Hometown Family

by Mia Ross

  While they lamented the team’s many shortcomings, Marianne and Caty continued their conversation at the counter.

  “If you don’t mind Transformers, you can borrow some of Kyle’s sheets,” Marianne said.

  “Thanks a bunch. Clean Transformers are way better than what I’ve got.”

  Lisa opened the door and joined them with a puzzled expression. “What’s this about Transformers?”

  They explained, and she said, “Honey, can I ask you something?” When Caty nodded, she went on. “You usually stay at the B and B when you visit. What’s going on?”

  Caty looked over at Matt, but he kept his expression neutral. It was her story to tell, but only if she wanted to. He’d made a promise, and he had no intention of breaking it.

  She curled up in a chair like a cat, wrapping her arms around her legs. “There’s something y’all should know.” Leaving out the gory details, she filled them in on what had brought her back to Harland. “Right now I’m concentrating on the house. I’ve got some money saved, so I should be okay until I can get an office put together and start seeing clients.”

  “How do you manage that?” Matt heard himself ask. When the others looked confused, he added, “Stay so positive, I mean. You’ve got a ton of hard work ahead of you, but it sounds to me like you’re looking forward to it.”

  “You keep your eye on the prize,” she answered immediately. “All the steps along the way are worth the effort if you’re going toward something you really want.”

  Her eyes were locked with his, the encouragement in her voice like a warm touch on his skin. Unsettled by the feeling, he fought back with logic. “What if you can’t have what you really want?”

  Completely unfazed, she met his pessimism with a smile. “Then you make the best of things.”

  After chewing on that for a few seconds, he chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “Good,” she approved with a laugh. “Pass the sweet tea, please.”

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Caty woke up to muted sunlight coming into her childhood bedroom. She’d left the window open all night, enjoying the fresh air and chirping crickets. She never could have done that in Charlotte, partly because the burglar alarm would have kept going off and partly because the nonstop traffic would have kept her awake.

  But in Harland, even here in the middle of town, she’d gotten the best night’s sleep she’d had in months. Stretching lazily, she watched the emerging sun for a while, admiring the way the sky changed from streaky pink to warm oranges and yellows. If she tipped her head just right, the bank of puffy clouds outside her window looked like a French poodle with a bow on its tail.

  Caty smiled at her own foolishness. When was the last time she’d just lain in bed like this? While she often watched the sunrise, she was always sitting on her back steps with a cup of coffee, scrolling through new emails and messages. An occasional occurrence that had morphed into a habit, it gave her a jump on things but didn’t allow her to ease into the day the way she preferred.

  Now that the electric was back on, she had water. Sort of. The kitchen faucet was the newest, so she’d started there. After fifteen minutes, the murky sludge had given way to something resembling rusty Kool-Aid. Not ideal, but it would get better. It beat having no water at all. She hated to think what might come out of the much older bathroom fixtures. Picking up her phone, she opened her list and typed in “replace showerhead” and “buy pillow and sheets.”

  Pressing Play on her iPod dock, she plumped up her pillow and leaned back against the old wrought-iron headboard. As one country song blended into the next, she let her mind drift. Unfortunately, her mind wasn’t used to having so much uncommitted time, and twenty minutes of leisure was more than enough.

  She got out of bed and pulled some clean clothes from her suitcase. The reflection in the grimy mirror was nothing to brag about, but there wasn’t much she could do beyond knotting her hair into a ponytail. She stripped the bed and folded Kyle’s sheets back into the pillowcase. Tucking her phone in the pocket of her shorts, she carried the sheets downstairs so she wouldn’t forget to return them.

  The stairs creaked in a few new places, but it was a comfortable, familiar sound. Although she’d been in Charlotte almost a year, she’d never warmed up to the ultramodern steel-and-glass buildings so common in its busy downtown. She much preferred old buildings with a sense of history. When she walked into the kitchen, there were several gallon jugs of water on the counter. Marianne had insisted she take them with her last night, along with a bar of soap, a scrubber sponge and a roll of paper towels. Now Caty was glad to have them.

  She scrubbed the sink as well as she could and filled it to wash her face. The cool water freshened her skin, and she poured some into her travel mug to drink. Then she realized she’d made a very serious mistake.

  No coffee.

  Groaning out loud, she closed her eyes and wished for a mocha caramel latte to start what promised to be another long day. It didn’t work. When she opened them, she was still holding a cup of water.

  Mentally kicking herself, she unlocked the front door. At first tug, it wouldn’t budge. Setting her cup down, she grasped the old brass knob with both hands and gave it a good yank. That broke the swollen door free, and it swung open with a jarring screech from the hinges.

  “WD-40.” Echoing Matt’s advice, she picked up her water and strolled out onto the front porch. Her front porch, she thought with a grin. Not a tiny stoop like the one she had in Charlotte, with barely enough space for a potted plant. No, this one was deep and ran the whole front of the house. It called out for a swing and some comfy chairs that would encourage people to come up and visit awhile.

