Home Sweet Home

Something wasn’t right and he sensed he should tread with caution but somehow the question slipped out. “You never came to visit. Why?”

“I didn’t know they existed until I inherited this monstrosity.”

The regret and bitterness caught him off guard and her green eyes held his captive. Then it hit him, unsettling his nerves. In his brief survey of the room earlier, he saw no family pictures. No heirlooms. No personal items of people that had spent their lives here. Nothing to indicate that this was a home and not just a building with four walls and a roof.

This time he commanded his legs to move and he planted himself on the cushion next to Abby. He picked up her chilled hand and held it firmly in his grip. She tried to shy away from him and Cole sensed a war going on inside her, but he wouldn’t let her untangle her fingers. The pad of his thumb rubbed a circle on the back of her hand as he tried to infuse a bit of warmth into her.

“But how—” Cole answered the question himself. While Sally Bancroft had been a loving, giving person, her husband, Charles, could frighten a charging black bear with a look. The daughter had run away a few years before Cole was born. Obviously, she’d kept her own daughter’s birth a secret. “I’m sorry, Abby.”

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times. The day slipped away, yet Cole didn’t have the energy to move as he sat next to Abby and watched the sunlight spill in through the stained-glass portion of the windows and dye the room with multiple colors. Peace settled inside him and he sensed a new beginning. It wouldn’t be easy, nothing worthwhile in life ever was, but the Lord would see him through and steer him in the right direction once his obligations were fulfilled.

“It’s not your fault.” Abby pulled away from Cole, not understanding why she suddenly wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. “Who knows what we’ll discover while we’re fixing this place up. Someday you’ll have to tell me about them but not now. Too much to do.”

And that “too much to do” didn’t involve sitting next to Cole, being lulled into a sense of companionship and trying to figure out why she should keep her distance.

“I agree.” Cole stood and held out his hand to help Abby to her feet.

Another shift of energy passed between them, leaving her out of breath and out of sorts. Fortunately, the tremors in her heart didn’t show in her voice. “Come on. Let me show you the rest.”

Hours later Abby and Cole sat back down at her kitchen table, a legal-sized pad of paper between them. “You’re in luck, Abby. From what I can see, this place is structurally sound, and aside from some water damage to the front and side porches, the work is all cosmetic. There may be problems we can’t see though.”

The timer dinged from the coffeemaker as Cole drew bold slashes across the first yellow page. Abby refilled their cups and returned to the table before he flipped it over and started drawing on the next sheet. By the fifth page, Abby’s curiosity increased. With his head bent slightly to his left, she could see the tip of his tongue protruding from his lips as he worked. Strong, firm fingers wrapped around the pencil, and from Abby’s earlier experience, she knew they were rough from hard work, yet gentle when he’d held her hand in the living room.

The almost schoolboyish image he portrayed when he shoved the pencil behind his ear, and the excitement dancing in his eyes when he gazed up at her, made breathing more difficult. She definitely should have never let him into the house.

“Okay, Abby, here’s what I think needs to be done.” Cole shifted the pad across to her and then stood to reposition his chair around the table next to her. His nearness threatened her sanity again. Instinctively, she shied away even though she never moved her seat. “We need to get rid of all the wallpaper, the paneling and carpet and see how bad it is underneath. All the wood needs to be stripped of the paint and re-stained its original color. The walls can either be repainted or wallpapered. There should be original pictures that we can refer to somewhere in the town archives if there aren’t any here. That would also give us a sense of the furniture, too.”

More excitement laced his voice as he flipped over the first page. “The main floor should be our initial focus because that’s what people see first. The living room needs to be warm and inviting so your guests can unwind and relax after a long day. The French double doors can close and separate the parlor from the reception area, which could double as a temporary office for those who need to work, and you could offer Wi-Fi services for those who can’t live without internet for a few days. The dining room might be a little small depending on the number of guests, but in the summer months, they could sit out on the front veranda and enjoy the views and the weather.”

