скачать книгу бесплатно
Forget Me Not
Marion Ekholm
Dear Trish, someday I want to marry you…Craig Cadman has proposed to Trish Lowery at least a dozen times. Of course, he started when he was nine and kept at it until her parents moved away when they were both teens. Clearly, she didn’t take him seriously. Because now, after ten years, she’s back…and engaged to someone else. He has to remember that. Just do the job, help her renovate her Gram’s Victorian house and keep a professional distance. But Craig can’t forget those old feelings. Is working together just stirring up nostalgia…or is this something more?
Dear Trish, someday I want to marry you...
Craig Cadman has proposed to Trish Lowery at least a dozen times. Of course, he started when he was nine and kept at it until her parents moved away when they were both teens. Clearly, she didn’t take him seriously. Because now, after ten years, she’s back...and engaged to someone else. He has to remember that. Just do the job, help her renovate her gram’s Victorian house and keep a professional distance. But Craig can’t forget those old feelings. Is working together just stirring up nostalgia...or is this something more?
“Don’t you go up there again.”
Trish turned so they faced each other only inches apart. “Listen. This is my house, and I plan to check out any and all repairs. How else can I know everything is done correctly?”
Craig held up his iPhone. “Pictures.” They were close enough that he felt her warm breath against his face, caught the scent of perfume. That was something new. She never wore perfume back when they were kids. “I guarantee my work.” He paused, diminishing the space between them so they were nearly nose to nose. “Don’t go up on the roof unless someone’s here. Namely me. You understand?”
“All right, already.” She stepped onto the ground. “When did you get so bossy?”
Trish’s cheeks were bright pink in the cold. Why hadn’t he kissed her when he’d had the chance? Every part of his being had wanted to. Still did. But...
They weren’t kids anymore. She was spoken for, committed to someone else. So was he. There would never be any Trish and Craig together.
Dear Reader (#ulink_edf0ee32-eaa8-5563-bebd-f460c11c0922),
It’s a sad time for Trish when she returns to Riverbend, New Jersey, after a ten-year absence. She just lost a grandmother who was so special, and now she’s back to collect the house her grandmother left her. She loved this place while growing up, as well as all her childhood friends. And of course Craig, the friend who’d wanted to marry her from the time he was nine.
I raised my family in northern New Jersey in a town similar to Riverbend and spent countless hours completing projects on our hundred-year-old farmhouse. Many of the windows had been painted shut decades before we bought it. Although our home wasn’t as spacious or as attractive as Trish’s inheritance, it did provide me with numerous projects, some of which I could include in her story. I became skilled at plastering, painting and repairing, and I can appreciate why someone wouldn’t want an old house.
I love hearing from readers and can be reached through my website, marionekholm.com (http://www.marionekholm.com), or heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com.
Marion
Forget Me Not
Marion Ekholm
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARION EKHOLM was writing stories and reading them to her friends back in fifth grade, in Plainville, Connecticut. She always wanted to be either a writer or an artist. Neither one seemed like a possibility in her day, when most women became either teachers or secretaries. But she had determination on her side and a mother willing to help with her dreams. She earned her BFA at Rhode Island School of Design and became a lace designer in New York City, met her husband and moved to New Jersey. Years later, she took stock of her life. She had a career, two children, a beautiful home and opportunities to travel extensively—but she’d never written anything other than letters. She began writing for real and eventually became an editor of a newspaper and sold numerous short stories and magazine articles. Thanks to Harlequin Heartwarming, she’s now a novelist. Her third novel, Forget Me Not, follows Just Like Em and An Act of Love. She’s found signing her books and talking to people who’ve read them an absolute delight.
This book is dedicated to Shelley Mosley, my critique partner, mentor and friend. Her encouragement over the years has been a driving force in my career. Thank you.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_7b8c327e-53c1-5ff7-a2f0-8d7c168443c8)
My thanks to the many people who helped me gather all the information for this book.
To my friend Fran Deming, who interviewed volunteer firemen at the Company No. 1 Fire Department in Mahwah, New Jersey. Although both of our husbands had belonged to that organization, I couldn’t remember all of the details. She managed to get answers to all my questions. Even so, my book is fiction, and a few artistic liberties may have been taken.
To my nephew Matt Suess, a fabulous photographer who told me what kind of camera Craig would use.
To Glenda Chagolla for her technical knowledge. I’ve enjoyed working with her at Glendale Community College, where she teaches CAD (computer-aided design) programs.
I learned about scissor lifts and knuckle booms from my son, David, a skilled electrician and handyman who answered any questions relating to DIY work.
Additional thanks go to Harlequin’s Dana Grimaldi, my personal editor, who provided directions for the story.
Contents
Cover (#u874be163-9f77-5ec9-a743-107db31f70f5)
Back Cover Text (#ud159dae0-2fbf-57e9-bfed-b363c2f59bfd)
Introduction (#u97abc824-e5f6-50e7-9d29-1f82d0ceac9b)
Dear Reader (#ulink_4c8b6087-d0a4-53e6-a0b1-76dfddd4a7ab)
Title Page (#u45308d05-acb3-523e-be2e-05b4ee85ff63)
About the Author (#u84b77783-1e32-56b3-8c18-7221c30b8bb3)
Dedication (#u651e0a94-8a59-575f-832f-87fbef29e566)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_07bfe0a1-665e-54eb-994d-cb925b2ae2d0)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b3cc583a-2f8e-5d67-bb6a-9b17928e7935)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f4178b0e-c3f2-506c-8054-1162f35a17fd)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_608687bf-b801-510d-a5e9-4d616216dfad)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e8656e65-f644-5b1a-a147-74a20bcb9c42)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_12335ded-13a9-59cb-b727-7a7b92ceb399)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_49ec29c7-6472-50a2-a243-a10c5be8e0e6)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cb1ce8ee-9ee7-58d9-a66b-52b7ab61214c)
“ARE YOU GOING to marry me now that I’m all grown up?”
