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But a kid like Jake deserved to be surrounded by the best examples possible. Matt had been anything but a good example for a long time. Sooner or later Callie would discover his past. No self-respecting woman wanted a guy with a record setting an example for her kid, and Matt understood that. Respected it, even. He needed to remember he was in the southern sector of the county for two things only: to make amends to those he’d hurt and help Cobbled Creek become what Hank Marek meant it to be.
And although he was thrilled by the skill level and dedication shown by Hank and his crew, no way, no how was he looking for anything else. Especially where Callie Marek was concerned.
Chapter Four
McGee’s truck reappeared while the crew grabbed coffee from Jim’s wife. He braked quick, scattering stone, then climbed out, strode their way and met Matt’s gaze head-on, his expression taut. “You living here, Cavanaugh?”
Matt’s face showed surprise, not a good thing, but Hank’s quick reaction spared a clash. “Of course he is, Finch. Wouldn’t make sense to travel back and forth to Nunda while daylight hours are scarce, winter’s closing in and every penny he’s got is invested in Cobbled Creek.”
“You don’t have a C of O,” Finch barked, his typical attitude more evident this afternoon. “There’s reasons we’ve got regulations, Cavanaugh, although you were never real good at following rules, were you?”
Matt’s flinch surprised Callie, but then Hank sighed and frowned as if wondering what the clamor was about. “Finch, I don’t know any rule that says Matt can’t live with us while he gets the model done and inspected. It makes good sense, all in all.” Hank kept his voice easy and his surprise genuine, as if taken aback by Finch’s intrusion.
Callie swallowed a lump in her throat the size of a small two-by-four. Live with them? Was her father kidding?
“He’s staying at your place?” Finch swept Callie a look, then drew his gaze back to the two men.
Hank shrugged, sidestepping the truth. “We have extra room. Matt needs to be on site. It works out for everyone.”
Everyone but me, Callie wanted to shout. She was having a hard enough time keeping her distance from Matt in the short time they’d been working together, but to have him staying at their place?
“A perfect solution,” Matt added, as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory. “And just so you know, I’m ordering us a fresh turkey for Thanksgiving.”
Finch scowled.
Hank grinned.
Tom covered a laugh with a cough.
Callie decided more coffee would only tax her already-twining gut and headed back to the roof, trying to untwist the coiled emotions inside.
Yes, she was attracted.
No, she shouldn’t be.
And having him under their roof, sharing their home, their food?
Way too much proximity and she had too much to lose, but Hank had extended the invitation and Hank Marek carved his word in stone. He kept a General Patton quote framed on his dresser: “No good decision was ever made from a swivel chair.”
Great. Just great.
Finch would be annoyed, which meant he’d annoy others. She’d have Matt underfoot which would entail having her guard up 24/7. And the guys were clearly delighted with the prospect of having Matt around, his friendly grin and storytelling a welcome addition to their circle, a perfect match.
But she’d found out the hard way there were no perfect matches. Not for women who strike a different path, a career that includes tool belts weighted with claw hammers and tape measures. Nails and utility knives. Unfeminine suspenders to distribute the tool weight appropriately.
Some lessons a girl never forgot.
Matt’s footsteps followed her. He crouched by her side, pretending to work, his gaze down. “Hey, if it bothers you that much, I’ll just get a place in town. Or stay at my brother’s house in Wellsville. That way I’m not breaking the rules and McGee won’t have anything to complain about.”
Finch would dog Matt’s steps, Callie knew. He wasn’t above pestering contractors he didn’t like, and he’d had his eye on Callie for the last several months. She’d kept it cool and friendly at the diner, but Finch added another component in an already-complex puzzle. She didn’t want Matt targeted by the zealous building inspector, but she didn’t want him living with them either.
Nevertheless, the invitation had been extended, and Hank wasn’t a man to go back on his word, a quality she shared.
She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. “It’s fine. It just came as a surprise.”
