Lorraine Beatty - Restoring His Heart

“Not even close. The building you drove your little car into is a National Historic Landmark. Which is why I’m doing the job. If all it needed was repairing, any competent carpenter could do the work in a few days.”

“And what makes you different?”

“I’m a certified restorationist.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m qualified to restore old homes and buildings to their original state when possible. That’s what I do.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing. How did you get to be one?” She exhaled an exasperated sigh as if reluctant to explain.

“I studied architecture in college, but I found I didn’t like the designing as much as I liked the hands-on ground-level work. When I moved home, I bought this construction company from a local man who was retiring. He did a lot of restoration work, so all I had to do was expand on that customer base.”

“Still, a girl in construction. Where did that come from?”

Laura turned and smiled, her expression softening the way it had when she’d looked at her father earlier. Something inside Adam shifted.

“Oh. My dad owns the hardware store in town. I grew up around nuts and bolts.”

She turned back to the road ahead. “So how did you come to lose control of your car and ram it into our historic gazebo?”

For a moment Adam considered avoiding the question, but then he remembered her uncle was the judge and her father his jailer. No point in trying to hide the truth. “I left a friend’s house in Dallas early yesterday morning and planned on spending a few days in New Orleans. You know, eating fine food, listening to good music, maybe do a little deep-sea fishing. I got hungry, saw a billboard for some mom-and-pop diner in Sawyers Bend—”

“Jingles.”

“What?”

“The name of the diner is Jingles.”

“Right. Well, somehow I missed the turnoff and ended up in your fair community. I was trying to find a way back to the interstate on my smartphone and the rest you know.”

“You didn’t have GPS in that fancy car of yours?”

“No, it’s a vintage machine. I was going to have it installed after my meeting in Atlanta.”

Laura Durrant pulled the truck to a stop along the fence line near the gazebo. “Too bad you didn’t have that done before you left Dallas. Might have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

Adam scanned the area. Yellow police tape marked the site. His car had been removed and he could clearly see the gaping hole in the side of the little building. He climbed out of the cab and joined the boss lady at the back of her truck. “Where do you suppose my car is?”

“I have no idea. Impound probably. You won’t be needing it for a while.”

“No, but I’d like to see about having it repaired. I’ll have to leave here eventually.” He took the hard hat and work gloves she handed him. He tucked the gloves in the back pocket of his jeans and tried the hat on for size, pulling it off again and adjusting the band inside.

LC broke the caution tape and walked toward the damaged section of the gazebo.

“Should you be crossing that police line?”

“We’ll put up our own safety fencing.”

Up close, Adam was surprised to find the gazebo larger than he’d expected. He figured it was about twenty-four feet across. He also had a clearer picture of the damage he’d caused and he wondered if anything could be salvaged. He saw tire tracks in the dirt where he’d tried to stop, and pieces of glass were scattered around the ground from his broken windshield. A gaping hole in the brick foundation of the gazebo marked the spot where his car had come to rest. He looked upward at the roof which sagged from the loss of several broken support beams. The cupola on top tilted at a precarious angle and the decorative spindles were little more than kindling.

He glanced over at Laura, stunned to see a deep sadness in her eyes. For a moment he thought she might burst into tears. Did the old gazebo mean that much to her? He didn’t understand. It was just a small building in the center of the town.

But the sadness in her eyes made him so uncomfortable that he looked away, scanning the area. Surely the workers would show up anytime now. He was anxious to meet the real carpenters. She may own the construction company, but a woman her size couldn’t lift a can of paint by herself, let alone a two-by-four. He could, however, see her as the boss. With her hardline attitude and biting comments, he doubted any man would dare to cross her. “So when do the others arrive?”

“What others?”

“The carpenters and guys with the muscle.”

“Sorry, Holbrook, no others. Just you and me. My guys are all busy on other jobs. I can’t afford to pull them off to do this restoration.”

Adam frowned. “I wasn’t expecting it would be just the two of us.”

“I’m sure there’s going to be a lot of things you aren’t expecting.”

He stared at the small structure, rubbing his jaw. “You sure we can’t use more help?”

“It’s not that big a deal. We’ll do the woodworking and I’ll sub out the other trades.” He drew his eyebrows together. “I employ four full-time carpenters, one fabricator and a cabinet maker. The rest of the work is hired out to subcontractors. Like the brick work, electrical and drywall and tile. The mill will build the post and spindles. Any other craftsmen I need I’ll hire to do the work.”

Adam nodded in understanding and followed her to the damaged corner, watching as she stooped down and inspected the gaping hole in the brick foundation. She pulled out one crumbling brick and examined it, a look of disgust on her face. She stood and held up the partially destroyed pale red brick.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to find more of these?”

He grinned. “Can’t we run over to the local brickyard?”

She tossed the brick on the ground and glared. “That gazebo is over one hundred and thirty years old. Those bricks are handmade. I can’t walk into a store and buy more like you can replace that little car of yours.”

“That car was built in the 1960s. It’s worth ten times your little house.”

“House?” Laura set her jaw, eyes blazing.

“It’s a gazebo. It’s old. I’ll give you the money to build one twice that size with all the bells and whistles.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “First, we don’t want a bigger, better gazebo, we want this one. It’s a historic landmark. Second, I know you have no idea what you’ve done to this town or the history that you’ve destroyed, but believe me, it’s significant. Third, I’m sure paying for everything is your usual method of getting out of trouble. Well, not this time. You’re going to help me rebuild this and I can’t wait to see you sweat and break your back doing it.” She stomped off. Adam watched her go, tempted to walk out of this small insignificant town. Then he remembered the ankle bracelet.

He wouldn’t get far.

* * *

Laura worked off her irritation by pulling out the orange plastic safety fencing and the stakes to anchor it from the truck bed. She had to regain her sense of control or she’d end up with a helper who might go AWOL on her. As much as she hated to face it, she would need his upper-body strength to wield some of the beams and timbers she’d need to rebuild things. She started back toward the gazebo, her heart tightening at the sight of the wounded structure. Adam came toward her, arms extended.

“I’ll get those.” He took the cumbersome material from her grasp. “Where do you want them?”

“I want you to set up a perimeter about twelve to sixteen feet from the gazebo to give us room to work and set up the equipment we’ll need. Be sure to leave an opening so we can come and go. You’ll find a special fencepost driver tool in the back of the truck. It’s red and looks like a pipe with handles. Use that to set the posts about eight feet apart.” Adam started to move off, then turned back.