Trish placed her hand on the door frame and leaned closer to the storm window for a better view of the man on the front porch. Marry him? What on earth was he talking about?
“Do I know you?” There was something familiar about the grin that spread so quickly across his face. His deep blue eyes held an unmistakable twinkle.
“How’ve you been, Trish?” He chuckled. When she still couldn’t make a connection, he added, “You were the best babysitter I ever had.”
Trish sucked in her breath. “Butch?” she yelled. “Butchy Cadman? Look at you! Last time I saw you...”
“I was a good foot shorter.”
Trish pushed open the door, came onto the porch and stood next to him. She looked up and laughed. “Not quite that, but you sure have grown.” He had to be four or five inches taller than her five foot eight. She took a few steps back to get the full view of him while he watched her with equal interest.
“I always told you I’d catch up with you one day,” he said. “Don’t I get a hug for old times?” She held out her arms, and he enfolded her in a bear hug.
She reached up and ruffled his dark wavy hair. “I didn’t recognize you. Little Butchy Cadman.” With a sigh, she stepped out of his embrace, then caught his smirk.
“You blushing?” he asked.
Trish pushed away and tried to look undisturbed, but warmth radiated from her cheeks. “Still planning on marrying me, huh?” She grinned. “You should be over that by now. What’s it been? Ten years?”
“Me? Forget my first love? Never.” He sobered. “I’m really sorry you had to come back under these circumstances. I know how close you were to your grandmother.”
She swallowed and nodded thanks for his sympathy. Gram had left her this house in her will with the hope Trish would move back, keep it in the family and reestablish her roots. That wasn’t likely.
Trish rubbed her arms to fight off the November chill. With only two and a half weeks before Thanksgiving, they couldn’t expect the Indian summer to last much longer. “Okay if we go inside?”
“Sure.”
Trish and her parents used to live here in Riverbend, New Jersey, near Gram. Moving away had been difficult—Trish left a grandmother she adored as well as all her friends while starting her junior year in high school. Her father’s promotion had taken them to Virginia, where he could commute to his new job in Washington, DC. When her grandmother became ill a year ago, Trish moved to New York City so she could be close by. If only she’d relocated earlier. Their time together had been so short.
“So, Butch,” she said once they were in the large vestibule, “are you here on your father’s behalf, or will he stop by later to give me an estimate?”
“Dad died nearly two years ago.”
“Oh.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He nodded. “I took over the business, so I do all the estimating and most of the renovation work. And there’s another thing. I don’t go by Butch anymore. It’s Craig. Now that my dad’s gone, there’s no more confusion.”
“Okay. Craig it is.” She hesitated. The senior Cadman had had a sterling reputation not only for his integrity but also for his superior craftsmanship. Her grandmother had trusted him to do all the repairs on the house, from the plumbing to the electricity. But Craig, being so young...
“Do you need references?”
Trish shook her head. “Of course not. I just remember you tagging along with your dad...”
Craig took in a deep breath. “My father taught me everything he could, and before he died, I earned my contractor’s license. Besides that, I work with an experienced crew who also worked with my father. My mother can supply you with names of people I’ve worked for.” He chucked her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “Always ask, Trish. There are too many people out there who will do a rotten job and take you to the cleaners.”
Her faith restored, Trish waved toward the arched entrance to the living room. “Shall we look at the house?” They stopped at the large staircase. “No one’s lived here since Gram went to a nursing home. Neighbors kept an eye on it, and I’ve been up a few times to check. But I’m afraid there’s damage from the roof leaking when the last hurricane came barreling through.”
“Right. We’ve taken care of a lot of damage from storms this past summer.” Craig removed his heavy blue windbreaker and placed it over the staircase’s carved newel cap.
“I’ll need the roof repaired or replaced. I’d like an estimate on both. While I’m here, I’ll start on the central staircase, sanding it down and refinishing it. I’m hoping to get it back to its beautiful oak finish once that carpet’s removed.”
They walked into the living room, which was still loaded with heavy, outdated furniture. “No damages here. Just some ratty-looking wallpaper I’ll need to remove.”
Craig made notes on his iPad, scrutinizing the fieldstone fireplace as well as taking a quick picture. “When was the last time this was used?”
Trish shrugged. “I remember one Christmas...” She sighed. “But that was a long time ago.”
“I’ll check it out. Don’t want any unwanted fires messing up the repairs.”
When he looked in the direction of the old-fashioned furniture, Trish asked, “Do you know where I can donate all of this?” She swung her hand around, indicating several items in overstuffed maroon velvet. “I have no use for it, and I’d really prefer having the room cleared before I remove the wallpaper and paint.”
“Sure. Several churches in the area have banded together to help people affected by the hurricane. I’ll contact them and have it moved out.”
Trish clasped her hands together in delight. “That will be wonderful.”
“Except...” Craig walked over to the tall mahogany secretary before turning back to her. “Remember this?” His face lit up again with that grin. “We searched all those hidden compartments in here, expecting to find treasures.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “Right before you moved.” Craig’s expression sobered.
Trish glanced at the polished wood and remembered all too well. It was a memory she’d prefer to forget. Her parents had informed her that day they’d be moving, taking her away from all her friends and Butch. Checking Gram’s secretary for its secrets had been the last time they were together.
