Читать книгу Yuletide Hearts - Ruth Herne Logan - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“What do you mean you’ve got no crew?” Matt asked his roofing subcontractor the next morning. “I can’t do a thing until we get these places under cover with good roofs. We’ve got water-damaged plywood to replace, it’s November and I need the crew you promised today. Not next April.”

Jim Slaughter, the owner/manager of Slaughter Roofing and Siding sighed. “I’m tapped out, Matt. Fewer housing starts and reroofs. I’m filing for bankruptcy restructuring and hoping I can keep my house so we’re not tossed out on the street. I had to let the guys go.”

Matt’s marine training didn’t allow temper tantrums or bad vibes, even though he was tempted. “Who else might be available?”

Jim went silent, then offered, “You’ve got the Marek family right there, and Hank is friends with Buck Peters. They’ve all done roofing.”

Ask the guy whose dream got yanked out from under him to finish that dream for someone else? Matt didn’t have the callousness to do that.

Did he?

Matt eyed the farmhouse across the way. A ladder leaned up against the front. While he watched, the woman came out of the house with a bucket. She climbed the ladder, the unwieldy bucket listing her to the right until she settled it on the ladder hook. She pulled out a large green scrubbie and began washing the faded paint systematically, until she’d extended as far as she could, then she climbed down, shifted the bucket and the ladder and repeated the process despite the cold day.

A scaffolding would be so much easier. A power washer? Better yet.

He clenched his jaw and shook his head internally. “Another option. Please.”

“I’ve got nothing. Literally. There aren’t a lot of roofing contractors close by and making time for your job would be hard with a clear schedule. For anyone with jobs lined up, getting yours in would be next to impossible and a lot of people let their crews go from November to March because of the holidays and the weather. I was hoping to hold out, but the closing took too long.”

It had, through no fault of Matt’s. Bankers didn’t comprehend weather-related restrictions and rushed work meant shoddy work.

Matt didn’t do shoddy. Ever. He inhaled, eyed the house across the street and released the breath slowly. “If I get help, can you crew with them?”

“If it means fighting my way out of this financial mess, I’ll work night and day,” Jim promised.

“Can we use your equipment?”

“Absolutely.”

Matt made several futile phone calls, carefully avoiding people who wouldn’t give him the time of day for good, if old, reasons. And while plenty of construction workers were laid off, most had left the area, unable to survive on nonexistent funds. Half the remaining subcontractors were the type Matt wouldn’t trust with his hammer, much less his livelihood, and the others were too busy to take on a huge project like Cobbled Creek.

Matt eyed the Marek place again and squared his shoulders, determined to find another way. He took two steps toward his truck, then gave himself a mental slap upside the head.

Jim made two very important points earlier. Was Matt willing to risk his investment on the possibility of bad workmanship?

No. His intent was to implement the appealing design plan that drew him initially. Of course it was less than beautiful now, and that had steered other developers clear. But Matt saw the potential and was determined to watch this pretty neighborhood spring to life under his guidance.

But rot problems would continue if the homes sat unroofed for another winter, and in the Allegheny foothills, rough weather came with a vengeance. He could complete inside work between now and spring, but outside endeavors were dictated by conditions. Lost time meant lost money, an unaffordable scenario to a guy who’d just invested a boatload of his and Grandpa’s money into this venture.

He pivoted, then headed across the front field, his gaze trained on the house facing him, uncertainty and determination warring within.

Callie strode into the house after her lunchtime waitressing stint and came to an abrupt halt when she saw Matt Cavanaugh seated at their kitchen table, sipping coffee like he was an old friend. A heart-stopping, good-looking old friend.

Except he wasn’t.

“Callie, Matt needs some help.”

Callie bit back a retort, trying to separate the tough-as-nails guy before her from the situation that wrested her father’s dream out of his hands.

Nope. Couldn’t do it.

She moved past the table, set a couple of plastic grocery bags on the counter and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave you men to your discussion.”

“It’s a family decision, Cal.”

Callie swallowed a sigh, one hand on the baluster, her feet paused, mid-step, then she shielded her emotions and faced them, albeit slowly. “About?”

