Yuletide Hearts (9 page)

“Just had one, thanks.” Finch's expression and tone eased up as he answered Amanda, then hardened again as he indicated his reason for stopping by. The one that
didn't
include checking out Callie. “I wanted to make sure those berms were re-covered with tarp and straw. Topsoil doesn't grow on trees.”

“No, it doesn't,” Amanda agreed.

Amanda's straight face only strengthened Callie's urge to laugh. Jake's school bus rumbled down the road, its caution lights flashing, a perfect diversion. “I'll be right back,” she said to Matt with a wave toward Jake. “And I'll bring Jake over for cleanup.”

She wasn't quite quick enough because Finch managed to fall into step beside her as she headed for the road. Figuring she'd lose him at his truck, a shot of dismay hit her when he didn't open the door and get in. No, he stayed alongside her, giving him ample opportunity to talk when the last thing she wanted to do was listen.

“I miss seeing you at the diner.”

Face first, eyes forward.
“I love what I'm doing here, though. If this could last forever, I'd be a happy girl.”

“Lots of ways to find happiness, Callie.”

Just when she thought she'd have to turn around and slug him in the solar plexus, Matt appeared alongside them. “Those notes for number seventeen are still on Hank's desk, right?”

Thank you, God. And thank you, Matt.
“They are, yes. Would you like me to get them?”
Please say no. Please say you'll get them yourself and walk me to the house.

“I'll grab them. I'm going to have the plumbing and electricity inspected before we apply the drywall, and I want to familiarize myself with the layout changes your dad made.”

“Like the built-in bookshelves in each bedroom?”

“Exactly that. So, Mr. McGee? Is Wednesday good for you?”

Matt stopped along the road, his presence an obvious wrench in the other man's works.

Finch stopped, faltered, then nodded. “And you know I'm a stickler for code, right, Cavanaugh?”

The way Finch used Matt's last name, coupled with his caustic tone, made Callie want to give him a good, swift kick.

But nothing got inhabited without Finch's signature. Ticking off the building inspector who was also a zoning agent wouldn't be in anyone's best interest. He'd already shown disrespect for Matt, and that tweaked Callie's protective instincts because Finch had no cause. The people who moved into these sweet homes wouldn't have to worry that the builder cut corners. So why was Finch nailing Matt with a glare? Because of her?

Ridiculous.

“And I appreciate that, Mr. McGee.” Matt kept his tone level, but there was no mistaking granite for anything else. He'd be polite because they were professionals, but his voice and stance said he didn't back down. Ever.

Finch drew a hint closer, just a smidge, as if trying to intimidate Matt. Not much intimidated a marine. Callie loved that.

“Mom!”

“Go get changed, Jake.” Callie called across the two-lane road. “We're coming.”

“Wednesday, Cavanaugh.”

Matt nodded as if Finch weren't acting like a first-class bully, then headed toward the street with Callie.

“He was a jerk to you.”

Matt glanced both ways before heading across. “Who cares?”

“I do.”

“Aw.” He slowed his step and shoulder-nudged her, an easy grin erasing the whispered pain she'd seen with Finch's tone. His words. But nothing bothered Matt, right?

“I knew you cared, Cal. Thanks for admitting it.”

“I care about seeing a friend get rudely dismissed by a guy who shouldn't be washing your bootstraps.”

“As I have done for others, so you should do.” Matt settled a gentle look on her. “Christ washed the apostles' feet and told them to humble themselves. Humility isn't a bad thing.”

“I don't think he was talking about Finch McGee.”

Matt caught her arm just outside the door. “Sure he was. To a point.” He shifted his gaze to Cobbled Creek Lane where Finch waited for a car to pass before heading back toward Jamison. “His words can't hurt me, Callie. His actions can. And in the interest of time and funding, I'll let his rudeness slide. If we get this section done and sold and go on to Phase Two of the subdivision, then I'll ask to have Colby Dennis oversee our work.”

He said “our work” like it was a given. Callie choked back a surge of anticipation because nothing was a given these days in home-building. Matt had taken a big risk by buying Cobbled Creek. She prayed daily that all would go well, although that hadn't come close to working in her father's case.

Oh, honey, I think the answer to your prayers is about eight inches from you, front and center.

Callie hushed her inner voice, but not before heat climbed to her face as they headed inside.