All Abby saw in his scribbled notes was sand sifting quickly through an hourglass. Her stomach clenched. What the man outlined would take way more time and money than she’d budgeted for and she hadn’t even started to furnish or decorate the place yet. She should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing in life ever was. Yet, selling wasn’t an option because she was determined to stick it out and put down roots so she could find an inner peace that had eluded her for her entire life.

“When does your crew arrive? Are you sure we can do all this in two months? How much money?” Abby had better get a time frame and a figure before she trudged to apply for a bank loan. Her fingernails dug into her palms, tamping down his enthusiasm before it could wear off on her.

“I don’t have a crew anymore.” Cole squeezed the bridge of his nose and his shoulders slumped.

Ragged breathing forced air into her lungs. Obviously Abby wasn’t the only one with past issues. A piece of hopelessness fell away and she fought the longing to comfort Cole as he had done for her.

Cole’s strained sigh filled the gap between them. “I’ll get it done. As for money, we’ll figure out what we’ll need in materials when you tell me what you want. Fortunately, your grandparents already added more bathrooms upstairs and converted the servant’s hallway into a powder room, but they need to be redone along with everything else in this house. You’ll also have to decide whether you want to convert the space in the attic into living quarters or take the room your grandparents used, and how big of a kitchen you think you’ll need. I’d suggest taking the butler pantry and enlarging the entire room, but that’s your choice.”

Everything Cole said spun around in Abby’s mind like a top. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table and she squeezed her eyelids shut, blocking out his drawings and scribbled notes.

“Abby?” His voice filled her ears, his warm breath tickling her lobe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her heart wedged in her throat when she opened her eyes and turned to stare into his. The hammering in her brain intensified and swallowing became a chore.

The trill of the phone shattered the invisible thread binding them together. After scraping her chair’s legs against the linoleum floor, she lunged for the phone hanging on the wall next to the outdated refrigerator. At least this one was a little more current than the one in the office. “Hello? I mean, Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, Abby speaking. How may I help you?”

Abby listened to the voice on the other end. She stared at Cole, who still sat scribbling more notes on the paper, a slight frown hugging his lips. White knuckles protruded from his long, lean fingers as he squeezed the pencil. His actions contradicted his earlier words. “You’d like to book a room?”

Cole’s eyebrows rose, his brown eyes piercing her.

“Of course we do.” Turning away from the contractor, Abby found a piece of paper and wrote down all the necessary information to transfer to the ledger later. “Thanks, Mrs. Andrews. We’ll see you at the beginning of May.”

Lifting her chin, Abby twirled around and leveled her gaze on Cole again. Determination filled her. She was her mother’s daughter after all and until the end, nothing could stop Sharon Bancroft when she set her mind to something. “Great. Another reservation. I sense some conflict in you, Mr. Preston. I’m here for the long haul. I have to make this work. We have two months to pull this place together. If you don’t feel you’re up to the task, then leave. I won’t hold it against you.”

A dog barked from the neighbor’s yard, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“The name’s Cole. And I’m more than capable of the task.”

She hated pushing Cole, but she needed to know where he really stood. Her voice softened. “Fine. Then we’d better get started, hadn’t we? We can begin on the main floor and do the bedrooms as we need them. Right now I have two reservations, so that leaves four rooms we can work on later unless I book more guests.”

A knock at Abby’s front door caught their attention.

With the frown still hugging his lips, Cole set down the pen on the paper and stood. “Sounds doable. Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” Abby pushed away from the counter, glad for the distraction as she headed for the sound. “It must be Mrs. Wendt again. She’s probably brought me something else to eat. She thinks I’m too skinny.”

Cole intercepted her, his gaze traveled slowly from the tips of her sneakers to the bandanna on her head. When his fingers tenderly brushed away a piece of dust from her hair, her breath caught in her throat and refused to move into her lungs. His appreciative glance finally settled on her face. “I think you look fine.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned and strode from the room. “I’ll get it.”

“No. I’ll get it. It’s my house.” A louder knock brought Abby out of her reverie. “Hang on, I’m coming.”

Heat flared in her cheeks as she scurried down the hall and overtook Cole in the reception hall. He hovered behind her but allowed her to struggle with the lock, until she finally managed to jiggle the dead bolt and open the front door. An elderly woman stood on the porch, her hand patting down a stray flyaway from her salon coiffed hair, a nervous smile gracing her brightly painted lips.

