winter. Kind of like him these days, more haggard than he’d like.
Need an estimate on building repair for potential new business. Phone 555-AGUA.
Agua?
Cam frowned, scowled, then sighed out loud.
Water.
She couldn’t just key in 2-4-8-2 like a normal person? But then this was Meredith they were talking about, not exactly low-key. Subtle. Quiet.
He set the phone aside as his two girls raced for the backseat door, Sophie edging Rachel by a hair. “I win!”
“You shoved!”
“Did not.”
“Did—”
“Enough.” Cam swiveled in his seat, firm. “Sisters take care of each other. Not everything’s a race.”
Nine-year-old Sophie sent him a doubtful look while Rachel reached forward to soothe the line between his eyes. “It kind of is, Daddy. To us.”
Cam got that. What he had trouble navigating was what to do about the constant competition between two smart, athletic girls, always one-upping each other. Was this normal? How would he know? He’d already consulted half-a-dozen parenting books and the answers were more confusing than the question.
“Belts on?”
“Yes.” Sophie immediately pulled out a book, ready to immerse herself in the wonders of imagination.
“Me, too,” piped Rachel. “And when can I stop using this stupid booster seat?”
“Gotta grow, kid.” He winked at her through the rearview mirror as he wound the car out of the school lot. “Soph, did you have time to brush your teeth after lunch?”
Her guilty look said she might have had time but hadn’t bothered. Would the Wellsville, New York, orthodontist care? Cam glanced at the dashboard clock, weighed his time frame, frowned and figured now was as good a time as any to call Meredith back. A ten-second phone call wasn’t that big a deal, right?
“Meredith Brennan, Stillwaters, may I help you?”
His heart did a fifteen-year-old wrench that inspired memories of blue eyes, not sky-blue, but that shadowed federal blue he’d used on the Kinsler living room. Long lashes, without mascara. And soft brown hair, not dark, not light, like the shell of a walnut, new-penny polished.
“It’s Cam Calhoun, Meredith. You sent me a message.”
“Cam.”
One word. One single, tentative, maybe breathless word and his head spun back to where his heart would never be allowed to go. Ten seconds in and he realized returning her call was a mistake.
“I’m glad you called. My brother Matt recommended you and I…”
Her voice trailed, uncertain.
Make that two of them, then. “You’ve got something Matt can’t handle?” Her half brother Matt Cavanaugh was a respected housing contractor now, neck deep in building a new subdivision.
“Too busy. Can you come by and look it over? See what you think? Matt says you’re the best in town.”
He was the best in the county, but Cam let that slide. He didn’t do great work out of pride, but necessity. Less than perfect, less than beautiful, less than right…
Those options didn’t exist in his world. “Where is this place?”
“The old Senator’s Mansion on Route 19.”
Cam’s heart gripped. He loved that Victorian home, the beauty and sanctity of the town treasure that had been empty for too long. “You need a house that big?” Instantly he envisioned a passel of kids running around, restoring life to the home.
“For a wellness spa and beauty salon.”
Cam’s vision disappeared in a puff of reality.
Meredith with a house full of kids leaving dripping soccer jerseys scattered? Meredith, of the perfect hair and nails, cleaning soccer cleats? What on earth had he been thinking? “We don’t need a spa in Wellsville.”
To her credit she laughed. “Spoken like a man on behalf of women everywhere, no doubt. But I disagree and I need someone to help this dream become a reality.”
Cam glanced back at the clock, saw he had over thirty minutes and made a quick decision. “I’m free right now if you’re there. I’m about two minutes from you.”
“Now?” Her voice hitched, but when she spoke again she sounded normal. Cam chalked it up to his own overactive imagination and refused to wonder what she looked like. He’d know soon enough, right?
“Now’s fine,” she continued. “I’m inside and the side door’s unlocked.”
“Perfect.” He tapped the hands-free device to disconnect the call as mayhem broke loose behind him.
“The red one’s mine.”
“It’s not. You lost yours, Sophie. I kept mine right here in the pocket of the door.”
“Dad!”
“Dad!”
Ignoring the squabble, he pulled into the curving drive that led to the mansion’s side door, envisioning prospective changes because he was determined not to think about what Meredith might be like fourteen years after she took off with her hairdressing license clutched in hand.
She stepped out the side door, a sweater coat wrapped around her. Was that cosmopolitan? Metro? Cam had no idea, but he knew one thing. She was still beautiful. Stylish. Her look fit the grandiose house and Cam had to haul in a deep breath, a breath big enough to push aside old hurts and wrongs.
They’d been kids. High school sweethearts that went their separate ways, quite normal.
Except when he stepped out of the car and released the girls from the backseat, he didn’t feel normal. He felt…
Damp-palm crazy nervous.
But that was ridiculous so he ignored the upswing in pulse and respiration and herded the girls toward her. “Meredith, my daughters, Sophie—” he palmed Sophie’s head, her dark brown hair a gift from her deceased mother “—and Rachel.”
True to form, seven-year-old Rachel reached out to shake hands.
Sophie hung back.
Meredith took the offered hand as Rachel beamed.
“I love your house! You must have a really big family to live in such a huge place! Do you have little girls like us?”
Meredith’s laugh tunneled Cam back again, but he refused to be mentally transported any further than the house standing before him.
She bent low, meeting the girls at their own level, giving him a bird’s-eye view of soft, highlighted hair, a perfect blend of sun-kissed gold-to-brown, pink cheeks that seemed unfettered by makeup and lashes that brought back too many memories to be good for either of them.
“I don’t have kids,” she told the girls. She reached out and took each one by the hand, drawing them forward. They went along willingly, as if she were some kind of designer-clothes-clad pied piper. Which she wasn’t.
Right?
He followed them in, paused to shut the bulky door and turned in time to see her over-the-shoulder expression.
Talk about awkward.
He’d give her ten minutes and an out-of-the-park price that would push her business elsewhere. No harm, no foul, because the last thing he needed with outdoor soccer season approaching was to be tied to a huge job for a fastidious woman while juggling soccer games, 4-H functions, and his full-time job as a wood-shop teacher at the high school.
Ten