Yuletide Hearts (8 page)

“It's lovely.” He fingered the quilt again, then turned, puzzled. “But why are you showing me?”

“Hank Marek commissioned this for Callie before everything tanked. It was a Christmas present for her, but then he couldn't afford it, so I put it out here.”

Matt flipped over the price tag and winced. “The most expensive one of the bunch, of course.”

“Let's call it creative financing.” Maude grinned at his hiked brow. “I didn't want anyone else to buy it, so I discouraged the purchase. Think half what you see and it's yours.”

“Mine?”

“If you're interested, that is.” Her facial expression read “all business,” but the gleam in her eye said “yenta.”

Matt took a broad step back. “Hank might want to get it himself.”

“Possibly.” Maude's look said she wouldn't push, but it also said she didn't think it likely that Hank could put together over five hundred dollars for a blanket.

Matt started to turn away, but reached out for one more touch. “He really commissioned this for her?”

Maude regarded the quilt, then Matt. “He said when Callie came back from Iraq, she was different. More subdued.”

Matt could understand that. War could change people, but because women weren't allowed in combat, he didn't think the effect held true for them. Maybe he'd been a little simplistic in his assumptions.

“And that she missed color most of all.”

That statement hit a note as well. The flat, dull tones of desert duty held none of the warmth and drama of Allegheny County, its beauty ever-changing in the dance of seasons. “That's true.”

“Callie's mother loved to garden. She had a knack, that's
for sure. That's why Hank picked this design.” Maude flicked the quilt a quick, dismissive touch. “Well, you know it's here. That's really all I meant to do.”

“And break up the confrontation with Howard.”

She mulled that as she walked him out front. “Howard's not a bad person, but he's unforgiving. And Katie had a rebel streak in her that he tried to squelch six ways to Sunday.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Maude turned a firm gaze his way. “I've known that girl since she was in the cradle. And Howard's as responsible as any for her wild years. He knows that, which is why he needs to blame you. Howard Bascomb isn't about to shoulder that responsibility himself.”

“I was sixteen, driving the car and drunk.” Matt laid out the facts with no defensive strategy. “I'm going with my fault.”

“Huh.” She sighed and looked aggrieved. “You're such a leatherneck.”

Her use of the marine term made him smile. “Guilty.”

“And two tours in Iraq.”

“Didn't give Katie her leg back.” He reached for the door handle, then turned back toward Maude. “I appreciate what you're trying to do.”

“But you're too dad-gum stubborn to see it yourself,” she shot back. “And that's the one thing you are guilty of, Matt Cavanaugh.” She reached out a hand to shake his, her grip firm and direct. “I married a marine. Smartest move I ever made, so forgive an old lady for doing some matchmaking as opportunity arises.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He grinned, tipped his chin down and headed back into the rain, the bustle of people gone, the park round empty. He realized he'd half hoped Callie would still be here, which was downright silly because he'd see her back at the house in just a few minutes, right?

“Hey, marine.”

He turned as her car rolled up alongside him, unable to
fight back the smile of welcome. “Hey, yourself. You folks going the wrong way?”

Callie shook her head. “Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I saw your truck parked here once I dragged Jake away from his buddies and…” She shrugged, pretending unconcern. “I didn't want you stuck or anything.”

Add compassionate to her growing list of attributes, as if Matt needed more reasons to be attracted. He bent down, leaned in and grinned, pleased that she checked on him, staunchly refusing to examine why such a little thing felt so good.

 

Why did his smile make her heart feel stronger? Prettier? More desireable? Why did mere seconds in his company make her long for more?

You don't get it? Really?

Callie hushed the inner admonition. She
couldn't
get it, plain and simple. And since Matt understood the rules, they should do fine, right? “Then I'll see you at home and we can get started on the next group of windows, right?”

“Meaning you'll make food in the nice warm house while the rest of us install windows.”

“And don't forget—” Jake began, excitement coloring his words.

“Christmas lights.” Matt interrupted Jake with a grin and a wink. “And there's a great four o'clock game today.” He gave his watch a pointed look.

“Reason enough for living right there,” Callie drawled. “See you at home.”

