A Family to Cherish

Nepotism and her own stupidity put her out of the job she’d worked for, and brought her back home to Wellsville and Jamison. She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I didn’t know.”

“So I’m working full-time until the end of June. I’ve got two busy little girls.” He chucked Rachel under the chin. She grinned up at him, the wide smile flashing love and devotion between father and daughter. The exchanged look drew Meredith back in time, to another little girl, gazing at her dad in adoration. Only that little girl had been sadly misled. This one wouldn’t be.

“And outdoor soccer season is starting.”

“And they both play, which puts you in a time crunch.” Meredith tipped her smile down. Rachel grinned up at her with Cam’s eyes. Cam’s face. Cam’s light hair.

“Yes. I generally only take on big projects in the summer, so you’re timing isn’t good—”

She frowned, disappointed.

“And pouting will get you nowhere.”

“That wasn’t pouting. It was frowning. Huge difference.”

Her quick retort made him smile, and the minute he did, fourteen years melted away in a flash of warmth. “Let’s go with slight difference. More accurate. So if you’re still interested…”

“In getting the work done,” she interjected, then sent him an innocent smile.

“Exactly.” His expression said nothing else was on the table, so that was good, right? “I can come by later today, finish measuring and give you an estimate. Then you can decide.”

“I’ve already decided,” she told him. When he looked surprised and a little discomfited, she went on, “I checked out your references from Matt, viewed the Kinsler place at length, and worked out an arrangement with Grandma for the loan. We’re good.”

“You’re giving me carte blanche without an estimate? That’s not good business.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She faced him square. “I’m cutting a deal with a skilled craftsman who is known throughout the town as fair, conscientious and amazing.”

His eyes sparked at the word amazing and if she was interested at all, she’d have thought she noted a glimmer of something not exactly business-related in his expression.

If you were interested? Are you kidding me? Did you not see that look, that flash of light in his eyes? Come on, girl, get back in the game.

“Cameron.”

A cross-sounding voice interrupted their conversation. Rachel stepped closer to her father, and Meredith wished she could mimic the little girl’s wrinkle of displeasure, but grown-ups were required to maintain a game face in public. Right now Meredith considered it a really stupid rule.

“Mrs. Dennehy. How are you?” Cam kept his tone easy while Meredith considered ways to put the meddlesome old woman in her place. Claire Dennehy had sharpened her tongue at the Brennan family’s expense for a long time. Of course, Meredith’s father had given the town plenty of reason to gossip. Gambling, drug addiction, womanizing and illegitimate children made for great backyard fodder, but Claire and Cam’s mother had gone above and beyond in their condemnations, which meant Meredith’s teenage relationship with Cam put both women in a tongue-wagging tizzy.

The fact that they ran into each other here, in John Dennehy’s old-fashioned mercantile, gave Claire a new opportunity to scold, but if Meredith was going to make it in this town, she needed to toughen up. And Rachel didn’t need to hear the old woman’s caustic drivel. “Rachel, would you like to look at some wallpaper samples with me?”

“Wallpaper?” Rachel wrinkled her nose, puzzled.

Cam snorted.

Meredith ignored his noise and headed toward the door. “If it’s all right with you, we’ll head a little west on Main Street and see what Mr. Schiffler’s got in Victorian prints.”

Cam sent her a grateful look that said he recognized her ploy to move Rachel out of earshot, but the arched brow said they’d be discussing the wallpaper idea.

His amused look of challenge made her look forward to the discussion, a fact she’d examine later. Right now her big goal was removing seven-year-old hearing from the reach of a cranky old woman.

* * *

“I went to see your mother last night.” Claire threw down the comment like a dueling glove, then waited for Cam to retrieve it.

He refused the challenge and kept his peace. “I appreciate that. She gets lonely.”

“She’d be less lonely if certain people spent more time with her.”

“Or if she went places,” Cam returned mildly. “Did you happen to take her any black licorice?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll get some now.” His mother loved black licorice. And black jelly beans. Anise cookies. She enjoyed the biting flavor of the spiced treats.

“She didn’t look good.”

Cam pointed to the display case. “I’ll take a pound of the black jelly beans and the same of the black licorice whips.”

“Her color’s bad.”

