Home Sweet Home

Chapter Two

“Yes. Contractors usually do leave when the job is done.” Cole reached over and placed a calloused hand over her clenched ones. “If you’re looking for something more, I’m not the guy.”

Abby stared at the man, who wore his dark short hair styled in a way that suited him. Shallow laugh lines touched the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his skin had been lightly kissed by the sun. His quarter-zip light blue sweater accented his shoulders and muscular arms, but it was his earthy brown eyes that captivated her and made her want to dig in and sow the seeds of something more permanent.

His touch warmed and chilled her at the same time. Confused, she pulled back her hands and forced them onto her lap. Good going, girl. Push him away. Make him run for the hills. Cole Preston is the answer to what some would call prayers, but to her it had been a simple plea to the universe. Not only could he help her get the house done in time, he could help her be accepted into Dynamite Creek. If she turned him away, the people might do the same to her and then she’d never fit in or find a real home.

“Of course not. I never suggested you were, Mr. Preston.” Abby pulled out her calm facade, something she’d perfected years ago in each new neighborhood, each new school, each time she was ridiculed because of the cheap, discounted chain store clothes she wore.

“Cole. The name’s Cole, Ms. Bancroft. What’s yours again?” When he grinned, tiny dimples appeared.

Her breathing quickened. He affected her on a different level and in a way she didn’t understand in her limited experience with men. “Abby.”

“Abby. That suits you. Short for Abigail?”

“Yes.” The way he said her first name reminded her of liquid velvet. Her heart fluttered. Abby retreated to the coffeemaker to refill her cup. Distance. That’s what she needed. With the crook of an eyebrow or quirk of his lips, the man had the ability to get under her shell.

Turning away from the worn counter, she leaned against it, the edge cutting into her back. Cole had moved from the table and now stood less than three feet from her. An unexplainable intrinsic energy dragged her toward him so she stepped to the side to put more space between them. His nearness plucked at her sanity, pulling it apart one tiny strand at a time until she felt exposed and vulnerable. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“Your grandparents already paid a hefty deposit. Until that’s exhausted, the labor is free.”

“The labor, but not the materials.” Ka-ching. Dollar signs blazed inside her brain. With the entire house needing attention, the paint, the flooring, and whatever else this monstrosity required, the labor would probably be the cheap part.

Abby dragged in a ragged gasp and caught a whiff of Cole’s aftershave. Masculine with a dash of adventure mixed in. Her pulse accelerated. But she didn’t need adventure; she’d had enough of that growing up. Suddenly she didn’t want him in her house or anywhere near her because he was dangerous to her peace of mind. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself falling for another person who had no intention of sticking around in her life.

Indecision clawed at her, tore at her insides. She had to make this work. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she glanced around the room. Morning sunlight filtered in through the window above the sink and highlighted every flaw and blemish in the kitchen. The rest of the house wasn’t any better, but she couldn’t get rid of him. Not now when she had only enough income to survive for two months and guests arriving at the beginning of May that expected a decent place to stay.

“We’ll work something out. When do I start?” His crooked smile sent her pulses on another one of those road trips her mother had been so fond of. “You won’t regret it.”

Abby already did. Suddenly, she wanted off of the emotional roller coaster but it was too late. Despite her earlier resolution, Abby decided she was going to be sorry she let Cole into her house and her life for the next few months.

“May as well start today since you’re here.” Her sigh filled the small area between them, yet when she glanced up, his mocha-colored eyes invited her to sit back and stay awhile. Something she wasn’t about to let happen. Until she could identify this crazy thing swirling around them, the more space she kept between them the better. “Even though you’ve already seen it, let me refresh your memory. You may change your mind.”

Abby pushed herself away from the counter and marched past him, grabbing another lungful of his masculinity. Once he realized the scope of the project, he’d probably disappear again. Disappointment made a home in her heart. Just once she’d like to lead a normal life. Just once she’d like to have someone stick around. But even more important, she wanted to find a permanent place to call home.