Her innocent phrase sparked something in Matt's eyes, a hint of longing that gave him a lost puppy look. The cool, crisp marine facade took over quickly, but Callie knew what she'd seen.

While not all soldiers bore physical wounds, all soldiers bore effects of service, good and bad. Life extracted nothing else.

But behind the wide smile, the patient hands, the warm embracing gaze, Matt's expression sought something. Yearning. Searching. Much like the face she saw in the mirror when no one was looking.

Pulling away, she refused to look back. Couldn't look back. Jake helped her out by pointing to the large sign at the front of the green. “Do you know how expensive those sleigh rides are, Mom?”

Callie shook her head.

“Way too pricey,” Jake told her firmly. “And why would anybody need to go see Christmas lights when we can put up our own?”

Callie recognized the tactic and loved him for it. “You're right, of course. And we always take a drive to the neighborhoods and check out the lights, right?”

“For free.”

A part of her wished that lack of money didn't govern every turn. Another part respected how Jake cared enough to accept certain things without haggle. “Free's a good thing these days. For a lot of people.”

“And Shadow Jesus?”

She grinned, his innocence wiping away old thoughts of bad times. “After the lights. If not today, then one day this week after school.”

“Good.” They drove another minute forward before Jake twisted. A quick glance his way showed his concern. “Who was that guy yelling at Matt?”

Callie sighed. She'd hoped he'd missed that little confrontation on their first pass through town, but the kid was too smart for his own good. “That was Mr. Bascomb. I don't think he was yelling, honey. They were just talking.”

Jake snorted. “He was mad, Mom. At Matt.”

Conceding, she met him halfway. “He did look irritated.”

“Ticked off.” Jake shook his head. “I don't know why anybody would get mad at Matt. He's the best.”

“He is.” It wasn't bad to admit that, was it? Here in the pri
vacy of their car, just her and Jake? “And if you want to help today, I'll have you work on window shims with us. The guys are coming by for a few hours to see if we can finish up.”

“Cool.” Jake swung open his door and turned Callie's way as they hurried toward the house. “And you don't have to pay me, Mom.”

“Jake, people work to get paid. It's the norm. Blame our capitalistic society.”

He grinned, held the door for her, then shrugged out of his jacket once they were on the porch. “I don't need money. You and Grandpa do. Really.” He gazed up at her with earnest eyes, his expression firm. “I don't want you to pay me. I just want to help you and Grandpa.”

Tears pricked her eyes.

“Aw, geez.”

“You're such a good boy.”

“Mom, get over it already.” He ducked his head, shrugged under her arm and through the kitchen door, but sent her a teasing look over his shoulder, a look that reminded her of how Matt joked with her. Laughed with her.

“I'm getting changed for work.”

Callie pegged her coat and headed upstairs behind him. “Me, too. And it looks like Grandpa's beat us over there with Buck and Jim, so we can get a quick start.”

“I'm here, too.” Tom's voice hailed her from down the stairs. “I'll meet you guys across the way. There's doughnuts on the table.”

“Doughnuts! Thanks, Tom!”

Callie smiled, warmth seeking into her bones despite the cold rain.

Two weeks ago the future looked dim, Cobbled Creek looming like a dark abyss of failure.

Now?

She woke up excited each morning. To crew alongside the guys, watching these homes go together step by step… The entire process brightened her day, lightened her step.

She loved building. Creating. Operating power tools. Eyeing a square and a level, getting things just right. And not one of these men made her feel less feminine for her aptitude with a power hammer. So why had Dustin's rejection stung that much? That deep? Had she even loved him, or was their spontaneous marriage just a young lark gone bad?

She pulled on snug clothes, attached her tool belt to the air-channeled suspenders and headed across the street with Jake, humming a tune, then realized she was humming the tune Matt whistled all the time.

His truck pulled up alongside them. “I thought you were cooking today? Staying warm?”

His gruff tone revealed more than the cautionary words. She tapped her watch and continued toward the subdivision. “I've got two hours before I have to start the chili and the bread. I can do a lot in two hours, marine.”

She didn't wait to hear his response, but knew she'd pleased him and refused to question herself on why that felt particularly good.

“See ya over there, Matt!”

“I'll be right behind you, bud.”

