Yuletide Hearts (15 page)

C
allie lifted her gaze to survey number thirty-seven's new roofline on Tuesday afternoon and put an arm around her father's waist. “It's beautiful, Dad.”

“It is.” Hank regarded the black architect shingles, then twisted to eye the homes leading up to this last one. “The neighborhood looks great.”

“You do good work for an old soldier,” she told him, basking in the gentle day, a rarity for early December. Snow was forecast for tomorrow, so getting these roofs complete, windows in, doors hung was imperative.

The gift of hard work, focus and God's hand with Mother Nature.

“Are you coming to work on the church roof?” Hank asked, rolling his shoulders to ease two straight days of shingling.

Callie shook her head. “You need only a few people. And Jake's bus will be here before the roof's done, so I'm going to finish painting the family room in the model. And the upstairs should be ready for paint soon, leaving us flooring and bathroom tiling to complete things.”

“The countertop looks good, Callie,” Hank told her as they walked toward Matt's truck. “It has a rich look to it.”

“Thanks.” She waved toward the model as they drew closer. “The lighter cabinets let me go a little wild with the counter top. You don't think it's too dark?”

Matt came up alongside them, pulling off his hat and
gloves. “The lighting offsets the dark tone,” he assured her, smiling. “And I think we've had this conversation before.”

Callie made a face. “I'm just wondering if that's why those people haven't made an offer, if maybe I messed up the balance and that put them off.”

“They said they wanted time to consider their options and pray about it. Stop borrowing trouble.” He bumped shoulders with her, then laughed at her scowl. “If they do move in, they'll probably be good neighbors. And with a kid Jake's age, that would be nice. A few days of waiting is worth it to get good neighbors.”

“So it's not about the countertop?”

Matt raised his eyes heavenward and climbed into the truck. Hank took his place on the passenger side. “We've got just enough time to get this patched before dark, I think.”

Matt nodded agreement, then waved as he backed the truck out of the driveway, the crunch of stones beneath the wheels a temporary sound. By spring Phase One would be complete, the road and driveways paved. Streetlights would brighten the nights, a torch-lit uphill path complementing the curving road.

They'd have a charming view out the front window, Callie mused as she entered the model. She adjusted the thermostat and smiled, the warmth of the new furnace a welcome presence. Painting a heated family room or working a crisp rooftop? She grinned and shed her gloves, knowing she'd gotten the easy end of this deal.

The front door opened as she rolled paint on the back wall. “Dad? Matt? That you?”

“It's me,” said Finch as he strolled through the model, looking left and right, his gaze pinched.

“Hey, Finch.” Callie nodded his way and continued working. “Matt's not here, but—”

“I know. That's the reason I came now. To see you.”

Callie groaned inside, but kept her face affable. “Really? Why?”

“You and I need to talk,” Finch declared. He stood still, folded his arms and braced his legs, battle ready. “It's time you knew a few things about your boss.”

Cassie frowned, silent, deliberately obtuse. Rule one of battle: let the enemy state their position.

“You look around here,” Finch waved a hand, exasperated, “and you see Matt Cavanaugh as a knight in shining armor. Well, he's not. Not even close.”

Callie kept working but flicked a mild look over her shoulder. “Matt took an opportunity that came his way, then stepped in graciously. He's been nothing but a gentleman and a fine contractor. He doesn't cut corners, he doesn't do shoddy and he's generous to a fault.”

“Fault is exactly what I'm talking about.” Finch encroached on her space, determined and angry. “This guy waltzes into town and you follow him around like a love-struck puppy when you know nothing about him. Who he is, what he's done.”

“First of all.” Callie set the roller down, pivoted and met Finch's glare with one of her own. “Don't demean me. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions in all matters, so I don't need you to save me from myself. I have bills to pay and a child to raise, and working for Matt is a sensible way to do both affordably. Anything else is none of your business. Now if you're not here on town business, please leave.”

“I make it town business when I'm keeping my eye on an ex-con.”