“I need a work crew for roofing,” Matt explained. His deep voice kept the matter straightforward and almost a hint detached, as if this wasn’t about as insulting as life could get because he was talking about roofing their homes, their dreams, their project. “Jim Slaughter’s run into bad times, he had to let his crew go and you guys know how crucial it is to get these houses roofed.”

Hank nodded. “It broke my heart to see them sitting unprotected. Uncovered.”

Callie knew that truth firsthand; she’d lived, breathed and witnessed her father’s depression. His Crohn’s disease had contributed to the ruination of what could have been a beautiful dream, a feather in his cap. She’d prayed, promised, cajoled and bullied God and this…

She swallowed a sigh, eyeing Matt, trying to look beyond the tough-guy good looks, the steel gaze, the take-charge attitude so necessary in a good contractor.

But right now this man represented their failure through no fault of his own other than being fiscally sound at the right time. While she couldn’t hate him for that, a part of her resented his success in light of her father’s failure.

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.

Churchill’s quote stuck in her craw. She crossed the room, poured a cup of coffee, moved back to the table, sat and eyed the two men. “I’m listening.”

“Matt’s offered some good money if we can crew alongside Jim Slaughter while his business is restructured.”

So Jim’s company had succumbed as well, and he had a nice, hardworking wife and two kids. Callie choked down a sigh. “Good money as in?” She turned Matt’s way, keeping her affect flat, her gaze calm. Extra money was worth getting excited about for a combination of reasons, but taking it from the victor who now owned the spoils?

That cut. Nevertheless, her twenty-five hours of waitressing offered small monetary respite, not nearly enough to get by on, and she’d crewed for her father and his construction friends for years after leaving the military.

Matt’s calm expression went straight to surprise. “You crew?”

And there it was, old feelings rubbed raw, his look reminding her of her ex-husband’s disdain, how Dustin found her unfeminine and unappealing. She met his gaze straight on. “Yes.”

The bare-bulb wattage of his grin should have come with a warning label. Sparks of awareness flickered beneath her heart, but she’d served in the military for four years and good-looking smiles had been a dime a dozen. But something about his…

“Well, that’s an unexpected bonus.”

When she frowned, he explained, “Numbers-wise. I knew your father was experienced, and his friend Buck, but to have a third person.” He raised his shoulders in a half shrug. “That’s clutch in roofing. And Jim Slaughter will help, too, so that makes five of us.”

“Six, actually.”

Matt turned back toward Hank.

“Tom Baldwin might be on in years, but he’s a solid roofer. I know that firsthand.”

“Excellent.” Matt swept Callie another quick smile, just quick enough to make her want to shift forward.

Therefore she pulled back. “Except I haven’t said yes.”

“That’s true.” Matt stood, his shoulders filling the tan T-shirt beneath a frayed brown-plaid hooded flannel, the plain clothes adding to his hard-edged charm. “Here’s my number.” He handed her a business card, reached across and shook her father’s hand, his frank gaze understanding. “Can you let me know by tonight?”

“Of course.” Hank stood and walked Matt outside. “Let me talk to Buck and see if he’s available. Tom, too.”

“And, sir…” Matt hesitated, then turned, his eyes sweeping Hank, then the subdivision across the road. “I know this is difficult,” he began.

Hank cut him off. “Things happen for a reason, son. Always did, always will. I can’t pretend I wasn’t disappointed by my run of bad luck, especially because it affected more than me.”

Callie knew he’d shifted his gaze her way, but she kept her eyes down, not ready to rush this decision, although seeing Matt’s grin on a regular basis wouldn’t be a hardship. No, she’d definitely go to delightful. Maybe even delicious. But seriously off limits.

Like you’re all that much to look at in hoodies and jeans with a tool belt strapped around your waist? Step back into reality, honey. Been there, done that. Bad ending all around.

“But I’ve wound ’round God’s paths all my life,” Hank went on, “the ups and downs, the back-and-forths, and we’ve always come out okay in the end.”

“Good philosophy,” Matt noted. He moved across the side porch, then down the steps. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“I’ll call,” Hank promised.

Callie stared at her coffee, not wanting it, not wanting to be broke, not wanting to work for the attractive guy across the street who seemed bent on getting them involved in his success while facing their loss.

“It’s a good opportunity, Cal.” Hank laid a hand on her shoulder, his gentle grip understanding.

