Maddie ignored the craving, and drove away from the downtown area. She picked up speed and shot a cursory glance at the elementary school where she taught kindergarten, and continued past a garden of young subdivisions, bound instead for the older neighborhoods where the homes boasted oak-lined drives and wide verandas that screamed of old money and Southern charm.
It was into the long drive of one of these that Maddie turned her car. She slowed as she approached the house, as enamored of it now as she had been the first time she’d seen it. The memory made her smile. Jack had reminded her that his last name was Kinkaid and alluded that he was related to Thomas Kinkade, the painter.
“Where do you think he got the idea for all that blossomy color?” Jack had said.
Looking at the house, with its riot of blooming bushes and winding vines, it was easy to believe that Jack’s family home was the inspiration for at least one of the famous paintings. Jack had allowed her to believe his story for only a few moments, laughing at her gasping delight.
“I’m teasing, Maddie,” he had admitted, his sparkling eyes a deeper blue than the morning glories that threatened to overtake the porch. “We have no relation to the painter as far as I know. But if we did, you can bet my mother would have a custom sign hanging off the mailbox proclaiming the fact.”
“It still looks like it could be straight off a canvas, Jack,” Maddie now said aloud.
She cut the engine and took a moment to steel herself. Jack’s presence abided here, in the yard where they used to play tag football on Sundays, under the spreading oak where he had pushed her on the homemade swing, on the front porch where they snuggled on the wicker settee and whispered about their plans for the future, the home they would make, the children they would create and love.
“Maddie’s here!” Jack’s mother, Edie, waved from the front door.
Maddie bought herself a moment to collect her composure by adjusting her glasses. She smiled and waved back at Edie before grabbing her purse and scooping up the flowers she had brought.
“My favorite daughter-in-law!” Edie beamed and glided down the porch stairs with all the grace of a Hollywood matron, somehow managing to make Bermuda shorts and a cap-sleeved T-shirt look glamorous.
“I’m your only daughter-in-law,” Maddie reminded her, offering the flowers and a hug together as a package deal.
“Details, details.” Edie pressed her warm cheek to Maddie’s before pulling back to inspect her. “You look gorgeous, as always. And thanks for the flowers.” Her eyes, so like Jack’s, shone with obvious pleasure. “I can always count on you to brighten things up around here.”
Maddie gestured to the yard. “All you really need is a pair of clippers and a vase.”
“Well, if I bring all the blooms indoors then we can’t enjoy them out here.”
Maddie smiled at Edie’s logic and followed her into the house. “Is Sean coming later? I was hoping to see his new truck.”
“That boy of mine.” Edie shook her head and chuckled. “Bless his heart. He’s the best lawyer in town and he’d rather drive a muddy truck than a shiny sedan. I have to admit, though, as trucks go, he picked a nice one. But no, he won’t make it today. He’s down in Atlanta for the weekend for some concert.” She waved a manicured hand in the air and rolled her eyes. “Probably some woman. You know Sean.”
“How about Papa Ron?”
“In his man cave, watching the Braves’ game, and Brenna is in the kitchen making sangria. The real stuff.” Edie wriggled her eyebrows. “Yum! C’mon. Let’s go snag us a glass.”
“Hey, Mads.” Brenna stood at the kitchen counter, looking like an ad for Southern Living, with her ebony hair wound into a sleek twist and a white embroidered apron covering her designer sundress.
Her strappy heels gave her the illusion of height, but Maddie knew better. Brenna glanced up from her task when Maddie and Edie came into the kitchen. A pitcher of sangria stood on the counter.
Brenna sliced orange wedges and squeezed the juice into the pitcher. A lemon soon received the same treatment. “Have a seat,” she said.
The kitchen table sat in front of a wide bay window overlooking the backyard, which exploded with as much colorful flora as the front. Three wine glasses, already filled with ice, stood on the table, awaiting the flow of sangria.
Maddie picked a chair at the table that afforded her a view of the back yard. She took a sip of Brenna’s concoction and licked her lips. “Oh, wow. This is awesome. What do you have in here?”
