Ruth Herne - Yuletide Hearts

Way too much proximity and she had too much to lose, but Hank had extended the invitation and Hank Marek carved his word in stone. He kept a General Patton quote framed on his dresser: “No good decision was ever made from a swivel chair.”

Great. Just great.

Finch would be annoyed, which meant he’d annoy others. She’d have Matt underfoot which would entail having her guard up 24/7. And the guys were clearly delighted with the prospect of having Matt around, his friendly grin and storytelling a welcome addition to their circle, a perfect match.

But she’d found out the hard way there were no perfect matches. Not for women who strike a different path, a career that includes tool belts weighted with claw hammers and tape measures. Nails and utility knives. Unfeminine suspenders to distribute the tool weight appropriately.

Some lessons a girl never forgot.

Matt’s footsteps followed her. He crouched by her side, pretending to work, his gaze down. “Hey, if it bothers you that much, I’ll just get a place in town. Or stay at my brother’s house in Wellsville. That way I’m not breaking the rules and McGee won’t have anything to complain about.”

Finch would dog Matt’s steps, Callie knew. He wasn’t above pestering contractors he didn’t like, and he’d had his eye on Callie for the last several months. She’d kept it cool and friendly at the diner, but Finch added another component in an already-complex puzzle. She didn’t want Matt targeted by the zealous building inspector, but she didn’t want him living with them either.

Nevertheless, the invitation had been extended, and Hank wasn’t a man to go back on his word, a quality she shared.

She bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. “It’s fine. It just came as a surprise.”

“I’ll do my own laundry.”

His earnest words almost made her smile. “You bet you will.”

“And I can cook.”

“Excellent.”

“How big a turkey shall I get?”

“You weren’t kidding about that?” She turned to face him and felt the draw of those deep, brown eyes, tiny hints of gold sparking warmth and laughter. “I got a couple of frozen turkeys at Tops while they were on sale. That’s a lot of good eating at a bargain price. Fresh birds are expensive.”

“Have you ever tasted one?”

She brushed that off and turned back to the task at hand. “Turkey’s turkey.”

He grinned and moved a step away. “It’s not, but I’ll let you discover that next week. And now—” he shifted his attention back to the nail gun “—we need to get back to work. Can you help your dad and Buck get started on number twenty-three?”

Across the street and two houses up. Just enough distance to calm things down. Smooth them over.

“Sure.”

“And Callie?”

She turned at the ladder and arched a brow, waiting for him to say more.

He eyed her a moment and shifted his jaw. “You do good work.”

His awkwardness told her he meant to add something else but thought better of it. Just as well. Too much fun and teasing could be misconstrued. She headed down to ground level, crossed the street, moved up the block and joined her father on the elongated roof covering the well-designed ranch house. Hank noted her presence with a welcome smile and nod.

“Ready?”

Ready for roofing?

Yes.

For having Matt’s teasing smile, his easy manner, his firm jaw around every day?

No way.

But Callie had withstood basic training and a deployment in Iraq. She could handle this.

She adopted a noncommittal look and started handing her father shingles, pushing thoughts of Matt aside, but with the steady pop of his nail gun keeping time with his whistling, she was mostly unsuccessful. Luckily no one knew that but her.

He’d be moving in tomorrow.

Ignoring Matt’s light proved impossible as Callie helped Jake recognize consonant–vowel patterns for his language arts class. Her chair faced the front window, overlooking Cobbled Creek and the unshaded reminder of Matt’s existence.

Change chairs, her conscience scolded.

She could, she supposed, warm yellow light pouring from the uncurtained windows of the model home. But…

“Mom, can I help Matt this weekend?” Jake asked, pulling her attention away from cute guys and broken dreams, definitely in everyone’s best interest.

“We’ll all be working this weekend, as long as the weather holds,” Hank told him. “Your mom has a couple of shifts at the diner—”

“I switched them up with Gina,” Callie cut in.

Hank eyed her, speculative.

“I make more crewing and we have no guarantee on the weather this late in the game,” she explained to Hank, then turned her attention back to Jake’s word list. “Yup, short I words here, long I there. Perfect.”

Jake beamed. “Mrs. Carmichael told me to picture them like puzzle pieces, looking for clues.”

God bless Mrs. Carmichael, Callie breathed silently. Between Hannah Moore’s tutoring and Jake’s teachers, he’d come a long way academically, and since his ADD prognosis, his continued progress thrilled Callie. She knew strong middle school academics required a solid foundation now, and she’d worked extra hours to pay for his tutoring, his book club, his interactive educational games, anything it took to surround him with learning opportunities.

So far, so good.

She smiled, ruffled his hair, tried not to glance out the window and failed, then said, “Yes, you can help, but The General can’t be over there all the time, okay? We can’t have someone’s attention diverted when they’re on a rooftop.”

“Okay.”

“And I want to get those Christmas lights strung this weekend. Thanksgiving’s next week and I’d rather do it before we get big snows than after.”

“That’s a good idea,” Hank agreed. “If we use both ladders we can do it together and get it done in half the time.”

“True.” The ladders were about the only thing not seized when Hank’s business bellied up. The bank had considered them household use instead of business inventory. “I want to finish scrubbing that side, too. Get rid of the mold.”

“Not much sense if we don’t have time or the right temperature to paint,” Hank told her.

“It looks better when it’s clean.” Callie didn’t elaborate, but something about coming home to that worn facade weighed on her. Painting could wait until spring, but decorating for the holidays with the front of the house looking tired and worn…

That didn’t sit right.

“When can we get our Christmas tree?” Jake’s eagerness refused to be contained.

Callie laughed and stood. She stretched and fought a yawn. “Let’s tackle Thanksgiving first, okay? And decorating the front of the house.”

“Can we put up Shadow Jesus?”

Hank exchanged a grin with Callie. He’d created a plywood Holy Family years ago, the images of Jesus, Mary and Joseph done in silhouette, then painted black. Two spotlights tucked into the grass bathed the cutouts in light at night, making their shadowed presence appear on the white house. The simple, stark visual was an eye-catcher for sure.

Jake had referred to the infant in the manger as “Shadow Jesus” from the time he could talk, a sweet memory and a good focus on the true meaning of the upcoming holy season. “Next weekend,” Hank promised. “It doesn’t take long, but let’s get the outside lights up first.”

Jake nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Good night, Grandpa.”

“Night, Jake.”

He was such a good boy, Callie thought as Jake headed upstairs to bed. She would never understand Dustin’s cool disregard for his beautiful son, but then she hadn’t understood Dustin for a very long time.

Maybe ever.

“He’s doing fine, Callie.” Hank drew her attention with a nod toward the stairs. “Don’t borrow trouble.”