“You blushing, Cal?”

“Exertion.”

A knowing grin set the laugh lines around Matt's gorgeous brown eyes a little deeper. “Coffee drinking is hard work.” He took in her cup and her heated cheeks with a swift look of amusement. “So.” He glanced around, the sound of Jake getting ready punctuated by things hitting the floor above them. “What did you come over here for?”

“To avoid Finch.”

He burst out laughing and grabbed her in a hug, a spontaneous and wonderful two-arms-wrapped-around-you kind of hug that couldn't have been more perfect if he'd tried.

Until his laughter paused. His arms tightened, the grip different. Wonderfully different.

Should she look up at him?

Yes.

No.

But she did because there was no way she
couldn't
look up. Gaze into those coffee-no-cream eyes. See the look of gentle awareness there, the strength of a good man, a man who talked of washing feet and building homes, a man who walked with God and fellow soldiers.

“Callie…”

He whispered her name about the same time he feathered a kiss across her lips, the feel of strong, gentle and muscled arms tumbling her into a world of possibilities she hadn't dreamed feasible in a long time.

“Mom! Do you know where my thick socks are?”

Callie stepped back, joy and chagrin vying for emotional space. “Try the laundry basket in the hall.”

“Got 'em!”

“Good.”

“Very good.” Matt whispered agreement and stroked one finger across the intensified heat in her cheeks. “I'd apologize, ma'am, but I'm not a bit sorry.”

“No?”

“Oh, no.” He stepped back as Jake's racing footfall announced his eager approach. “I had to know.”

Know?

Oh, man.

“Ready, guys. I've got my stuff.” Jake patted his waist where a smaller version of their belts held a boy-sized set of tools, his hard hat clutched tight in the other hand.

“You know you're on cleanup, right?” Callie sent his tool belt a hiked-brow look. “You probably won't need those today.”

Jake's face fell. His lower lip hinted a quiver. “At all?”

“Not today, bud, but how about you work with me on Thanksgiving while Mom cooks?”

“Who said I'm cooking?” Callie drew herself up to her full height and met Matt's gaze straight on. “Why is it the girl gets elected to cook while the guys play with power tools?”

Matt's look of surprise said she got him. “I just thought—”

“You thought wrong.” Callie waved a hand toward the kitchen behind them and figured they might as well get this straight. “I cook because I have to. I build because I can't
not
build. There's a difference, Matt.”

“There is.” He contemplated her, made a face and ran a hand across the back of his head. “But it
is
Thanksgiving, so someone has to cook, right? Maybe we can break it down? Do different jobs?”

She smiled, nodded and whacked his arm. “Now you're talkin', marine. And if we order pies from the bakery, that's one more thing I don't have to do.”

Matt wasn't about to say that the very thought of homemade pies brought him to his knees. It had been a lot of years since he'd shared a holiday meal with anyone, so the anticipation of joining hands for Thanksgiving around the Marek table had painted a slightly different picture in his head.

Obviously the wrong one. Therefore… “I'm picking up the turkey tomorrow.” He followed Callie and Jake out the door and down the porch stairs, The General loping alongside them, his shaggy ears keeping time. “We can pick up the pies Thursday morning.”

“And make stuffing and sweet potatoes Wednesday night.”

Now things were looking up. “Squash?”

Callie made a face.

“Okay, no squash. Jello?”

“I love Jello!” Jake fist-pumped that idea.

“One yes takes the prize on that one. Rolls?”

“Same bakery we get the pies from.”

“Gravy?”

“Dad makes the best gravy known to humankind.”

Matt ran the list through his head and nodded, surprised. “So we can actually all work on Thursday morning.”

“Now you're getting it.” Callie grinned up at him, her friendly smile ignoring the sweet kiss they'd just shared while his heart was counting the possible moments until they might share kiss number two.

His phone rang. McGee's number flashed in the display box, reminding Matt of why he couldn't pursue this delightful road with Callie while he let the call go to voice mail. Reason number one jogged ahead of them, the dog keeping pace.

Callie thought she knew him. She knew the improved version. No way would a strong, forthright woman like Callie want the old version around her kid. Her home. Her life.

Hank knew. Matt understood that.

But Callie didn't have a clue. That was evident in her easy manner. The calm, admiring looks she'd shift his way as the houses began to come together.