“The location’s convenient.”

“Yes.”

She sighed and stared out the window, seeing nothing. “And the money’s good.”

“And welcome.”

“I’ll say.” She paused, drummed her fingers along the table top, then slanted her eyes to his. “I know we have to say yes, Dad.”

He winced, then shrugged, understanding her mixed feelings.

“But I have to recount the reasons why before I do it.”

“Like bills to pay?”

“For one.” She nodded toward the school bus lumbering down the road. “I spent my Christmas budget on school clothes and supplies for Jake. He grew so much this summer that nothing fit, so I had to totally re-outfit him.”

“And my little stash went toward truck engine repairs.”

Two relatively minor things had dissolved their meager savings. Callie hated that, but then gave herself an internal smack upside the head.

Jake was strong, healthy and athletic, a good boy who loved traipsing off to a fishing hole, who behaved himself in school and accepted the necessary extra tutoring with little argument. He knew his way around a hammer and saw, a Marek trait tried and true, and wasn’t afraid to don a hard hat and be a crew gopher.

Her father’s health had returned with his colostomy, and if he continued to do well, they’d be able to reverse the procedure mid-winter. And while his appetite waned occasionally, she couldn’t deny that good old-fashioned hard work was the best appetite builder known to man, and that getting back to work was in her father’s long-term best interest.

The General dashed off the porch to greet Jake, his fur blending to grays in pursuit, the flash of white tail fringe the kind of welcome any boy would love.

“But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish.”

The words of the ninth Psalm flooded her, their comfort magnified in simplicity.

Callie liked things simple. She loved the feel of crewing on a house, walking scaffolding, climbing ladders, working a rooftop. Her father had affectionately called her his “right-hand man” from the time she was big enough to eye a square alongside him, and they’d laughed at the expression.

But you stopped laughing when Dustin walked out, citing your lack of femininity as a total turnoff.

Jake’s dad had tossed her over for the former Livingston County Miss New York entrant, a petite gal who’d promptly given him two daughters in their suburban home in Rhode Island, neither of whom Jake had ever met. Dustin made it abundantly clear that his first family was an anomaly in an otherwise perfect life, therefore best forgotten.

Jake’s entrance stopped her maudlin musings. She stood, smiled, grabbed him in a quick hug, then examined the papers he waved her way. “Another hundred on your math test?”

His grin said more than words ever could.

“And a plus on your homework sheets.” She ruffled his hair, nodded toward a plate of cookies and the refrigerator. “Grab a snack, there are fresh apples in the crisper. I’m heading out front to get more of that mold washed off.”

“Can we work on my science project tonight?”

“Absolutely.” Halting her work on their home’s western exposure for dinner, dark and homework left her little time to make progress, but Jake’s enthusiasm over schoolwork outranked everything. His excitement came after years of grueling practice, nights when he hated her, mornings spent crying, not wanting to get on the bus because school proved too difficult.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: It is the courage to continue that counts.”

Churchill’s words uplifted her, World War II a favorite study topic for Jake, and having served in Iraq, Callie understood war rigors firsthand. While hyped battles might gain more press, small battles, fought daily, wore down the enemy, except when the enemy came from within.

She pushed that thought aside, refusing to revisit old feelings that should have abated long past. Sure, she’d been dumped. Callie was adult enough to handle that. But Dustin dumped Jake, too, and despite prayer and her best efforts, what did she long to do?

Give her ex the quick kick he deserved for abandoning a God-given miracle. The first gift of Christmas. A child.

But Callie refused to dwell on Dustin Burdick’s shortcomings, although that proved harder at holiday time. She was home, safe and sound, with a beautiful son, a warm house and good friends. What more could she need?

The sound of a generator drew her gaze across the street. A light winked on in the model home, the only home near completion, and she caught sight of Matt Cavanaugh trekking back and forth from his truck to the pretty Cape Cod house, lugging things inside.

She pulled her attention back to the task at hand and climbed the ladder with her bucket and thick, green scrubbie, determined to get as much done as she could despite the chill, waning light.

Determination. Valor. Perseverance. She had the heart of a lioness and the grit of a soldier, two things vital to soothe the scarred soul of the woman within.