“I’ll do my own laundry.”
His earnest words almost made her smile. “You bet you will.”
“And I can cook.”
“Excellent.”
“How big a turkey shall I get?”
“You weren’t kidding about that?” She turned to face him and felt the draw of those deep, brown eyes, tiny hints of gold sparking warmth and laughter. “I got a couple of frozen turkeys at Tops while they were on sale. That’s a lot of good eating at a bargain price. Fresh birds are expensive.”
“Have you ever tasted one?”
She brushed that off and turned back to the task at hand. “Turkey’s turkey.”
He grinned and moved a step away. “It’s not, but I’ll let you discover that next week. And now—” he shifted his attention back to the nail gun “—we need to get back to work. Can you help your dad and Buck get started on number twenty-three?”
Across the street and two houses up. Just enough distance to calm things down. Smooth them over.
“Sure.”
“And Callie?”
She turned at the ladder and arched a brow, waiting for him to say more.
He eyed her a moment and shifted his jaw. “You do good work.”
His awkwardness told her he meant to add something else but thought better of it. Just as well. Too much fun and teasing could be misconstrued. She headed down to ground level, crossed the street, moved up the block and joined her father on the elongated roof covering the well-designed ranch house. Hank noted her presence with a welcome smile and nod.
“Ready?”
Ready for roofing?
Yes.
For having Matt’s teasing smile, his easy manner, his firm jaw around every day?
No way.
But Callie had withstood basic training and a deployment in Iraq. She could handle this.
She adopted a noncommittal look and started handing her father shingles, pushing thoughts of Matt aside, but with the steady pop of his nail gun keeping time with his whistling, she was mostly unsuccessful. Luckily no one knew that but her.
He’d be moving in tomorrow.
Ignoring Matt’s light proved impossible as Callie helped Jake recognize consonant–vowel patterns for his language arts class. Her chair faced the front window, overlooking Cobbled Creek and the unshaded reminder of Matt’s existence.
Change chairs, her conscience scolded.
She could, she supposed, warm yellow light pouring from the uncurtained windows of the model home. But…
“Mom, can I help Matt this weekend?” Jake asked, pulling her attention away from cute guys and broken dreams, definitely in everyone’s best interest.
“We’ll all be working this weekend, as long as the weather holds,” Hank told him. “Your mom has a couple of shifts at the diner—”
“I switched them up with Gina,” Callie cut in.
Hank eyed her, speculative.
“I make more crewing and we have no guarantee on the weather this late in the game,” she explained to Hank, then turned her attention back to Jake’s word list. “Yup, short I words here, long I there. Perfect.”
Jake beamed. “Mrs. Carmichael told me to picture them like puzzle pieces, looking for clues.”
God bless Mrs. Carmichael, Callie breathed silently. Between Hannah Moore’s tutoring and Jake’s teachers, he’d come a long way academically, and since his ADD prognosis, his continued progress thrilled Callie. She knew strong middle school academics required a solid foundation now, and she’d worked extra hours to pay for his tutoring, his book club, his interactive educational games, anything it took to surround him with learning opportunities.
So far, so good.
She smiled, ruffled his hair, tried not to glance out the window and failed, then said, “Yes, you can help, but The General can’t be over there all the time, okay? We can’t have someone’s attention diverted when they’re on a rooftop.”
“Okay.”
“And I want to get those Christmas lights strung this weekend. Thanksgiving’s next week and I’d rather do it before we get big snows than after.”
“That’s a good idea,” Hank agreed. “If we use both ladders we can do it together and get it done in half the time.”
“True.” The ladders were about the only thing not seized when Hank’s business bellied up. The bank had considered them household use instead of business inventory. “I want to finish scrubbing that side, too. Get rid of the mold.”
“Not much sense if we don’t have time or the right temperature to paint,” Hank told her.