“Hello, Ms. Bancroft, My name is Kitty. Kitty Carlton. I used to help your grandmother with the housekeeping. I’m here to offer my services to you when you reopen.” The woman’s high-pitched words strung out in one big breath.

“Hi, Kitty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Abby’s lips pulled back, exposing her teeth, but a smile took a long time to form. She extended her hand to shake Kitty’s limp one. The woman’s clammy grasp reminded her of the worms she used to put on the hooks when she went fishing in the pond behind one of their many apartments in L.A. She did her best not to shake off the feeling when she let go or rub her hands across her jeans. Abby motioned for Cole to join her. “Thanks for your offer. I don’t need anyone quite yet. Not until the beginning of May. Cole and I are just going over the remodeling that needs to be done before I reopen, aren’t we, Cole?”

“Cole? Cole who? I’d heard that you came alone.” Kitty’s open curiosity stung at the privacy Abby guarded carefully. The less people knew about her personal life, the less likely they were to hurt her emotionally. A lesson she should learn with Cole, yet somehow she sensed, or maybe hoped, he’d be different.

Cole stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, Mrs. Carlton.”

All the color fled from the elderly woman’s face, her voice frigid with contempt. “You have some nerve showing your face in this town, Cole Preston.”

Abby’s stomach nose-dived to her feet. Between the handshake and her reaction to Cole, the woman wasn’t making a good lasting impression on her. It was all she could do not to shut the door in Kitty’s face, yet if she did, word would get around and probably ruin her chances of fitting in. Or would siding with Cole destroy it? Indecisions clawed at her until she knew what she had to do. “Why? He’s come to do the work.”

Kitty’s piercing gaze stayed on Abby. “He’s trouble, that one. A bad seed like his dad. I wouldn’t let him inside my house or anywhere near my property.”

The woman’s remarks continued to upset Abby. No one deserved such rude treatment no matter what the circumstances. If anyone should hold a grudge, it should be Abby, and yet she couldn’t find the way to do it. He had come to do the work after all, even if he was a year late. She lifted her chin and clenched her hands together. There was no way she’d ever hire Kitty Carlton to do one lick of work inside her home without a huge attitude adjustment. “Thanks for stopping by. When Cole and I are done with the remodel, I’ll let you know if I need your services.”

“Why, after what happened and how he killed your grandparents—”

“Now, now, Kitty. You know that’s not true. Charles had a bad heart and Sally couldn’t go on without him.” Mrs. Wendt tsked as she climbed up the front steps with a plate of fresh baked cookies in her hand. The aroma of oatmeal and cinnamon drifted by Abby’s nose, carried in on a small gust of cold air. “Besides, if I remember correctly, it was his partner that took the money. Why don’t you go bother someone else with your lies and sour attitude and leave these two alone?”

Abby could have hugged her neighbor as the other woman retreated down the steps. “Goodbye then.”

“Good riddance is more like it. Maybe if she found the Lord, she’d be more forgiving and accepting. Hi, Abby. Cole. It is good to see you again. It’s time you came home.” The older woman raised her eyebrows and stepped past him. Once inside the foyer, she glanced around. “My, my, this place does need some work, doesn’t it?”

“Hi, Mrs. Wendt. Yes. Abby and I were just going through what needs to be done.” Cole wedged a hand through his hair and stepped back. His gaze met Abby’s.

“Why, that’s wonderful. That means you’ll be here for a while.” Speculation sprinkled the elderly woman’s expression. “Phillip will be tickled. You don’t happen to have a son that can shovel our walk now, do you? Or rake our leaves or mow our lawn?”

“No. I’m not married.”

“Not married? What a shame.” Mrs. Wendt winked at Abby. “You’d be a fine catch for some lucky, single, young lady. Abby, I made you some cookies and came by to retrieve my casserole dish.”

Cole’s stiffening back didn’t go unnoticed. Her neighbor’s words made him uncomfortable; her, too. Abby wasn’t here to find romance.