His mother’s color would improve if she got outside more often and exercised her cheeks by smiling now and again. Neither option was likely.

“And she had a coughing spell something fierce when I was there. That will be nine-thirty-nine.”

Cam handed her a ten-dollar bill, smiled his thanks, and accepted the small bag and the change she handed him. “Have a nice day, now.”

He felt her stewing as he walked out the door, miffed because he refused to jump into a discussion about his mother. Their relationship, as strange as it was, was their business.

Not Claire’s.

He shoved his shoulders back consciously, as if listening to Claire’s negativity bowed him down. It didn’t, but it could, and Cam refused to let that happen. Thank heavens Meredith had been there to sweep Rachel out the door. Rachel was too quick for her own good, and listening to ill-tempered diatribes wasn’t in her best interest. Especially when she was adept at repeating things at the worst possible moments.

He paused, scraped a hand to his jeans, and eyed Schiffler’s door.

He’d just thanked God for Meredith Brennan. What in the world was he thinking?

Obviously an anomaly he wasn’t about to repeat. He entered the store just in time to hear Rachel exclaim, “I love this one, Meredith!”

Excitement highlighted Rachel’s delight as twin grins looked his way, a glimpse of shared femininity. Warmth flowed through him, seeing Rachel perched on a tall stool alongside Meredith. The little girl’s fair curls matched the soft highlights in Meredith’s hair, and for one brief flash of time they looked like they belonged together.

Except they didn’t.

Rachel waved him over. “Dad, you have got to see this.”

“Whaddya got, kid?”

“Look.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the fussy border done in shades of pink and white. The wide strip showcased delicate teacups, doilies and china teapots in mixed floral designs. Gold-rimmed plates lined the back of the paper shelf and a vase of pink roses enhanced the effect of the floral-trimmed china. The whole thing was Victorian-friendly, ultrafeminine and way too pink. “Whoa. Girly. Where are the soccer balls? Baseball gloves. You don’t really like this, do you?”

Meredith’s gaze cooled like hot maple syrup on fresh snow, but Cam kept his eyes on Rachel. She made a pretty fair imitation of his frown and shook her head. “Way too prissy. Please.”

“Well, I like it,” Meredith announced. “It would be beautiful in a girl’s room over a pink-sprigged floral print with white upper walls.”

Cam pretended to gag. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not in the least.” She sent Rachel a soft smile. “There’s nothing wrong with being a tomboy who enjoys pretty things.”

Meredith’s words reinspired Rachel’s sparkle. Cam thought of her bedroom at home. He’d painted it ivory when they moved into the old place a couple of years ago. Work and parenting had kept him from making the changes he’d envisioned when he bought the small farm, but the girls didn’t seem to care. Life kept them plenty busy. Who had time to notice things like room color? Wallpaper? Please.

Rachel’s profile said otherwise, reason enough right there to limit her time with Meredith. He’d worked hard to raise the girls to be strong and independent. Assertive and athletic. All too soon maturing hormones would thrust them into a new world of girliness, but Cam refused to rush that process. His motto: All A’s, No B’s. Athletics and academics, no boys allowed. At least until the girls were thirty or so. Then they’d talk.

“Gotta go get your sister, kid.”

“Okay.” Rachel nodded and smiled, but Cam noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes, eyes that drifted back to the feminine border.

He ignored the longing look and faced Meredith. “This afternoon good for you? Around two?”

“Fine.” She didn’t smile at him, but squatted low to share a smile with his daughter. “Thanks for the advice. I like the way you see colors.”

Rachel’s warm expression said the words meant more than just a casual compliment. “Thank you. I liked working with you.”

“Then we’ll have to do it again,” Meredith promised. “Since your dad and I will be working together, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

She stood and Cam noticed the same wince he’d witnessed in the mercantile, as if her knees didn’t care to cooperate. He had a couple of joints like that, but the fact that Meredith didn’t acknowledge it this time scored extra points in his book. Not that he was keeping score. And the cool look she sent him said she wouldn’t care if he was keeping score because he’d gone into the minus column for not jumping on the teacup-and-flower bandwagon.

Oh, well.