No doubt Hank was waiting for Matt to tell her. And he'd do that soon. Better to have this out in the open than let worry fritter away his heart, his soul. He had enough of that after seeing Katie, knowing he had to face her, another confrontation he needed to schedule.

Once the roofs were on and the windows in, he'd face his past with both women. Not wanting to do a job didn't get a man out of that job. Not a marine, anyway.

The houses should be sealed by the first Sunday of Advent. Then he'd switch gears and concentrate on completing the model, starting with the kitchen cabinets he hoped to put in on Thursday and Friday when they'd be low on help. By Saturday, Jim would be back to work, and Tom, too.

“Lost you, marine.”

He sent her a quick look of apology. “Planning. Strategizing.”

She nodded, having no clue that his plans might very well disrupt their working relationship. Once Callie realized the guy flirting with her had been a teenaged con, a whole lot of
things would most likely change. The thoughts of that kiss, of seeking a different bond that went beyond work?

That would probably tank as well, but he'd be unfair to take this further without Callie's awareness, and Matt had vowed to never be unfair again.

“T
his is the coolest thing I've ever seen, bud.” Matt finished positioning stakes meant to tether the wood-sculpted Holy Family into place on Wednesday night, then motioned Jake left. “Shall we turn on the spotlights, see what we've got?”

“Just make sure they're centered, or Mom will move 'em.”

“Got it. See if anybody else wants to watch the lighting ceremony.”

Jake dashed up the porch steps, calling for Hank and Callie while Matt stepped back, eyeing left, then right. Centered.

Then he examined the spotlight positions, knowing that could slant the image.

Also centered.

He smiled. Callie liked things focused. Symmetrical.

So did he.

She loved building. Climbing ladders. Working rooftops. Ditto.

As Callie and Hank crossed the yard with Jake, Matt wondered what it would be like to be part of this family, a plan he'd never allowed himself. But at this moment, with these people, the vision seemed attainable.

Because you're living a lie.

Seeing Jake's grin and Callie's smile, he wouldn't think about that. Hank clapped him on the back as Jake flipped the
switch, the colorful roofline lights adding nighttime wonder to the simply shadowed nativity scene below.

Matt's heart clenched, the reality of Bethlehem rubbing raw. They'd hobbled into town to find no room. No shelter, other than a cavelike barn. And a manger lined with coarse straw on a cold, winter's night. Little Jesus had been born there, in crude, meager conditions. Truly a child of the poor.

Like him.

“Hey.” Callie moved alongside him, looking up as if he were the most wonderful thing in the world, all because he'd taken time to set up Jake's favorite Christmas decoration. “It's perfect.”

“Centered properly?”

She laughed and hugged his arm. “Yes. Jake ratted me out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with wanting things done correctly,” Matt supposed. “And it saves a lot of work to do it right the first time.”

Gazing forward, Hank's easy tone pondered Matt's pragmatic words. “But if we
do
mess up, God usually gives us chances to make amends. Embrace new ways.”

His words targeted Matt. They both knew it. Matt breathed deep and shrugged, the thought of a baby born in less-than-perfect circumstances hitting home. One big difference pierced his heart like a three-penny nail. Christ lived his life sacrificially; Matt had messed up repeatedly. “Not everything's fixable, Hank.”

“True enough,” Hank replied. “But I try to never second guess God's vantage point. Ours is limited. Omniscience gives God the advantage to see all. Heal all.”

How Matt wished that were true. But he'd seen the horror on Katie's face, the shock, the realization that she was damaged beyond repair. A look he put there through careless, callous misdeeds.

“Thanks, Matt!” Jake launched himself at Matt, hugging him, his excitement over the decorations innocent and conta
gious. Matt could do nothing less than haul the boy into his arms, wondering again what kind of moron ignored a great kid like Jake.

“You're welcome, bud. Hey, it's getting cold out here. Shall we head inside? Start those sweet potatoes?”

“Got 'em done while you boys were doing this,” Hank announced as they moved toward the steps. “The cookin' part anyway. I'll do the glaze in the morning, then all we have to do is heat 'em up to go with the turkey.”

“And I cut up all the bread for the stuffing,” Jake added as they pegged their jackets inside the door. “While Mom did the onions and celery.”

