C.C. Coburn - Sweet Home Colorado

Grace blew out a breath, lifting her bangs off her forehead. She’d been so naive, marrying a man like that. “Never again!” she vowed, and headed to the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in bed, after calling Marcie, the interior designer, and arranging to meet her at the house in the morning. Next, Grace reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She removed the photograph she kept there, tucked away where no one else could see it.

The photo had become worn around the edges over the years, so Grace had laminated it. She studied her newborn daughter. In the picture Grace was holding her close and gazing down at her, but Amelia was looking right at the camera, a tiny frown on her face.

Grace kissed the photo and returned it to her wallet, then closed her eyes and thought of what tomorrow would bring. More of Jack, she hoped. How different would her life have been if she’d stayed in Spruce Lake and married him? And kept their baby?

Chapter Five

When Grace arrived at the house at eight-thirty the following morning with Marcie Mason in tow, Jack had already replaced the broken windowpane, ordered the materials necessary to start the job and was just signing for a consignment of oak to fix the broken stair treads.

He gave one of his men a list of door and window locks to order, then went to meet the two women.

“Hi!” Grace greeted him as she alighted from her sleek red rental. “You fixed the window already!”

Jack ignored the instant effect Grace had on him, instead giving her a rundown of what had been achieved so far. “I’ve marked the steps that need replacing,” he told them, “but be careful. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you ladies to it, while I get on with making the new stairs.”

Grace led the way to the second floor, chattering with Marcie like they were old friends. Satisfied, Jack set to work, doing a final measure of the treads.

Twenty minutes later, the two women were moving about the main floor, taking measurements and discussing color schemes.

Marcie disappeared into the kitchen, and Grace paused beside Jack. “She seems very competent,” Grace said.

“More so than you,” he said, nodding at her outfit. “I thought I told you to come dressed for work.” He regretted the words the moment he said them. Being rude to Grace to cover his discomfort wasn’t right.

“I was meeting an interior designer! I didn’t want her getting the wrong impression of me.”

“And what impression would that be?”

“That I let my contractor boss me around?”

“I’m so glad you made that a question,” he said. “Once she leaves, you need to go buy a pair of boots like these.” He indicated his heavy, steel-toed work boots.

Grace stared at them in horror. “You must be joking!”

“Nope. They’re a health and safety requirement. And my requirement—which you agreed to, is that you pitch in and help. Remember?”

Grace screwed up her face. “Stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

“Yup. And by the way, here’s my estimate. In spite of your haste to get me going on this project, I think it only fair you should know what to expect.”

Jack pulled several sheets of printed paper from his pocket and handed them to her. He watched as Grace scanned the pages, taking in all that needed to be done.

She looked up at last and said, “That’s an awful lot of money. More than I expected...”

“This is an awful lot of house that hasn’t been touched since it was built—apart from that eyesore of a seventies bathroom and kitchen renovation. This is the bare minimum it’ll cost to renovate the place into something you can be proud of. If you want a cheap job, there are contractors who’ll do it for you, but it won’t be me.”

“I don’t remember you being this forthright at school.”

“School was half our lifetimes ago. A lot has happened to both of us since then.”

* * *

IT SURE HAS, Grace thought. I had our baby, gave her away, then capped it off by marrying a complete Svengali—all to get away from my family, and what have I got to show for it?

“Something wrong?” Jack asked.

Grace snapped back to the present. “No, everything’s fine. Just don’t order me around too much, okay? I need to find my own pace.”

Jack frowned, but before he could ask about that revealing statement, Marcie reappeared.

“All done,” she said. “I hope you accept my estimate, Grace. It’d be an honor to work on this place. It might even get a mention in the Digest of American Architecture.”

Jack groaned.

“What’s wrong with that?” Grace demanded. “It’s a very prestigious publication.”

“Sorry, Jack,” Marcie said. “I forgot about the fallout the last time you were featured in it.”

Intrigued, Grace glanced from one to the other. “What? What?” she demanded.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Marcie said, packing her notebook and tape measure into her briefcase. She waggled her fingers at them as she dashed through the front door.

Grace spun around to Jack. “Well? What was that about?”

“I got a bunch of, uh, fan mail when I was in that magazine a few years back.”

“Which must have led to a lot of work for you. That’s good!” she said, immensely pleased that her contractor was so talented he’d been featured in the magazine. Just wait until Edward and his horrible family saw her home in an upcoming issue! He’d tried to have their house highlighted several years ago, but the publication had rejected his bid. Probably because their mansion was more like a mausoleum than a home.

“All it led to was a lot of work dodging enthusiastic women. And some men,” he said.

Grace started to giggle.

“Don’t laugh! It was really distracting when so many people showed up at the work site asking for me. Luckily, Al fended most of them off.”

“Most of them?” Grace nearly choked she was laughing so hard.

“Why is this so funny?” he demanded.

“Because you seem so unaware of your looks,” she responded. “I guess I missed that issue. Tell me how they posed you for the photograph.”

Jack widened his stance and crossed his arms.

Grace flushed. Jack’s biceps, broad shoulders, black hair and vivid blue eyes made a pretty devastating combination. “I can see why you got so much fan mail,” she said.

Jack scowled. “I wasn’t posing like this,” he said. “I’m crossing my arms because I’m refusing to discuss it.”

“Wow! That must’ve been some photo,” she said. “I’m going to look it up online.” Grace slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the front door.

“Wait!”

She turned to see Jack blushing to the roots of his hair.

“It was that good, huh?” she teased.

“No, it was stupid. The photographer asked me to change. The photo they published was of me taking off my old shirt. It looked like a cheesy striptease.”

Trying to lighten the situation she said, too flippantly, “No wonder you got so much attention. From both sexes.”

“It wasn’t funny at the time. And it still isn’t. I take my work seriously.”

Grace schooled her expression. Jack really felt hurt and she needed to respect that.

Changing the subject, she asked, “So, how are the rashes this morning?”

“Much better. I’ve quit the orange juice, and the cream is giving me a lot of relief.” He rolled up his sleeve to show her. “Looks fifty percent better already.”

Grace brushed his inner elbow with her fingertip. She noticed him flinching. Surely Jack wasn’t that unused to a woman’s touch?

A sudden wolf whistle surprised her and she jumped back from him, searching for the culprit.

“Tyrone!” Jack shouted.

A lanky black youth sauntered over, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, boss?” he said.