  Pinpoints of light shone on the old floorboards, and she looked up to find what must have been dozens of holes in the roof. They were circled by rust stains, which told her the old tin had been pulling away from the nails holding it in place. She could sand, paint and stain with the best of them, manage some minor repairs if she had to. But she didn’t know the first thing about roofs, so she’d have to hire someone who did. Sighing, she added it to her rapidly growing list.

  On the bright side, the porch would look great once she’d painted the old boards and bought some crisp white wicker furniture. Imagining where she’d put things, she spun in a slow circle. That was when she noticed something on the steps. It was a red toolbox with a pink bow and a Harland Hardware business card tied to the handle. Inside were all the basics: hammer, pliers, several different screwdrivers, nuts, bolts, nails. Under the pullout tray she found a small pair of leather work gloves and a copy of the phone book for Harland and several surrounding towns.

  “What a great idea,” she murmured, wondering who’d thought of it. Lifting the book out, she found a compact first-aid kit.

  There was no signature anywhere, but the last item was a dead giveaway. Matt was the only person in Harland who’d be up early enough—and had the wry humor—to leave her a present like this. Jewelry was nice, and she really liked getting flowers, but he was the only guy she knew who’d give her anything even remotely practical.

  She scrolled to his number on her phone and was surprised when he answered on the first ring.

  “Mornin’,” he greeted her over a purring engine in the background.

  “Good morning to you, too. I thought you’d be out in the cornfield.”

  “Later I will. I’ve been fighting with this old harvester since five.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Everything,” he growled.

  “It sounds good now,” she complimented him. “I wanted to thank you for the toolbox. The bandages and liquid sutures were a nice touch.”

  He laughed. “Thought you’d appreciate that. You get into anything dangerous, put it down and call somebod
y, okay?”

  “Like who?”

  “Me or John, plumber, electrician, ambulance, whatever. Just be careful,” he added in a suddenly somber tone. “Some things are better left to the pros.”

  He had a point there, she thought as she glanced up at the porch roof. She wasn’t helpless, but she wasn’t exactly Miss Fix-it, either. “Don’t worry. I know my limits.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The engine shut off, and he came back on the line. “I hate to cut this short, but some o’ this corn’s ready to drop off the stalks, and it looks like rain.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He gave a short laugh and hung up.

  After a quick inventory, Caty updated her list and headed out. The sky darkened by the minute and by the time she got back home, it was pouring. In her driveway, water streaming between the broken sections of concrete was forming a swamp in the front yard. At least it still drained away from the house, she mused with a sigh.

  The rain would quit soon, she reasoned, so she forwarded her iPod to her favorite new song and sat back to wait it out. She just happened to glance through the driver’s window at the house. Then she looked again.

  Her front porch was stacked with boxes.

  The leaky roof wasn’t much protection from the rain, and water pelted the cartons, loaded with her precious books. She’d collected legal reference volumes throughout law school and afterward, and many were out of print now. Then there were the original editions she’d inherited, from Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales to one of the first published copies of Galileo’s discoveries. Leather bound and rarer than rare, they were irreplaceable.

  She had to get them inside, but she’d never be able to move those boxes. The hardware store would have thick tarps, though. Just as she was restarting her car, her phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Matt. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was better than nothing.

  Glancing up, she smiled her thanks and hit the answer button. “Hey, there.”

  “We’re calling it a day, so I thought I’d see how things are going at your haunted house.”

  “You have excellent timing.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” he said with a chuckle.

  She decided to ignore that. “I could really use your help.” Caty explained her predicament, ending with, “I hate to bug you, but it’s pouring and I have a lot of books.”

  “On my way.”

  The line went dead, and she imagined him jumping into his big blue truck, racing into town to come to her rescue.

  “Oh, Caty,” she chided herself as she braced for a drenching, “you really have to cut back on those romance novels.”

  She slogged through the marshy front yard and ran up the porch steps. In a plastic sleeve on one of the boxes she found a soggy invoice from the moving company. Tucked in with it was a note scrawled on the back of a Dunkin’ Donuts napkin.

  Nobody home. Left shipment as requested.

  To be fair, she had told the movers they could put some of the boxes on the front porch, since she’d need time to make space for everything in the small house. She’d paid extra for heavy-duty cartons for her books, with explicit instructions to bring them inside. What moron left such heavy boxes with a female customer who couldn’t possibly manage them on her own?

  To make matters worse, she’d made the arrangements with the moving company before she knew the roof leaked, and her stuff wasn’t supposed to arrive until Monday. Later she’d call and give them the lawyer treatment, but that wouldn’t solve the immediate problem of rescuing her books from the rain.

  When she tried to unlock the front door, the old mechanism resisted. Frustrated, she torqued on it and got it to turn. Just as the lock freed up, there was a grating squeal as the old key snapped in two. Perfect.