“I’ll tell you, but only after you dish about the carpenter.”
“Carpenter?” Edie perked up and leaned in, all ears. “What carpenter?”
“It’s no big deal. I’m getting an estimate on remodeling the kitchen. I probably won’t even do it. I don’t want some stranger in my house all day. Anyway, he came by earlier to look at everything.”
“How’d that go?” Edie pressed.
“He was really fine. I mean, fine as in a nice guy, not fine in the sense of, you know, fine, fine. Not that he isn’t. Fine, that is. He was definitely, um.” Maddie stopped babbling when she noted the amused expressions of her companions. She took a gulp of the fruity sangria and murmured, “Fine.”
Brenna grinned. “Fine. We got that.”
“He’s going to get back to me with plans and an estimate.”
“So you said.” Brenna paused and gave her a look. “So tell us about this carpenter. We want details.”
“What kind of details?”
“Well. He’s fine, right?” When Maddie scowled at her Brenna laughed. “How’d you find him?”
“How else? Jack. When I decided to get a quote, I asked Jack who I should call, and there was the business card just waiting for me to find it.”
“Did you check him out online? Ask for references?”
“Of course. He has a nice website with photos of his work and testimonials from happy clients. He’s the guy who did the restoration on the old Methodist Church downtown.”
“Ooh, nice.” Edie’s eyes rounded. “The difference was night and day when the church had all that work done. Well, listen, honey, I hope his price is right.”
“You get what you pay for. That’s what Jack would say.”
Brenna nodded. “So tell us about him.”
Maddie’s face pinched in deliberate obtuseness. “Jack?”
Brenna poked her in the ribs. “Madelyn Kinkaid, don’t be an itch. Tell us about the carpenter. Is he old and fat? Or fine, fine, fine?”
“What difference does that make?” Silence ensued, making it clear that neither Brenna nor Edie would accept anything less than full disclosure. Maddie blew out a frustrated breath. “Oh, sweet Lord. Okay. Fine. He’s handsome, I guess.”
“You guess?” Brenna choked out a laugh. “Maddie, you’re twenty-eight, healthy, and breathing. He’s either hot or he’s not. Did you flirt a little, at least?”
Maddie’s cheeks warmed. “No, of course not. He wasn’t there to flirt.”
“Well, hot damn, honey.” Edie patted Maddie’s hand, her eyes bright with encouragement. “You should flirt. It’s about time.”
Maddie shook her head. “No, no. It isn’t and I didn’t. He’s—”
Brenna held Maddie in a laser stare. “So what’s his name?”
“Uh, Caleb Walker.”
“I know him!” Edie’s palms slapped the table and she beamed. “He’s Big Will and Sada’s boy. We go way back with the Walkers, from our country club days, and Sada and I see each other every other Saturday when we volunteer at the county food bank. Cal picked Sada up one time last year when her car was in the shop.” Edie made eyes at Brenna. “Big muscular guy, with tawny hair, all wavy and gorgeous.” She fanned her face with her hand. “He’s a hunk.”
Maddie did a mental eye roll. Here we go, Jack.
“So what’s going on with you two?” Edie leaned closer to Maddie.
“There isn’t anything going on. I just met him today, and only because Jack gave
me his number.” At Edie’s and Brenna’s pursed lips, Maddie laughed. “I know you two think I’m nuts, but he really did. Anyway, like I said, the more I’ve thought about it the less I want a stranger in my house, so I may not even go ahead with the renovation.”
“Forget the kitchen. We’re talking about the carpenter. And he’s fine, right?”
Maddie ignored Brenna’s wicked grin. “Yes, fine, but I didn’t mean—I just meant—”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Edie patted Maddie’s arm. “We know you’ll always love Jack. But you’re too young to be alone, and you’re by yourself in that old house out in the middle of nowhere. I’m glad you’ve met someone nice.”
“I haven’t.” Maddie emitted a frustrated laugh. “He’s just—oh, never mind.” She took another healthy swig of sangria and rolled her eyes. “You two are impossible.”
“You’re just figuring that out?” Papa Ron emerged from the lower level of the house and stepped from the stairs through the basement door and into the kitchen.