“Teamwork.” The idea of a family working together to produce a holiday meal was both alien and fun. Mostly fun. “Do I smell…?” Matt followed his nose toward the kitchen, then turned to see Callie watching him, waiting for his reaction. “You made pies?”

“I did. Not because I had to, mind you.” She sent him a warning look and wagged her finger like The General wagged his ears. “Because I
wanted
to after you looked like a lost little boy when I said we'd buy them.”

He pretended to scowl. “You weren't supposed to see that.”

“Army training. And great peripheral vision. Anyway, what do you think?”

At that moment he thought she was the most remarkable, wonderful creature on Earth, but he couldn't say that out loud for a host of reasons. He cleared his throat and grabbed a fork from the table. “There's only one way to know for sure.”

“Which will wait until tomorrow,” she scolded, grabbing the fork. “But they smell great.”

“Perfect.”

She turned and met his smile, but the look on her face said she realized he was talking about more than the pies.

“Thanks, Callie.”

“Well, you gave me plenty of time between the nativity scene and your book work.”

“I hate keeping books,” he admitted as he tugged off his shoes and set them by the fire. “And it's not even hard math, it's just tedious.”

“Callie kept my books for me.” Hank brought a plate of ham-melt sandwiches to the table, the quick supper a salute to Thursday's feast prep time. “And I can't say she didn't warn me we were skating thin ice a number of times.”

“Everybody takes chances, Hank.” Matt met his gaze candidly. “There are no givens. If you'd gotten this done before the housing bubble burst, you'd have been called a hero. But getting sick on top of rough financial circumstances.” Matt shook his head. “Tough all around.” He sat next to Jake, his attention on Callie. “But I'd be glad to pay you to take over my bookkeeping. Not much, of course,” he added with a grin. “Are you familiar with QuickBooks?”

“I used it for Dad's records.” She brought the coffee pot to the table and filled Hank's cup and his before topping off her own. “Which meant the bank could see there was no wrong-doing when things went bad. Just horrible timing.”

“And overextending.” Hank grimaced, then sighed. “But I've got to say, Matt, that having you here, working with you, seeing those houses take shape at last.” Hank nodded his relief. “My dream is coming true, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to us,” Matt corrected smoothly. “And I've never worked with a better crew, including you, bud.” He chucked Jake in the upper arm, making the boy grin. “So things worked out all around.”

“And tomorrow…” Jake waved toward the front window, his mouth full, not waiting to swallow before reminding Matt of his promise.

Matt angled him a patient look. “Let's say grace. And yes, I remember. We're putting the kitchen in the model tomorrow and you're helping.”

“Me, too,” piped in Callie.

“Count me in,” added Hank.

Matt waited as they joined hands, then lobbed a look
around the table. “The whole family's rushing to get this kitchen done and the C of O signed?” He winked toward Jake. “Must be wearing out my welcome around here.”

Callie squeezed his hand, her touch inciting sparks against his skin. “Oh, you're not so hard to take, marine. Kind of nice, actually. And you'll only be across the street. Easy visiting.”

“Until the model sells,” he added.

Her face shadowed.

Hank did his customary quick grace, and Callie let go of Matt's hand once done, but he had pretty good peripheral vision, too.

Was that a glimpse of misgiving because she'd put her heart and soul into that model?

Or because he'd move to town once the model sold?

But like it or not, he needed to get a couple of these houses contracted. And holiday time was the worst for selling homes. Most people avoided the time-consuming task of directing a building project until after New Year's. Which meant if the model caught someone's eye, he'd have to sell it and finish another home to occupy until spring.

“Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage and he shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord.” The Psalm's sage advice had been his mainstay for a long time.

Patience. Perseverance. Persistence. Matt embraced these qualities as a marine, then again as a contractor, but with Cobbled Creek, a part of him longed to fast forward toward completion and the reason for that unusual impatience sat four short feet away, explaining why she'd chosen Golden Wheat stained maple for the Cape Cod's kitchen.

They'd passed the initial inspection today. Within a week or two the model should be deemed ready for occupancy. He'd listed the homes with local Realtor Mary Kay Hammond, but they both knew the score. December was a dead month in real estate sales.

And he should be fine financially as long as they con
tracted two of the houses before spring, then doubled that by summer.

“I'll have the turkey ready to go in at ten.” Callie looked up from the list she was making. “So if we eat at four or so, that works out well, right?”