  Sighing, she hefted several smaller boxes, hunting for something she could drag into the living room. She couldn’t care less about her clothes. They could be washed or dry-cleaned and be no worse for the rain. But with each pelting raindrop, she imagined dry pages wicking up water and curling in their bindings.

  One carton actually moved when she tugged on it, scraping across the neglected floorboards. It got hung up on the threshold, and she crouched down to boost it over. When she finally shoved it into place beside the door, she stopped to catch her breath. It was a good thing Matt was coming to help her. She’d have a snowball’s chance in Maui of managing this job on her own.

  Just as she was pushing another box inside, Matt pulled into her driveway. Instructing her to take the ones labeled “clothes,” he asked, “Where to?”

  “The kitchen. They can stay in there while I work on the living room.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  His day had started long before hers, and he must have been exhausted. Still, he lugged in box after box of books without complaint. She knew they were heavy—she’d barely been able to scoot a smallish one across the floor. But he made them look as though they weighed nothing at all. No doubt about it, he was a handy guy to have around.

  As he went over to the sink to wash his hands, she stood in the archway, eyes fixed on the biggest surprise she’d gotten from him so far. High on his right shoulder, framed by his gray workout tank, was a tattoo of an eagle. Wings outstretched, the drawing was so detailed it looked as if it could actually take flight. The fact that it was wrapped around a very impressive biceps only added to the effect.

  When he turned around, he frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Busted. She felt her cheeks warming, and she figured it was best to come clean. “That’s a neat tattoo.”

  “Neat, huh?” He chuckled as he unwound some paper towels and dried his hands. “I’ll tell Moose. He’s always dying for a compliment.”

  “How long have you had it?” she couldn’t help asking.

  Grinning, he tossed the towel in the trash. “You mean, has my family seen it? Only John so far. I’ve had it awhile, though. Doesn’t show unless I want it to.”

  “You wanted me to see it?”

  “I didn’t mind if you did.” He braced his hands on either side of the sink and leaned back. “Does it bother you?”

  Caty wasn’t usually into things like that, body art and piercings and such. Most people overdid them, canceling out the cool factor. Matt’s suited him, but she wasn’t ready to tell him that. “That depends. Are there any more?”

  His grin turned wicked, his eyes twinkling with uncharacteristic mischief. Who’d have guessed dark, intense Matt Sawyer had a playful side?

  “Forget I asked,” she retorted, laughing in spite of herself. “But I hope you’ll let me buy you lunch.”

  “Not a chance. I’d never let a lady pay.”

  There was that chivalrous streak again. She couldn’t decide if it was charming or insulting.

  Frowning, he looked around her kitchen, made even smaller by the stacks of boxes. “You want some help making a path in here so you can use this kitchen?”

  Caty shrugged. For her, a working kitchen was pretty far down the list. “I’m not much of a cook. Gram tried, but I’m a total klutz in the kitchen.”

  “Ruthy’s, then?”

  Just hearing the woman’s name made her stomach growl. “Definitely.”

  When they walked back into the living room, she frowned. She didn’t think she had that much stuff, but the space seemed to have shrunk in the last hour. Caty pushed aside the negative thought and turned to Matt with a smile. “Thanks so much for your help. Those books would’ve gotten ruined on my leaky front porch.”

  “No problem.” Looking around at the disheveled state of her house, he chuckled. “This must make your Charlotte place look pretty good.”

  Actually, it was the reverse. Her beautiful town house could have belonged to
anyone, and it had never really suited her. That was a little more personal information than she wanted to share with him, so she shrugged.

  “You didn’t like Charlotte?” he pressed.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How long were you there?”

  She felt her cheeks warming again. “Almost a year.”

  “You’re kidding. And no boyfriend?”

  “I’ve been really, really busy.”

  Matt stared at her as if she had an extra head. “I never met a woman who couldn’t make time for a boyfriend.”

  “Now you have.” She forced a smile to make it seem like no big deal.

  “Who was he?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy,” he continued, folding his arms and looking very dangerous. “The last one you made time for.”

  There was no point in hedging. It wasn’t a big deal, and she wasn’t ashamed of it or anything. “He’s in Boston, happily married and waiting to be a father.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. We just weren’t right for each other.” Matt cocked his head, disbelief written all over his face. “Don’t give me that look. That’s all you’re getting.”

  He gave her a devilish grin. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I’m sure you have. How ’bout I just tell you you’re bad and you can quit trying to shock me.”

  “Deal.”

  Laughing, she shook a scolding finger at him. “You’re a bad, bad man, Matthew.”

  But he wasn’t laughing. He caught her hand against his chest, pulling her closer. His eyes blazed a deep, brilliant blue she’d never seen in her life, and the sudden intensity actually knocked the breath out of her. Under her hand, his heart beat out a rhythm that pounded through her entire body.

  She had no doubt he could snap her arm like a twig, but he cradled her hand as though it was something fragile. She should have been terrified, but she wasn’t, which made no sense at all.