Callie wasn't sure what jack-hammered her heart out of its easy rhythm—his voice or choice of words. But the smile on Jake's face showcased Matt's dual effect.

And when he's gone,
her conscience niggled.
What then?

Callie shoved that aside. Homes weren't constructed overnight, and if Phase One of Cobbled Creek sold in quick fashion, Matt might expand his efforts into Phase Two, a second grouping of homes moving up the slope. In the meantime she intended to enjoy doing what she loved most. Working side by side with family and friends, making dreams come true.

“I'
ve got this covered,” Matt called down to Callie from the upper reaches of Hank's ladder late that afternoon, raising his voice above the rain. “It's not rocket science.”

“Goes faster with two, especially in these conditions.” Callie thumped the second ladder up against the house with military ease.

“Then send Buck out,” Matt chastised, striving for patience. Wasn't this the day he wanted her to rest up? Stay warm and dry? She'd been working or cooking since they got home from church. Not exactly the R & R he'd envisioned.

“I would, but he's sound asleep in the recliner.” She adjusted her ladder, drove in a couple of quick stakes to maintain the position and headed up the rungs, Christmas lights suspended from her shoulders.

“Nice necklace.”

The rain blocked her grin, but he pictured her wide smile. Her reply only deepened the vision. “I wore it for you.”

“And the boots?”

She laughed, and the bright sound eased the steady torment of being perpetually wet for nearly seventy-two hours. “Bloomingdale's. Like 'em?”

She waggled her foot off the edge of the ladder and he had a sudden urge to save and scold.

He quelled both. “Bloomingdale's carries army surplus? Sweet.”

She began unwinding the lights from her neck, slipping the cord through the permanently affixed light hangers along the roofline, the long extension cord flagging in the wind and rain.

Matt worked her way until he had to shift his ladder. He climbed down, made his adjustment, then realized how close they were to being done as he headed back up. “I didn't realize this would go so fast.”

“Dad put in the hangers years ago. And it takes exactly two strings minus eight inches, so when I get to the middle, we should meet up and be perfect.”

Matt knew he should resist, but an opening like that was made to be used. “Nothing I haven't been saying right along, Cal.”

“Ha, ha.” She reached out, hooked a light, scrambled down the ladder way too quickly for his peace of mind and the wet conditions, moved it three feet toward center, applied her stakes and headed back up.

“You're quick,” he observed, noting how much closer she was now. Touchable, actually.

“What I am is soaked,” she shot back, deftly stringing the green wire through the last of the turned brackets. “And cold. Hence the speed.”

“I'd feel sorry for you if you hadn't totally ignored instructions.” Matt reached left as she finished the length of her light string and grabbed her hand as well as the cord. “I could have done this. I was already wet. And I wanted you to have one day to be comfortable. Warm. Dry.”

“Well.” She slanted him a smiling look, then swept their linked hands a glance. “This way I got you to hold my hand.”

“Honey, you didn't need to climb a ladder in the rain for that. I'd have obliged under much more hospitable conditions.”

She winked, wiggled her hand free, then watched him connect the two ends. “Someday when you're not my boss, we'll talk.”

“Back to that.” He climbed down the ladder as she did,
stepped off and reached out, tugging her closer, her look of surprise and wonder saying more than words ever could. He held her gaze and her hand, the rain soaking through their hats, their neck warmers, their hoodies. “I can't even fire you for my own selfish purposes because you're too good at what you do, Callie.”

A smile stole across her face, a look of pleasure that hinted more than humor. “Thank you for saying that.”

He grinned, dropped her hand but wished he didn't have to, removed his ladder stakes and hers, then shooed her toward the house in a no-nonsense voice. “I only speak the truth, ma'am. Go inside. Sit by the fire. Get warm. I'll put the ladders away.”

She looked about to argue, but then that hinted contentment invaded her features again, as if having someone watch over her was the most magnificent thing in the world. And that only made Matt want to do it more.

Except he couldn't. At least not right now.

Not ever, soldier. You think she'd be all doe-eyed and sweet-talkin' when she hears how you passed your teen years? Detoxing in a detention center after wrecking people's lives?