Her face must have showed a reaction because Finch smirked and came forward again. “You didn't know that, did you? That the guy living in your house, teaching things to your little boy, is an ex-con with a record as long as my arm.” He edged closer and tsk-tsked her. “You really should pay better attention to who comes through your front door, but then you've always been too trusting.”

The best defense is a great offense. Callie strode forward and poked a finger into Finch's very surprised chest. “What
is the matter with you, McGee? Why would you come in here trying to stir up trouble? You think I don't know Matt had problems?” She raised her voice and stood tall, straight and taut, a soldier's stance.

“When I was a child, I talked as a child,” she summarized the wise verse from Corinthians. “And when I became a man I gave up childish ways.” She leaned in, refusing to give ground, determined to have this out with Finch once and for all, hoping it wouldn't affect Matt's certificates of occupancy. “Everybody makes mistakes when they're kids, Finch, and sometimes when they're not kids. But grown-ups move forward and fix things. Do the right thing. So Matt made mistakes. Well, me, too. And I don't think that mirror you face every morning shows a man without scars, so how about we turn this around and figure out why you've been a jerk for two years.”

Finch paled, but didn't back down.

“Your marriage failed. And I don't know anything about it, but I bet there's plenty of blame to go around. And you're mad at the world. That two-by-four chip on your shoulder's gotta feel pretty heavy by the end of the day, so why don't you wise up, take your troubles to God, go to church and make things right,” Callie halved the narrow distance between them and tightened her gaze, “because I don't want you showing up here angry anymore unless there's something on site to be angry about. If you lay into Matt again about his work methods, or malign him in any way, I'll go to the town board myself and cite personal issues to have them put Colby in your place.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Would.”

“But—”

“There are no buts,” Callie told him. She squared her shoulders. “Stop living in the past, stop making trouble and do your job. I don't care what Matt Cavanaugh did before, what I care about is the future. And right now, Matt's work is the corner
stone of success for Cobbled Creek, and if you continue to try and thwart that, I'll…”

“I get it.”

“Good.” She nailed him with a glare, then sighed. “Finch, I don't pretend to understand what's going on with you, but you didn't used to be like this. Get a grip. Stop drinking, stop whining and move on.”

Finch stared beyond her for a long moment, then shifted his attention back. “I've tried. Or thought I did. First it was Katie, way back when, but she didn't have eyes for anyone but Matt. Even after he crashed that car and crippled her, she longed for him. Talked about him. Wanted to help him, when all I wanted was a piece of him for being so stupid.”

Matt had been driving the car the night of Katie's accident. Callie sighed inside, understanding how old wrongs could burn a hole deep into your soul. But only if you allowed it to happen. She swallowed hard, recognizing her own struggles, and couldn't help but wonder if two people with so many doubts could possibly be good for one another. But for now, she needed to set things straight with Finch.

“So this is about a two-decades-old romance gone bad?” Callie folded her arms and sighed. “Get over it already.”

“And then there was you,” Finch went on. “You knew I was interested.”

“But I wasn't,” Callie declared because her more subtle clues hadn't worked.

“I got that when I saw you get all goofy about Cavanaugh the first time I came by,” Finch told her. “But then I saw him out with Katie and I wanted to punch someone.”

“But you didn't.” Callie sent him a look of sympathy. “That was good.”

He growled and scrubbed a toe against the subflooring. “I miss my wife. I messed up big time. Not being home, being on time, helping with things, going to kid stuff. I got careless and she walked.” He lifted his gaze to Callie's. “And now
she's in Arizona with my kids, dating a land developer, and then Cavanaugh shows up here, playing the hero…”

Callie recognized the parallel. “You had a lot of buttons being pushed, Finch, but that wasn't Matt's fault.”

“Katie's missing leg is Matt's fault,” Finch declared, brows drawn. Then he sighed and acknowledged, “But that was twenty years ago.”

“And she's obviously forgiven him,” Callie added, remembering the picture.

“She never blamed him.”

