and laughed as Rachel Calhoun raced around two tables of carved wooden bowls to tackle into her on Saturday morning. “Hey, Rach. How’s it going?”
“Rachel. Walk,” Cam said.
“Sorry, Dad. Meredith’s here!”
“I see that.”
Cam’s tone said she ranked pretty much last on the list of people he hoped to run into this cold, rainy Saturday, but she’d figured that out the other day. Meredith looked around, searching, then raised a brow of question to the little girl wrapped around her legs. “Where’s Sophie?”
“Indoor soccer practice,” Rachel explained. “I already had mine.”
“Which explains the cool athletic look you’re sporting,” Meredith noted. Rachel’s face brightened and she turned this way and that, peering over her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to see the number on her jersey. “I’m number seven, see?”
“It’s a great number.”
“Sophie’s number seven, too.”
“A little odd, but still wonderful,” Meredith said.
“It was my Mommy’s number in high school,” Rachel continued. “We asked the coaches if we could both use it ’cause we’re on different teams.”
“A marvelous family tradition.” Meredith stooped low and met the little girl’s frank gaze. “Your mommy must be very proud to have two beautiful athletic daughters following in her footsteps.”
“She’s dead.”
Silence yawned. Meredith swallowed hard, saw the stark honesty in the little girl’s expression, and looked up to Cam for confirmation. The look of loss in his light eyes offered affirmation. Meredith gave Rachel a quick hug. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know that.”
Rachel mused, then nodded. “You’re new. And she died when I was really small. Daddy remembers. So does Sophie. And I kind of do. A little.”
Meredith looked into this miniature version of Cam’s blue eyes and read the wistfulness there, a pensiveness that suggested she didn’t really remember but longed to.
Meredith’s heart opened wide, along with her arms. She hugged Rachel, then rocked back on her heels. “So. Are you good?” she asked, nodding at the light blue soccer uniform.
Rachel beamed. “Yes. Very.”
“I’m not a bit surprised.” Meredith laughed and stood, then grimaced as her knees unlocked.
“Are you all right?”
Cam’s voice actually sounded concerned, but that was because Cam Calhoun was one of the world’s nicest guys. “Fine. My knees do not like that position, though, and they remind me that I’m not twenty anymore. Or seven.” She smiled down at the little girl, then redirected her attention to Cam. “I assume since I haven’t heard from you that you’re going to pass on my project?”
“No.” He frowned slightly, as though her assumption surprised him, but then why hadn’t he called? Gotten back to her? It had been…
“It’s only been two days,” he reminded her. “And I need to get a better look at the upstairs measurements to do a full write-up, but as long as you’re not in a huge hurry for the work to be complete—”
Meredith didn’t clamp her guilty look in time.
Cam sighed and maintained eye contact using that assessing expression he seemed to have perfected. Patient with a hint of long-suffering that said more than words ever could. “What time frame were you expecting, Meredith?”
She flinched and admitted, “Six weeks.”
“Twelve,” he countered in a flat voice. “And that’s pushing it. It’s March. We’d be looking at a July finishing date.”
“You’re serious?”
“Always.”
She smiled, his one-word answer reminding her that he was generally serious. And sincere. And heart-wrenching handsome, with or without his glasses on. And a widower.
She hadn’t counted on that last fact. And while it shouldn’t make a difference, she’d taken stoic comfort in his married state these past two days when old memories ran like creek water on a summer’s day. But now twelve weeks of working together to get Stillwaters into shape?
“What will take so long?” His look of impatience made her rephrase the sentence. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I meant what aspects of the job push it to twelve weeks? The new plumbing? Electric upgrades?”
“My job.”
She frowned, not understanding.
Cam tipped his head. A tiny wrinkle between his brows begged to be smoothed away.
Meredith ignored the plea.
“I’m a teacher.”
Well, that explained those practiced classroom looks. The steady gaze, the heightened expectations. “A teacher? Really?”
“Is it that surprising, Mere? It’s been fourteen years.”
Oh, she knew that. She’d spent those fourteen years working, training, finessing and climbing her way up the ladder of spa success only to crash when the spa owner’s daughter decided her four-year business degree from a third-tier school bested fourteen years of hard-earned experience. Jude Anne Geisler played the trump card well, offering to let the world know that Meredith had been running around with Sylvia Sinclair Bellwater’s husband.
By that point it didn’t matter that Meredith had been duped by the successful businessman and his clever alias. Her fault, she knew. She squelched an urge to get even because the man she knew as Chas Bell had a wife and three kids who would be hurt if those allegations became public. Sylvia Bellwater didn’t need to go through what Meredith’s mother had endured. Not at her hands, anyway.
And she knew Chas would eventually be found out. Scum had a way of rising to the surface.
But it wouldn’t be because of her, so she sidestepped the drama while the resort owner’s daughter stepped into the management position Meredith had primed herself for the past five years.
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