And yet, Katie hadn't looked wrecked that morning. She'd looked…wonderful. Content. Peaceful. And her spark of humor that earned them more than one scolding in junior high was evident in the grin she flashed the congregation as she challenged them with her fiddle.

What had Staff Sergeant Weckford told him years ago? “Never let a memory become stronger than a dream.”

Matt thought he understood the inference, but relocating to Jamison and Wellsville, seeing old haunts, old friends, new faces… His head accepted the practicality of moving on.

His heart longed for a do-over.

“Fire's nice and toasty,” Hank greeted him as he came in. The warmth enveloped Matt, a comfort that came from more than the wood stove fire, although he wouldn't deny the welcome the DutchWest offered.

There was Jake, sprawled in front of the game, a bowl of popcorn to the side, maneuvering a team of soldiers through dense jungles of Pacific islands. Buck, head back, sound asleep in Hank's recliner, looking utterly content. And as Hank grabbed Matt's soaked hoodie and hung it near the fire to dry, Callie hustled down the stairs, a pair of fitted jeans replacing her loose working variety, while an aqua knit turtleneck hugged her like a second skin, the ribbed knit looking comfy-cozy while it showcased curves her work gear camouflaged.

If Matt had a hard time getting her off his mind in flannels and hoodies, he'd jump straight to impossible now, the soft blue-green knit complementing her green eyes.

She looked absolutely beautiful and if Hank hadn't clapped him on the back as the home team scored on their opening drive, he probably would have stood and stared for who knows how long. Forever, maybe?

His family didn't do forever, not since Grandpa's time, but seeing Callie here, in the worn but genteel home setting, Matt began to realize that no one charted his destiny but him. Sure, he had a past.

Who didn't?

But maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to have a future, too. At that moment it seemed almost doable.

Jake spotted him and jumped up, a welcome interruption. “Are the lights hooked up?”

Appreciation for the boy's eagerness turned his serious thoughts to more youthful pastimes. “Yes. Once it gets dark, all you have to do is plug them in, bud.”

“And it's getting dark earlier and earlier,” Jake noted.

“Ah, to be the age when that was a joyous thing,” Callie muttered to Matt. “And then tomorrow we'll put up the Holy Family.”

“Not tonight?” A hint of whining drew Callie's gaze around.

“No. And no arguing. Everybody's been working hard all week. Tonight is rest time.”

“Although I might be talked into a reenactment of our Aussie mates holding off a blitzkrieg on the carpet,” Matt told him. “Once I get cleaned up.”

Jake's brows shot up. “Really?”

“Jacob Henry.”

Jake shot a quick glance to his mother. “If you're too tired, Matt, it's okay.”

“Let me take care of this wet stuff.” Matt made a face that had both Callie and Hank nodding agreement. “And then some of your mother's amazing chili.”

“And her fresh bread,” shot in Buck, awake just in time to publicly laud Callie's achievements.

“And that, of course.” Matt let his eyes twinkle into Callie's, his thoughts only partially on food. “And then I'm yours, bud.”

Callie moved closer, but kept her voice low. “You wanted to watch the game. It's okay to tell him ‘no.' He'll survive. Promise.”

Matt matched his voice to hers. “My way means I score points with the kid
and
his mother while Rodgers puts the offense over the top. Everybody wins.”

The hint of color inspired by his banter made him long to touch her cheek. Feel the heat there. Maybe steal a kiss.

But a gentleman didn't toy with a lady's affections, especially a lady who'd been raked over the coals by someone not smart enough to realize how wonderful she was.

Exactly why he
couldn't
step out and act on his feelings. She didn't need more hurt or heartache, he was pretty sure of that. What she did need was money to cover basic things like food and shelter. One mess-up wouldn't only cost him great laborers, but it would also cost her the simple basics of life. Home. Heat. Groceries.

He'd cling to common sense. Help out quietly because he was living there. And try to think of a way to keep his dis
tance, but seeing Callie in her everyday, nonconstruction clothes?

That image added a whole new level of difficulty to his task.

 

He noticed.

He noticed not.

He noticed…

Callie bit back a growl the next day, seriously disgruntled with herself, men in general, Matt in particular.

A convent would be so much easier.