Raising girls in a world rife with sensuality and innuendo was difficult enough for a man alone. Feeding into girly mumbo jumbo didn’t make sense to him, especially for two gifted competitors like Sophie and Rachel. No, he’d stick to the familiar basics. Home. Work. Family. And sports channels on cable.

He jerked his head toward the mélange of wall-covering books in front of Meredith. “We’ll discuss this—” he made a face to underscore his negative opinion of wallpaper

“—later, okay?”

“Which ones to use? Perfect.” She sent him a pert smile, a quick flash of teeth that said she’d go toe to toe with him. A long time ago, he’d have enjoyed that prospect. Now?

Not so much.

Meredith called her sister-in-law Callie once Cam left the store. When Callie answered with a quick hello, Meredith waded in. “Explain to me again why men are necessary?”

“Propagation of the species?”

“Modern technology could argue otherwise.”

“Because they’re better at digging up septic tanks and killing spiders?”

“There are machines for the first, and I can squash a spider with barely a grimace.”

“Because they smell good on Sunday morning?”

Meredith had been close enough to Cam to know he smelled good on Saturday mornings, too. Very good, in fact, a hint of savory and spice. She hauled in a breath and asked for the third time that week, “Refresh me on why you and Matt are too busy to fix up this old house for me.”

“Cam can’t do it?” Callie asked. Meredith’s moment of silence offered answer enough. “Oh, I see. Cam can do it and you’re running scared.”

“Annoyed possibly. Not scared.”

“And he hasn’t had an easy time since losing his wife,” Callie continued.

“A fact everyone left out of the equation,” Meredith muttered. “Why didn’t someone tell me he was a widower? With kids?”

Callie hesitated.

Meredith read the conversational gap and sighed. “All right, I get it. I’m not exactly approachable about the past, all the teen drama.”

“Those were rough times for you and your family.” Callie’s voice held assurance and affection. “I saw that in Matt. I see it in you and Jeff. When parents mess you over big time, it’s an adjustment that can take a long time to fix.”

Meredith didn’t want or need fixing. She was hardworking and industrious, with great shoes and hair. Although her nails could use some work, she noted, looking down. And when did looking good become a crime?

“Mere, we’d do it if we could.” Callie’s tone softened and Meredith felt like a first-class jerk for playing the guilt card. “You know that.”

Meredith did know that, but changing family dynamics fast-forwarded her into a new reality. Callie and Matt were expecting a baby and Matt was in the process of adopting Callie’s son, Jake, an eight-year-old sweetheart.

Meredith’s older brother Jeff had gotten married on New Year’s Eve, and if Hannah’s recent pale features were any indication, Meredith figured she’d have two new family members before year’s end. Two bundles of joy to feed and rock. Anticipation mixed with envy. There was a time she’d thought of her future in those terms. Home. Family. Cute husband. Children.

An incoming text interrupted her pity party. She saw three words and Cam’s number, and smiled in spite of herself while Callie was left hanging.

Pink teapots? Really?

The shared joke jerked her out of her self-imposed funk. “I’ll talk to you later, Callie. And give Jake a hug for me.”

“Will do.”

Meredith saved Cam’s text, put the phone away and closed the wallpaper books. Once outside, she drew a breath as frigid March winds swirled dust devils of stinging snow mixed with rain beneath her coat. Warmth came late in the foothills. She’d grown accustomed to softer springs in Maryland. Early buds, cherry blossoms, spring bulbs burgeoning forth. That wouldn’t happen for a while in the Southern Tier of New York, but lamenting the weather didn’t make the short list. Weather was what it was.

Great hair? Meredith walked by the old-time mercantile, shoulders back and head high, just in case Claire Dennehy was watching.

Great hair was priceless.

Chapter Four

“I can’t find Sally.”

“What?” Cam set aside the wood specs he’d been configuring, closed the laptop and slipped it into the cushioned bag that afternoon.

“Sally, the kitten. She’s gone.”

“You named that last kitten? Even though she’s not staying?”

“Well, she still needs a name,” Rachel interjected practically as she burrowed into her coat like a pup chasing its tail. “All little kitties need names, Daddy.”

Sophie followed them to the car, her reluctance to leave slowing her step, shading her gaze.

“The mom will find her, honey. They always do.”

