Lindsay just happens to be an experienced one who’s looking for a job. Do you think she’s capable of doing what you need done?”
After a long pause, he grudgingly admitted, “Probably.”
“If you’re not sure about that, you should call her last boss and ask what he thought of her. Then you can feel more confident about your choice, whatever you decide.”
“I feel sorry for Lindsay, but I’m not hiring her, end of story.” The sound of chair legs scraping across the kitchen floor reached upstairs, and she heard something in his voice she hadn’t expected: regret. “That storm’s getting worse, and the snow is piling up out there. I’ll be back in the morning to shovel the driveway and front walk for you before you go into the bakery at eight.”
“Thank you, honey. I appreciate you taking care of it. Don’t work too late tonight.”
“I won’t.”
The door opened and then closed, and then all was quiet.
Lindsay’s appetite had evaporated during the terse conversation she’d overheard, and she crept back to bed. Despite his earlier refusal to hire her, she’d sensed that he wasn’t completely convinced about it. That had left her with a tiny sliver of hope that he might change his mind, especially when she heard Ellie gently nudging him to reconsider. His comment about not being able to trust her made her more ashamed than she’d ever been, and she buried herself under the covers while tears that she’d held in for days finally escaped.
Working for Brian had been her last—and only—chance at some security for herself and her unborn child. Now that door was firmly closed, and she searched her mind for the window that the old saying insisted would be opened.
But this time, there wasn’t one.
After a few hours of restless sleep, Brian finally gave up and decided it was time to start his day. The caretaker’s cottage next to the forge was pretty bare-bones, even for him, and he wasn’t surprised when he poked his head out from under the covers only to discover there was no heat. Again.
He was good with most machinery, but the antique oil furnace bewildered him. No matter what fix he tried, it refused to fire up without some serious coaxing. Fortunately, the small fieldstone fireplace was more reliable. Too bad he’d forgotten to bank the fire before hitting the hay last night.
Rather than waste time building another one, he settled for a steamy shower that not only warmed him up but also eased some of the lingering pain from yesterday. Every muscle in his body ached from wrestling with the archaic equipment he was trying to bring back from the dead, and he faced another long day of the same. His daunting rehab project had been going on for six months now, and sometimes he wondered if he was making any progress at all.
Pushing the doubt from his mind, he strolled into the lobby and silently thanked whoever had invented a coffee maker that could fill up his mug in less than a minute. Wrapping his cold hands around the warm ceramic, he snagged a power bar and opened one of the huge doors to the old-fashioned blacksmith shop that was the heart and soul of his family’s once-thriving business. Repairs to the building itself had taken forever, from the roof to evicting a family of chipmunks that had taken up residence in the flue of the enormous fireplace that had literally forged the existence of Liberty Creek and other small towns for miles around.
Since its opening, everything from wagon wheels to bucket hoops to cast-iron pots were produced here by Jeremiah Calhoun and his brothers, one piece at a time. Now that he was picking up the torch, Brian felt a kinship with them that gave him a tremendous sense of pride. He’d enjoyed the variety of living in other places, and when he first mentioned leaving the bustle of Portsmouth and returning to his sleepy hometown, most of his friends were convinced he’d gone and lost his mind. But as difficult as things could be for him at times, he never doubted that he’d made the right decision.
Well, almost never.
When his cell phone’s old-time telephone ringer sounded, he glanced at the screen to discover that the environmental inspector who’d been assigned to his project was calling. It was just after seven, and he suspected that the man wasn’t contacting him to share good news. Brian recalled hearing once that a smile could be heard over the phone, so he forced one onto his face before answering. “Hello, Mr. Williams. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve found a conflict with the appointment we made for the final inspection of your air scrubbing system at the end of the month. I apologize for the short notice, but there’s no way around it. I have an opening at nine on Thursday morning if you can do it then.”
Brian had installed the equipment, but the complicated job had gobbled up all of his time for more than a week. That meant the mound of paperwork that he was supposed to fill out was still sitting on his desk, blank as the day the inspector had handed it to him. “That’s the day after tomorrow, so I’m not sure. Is there another option?”
“May.”
“Really?” Brian blurted without thinking. “That’s a long time to wait.”
“There aren’t many people in the country who do what I do, so my calendar is booked solid until then. Should we schedule something in May?”
The tourists that were the lifeblood of the local economy typically started visiting in late spring, and if something went wrong with an inspection in May, Brian wouldn’t be able to fix it in time to welcome customers to his shop. That would jeopardize not only his current plans, but might also dissuade Jordan from leaving his successful artisan career and joining the company. If that happened, Brian couldn’t possibly hope to meet the high expectations of the discerning clients he wanted to reach. Without the benefit of Jordan’s contacts and expertise, Brian knew that he might as well save himself the aggravation and close the doors now.
“Thursday’s fine,” he gritted out, hoping his irritation wasn’t too obvious. “I’ll see you then.”
He hung up, then closed his eyes and held the phone against his forehead. There were days when he wondered if the crazy scheme he’d concocted was worth the overwhelming effort he was putting into it. This was one of them, and to make it worse, setbacks like this made him doubt whether it was even possible for him to bring the long-dormant shop back to life.
Lifting his head, he took in his outdated surroundings in a more critical fashion than he had so far. The tools of his trade hadn’t changed all that much over the centuries—fire and force were still the essential components of metalworking. Above the fireplace, currently out of sight, was the problematic—and very expensive—air scrubber that was the key to him being certified to operate his coal-fired forge the old-fashioned way.
Aside from that, the vast collection of hammers, snips and anvils of various shapes were all he needed to fill his customers’ orders. But none of that mattered if he didn’t pass Mr. Williams’s inspection in two days, he reminded himself grimly. A rebel at heart, following other people’s rules had never been his strong point, and recalling the intimidating stack of forms made him want to scream in frustration.
Doing something physical was usually the cure for that, and he’d promised to dig Gran out this morning, anyway. His four-by-four crawled out of its spot without a problem, and he made the quick trip across town through a gray, frigid dawn that didn’t feel very promising. When he arrived at her house, he grabbed a shovel from its spot in the old carriage house and got to work.
One shovelful at a time. In his memory, he heard Granddad’s voice telling him that when he was a little boy doing his best to help with the wintertime task. That’s how even the biggest job gets done.
Stunned by the clarity of the message and how well suited it was to his current problem, Brian stopped and rested his gloves on the handle of the shovel. Listening closely, he didn’t pick up anything other than the rumble of a nearby plow and the rustling of bare tree branches in the breeze.
Had