She stood in the doorway leading into the small kitchen and waited for Cole to catch up. More tension crystallized into tiny fragments of emotional energy when he moved in behind her.

His guarded whisper scraped her eardrums. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’ve never been inside here before. My ex-partner came and bid on the project and took the money. Until it’s paid back, I won’t change my mind. After you.”

Abby felt the weight of his gaze all the way down the hall. Something weird and crazy seemed to pass between them every time they came in close proximity. Maybe she should get a job? Surely there had to be someone in town who needed help. She had enough experience doing mundane things, and she could use the extra money. That would keep her away during the day, but if she did that, the restorations would take that much longer without her help.

Besides, who would hire Bancroft’s illegitimate granddaughter? Sure the people in town had been more than welcoming to her, but for how long? Don’t go there. Her teeth buried themselves into her bottom lip as she pivoted by the front door. “As you can see, this is the foyer.”

“Actually, it’s the reception area. People used to mingle here while waiting for dinner to be served. That’s why it’s wider than a normal hall. I like it, though the wallpaper and paint have to go.” Cole walked over to the wood staircase near the back right and ran his hands across the smooth, paint-coated banister that led to the second floor.

“No kidding.” Abby crossed her arms again and leaned against the fireplace, a blast of cold air permeating her thin sweater. She shivered uncontrollably, but more from Cole’s longing expression as he stared at the railing than from the temperature. “The rest of the house is just as bad, I’m afraid.”

“I figured as much, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Cole continued to run his fingers along the painted oak. Something about the new owner brought out his need to fix things. Except he’d learned the hard way, he couldn’t fix people. He’d tried and look where it landed him; back in his hometown, his name mud, his dreams shattered.

Cole was better off staying away from people and sticking with houses like this one. He loved the old styles, quirks and all, and renovating them was his specialty. Well, smaller ones, not one of the mansions he’d walked by almost twice a day going to and from school. His vision of owning one though had disappeared along with his scant retirement fund when he started undoing the damage caused by his ex-partner. But that was all in the past.

If God wanted him to have a house like this, He’d provide a way for Cole to achieve it.

He continued to stroke the banister, glad for the diversion from his thoughts. Passion infused his voice. “This house is a gem, Abby. We’re lucky so much of it has been kept intact, at least in this space. Let’s hope the rest of the rooms are the same. If we don’t have to replace any of the crown molding, corbels or ceiling medallions, our timeline will have just decreased. Stripping all the wood will probably take the longest. Did you know that underneath this layer of paint a beautiful piece of oak is just waiting to be exposed?”

“But I don’t want to replace things, all I want is for you to paint and wallpaper over everything. That’s quicker and easier.” She started pacing, determination with a hint of hesitation in each deliberate movement.

She glanced at her watch but Cole deduced she was really running through an imaginary calendar in her head. Frustration nipped at him. He wanted to do the job right and in the process uncover the secrets of the attractive woman at the same time he peeled away the layers of paint and faded wallpaper. He’d certainly be here long enough.

He softened his voice and unwillingly pulled his hand from the banister. “You can’t want to continue to cover up the beauty of this place. I believe your grandparents wanted to restore the place back to its original state. And that would involve stripping the paint down to the wood and re-staining it.”

“I’m not Charles or Sally.” Her gaze swept up the long staircase leading to the second level as if trying to see it through his eyes. “I suppose it would look much better, but I don’t have the time.”

“Why not? What are you going to do with the place?”

“Reopen the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast.”

Cole’s fingers curled into fists. Like he’d told Abby, this house was a gem and he could see the possibilities. In fact he could almost hear the clink of silverware and the lull of conversations coming from the dining room to his right, or guests sitting in comfortable lounge chairs in front of a roaring fire in the parlor to his left, or better yet, a posse of children clomping down the steps. These types of houses were meant to be lived in. Cherished. Filled with love and laughter. But after being inside its four walls, the spirit of the house needed mending, as well.

“My first guests arrive the Friday of the Founder’s Day Festival,” she continued and he heard an edge to her voice and saw her stiffen as if daring him to challenge her.