“How’s your husband doing?” Cole questioned, as if trying to steer the conversation to a more neutral ground.

Abby released the breath she held and filled her lungs with much needed oxygen. Mrs. Wendt’s gaze kept darting between the two of them and mischief crept into her smile. Dread filled Abby. Cole had admitted earlier he wasn’t the stay-around-for-the-long-haul kind of guy.

“Just fine, though his arthritis is acting up with the cold weather. He wants to move but I can’t imagine leaving Dynamite Creek for Phoenix. This is my home and where I’m needed. So, Cole. Where are you staying while you do the restorations?” All innocence fled the woman’s expression and Abby’s knees threatened to have a meeting with the thin rug under her feet.

Abby watched Cole back up until the railing stopped him. “I haven’t given that much thought, Mrs. Wendt. My first priority was to come here and get started on the house.”

“Well, I know it’s not much, but Phillip and I have a small apartment above the garage that we’ve been wanting to rent out for a while. That way you won’t have a long commute to work.” Determination gleamed in her eyes. The woman’s grin released a million butterflies in Abby’s stomach.

It took a few seconds for Cole to formulate an answer that Abby suspected was more for her benefit than Mrs. Wendt’s. “That’s very kind of you and it would be convenient. I haven’t had a chance to speak to my sister, but I suspect her place probably isn’t big enough for a semi-temporary guest and my mother’s is out of the question.” Cole’s gaze flipped between the two. “As long as you understand it’s nothing permanent. I’ll be moving on when I’m done here.”

Relief and disappointment filled Abby, yet she schooled her expression to remain neutral. It was nothing she hadn’t expected anyway.

“I understand completely. I’ll go put fresh linens on the bed and find the extra key. Oh, and I have a coupon for Mama Zita’s. It’s the best pizza in town, you know. Phillip can’t have it because of his high cholesterol, but you just have to try it tonight. Neither one of you had any dinner plans, did you? No? Good. I’m sure you’ll still have lots to discuss for what needs to be done here.” Helen thrust the plate of cookies into Abby’s hands and hummed on her way out the door.

Abby’s jaw dropped and the butterflies inside her refused to be stilled. With Cole living next door during the restorations, she’d find no peace of mind at all. Especially when his new landlady appeared to have matchmaking on her mind.

Chapter Three

The knock on her front door just before seven o’clock still took Abby by surprise even though she expected it. Agreeing to Helen Wendt’s scheme of sharing a pizza at home with Cole so they could continue to go through plans probably wasn’t one of her smartest moves. Not like she had much choice in the matter. Her fingers smoothed out a tiny crease in the blue and white floral printed tablecloth she’d found in the linen closet. The automatic gesture reassured her, reminding her of how she used to rub her blankie between her fingers to calm down when she was a child. She glanced around the dining room before she stepped into the reception area.

Her low heels clicked against the wood flooring and now she questioned her sanity as to why she’d changed into a skirt. Or let her hair down. Or applied just a hint of makeup. Would Cole think that she was going to be a willing participant in Mrs. Wendt’s matchmaking scheme?

Her nervous sigh rattled all the way to her toes. Too late to change now.

Light spilled in through the stained-glass window and beyond the pane Abby could see Cole’s silhouette against the dark backdrop. Distorted and colorful, yet tied together into a recognizable shape, his image reminded her of a Picasso she’d studied in art class.

She took a deep breath, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, and then rubbed her damp hands over the black skirt. The lock didn’t want to slide back again, which didn’t help her nerves. Finally, using her shoulder, she pushed against the door to relieve some of the pressure on the lock and tried again. This time it worked.

Pulling back the oak door, she saw Cole balancing a large square box with a white plastic bag set on top. His hesitant smile signaled that, like herself, maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with the dinner idea, either. “Hi, again.”

“Hi, yourself.” Abby took the box and watched as Cole carefully wiped his feet on the mat before he shrugged out of his black jacket and hung it on a hook on the hall tree.

He retrieved the pizza. “Thanks.”

“We’re in the dining room tonight. I thought it would give us more room.”