“Callie, your level's off.”

She jerked straight and eyed her bubble, chagrined. “Sorry, boss.”

“No big deal. You feeling all right?”

Ignore the concern in his voice and the look on his face that says you matter. Trust me, you don't, except as a means to an end which is getting these roofs in place now that the rain has passed.
“Fine. Just thinking.”

“Stop that, okay?”

Eyes down, she nodded, knowing he was joking but unable to reciprocate. “Won't happen again.”

He stopped nailing and whistling, the sudden silence making them seem like the only two people on Earth, but that was silly because her father, Jim and Buck were on the opposite side of the street installing underlayment over the plywood roofing on the last house.

“Hey.” He moved closer and bent low. “You okay, Cal?”

“Yes, thanks for asking.”

He didn't tease her back, didn't chuck her on the shoulder, didn't take the bait. “You sure?”

“Quite. And busy. How 'bout you?”

He touched a hand to her shoulder, a simple gesture of friendship, so why did it feel as if he was ready to lay down his jacket over the puddles in her life?

Too many puddles, not enough Carhartt.

Finch McGee's van pulled in, followed by Amanda Slaughter. Matt paused at the ladder and caught her eye. “It's almost worth not having coffee to avoid him.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” She waited one beat, then two, eyeing the ladder. “Are you waiting for me to go first?”

Matt shook his head, his gaze thoughtful, then inclined his gaze toward Finch's truck. “Does he ever bother you, Cal? I mean,
really
bother you?”

She hid the part of her that longed to bask in his concern because Callie knew what Matt meant by “bother.” “Matt, I might have been army to your marine credentials, but I can usually take care of myself. I am trained in mortal combat, remember?”

“And I'd welcome a personal demonstration sometime,” he quipped back, but the hand to her shoulder returned. “If anyone ever pesters you, I've got your back, okay?”

“It's not like they're lining up on the street, marine.” She stepped onto the ladder in front of him and shot him a disbelieving look.

“A situation I haven't been able to figure out,” he told her as he climbed down after her. “Guys down here aren't the sharpest tools in the shed.”

“And here's a rope to prove it,” Callie muttered as Finch approached. She beelined for the coffee, successfully sidestepping Finch, leaving Matt to deal with him.

Cowardly?

No.

Self-preservation at its finest. For some reason Finch McGee had set his sights on Callie either because she was in financial constraints and possibly an easy target, or he wanted to make a full one-eighty away from his blonde, petite ex-wife.

Either way, she wasn't interested, but he wasn't an easily discouraged guy.

She loved that about Matt.

It annoyed her with Finch.

“Things are really coming along.” Amanda noted as she handed Callie an insulated cup. “You guys have done a great job and Jim said he's never worked with a better crew.”

“Back at ya.” Callie raised her cup, sniffed and smiled. “I love that you buy me girly coffee with flavored creamers. That makes my day. You know that, right?”

Amanda leaned alongside the truck and watched as Jim joined Matt and the building inspector. “We girls have to stick together. And protect our men from snakes in the grass.”

Callie didn't have to follow her look to know it embraced McGee. “Except I don't have a man, so we'll join forces to protect yours.”

Eyes forward, Amanda sipped her coffee and grinned. “You keep telling yourself that, honey. According to my husband, aka Mr. Obtuse, Matt Cavanaugh can't keep his eyes off you.”

Callie stretched out her flannel covered arm. Worn, faded flannel at that. She swept her working attire a disparaging look. “Are ya kiddin' me?”

“Good men see beyond what we wear.”

Callie made a face. “That sounds so wrong.”

Amanda laughed. “It did, kind of, but you know what I mean. They see our heart. Our soul.”

“You're watching that
Tender November
romance series on PBS, aren't you?”

Amanda didn't confess, but she did sigh. “Brontes. Austen. Alcott.”

“No wonder you're twitterpated.” Callie dipped her chin as the men headed their way. “Let's ix-nay the omance-ray, okay?”

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do.” Callie straightened as Matt reached across for the coffee bearing his initials.

“Thanks, Amanda.”

“You're welcome. Finch, I'm sorry, I'd have grabbed you a coffee if I'd known you were going to be here.”