Sophie looked up at him, pensive, then shifted a troubled look to the barn. “Are you sure? She’s awfully small. And the other two are right there with their mom, eating.”

“I’m sure.”

“Daddy, can we play dress-up at Meredith’s?” Rachel’s concern was more readily appeased than Sophie’s. Today was no exception.

“You mean Miss Brennan’s?”

“She doesn’t care. Really.” Rachel gave that notion a dismissive wave and grasped his hand. “I think she likes us, Daddy. And it would be fun to dress up in old-fashioned clothes in her house.”

“Of course she likes you,” Cam told her. He ruffled her hair as she climbed into the car, then winked at Sophie on the other side. “You’re the best girls ever. But we don’t have any old-fashioned stuff.”

“I know.” Rachel frowned, attempting to reason this out. “We could get some. I wonder where you buy them?”

Cam didn’t have a clue. “I don’t think you do. I think people, like…leave them to you.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like old people in your family.”

“Like Grandma?”

The unlikelihood of that came through Rachel’s tone and showed on her face.

“Not everybody keeps that kind of stuff,” Cam explained.

“Well, they wear old-fashioned things in the parade every year,” Sophie offered as she buckled her shoulder belt. “Somebody must know where to get them.”

“Do we care that much?” Cam settled his laptop bag on the front passenger seat and met the girls’ gazes through the rear-view mirror once he’d taken his seat. “Because I can check it out if we do.”

Sophie looked tempted but stayed quiet. Rachel nodded as she clipped her seat belt. “Yeah. It would be great. And I think Meredith would like it. She likes having us around.”

Good thing, thought Cam, since we’re going to be underfoot the next few months. He double-checked his tool list, then started the engine. “But remember, this is a job. You need to be good while I’m working or I have to find a sitter for you.”

He didn’t miss their exchanged glances. “Not Grandma, right?” Sophie made a face that inspired Rachel’s giggle.

Grandma didn’t make Cam’s short list of options, either, but he wasn’t a fan of disrespect. “Your grandmother loves you. She’s just got her own way of doing things.”

“Yeah. Mean.”

“Rachel.”

“Sor-ry.”

She stretched out the word as if underscoring her sincerity, but Cam knew better. Rachel called things as she saw them, but he didn’t want to raise mouthy kids. “You guys have your books?”

Sophie patted her backpack.

Rachel looked guilty.

Cam held up three books about an irascible kindergartner whose antics charmed kids of all ages and handed them over the seat. “Luckily, one of us was paying attention.”

She grinned. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ve got snacks packed, but don’t mess up Miss Brennan’s house, okay? Or leave food crumbs around for the mice.”

“Real mice?”

“Or rats?” Sophie wondered, intrigued. “Will you pay us if we catch one?”

Cam hesitated, then nodded, unsure how Meredith would handle that idea. Rodents were a fact of life in the country and he paid the girls fifty cents for every mouse they caught, inside and outside. He paid a dollar for rats, but they’d only bagged two of those over the past few years, thanks to Dora, their white-backed calico cat. Dora hunted regularly, as evidenced by the furry gifts she left on their side porch.

She’d had three kittens a few weeks back, two of which were promised to friends.

Kristy had loved kittens. Cats hadn’t been allowed in their apartment, but he’d promised they’d get one once they had their own place. She didn’t live long enough for that promise to become reality.

His fault.

Guilt festered, an angry wound in need of cleansing. But there was little to do for a wounded man who left his wife to die on the couch.

Pneumonia, the doctor said.

Five years later, Cam still felt a slap of disbelief that people died from pneumonia in this day and age, especially young women like his wife. But he should have known because he knew her lungs had been compromised as a child. He’d watched her use an atomizer for exercise-induced asthma. Problems in her first year had taken her to the hospital several times with infant pneumonia. What he hadn’t known was that the effects of those early problems could prove dangerous to the twenty-seven-year-old woman that shared his love, his life, his bed.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

He flicked a glance toward Rachel, erased his concerns and shrugged. “Nothing, honey. I’m just pondering how to do things at Miss Brennan’s.”

“Oh.” Rachel nodded, accepting, then sighed. “I love her hair. Don’t you, Sophie?”