He wore his customary summer attire of Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt, today more teal and yellow than his usual red and orange. “I’m glad you’re here, Papa Ron,” Maddie said. “These two are trying to play matchmaker.”
“Well, you ought to know that no woman can stand to see another woman without a man to boss around.” He rubbed his beer belly and sniffed the contents of the pitcher. “What’s this fruity stuff?”
“That’s sangria, Daddy. Homemade by my own two hands.” Brenna hefted the pitcher. “You want some?”
“Nope. Save that girlie stuff for you ladies. I’ll stick to my beer.” So saying, he pulled a bottle from the refrigerator and twisted off the top. “Call me up for dinner,” he said, as if they needed a reminder. “Game’s over, but the postgame interviews are on, and then I’m watching reruns of Law & Order.”
He shot a meaningful look at Brenna. “There’s a marathon.”
Edie topped off their glasses with more sangria. “That man. Give him a ballgame with a Law & Order chaser—doesn’t matter which one of the spin-offs, any will do—and he’s a happy camper.”
“Jack was the same way.” Maddie drew a line with her finger through the dripping condensate on the outside of her glass.
“I wonder if Caleb Walker likes Law & Order?” Brenna nudged Maddie with her shoulder. “What do you think, Mads?”
Amused, Maddie replied, “That you have an unhealthy attachment to crime shows. Now, stop being an itch. I have no idea what Caleb Walker watches and it isn’t any of my business. Or yours, for that matter.”
“Well if you ask me—”
“I didn’t. He’s the carpenter who’s going to quote me more than I can afford to turn my kitchen into a beautiful and functional space. That’s all. And you know what Jack would say? That you’re always looking for smoke where there isn’t a fire.”
Brenna snagged an orange wedge from her glass, nibbled the fruit, and pointed the rind at Maddie. “You know what else Jack used to say? There’s heat in every kitchen.”
Chapter 2
“Cmon, buddy, you can do it! Eye on the ball, now. Eye on the ball. That’s it, that’s it. Yeah!”
Cal let out a whoop and clapped as his five-year-old son, TJ, dropped the bat and ran full bore toward first base. A slide wasn’t necessary, but like every good ballplayer, he embraced the opportunity to kick up some dirt. A few scrapes, a little blood, and a well-earned tear in his uniform were just a bonus.
“Safe!” called the umpire.
The first baseman, a kindergartener, let the ball drop behind him while he stared off into the bleachers. The boy’s mother stood and waved, and the child’s mouth opened in a gap-toothed grin. He jumped up and down and waved to her like he’d been stuck on a desert island and she was his rescue ship. The umpire sighed, shook his head with an exasperated grin, retrieved the forgotten ball, and tossed it to the coach at home plate who positioned it on the tee for the next batter.
TJ would never have the pleasure of spying his own mother among the fans, and the knowledge of this created an ache in Cal’s chest, but he appreciated the presence of his sister Rebecca, his parents, and grandfather, all whooping and stomping the bleachers with the same exuberance they would show if the little boy played for the Atlanta Braves.
TJ stood up, dusted himself off, and prepared to run to second base. His stance tensed when Kylie, a red-haired girl with an abundance of freckles and a steely gaze, strode to home plate. The undisputed Home Run Queen, Kylie was sure to bring in at least one run.
Cal watched TJ’s facial expression when Kylie stepped up to the plate and moved into batting position. TJ’s resolute demeanor shifted to something Cal couldn’t identify. The boy wiped sweat and dirt from his face with his arm and kept his focus on Kylie. Cal debated whether TJ liked Kylie herself or just the sound her bat made when she whacked the hell out of the ball.
“The boy’s a natural.” Grampa Boone’s voice carried like the roar of a grizzly bear. “He’ll be playing for the Braves one day.”
“A few months ago you said the Falcons,” Caleb reminded him, amused.
“That was during football season.” The old man sniffed. “He’s got the legs of a running back and the arm of a quarterback. Or a first rate pitcher. He takes after his great-grandfather in the athletics department.”
