Ruth Herne - Yuletide Hearts

A Christmas homecoming...

When Matt Cavanaugh returns to his Allegany County hometown, he’s not as rough around the edges as he used to be. The former marine is a successful contractor, a man who now believes in the Lord and old-fashioned hard work.

But when he buys a bankrupt subdivision, he discovers he’s stepped on single mother Callie Burdick’s dreams for her family. And when Matt learns about Callie’s troubled past, he’s determined to rebuild her trust—plus an entire community—in time for Christmas.

“After working here, and then at the diner, you get to do homework duty at night?” Matt asked.

Callie glanced up and nodded, as if perplexed. “Of course.”

He’d have given anything to have a mother like that, a mother who was invested in her kid. He’d tackled his difficulties in school on his own and failed miserably. “That’s amazing, Callie.”

She glanced up. Their gazes met.

She went still, her eyes on his.

And she read his gaze, his thoughts. It was there in her slight intake of breath, the way she blinked, the quick flex of fingers as if realization just struck.

“I’ve got to reload the nail guns,” she said, breaking the connection. But that was good, right? Neither one of them had the time or energy to put into whatever was flaring between them, so it was best to ignore it.

But there was no way in this world he’d be able to ignore Callie for the coming weeks, and a big part of him didn’t want to try.

And that spelled trouble for both of them.

RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and the dirt…

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

Ruth Logan Herne

Yuletide Hearts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My son, if your heart is wise, then my heart will be glad; my inmost being will rejoice when your lips speak what is right.

—Proverbs 23:15–16

This book is dedicated to my mother-in-law, Theresa Elizabeth Blodgett, a woman who has never been afraid to put her hand to any task, large or small. Her strength and devotion are a constant inspiration to me. She’s one of those gals who could have settled the west single-handedly and would have coffee waiting for the crew at day’s end. Merry Christmas, Mom!

Acknowledgments

Big thanks to Bob Dean of Dean Remodeling in Hilton, New York, known affectionately as “Bob the Builder.” Bob’s advice on construction and his dedication to a job well done helped lay the foundation for Cobbled Creek. Huge thanks to Karen and Don Ash of the Angelica Sweet Shop and The Black-Eyed Susan Café in Angelica, New York, for getting behind this project. You guys are truly amazing! Hugs and gratitude to Major Tony Giusti and his lovely wife Debby (my Seekerville sister) for their sage advice on military basics. I’m spoiled to call so many experts “friends.”

To Beth for finding silly mistakes… And there were several! To Mandy for being my right-hand gal on road trips and for giving me a namesake. I love both! To Jon, who has taken on stove and refrigerator duty. You rock! To Stacey and Lisa for the spontaneous gifts of coffee: You have no idea how that spurs me to work into the night. Thank you! Hugs and thanks to Kyle and Casey Kenyon. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. And always to Dave, whose work ethic inspires my own: Thanks for the sandwiches. And the coffee, Dude. And for being there, night and day.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Complete and utter desolation.

Peering through a driving November downpour caused by remnants of Hurricane Karl, Matt Cavanaugh surveyed what might be the biggest mistake he ever made as sheeting water sluiced from unprotected roofs. Wind-driven storm rains pummeled gaping window openings. Expensive, irreplaceable topsoil washed down unprotected berms, each muddy water trail sweeping centuries of rich, organic soil into the watershed.

Basically he was watching a large share of his life savings wash away. What had he been thinking?

“I see merit here, son.”

The memory of his grandfather’s reassuring voice eased the tension snaking Matt’s back, crowding his neck. Simple words from a gentle man, an industrious construction worker unafraid to lift a hand to any task, great or small, including the gift of unconditional love to his bad-boy grandson.

Matt clenched his jaw, then realized that would only fuel headache potential. Surveying the muddy mess he’d just purchased with significant help from the bank, he fought the urge to run hard, fast and long when a banging screen door drew his attention to the left.

A boy raced out of the faded farmhouse facing the neglected subdivision. A dog chased after him, a black-and-white spitfire, his non-pedigreed look perfect for the place and the boy, a pair of mutts enjoying the tempest.

Within seconds they were soaked, the rain blurring their features, but the combined excitement apparent even from this distance.

The boy aimed for the uncompleted subdivision, the dog racing alongside. Too late, Matt realized their intent.

The kid dived through a window opening.

The dog followed.

The kid emerged from a door opening.

So did the mutt.

Then back in another window, a little higher this time, the crazy game of follow the leader probably not the smartest of ideas for a kid and a dog around a construction site. Matt left his truck at the now-unnecessary roadblock and raced downhill. “Hey! Hey, you! Kid. Stop.”

Visions of leftover two-by-fours, nails, screws and abandoned tools raced through his head, the innocence of youth unfettered by the hazards of life. As the new owner, Matt didn’t have the luxury of relaxation. Construction insurance rates skyrocketed with a claim, and the kid and the dog were a hospital visit waiting to happen. “Kid. Stop! Now!”

The driving rain swallowed his voice and the thickening mud did a similar number on his feet. The dress shoes he put on for the bank closing weren’t meant for tromping around construction sites.

He lost visual of the quick-paced pair as he neared the skeletal houses, his descent and the rising rooflines blocking his line of sight. He wasn’t sure if the storm made it impossible to hear the kid and the dog or if they were just unusually quiet. Since unusually quiet might mean unconscious, Matt increased his pace. “Kid! You hear me? Come out of there!”