Sophie darted a glance between Rachel and her father. Cam caught the tail end of the surreptitious look while paused at a stop light. “It’s all right,” she answered, purposely nonchalant.

“It’s gorgeous.” Rachel laced her observation with full drawn-out emotion. “I want hair like that when I get bigger.”

“I don’t.”

Rachel eyed her sister and shrugged. “Well, you couldn’t have it anyway. You’ve got dark hair. And it’s straight. I’ve got curls like Meredith.”

Cam cringed. The girls barely knew Meredith and already they were arguing about hair. What was next? Nails? Makeup? Boyfriends? “God made you different because you are different, Rach. That doesn’t make curls better than straight or vice versa.”

“Vice-a-whatta?”

“It doesn’t matter what your hair looks like,” he pressed.

Sophie’s eye roll said otherwise.

Rachel just laughed. “Of course it does. It’s hair. It’s supposed to look nice. Don’t you like the way Meredith’s hair looks, Daddy? All shiny and soft?”

Do not go there.

“How we act is more important,” Cam explained, feeling defensive and out of the loop, “than how we look outside.”

Sophie stayed quiet, staring out the window, then leaned forward. “You get your hair cut all the time, Daddy.”

“Yes.” He drew the word out, wondering. “I have to look decent to teach.”

“What if we want to look nice, too?”

Where Rachel finagled, Sophie calmly reasoned. Her words stabbed Cam. Could they possibly think they didn’t look nice? They were beautiful, lovely, adorable girls. They didn’t need artificial enhancements to make that more noticeable. He paused at a stop sign and met Sophie’s honest look.

“You always look nice, honey.”

She stayed silent, their gazes locked. Cam glimpsed a hint of the woman she was to become when she sat back and resumed gazing out the window, her face and posture quietly shutting him out.

He’d blown it, big time, but he had no idea why. Or how. Or why hair mattered to a pair of little girls who should be more interested in crushing opponents on a soccer field than playing with dolls.

As he turned into Meredith’s driveway, his mother’s warning resurfaced. He’d worked hard to raise grounded, gracious girls. Two days after meeting Meredith, he felt like Commander Queeg, murmurs of mutiny surfacing around him.

He parked near the side door and started to unload his gear. For the next few months he’d be here in whatever spare time he could muster. But the girls…

His precious girls.

He’d worked hard to direct them to things of import. If being around Meredith elevated looks and fashion higher than they should be, he’d seek another option. Yes, he needed the money this job would bring. He’d called the orthodontist’s office and set up Sophie’s first appointment to get the ball rolling.

But no amount of money could coerce him to risk his daughters’ emotional well-being. He’d recognized that early on, and refused to leave them with his mother more than occasionally for that very reason. Her negativity could quash their ingenuity, and he wouldn’t have that.

But he wasn’t about to go the other way, either, and have them turn into prima donnas, more concerned with appearance than content.

As the girls rushed the side door with their book bags in hand, Cam sent a look skyward. If only he’d been more on top of things five years ago, Kristy would be here, taking care of the girls, teaching them soccer drills and playing house with them. But she wasn’t, and there was only one person to blame for that, the husband who’d promised to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health.

He’d blown that big time with his wife. He had no intention of risking a grievous mistake with his daughters.

* * *

The bang of the side door preceded the hurried sound of small, running feet. Meredith grinned in anticipation, rose, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, then put a choke hold on an emotional upsurge when Cam’s cautioning voice followed the rapid footsteps.

“Girls. No running. This is a house, not a soccer field. Meredith?”

“I’m here.” She descended the wide, turning staircase quickly, feeling his upturned gaze, pretty sure the inside temperature had risen indiscriminately with his arrival. Or maybe it was her personal internal temperature, in which case a nice, cold glass of tea should do the trick.

One look into Cam’s sky-blue eyes said tea wouldn’t cut it.

Meredith hid that realization behind a mask of calm, a look she’d perfected while dealing with pretentious spa customers who thought money more valuable than good manners.

She wouldn’t have that problem in Wellsville and Jamison. Here she’d have to deal with the naysayers who thought great haircuts, pedicures and facials were acts of self-indulgence.

Meredith knew better. She’d watched her father ruin his life and his health by poisoning his system with drugs and alcohol.