“I played a little football myself, back in the day.” Cal nudged his grandfather’s shoulder. “Maybe he takes after me.”
“Stop congratulating yourselves,” Cal’s mother, Sada, piped up. “TJ told me just the other day that he wants to bake cookies when he grows up. I think he gets that from me.”
Grampa Boone snorted. “He can do that in the off-season.”
They stopped their chatter long enough to watch Kylie nail the ball and send it flying off the tee. TJ’s face split into a grin as the ball sailed into the outfield.
“What’s that little outfielder doing?” Cal’s younger sister, Rebecca, pointed to right field. While Rebecca watched the field, Cal watched Rebecca. She stood out from the crowd with her wild red curls, and he suppressed a smart-ass comment about the size of her earrings—gold hoops with feathery-looking things dangling from them that brought to his mind a peacock’s ass end. He supposed she chose them because they matched the swirling colors in her gypsy skirt. He’d never understand her fashion choices, but he admired her lack of concern over what anyone thought.
“What’s he—ha, ha!” Sada’s laughter rolled out, strong and boisterous. “He’s picking dandelions!”
“Gotta love tee-ball.” Cal’s father, William, called Big Will by most, looked at him with a wide smile. “I remember you out there running the bases before you were old enough to spit. I miss those days.”
While the ball languished in the outfield, abandoned for the art of dandelion picking, TJ and Kylie ran home for two runs and clenched the win for their team. Shouts of delight burst from the dugout, where the rest of the team jumped about slapping high fives. Things calmed down when they lined up to meet the other team on the field for sportsman-like handshakes and mumbles of “good game.”
Big Will draped his arm around Sada’s shoulders and squeezed her in a gentle hug. “Ready to head home? I feel lunch and an afternoon nap coming on.”
“I suppose. Let’s congratulate our grandson before we go.”
TJ’s family collected behind the dugout to wait while the coach finished his congratulatory speech and reminded his team of practices coming up during the week.
Once dismissed, the pint-sized players scrambled off to find their parents.
TJ took his time collecting his mitt and bat, and Caleb noticed that Kylie remained in the dugout changing from her cleats into a pair of hot-pink high-tops.
“What’s taking that boy so dang long?” Grampa Boone groused. “At my age every second counts.”
“Girl.” Cal inclined his head.
“The little redhead? Well, at least the boy has good taste. She’s on
e helluva ballplayer already. Wait till she moves up from tee-ball. Natural talent right there.”
“Maybe they’ll both play for the Braves,” Cal said.
“She’s a pretty little thing.” Sada fiddled with her sun visor to better shade her eyes and smiled at Cal, her expression soft. “Guess he’s partial to petite women, like his daddy.”
It was a bittersweet thing to hear references to Gwen. Cal believed he had adjusted as well as could be expected after his wife’s death, but there were times, like now, when a simple comment cut through his protective layers and reopened the wound.
His heart hurt, weighed heavy inside his chest thinking about Gwen, what she was missing now that TJ was old enough to play sports, now that he had started school. Cal knew that for every milestone to come he would think of Gwen and wish she were here with him to share these moments with their son.
“You’re missing so much, Gwennie,” Cal said under his breath.
“What’s that?” Big Will asked.
Cal just shook his head. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
He talked to Gwen all the time, but no one understood that he wasn’t expecting her to answer. It was better if he let it go, rather than try to explain that speaking to his dead wife simply made him feel better.
The widow, Maddie Kinkaid. She understood. He pictured her pretty face with the sad, cinnamon-colored eyes that she hid behind those chunky glasses. She talked to her dead husband. What was his name? Jack. She talked to Jack, just like Cal talked to Gwen, as if she were still here, still ready to listen and offer advice. To offer comfort.
“You okay?” Rebecca nudged Cal with her shoulder, her eyes probing. She saw too much sometimes, read him too well.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”
“Smart ass. I met with a potential client this morning who wants to do a kitchen rehab. No, let me qualify that. She needs to do a kitchen rehab. Think ’70s not-so-chic. I’ve got to draw up some sketches and do an estimate.”
Love Built to Last Page 3