Matt propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “We could always take the day off like normal people do.”

Three sets of eyes rounded on him like he'd sprouted an extra head.

“Why would we do that?” Callie asked.

“Yeah, why?” Jake echoed.

“I can't think of a thing to be more thankful for than seeing those houses cared for,” added Hank. “If you're worried we'd rather have a day off, then you're sitting at the wrong table, son.”

Their earnest desire eased Matt's conscience. “I can't imagine sitting at a finer table, sir.”

Hank grinned. “Well, I do make a mean ham melt.”

“And the coffee couldn't be better.” Matt raised his cup toward Callie.

She ignored his grin and went back to her list. “Turkey at ten, potatoes and sweet potato casserole at three, rolls go in once the gravy's started.”

“That way we catch the late game on TV,” Jake added.

“With pie.”

“And the day just keeps getting better and better.” Matt hoisted his mug in salute. “To teamwork. And a beautiful Thanksgiving.”

The house phone rang, interrupting the toast. Hank stood, picked it up, sent a quick glance Matt's way, then headed toward the back of the kitchen, his voice low.

“Who was that, Grandpa?” Jake asked when Hank returned to the table.

“Don.”

“Is he coming tomorrow?”

The boy's innocent words caused a momentary discomfort. “Not this year.”

“But—”

“He's busy, Jake.”

“He's going somewhere else for supper?”

Hank was obviously no good at lying. “Well…”

“Jake, he's—”

Sensing the truth, Matt cleared his throat. “Hey, guys, it's fine if he comes. You know that, don't you?”

Hank exchanged a quiet look with Callie. “We'll leave things the way they are for now, I think.”

“No, really, I…”

Callie shook her head and sent a swift cautionary look toward Jake. “Don's got plans already and it's not like we're going to be sitting around all afternoon chitchatting, right?”

That made sense to Jake, but Matt felt like a first-class heel. “Listen, if…”

Hank interrupted him, obviously not wanting to say too much with little ears around. “Plenty of time for Don to stop by over the winter. He's staying in town this year, so it's not like it usually is, Jake.”

“Oh.” Jake nodded as if they were finally making sense. He turned Matt's way. “Don always has Thanksgiving dinner with us before he goes to Florida. He's known Grandpa a long time.”

“He's staying here this year?” Matt directed the question to Hank, but Callie answered.

“Yes. He figured it was best all around. Going to Florida isn't cheap and there's no guarantee of work once you get there.”

Did Matt sense a hint of something else in her words? He thought so, and the quiet look she exchanged with her father confirmed his gut instinct. And Don needed work. He'd mentioned that.

But Matt had plenty of help right now. More than enough.
He pushed his chair back and stood, the perfect holiday now shaded with guilt.

His father needed help. Except he wasn't
really
his father. And he'd abandoned him long ago. And he had a drinking problem.

Matt didn't do drinking problems. He didn't do family. He didn't embrace the American dream that had emotionally thrashed him as a kid. Thinking of Don brought up thoughts of Neal Brennan and his mother's duplicity, the lies, the scandal, the family breakdown that left him pretty much on his own from age eight.

“When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord shall take me up.”

God had done that in the form of Grandpa Gus, but not before Matt realized that bad apples produce like fruit and the idea of love, marriage and sweet, dimpled babies should be someone else's dream.

His dream?

To love God, love his work and build beautiful, affordable homes that withstood the test of time.

And that's it? Home to an empty apartment every night? A cold stove?

Yes. Less risk for everyone.

Matt met Hank's troubled gaze. “I'm going to turn in early. Get a jump on tomorrow. If you hear me head over before dawn, don't feel like you have to rush. We've got all day.”

“Sure, Matt!”

Jake's grin showed oblivion to the rising concern surrounding the table, and just as well. Little boys didn't need to be surrounded by old drama.

Whereas big boys didn't have much of a choice.

 

“Hey, bud, good job.”

Callie and Hank exchanged a smile as Matt advised Jake the next afternoon, the boy's rapt attention the best kind of hero worship.

“Like this, Matt?”

“Exactly like that.”

Matt let him read the level and Callie couldn't miss the delight in the boy's eye as he bent slightly. “Perfect.”

“I couldn't have done better,” Matt assured him. “And I'm real particular about installing cabinets. Finishing kitchens.”