“It looks better when it’s clean.” Callie didn’t elaborate, but something about coming home to that worn facade weighed on her. Painting could wait until spring, but decorating for the holidays with the front of the house looking tired and worn…
That didn’t sit right.
“When can we get our Christmas tree?” Jake’s eagerness refused to be contained.
Callie laughed and stood. She stretched and fought a yawn. “Let’s tackle Thanksgiving first, okay? And decorating the front of the house.”
“Can we put up Shadow Jesus?”
Hank exchanged a grin with Callie. He’d created a plywood Holy Family years ago, the images of Jesus, Mary and Joseph done in silhouette, then painted black. Two spotlights tucked into the grass bathed the cutouts in light at night, making their shadowed presence appear on the white house. The simple, stark visual was an eye-catcher for sure.
Jake had referred to the infant in the manger as “Shadow Jesus” from the time he could talk, a sweet memory and a good focus on the true meaning of the upcoming holy season. “Next weekend,” Hank promised. “It doesn’t take long, but let’s get the outside lights up first.”
Jake nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Good night, Grandpa.”
“Night, Jake.”
He was such a good boy, Callie thought as Jake headed upstairs to bed. She would never understand Dustin’s cool disregard for his beautiful son, but then she hadn’t understood Dustin for a very long time.
Maybe ever.
“He’s doing fine, Callie.” Hank drew her attention with a nod toward the stairs. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“I know. It’s just rough at holiday time, when most kids get presents from their dads. Visits. Cards.”
“He’s happy enough.”
“But he wonders, Dad.” When Hank went to speak, she held up a hand to pause him. “I know he’s content, but it weighs on his mind from time to time. His birthday. Christmas. When they do father-son events at school and church. And those are the times when I could wring Dustin’s neck for brushing him off.”
“And brushing you off.”
She shrugged. “Not so much. We married young, we were both in the service, we thought we could conquer the world and when that didn’t work, we grew apart.”
Hank’s snort said more than words ever could. “In my day skirt-chasing was called just that, and it didn’t involve growing apart. It involved breaking vows, going back on your word. A good soldier never goes back on his or her word.”
His righteous indignation struck a chord with Callie. “You’re right, Dad, but it’s in the past and I’ve moved on. We all have.”
“And the future is ripe with possibilities,” Hank reminded her. “Seek and ye shall find. Knock and the door will be opened unto you.”
Callie leaned forward and planted a kiss on Hank’s bushy cheek. “Are you letting your beard grow to keep your face warm on those rooftops?”
“Yes I am.” Hank scrubbed a hand across the three-day stubble and grinned again. “One of the advantages of age and gender. I can grow my own ski mask.”
Callie shook her head, laughing. “And I’m just as thankful I can’t.” She headed for the stairs. “I’m turning in early so I can work on the front of the house before first light. I’ll turn on the small spotlights to help me see. Another few hours of washing should do it.”
“If we had a power washer…”
Hank’s quiet aside made her shrug. “We don’t want to disturb the paint too much anyway. It’s pretty loose in spots and a power washer might peel it off. Hand washing is fine for this year.”
Hank hugged her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You make me proud. You know that, don’t you?”
She did. And she appreciated Hank’s commonsense take on Dustin’s behavior, but the image in the mirror once she climbed the stairs showed a strong, rugged woman, a laborer. And while her father’s approval was a lovely thing, and Callie took pride in her work, her dexterity, her intrinsic knowledge of building, some days it would be nice to look in the mirror and have downright beautiful looking back at her, the gracious swan that evolved from the misunderstood fictional duckling.
But that wasn’t about to happen.
Startled awake, Callie stared at the clock, rubbed her eyes and peered again.
She’d overslept the alarm. Not only would she not be scrubbing clapboard that morning, but she’d be lucky if she got lunches made before the bus pulled up for Jake. And what on earth was that noise?
Her father sent her an amused smirk as she ran down the stairs in her robe. “Tired?”
Grr.