Callie could understand that. Katie's gentle nature reached out to others, nothing like her hypercritical father. “Katie's a sweetheart.”

“She is.”

“But Finch,” Callie went on, determined to make her point. “You've got to stop spinning your wheels thinking you can determine the next steps. Let go and let God.” He grunted.

“I'm serious,” Callie continued. “You said your marriage failed because you stopped paying attention to little things. I disagree. It failed because you missed the boat on one big thing: faith. If you'd grounded yourself in God's love, you wouldn't have messed up in the first place.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Callie grinned. “Your mother is a smart woman. Finch, you can fix this.” She reached out a hand to his arm. “But there are no shortcuts, no quick inroads. And you shouldn't be concerning yourself with romance until you're on solid ground again. Restructure your priorities. God. Family. Country. Friends. And no more beer.”

He hauled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Is there a charge for this therapy session?”

Callie smiled and chucked him on the arm. “There will be if the paint on my roller gets tacky and I have to change it. That baby cost two-nineteen in the contractor's pack.”

Finch flashed a sheepish grin as Callie picked up the roller. “Nothing but the best.”

“Exactly.” Callie tested the nubby surface and nodded, satisfied. “I'm glad you stopped by, Finch.”

He made a face of disbelief. Callie caught it and smiled. “I mean it. It's better to clear the air than go on dodging bullets. And if you need help…”

“More therapy?”

“Exactly.” She nodded, empathetic. “I've gone down your road. I had a husband walk out on me, so I know it's a tough go, but faith and family can get you through anything. But I'd be glad to talk to you more. As friends,” she added, sending him a pointed look of amusement over her shoulder.

“Got it.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Thanks, Callie. I hope Cavanaugh knows how lucky he is.”

“He does,” said Matt as he entered from the garage, his eyes sweeping the scene, his expression battlefield ready.

“Everything looks good,” Finch told him, waving a hand.

Matt paused, weighing the words. “No problems?”

Finch sent a look of gratitude toward Callie. “None we haven't solved. Thanks again, Callie. I'll be back to check the electric and plumbing lines on the other houses whenever they're ready, Matt.”

“I'll call.”

“And don't worry about that two-day stuff either.”

“You don't need quite that much time?” Matt asked. Callie kept working, but felt his gaze sweep her and Finch again.

“Work's slow,” Finch admitted in a tone of voice that sounded like the guy she'd known years before. “Call anytime. I might even be able to come right out.”

Matt smiled. “Thanks. Time's tight now with the weather and all.”

“And time's money,” Finch added. He nodded and headed for the door. “See you Sunday, Callie. If not before.”

She smiled, satisfied. “Looking forward to it, Finch.”

 

Matt was pretty certain he'd walked into an alternate universe.

Callie frowned up at him as she refilled her roller. “Why aren't you roofing at the church?”

“Buck, Jim and your dad have it under control, so I thought I'd come back here and help you.” He moved closer and nodded approval, the new paint brightening the south-facing room. “This is beautiful, Cal.”

“Isn't it?” She flashed him a smile that brightened the room even more. “I thought it might be too yellow, but it's not. It's just soft enough to reflect the light and keep things warm. Appealing.”

“I agree,” he said, but he aimed his look at her, not the wall.

“Matt.”

“Callie.” He moved forward and took the roller out of her hands, wondering when the smell of new paint became so wonderfully enticing. Or maybe it was the smudge on her cheek, the tiny roller spatters across her nose? He rubbed a gentle finger to make them disappear, and sighed, the feel of being close to her a new experience, sweet and good. Inviting. “You smell good.”

She grinned and daubed a tiny bit of paint to his face with her finger. “I smell like paint.”

He gave her a lazy smile and tightened his grip. “Then I must really like paint, because…” he let his kiss fill in the blank, the combination of Callie, fresh-sawn wood and new paint bringing all the factors of his world together in one pleasurable experience. He had no idea how long the kiss lasted, and really didn't care because he'd like for it to never end, but the rumble of the school bus engine interrupted way too soon. “Jake's home.”