece. “What if we keep the top two drawers but remove the bottom two?”

  The top two drawers were shallow and small side by side. They’d be great for utensils or kitchen towels or the like. The bottom two drawers were each the full length of the dresser, deep and long, one over the other.

  “That way we would have two open shelves for platters, mixing bowls, that kind of thing. What do you think?” Frankie realized that wasn’t much of a question since she’d laid it all out.

  Harper tipped her head and twirled the lock of hair that fell over her left shoulder, intent on the dresser, probably trying to picture it in her room. Frankie stepped forward and removed the drawers so she could visualize it better.

  At last, Harper nodded. “I can see that.” She paused. “Yes. I think that’s a good idea.”

  Frankie herself was thrilled with the idea. “Since we’re going to have a butcher block on top, I think we should remove the dresser top today so it’s not in our way as we sand and paint.” She could see with Harper’s glazed look she was losing her. “Paint color … Since the butcher block will be a rich golden brown, I’m thinking something light—like either a distressed white or light gray or even a blue …” Please choose the blue, please choose the blue. She could live with any of the choices or she wouldn’t have offered them, but the blue would make a nice pop of color for most neutral kitchens.

  Harper perked up with the promise of an actual choice. Or was it the color? “Blue. It has to be blue.”

  Frankie breathed out in contentment, and Harper raced off to fetch the color wheel of paint swatches.

  “You’re so good with her.” Brooke had brought one of Frankie’s favorite projects up to the register, and Frankie felt relief knowing this particular piece would be going to someone who would truly appreciate it.

  “That’s because I don’t have any responsibility for her.” Frankie prepped it for the sale.

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You’re practically her nanny at this point.” When Frankie started to protest, Brooke cut her off. “At least I didn’t say stepmother.” She held Frankie’s gaze. “Which, by the way, you would be even more amazing at, so no fairy-tale villain comments are necessary.”

  Frankie gave a one-shoulder shrug. “It’s easy with her. She’s such a good kid. And we’re so similar—the things we like, the things we like to do.” The pair of them watched Harper sift through the paint chips, occasionally holding one up next to the dresser and standing back to look at it, and then choosing another and repeating the process. “I like being her mentor, like Dad was for me. Harper needs someone to encourage her passion and creativity—not that Logan doesn’t do that, he’s a great dad and all, but Harper needs someone who knows about this stuff to teach her.”

  “And you enjoy it,” Brooke said, as if she were revealing some big secret.

  The feeling struck her, as Brooke had intended. “Yes. I guess I do,” Frankie admitted. “Hey, I never asked you if you’re okay with me setting Logan up with Tess.” Not that anyone could argue it now. Logan had been dating Tess for a couple of weeks.

  Discomfort pinched at Brooke’s eyes. Uh-oh. Guilt stabbed Frankie as she waited for the verbal blow about to come. “I meant it when I said Logan and I are much better off as friends, so the fact that Logan is dating someone else is fine, except …” The pause was heavy with the unexpressed. Frankie knew before Brooke said it out loud. “It really should be you.”

  “Little late for that.” Maybe she felt a tiny twinge of regret until she reminded herself that she didn’t want to date, couldn’t be a mom, and besides, Logan was happy with Tess.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Frankie. Keep your options open, and I don’t mean with Paul. I have a feeling about this.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. “No worries about me and Paul. We work on the committee together, and that’s it. I still can’t believe I let him talk me into dinner before our meeting last week. I should have seen through his I need your advice on the advertising ruse, but it was just because I needed to eat …” Frankie shook her head, frustrated she’d fallen for it. He knew she wouldn’t go out with him, so he found some other way to weasel time with her. “Anyway, Paul and I will not happen.”

  “Okay, okay, I believe you.” Brooke held her hands up in front of her. “But you know what I mean.”

  “What if I didn’t ch
oose the right color?” Harper’s angst as she painted careful stokes with the wood grain of the dresser was a feeling Frankie completely related to—not only in choosing paint colors, which was always horribly intimidating and most often wrong the first time around, but in her current predicament—the suffocating quicksand of consequences for setting Logan up with Tess.

  A day didn’t go by that Logan and Frankie weren’t texting back and forth—silly comments or pictures or quick vent sessions to blow off steam—and every day Frankie found she appreciated her friendship with Logan more. She craved being with him, talking to him, watching the mischievous sparkle in his eye as he flirted with her. Because that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Flirting with her? It sure felt like it when a glance resulted in locked eyes for a second longer than appropriate or his shoulder bumped hers when they walked together.

  “It’s going to be great,” Frankie consoled Harper. “It may look too light now, but when we distress it and then add the glaze, it’ll darken up. It’ll be better than you expected.” That’s the way it always was in the middle of a project—a mess—and she always despaired that it could possibly not end up the way she planned. This one would work out as well; they always did.

  “Okay.”

  Harper’s trust in Frankie was humbling, and she hoped it would indeed turn out in a way that Harper would be happy with. The two worked in silence, Harper painting and Frankie trying not to be too obvious as she came behind Harper and smoothed out any paint drips or missed spots, paying close attention to the corners where excess paint pooled.

  There was a soft knock at the back door, the signal that Logan was here for Harper, and he opened it without waiting for a response.

  “Wow! That’s a great color.” Logan’s compliment felt sincere, and Harper’s face lit up with pride.

  “What did I say?” Frankie said softly, and Harper beamed.

  “Sorry we have to make this a short day,” Logan said. “I forgot picture day is tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure you have no clean clothes.”