“That’s a little over two months away.” Incredulous at the deadline, Cole bit down on his tongue. His stomach churned. He owed Abby in a huge way because she was giving him the chance to clear his name. He’d do everything in his power to make sure the house was done in time even if he had to cut corners in not so obvious places and go without sleep during the entire job. “Fine. I’ll have it done by the festival.”

Abby faced him. Fear, determination, and what he sensed as abandonment, all warred for dominance in her expression. A faraway look glazed her eyes, yet her backbone remained fused into a rod. Her lips thinned as she pulled them into a grimace before her determined words spilled out. “This place needs to be ready by the end of April. I’ll help, too.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Plus six more people if anyone besides Abby would work for him.

Cole had an idea there was a lot more going on inside her brain than she divulged, but he let it slide. He had two months to draw her out if he wanted to. Especially if they were going to be working side by side during the remodel. A thought that chased away all the moisture from his mouth. He should get in his truck and hightail it back to Phoenix, but he wouldn’t walk away from his final obligation. Or Abby.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house and see what we’ve got to do.” Cole ushered Abby toward the front and into the parlor to the left, making sure to keep three paces behind her. Not only because he sensed she needed the distance, but because he needed it, as well.

His heart sank once he stepped through the double doors. No crown molding remained and the ceiling medallions had been removed. Plus the servant’s entryway and back wall had been covered by floor-to-ceiling wood paneling that had not been painted and darkened the room.

“Not very inviting, is it? Especially the mauve paint, the uneven chair rail and the fake brick finish on the fireplace.” Abby’s words created an instant headache.

Cole rubbed his eyes in hopes that the room would miraculously change when he reopened them. No such luck. This room would take a lot of time to correct. More days than he’d budgeted for, even with Abby’s help. “Not inviting at all. This parlor should be the most formal spot in the house and the most beautiful. This is where the guests would wait for the owners while the servants would bring them food and drink. Nothing remains of the original architecture. Okay then, let’s see what else we’ve got.”

His optimism elevated a bit at the sight of the wall-to-wall shag carpeting covering the living room’s hardwood floors. At least the hideous rug should have protected the oak underneath. And barring any unseen problems, the walls could be covered by a fresh coat of paint, or covered with wallpaper. He pivoted around. More things that showed promise were the original large ornate mantel and fireplace dominating the interior wall and the stained-glass portion of the windows at the top of the panes buried under several layers of paint. The integrity of this room had survived the multiple attempts of remodeling over the years.

“Pretty ghastly, isn’t it?” Abby’s shoulders slumped and pretty much matched his current mood.

“Actually, it’s better than the parlor, but I’m not crazy that they partitioned off the back for an office even though I suppose it was necessary. They could have done a little better job in keeping with the lines of the house.” Maybe he should retreat to the kitchen and grab his coffee cup. But the more awake he became, the worse the house would look. Once he pulled up the carpet though, he hoped the floors underneath wouldn’t be that bad.

“I have no idea what your ancestors and grandparents were thinking when they changed the interior so much.” Cole scratched the back of his neck as he paced around the mismatched furniture interspersed with the antique pieces. With luck, Abby might be able to find some replicas and recover the antiques if she ventured to Phoenix. Maybe his sister could give Abby some ideas with the interior design if he could pry her away from her shop and daughter for a few days.

“You knew them?”

“Of course. Everyone in town did.” His fingers touched the cool surface of the fireplace. Solid. Good. He squatted down and stuck his head partially inside. Hopefully it just needed a good cleaning. He pulled his head out and rose to his feet and turned to face her. “I used to shovel their walk, rake the leaves and mow the lawn when I was a kid. Your grandmother always brought me out a cup of hot chocolate or a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Even though we were never allowed inside, she treated me like I was one of the family.”

Cole watched the color disappear from her face as she sank down onto the brown couch. A frown marred her pretty features, yet he couldn’t hear the mumbled words that passed through her lips. Resisting the urge to cross the carpet and sit down next to her, he thrust his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. His fingers found the change left over from his convenience store sandwich bought last night.