“Good idea.” When he moved passed her, the hint of freshly applied aftershave drifted by her nose. His still slightly damp hair curled away from his forehead. Abby forced her hand to remain at her side instead of reaching out to touch it. This reaction to Cole was crazy. He was her contractor. Nothing more.

“Smells delicious.” Abby took her own seat kitty-corner from where Cole stood and settled the blue linen napkin onto her lap.

“It is.” Cole opened the plastic bag and pulled out a baggie full of celery, some Ranch dressing and a Styrofoam container and placed them on the table. “I also took the liberty of getting some barbecue chicken wings. Mama Zita’s place is the best in town. Or it used to be anyway.”

Then he flipped up the lid to the cardboard box, revealing the thin crust pie covered in pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers and olives. The tangy aroma teased her taste buds and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled in anticipation because she hadn’t eaten anything since a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at noon.

“Wow. It looks wonderful, Cole.” Abby held up her delicate china plate so Cole could set the slice of pizza on it.

His eyebrows lifted. “Plates? I’m sure I could have gotten some paper ones at Mama Zita’s.”

Abby set it in front of her. “I found paper plates in the pantry. I didn’t want to use them.”

“Why not? They’re so much easier to clean up.” A frown emerged as his gaze roved over her face as if he were trying to make up his mind about her.

She could almost hear the imaginary taunts she’d thought she’d left behind in her awkward teenage years. She knew it had been silly of her to use the plates in the large, built-in cabinet behind her but Abby dared to hope Cole would understand her odd behavior. Her pointer finger traced the gold edge of the antique ivory plate with the multicolored floral print painted on the surface.

“Paper means temporary and on the move and seems a bit impersonal. I want permanence. They’re not exactly my type but they fit with the theme I envision for the house.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It just surprised me. Outside of a restaurant, I haven’t eaten off a real plate in years.” Cole tucked his napkin on his lap, a hesitant smile creeping across his lips. His confession only solidified his lack of willingness to stay in one place. “You and my sister would get along. She refuses to use paper or plastic because it brings up painful memories.”

“Oh. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

“I’m sure you will. Christine lives on the other side of town but she owns a cute boutique on Main Street. She makes candles for a living.”

Pleasure filled her, yet panic tried to take hold. Cole noticed. Abby bit her lip and glanced away from the twinkle in his eyes. She may have gone overboard though with the candle in the slightly tarnished pewter candelabra gracing the center of the table. The dancing flame created an almost intimate and romantic atmosphere, virtually blocking out everything but the two of them. She grabbed her crystal goblet and drank most of the water inside. While it quenched her parched throat, it didn’t come near to satisfying her need to fit in.

But her lopsided attraction wasn’t the only thing that made her squirm when she picked up her slice. After Cole helped himself to his own pizza and wings, he folded his hands together and bowed his head. Heat creeping to her cheeks, she quickly set down her food and mimicked Cole’s movements. At least he hadn’t asked her to say the prayer.

“Dear Lord, bless this food and this house. May the restoration go quickly and easily. Amen.”

“Amen.” Abby found herself saying the word. She didn’t choke, nor did any lightning bolts appear from the sky. Having heard it many times, she discovered it wasn’t as foreign to her as she’d thought. Abby had just never felt the urge to say it before tonight. Maybe she should go through more carefully the packet Delia gave her and explore the possibilities of religion when they finished the house. If she could open her practical mind and believe… Right.

If God truly existed, why did He let such bad things happen around the world? Why did He take her mom?

Abby picked up her slice again and bit into the pizza. As anticipated, the varied toppings exploded across her taste buds. “This is wonderful. I’ve never had such a combination before.”

“Really?” Cole rested his arms against the side of the table and searched her face. “I thought it was pretty standard. I would have gotten mushrooms, too, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like them.”

“I do, actually.” Abby fell into his warm and inviting gaze. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips and the flame’s reflection danced in his brown eyes. The combination of the candlelight, the inviting scent of pizza and the light sound of classic rock music from the old radio she’d found in the kitchen loosened her tongue. “But a lot of toppings are expensive. When my mom could afford to buy a pizza, we only got cheese. And that wasn’t often.”