Justin nodded in bewilderment. “When did you decide to sell?”
Denny put his arm around Muffy’s shoulders. “My little lady here told me just before the ribbon cutting. She said it was just far too quiet out here. I don’t mind either way, so once you two are paid off, sell it is.”
Muffy regarded them coolly, her false smile holding a vicious edge.
Winnie spoke up. “Of all things!” Her wrinkled face puckered in thought and she glanced at Tara, then Justin. “Maybe— maybe one of you could buy this property.”
Justin’s arm tightened around Tara’s shoulders, his gaze melting into hers. She smiled up at him, happiness glowing in her eyes.
Justin grinned, a vision forming in the back of his mind. “It really would make a great corporate retreat, I could rent it out by the week—”
Tara snorted and elbowed him in the side. “It would make a fantastic bed and breakfast!”
The End
Also by Kirsten Fullmer
Hometown Girl After All
Hometown Girl Forever
Christmas in Smithville
Hometown Girl Again
Hometown Girl After All
Copyright © 2019 by Kirsten Fullmer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Bingo and Skippy, my Ringo and George
Chapter One
Slowing as she pulled into Smithville, Julia tightened her grip on the steering wheel and swallowed hard. The flaws and imperfections of the old buildings along Main Street, even the cracks in the blacktop of the road, stood out sharply in the bright morning sun. The bulky clay pots on street corners stood empty, and sandy gravel lay in the gutters. Both were a testament to the fact that spring was tentative. She’d been told no one in Pennsylvania planted flowers or cleaned the debris and salt left by snow plows until Mother’s Day, which was still a week away.
Her lips moved as she read the names of businesses that lined the two short blocks of downtown. There was a real estate office in a beautiful old Victorian home, and a café, as well as a repurposed furniture boutique. An old gas station that had been converted to a delivery service was the last business on the street. Recognizing the name of the service as the company delivering her furniture, she paused at the four-way stop for a closer look.
A tall, dark-haired man stepped from the building wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the company logo on the back. He was grinning as he pulled the door closed behind him, and he whistled a tune as he walked. His gaze met Julia’s as he reached for his truck door and he paused, then his eyes opened wide in apparent recognition.
For a split-second Julia saw herself as she had been, sitting at the stop sign in her glossy black BMW wearing a prim suit, her hair short and stiff, with designer sunglasses covering her eyes.
Ringo barked and bound across her lap, his little body shaking with excitement as he pushed his head past her to hang out the window and bark happily at the man. Julia flinched as her world tilted sideways, and she returned to the present, sitting back in the old pickup truck, her loose curls tossed by the wind, with the dog jumping on her worn jeans. Her mind went blank and the now familiar chasm opened beneath her.
She hated the vacuum moments that followed her flashbacks. She felt as if they swallowed her whole. She couldn’t think – couldn’t remember why she was there, or where she’d been going. Her face burned with embarrassment.
Ringo’s paws scrambled on her lap as he put his front paws on her chest. His stubby back legs danced on her lap, and his tail wagged as he looked into her eyes, as if to say, “Mom, there’s a man, there’s a man!” The little white dog bounded back to the window, his ears flopping and tongue lolling.
The man paused next to his truck, perplexed by Julia’s vacant stare. His dark hair shone in the sun as time slowed, then he lifted his hand from the door handle of his truck and walked across the parking lot toward her.
When he reached Julia’s truck, he patted Ringo’s head and scratched behind his ears. “Hey little fella.” His gaze lifted to Julia and he smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. “You must be Julia -- welcome to town.”
Feeling confused as to how the man could possibly know her name, she managed a weak smile. “—Do I know you?”
“Oh sorry, I’m Chad Howard, and I’ll be delivering your furniture. We don’t get many people here from New York, so I figured it must be you.”
Her expression darkened. She had come here to find a place where people knew nothing about her. “I—”
He pointed to the back of her truck. “You have New York plates.”
Her mouth snapped closed and she nodded, relieved, then extended her hand around the wiggling dog. “Oh, right. I’m Julia Arnold.”
He shook her hand then stepped back from the truck. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in the next few days.”
She lifted her hand to say goodbye, and Ringo barked his farewell. Driving through the intersection, she sighed and pushed the dog from her lap, determined not to berate herself. They’d warned her that the flashbacks and blank moments would continue to happen, but she was okay. She did have New York plates, so people would know she was from out of town. Apprehension and despondent gloom filled her heart, but she pushed them back. She could do this.
* * *
Chad stood rubbing the dark stubble on his jaw as he watched the pickup truck move down the street. Julia had been a surprise. Something about her wide dark eyes had moved him in an unfamiliar way. Unsure what exactly had struck him, besides her delicate features, soft curls, and silken voice, he shrugged and turned back to his truck. She wasn’t really his type.
He’d see her again on Thursday. His delivery business contracted to various moving companies who used the large modular style containers, picking them up in Pittsburgh to drive them to local destinations, but rarely did one come to Smithville.
Walking back to his truck, he considered the address for the delivery. He’d grown up in Smithville and knew pretty much every person and address in town.
Like most of his friends, he’d left for college at eighteen, then had lived in Philly for five years managing a hub for United Package Service, but he’d returned to Smithville last year to start his own delivery company.
Julia’s delivery would be going to an old Victorian mansion farther down the highway. The house was on the verge of falling down, if he remembered correctly, and it would take a wealth of both endurance and funding to make the place livable. Come to think of it, he’d seen Mac, the plumber, at the house last month. Steve, his contractor buddy, had also mentioned he was replacing a wood shingle roof on a Victorian. He’d have to ask the guys if they’d been working on Julia’s place.
He climbed into his pickup truck and backed from the lot. Heading down the highway, he rolled down the window to savor the cool breeze and wondered why someone from New York City would want to move to Smithville. He loved the old town but then he’d been compelled to seek the peace and quiet that was impossible to find in Philly. His folks were getting older, rarely leaving the house these days, snarled traffic drove him insane, and since the accident, city life had lost its charm. Come to find out he was just plain wired for small town life. Besides that, he had to be there for Bobby’s family. Maybe he was just the type of guy who liked waving at his neighbors when they passed, wide-open spaces, and listening to crickets at night.
Julia hadn’t been dressed like a typical city lady, he reflected. He smirked. Since when had he evaluated what a woman wore? Unless it was short or tight. He shifted in his seat and punched at the radio buttons. Whoever she was, she was none of his business. She had looked a bit lost though.
Maybe he’d drive by and make sure she’d found the place okay. Scoffing at h
is thoughts, he acknowledged that the house was only two blocks away, and if she’d found Smithville, she could undoubtedly find the house. But he’d drive by anyway. Something about her had hinted at vulnerability, and he wanted to be sure she was okay.
* * *
As Julia pulled into the driveway of her new home, she closed the small notebook containing the address and directions and tucked it back into her purse. Ringo barked happily and dropped from the window to prance circles on the seat. “Calm down,” she muttered, craning her neck to take in the house and yard. She turned off the ignition and sat with her hands in her lap, feeling the weight of her choices heavy in her chest. The house had been purchased for cash, sight unseen, and she wondered now if she’d made a wise choice. It’s not like she’d had a lot of options in the city but coming here had been a radical plan – an escape.
Pulling the keys from the ignition, she swung open the truck door with a creak and stepped onto the weed-choked gravel driveway. The old house loomed before her, the windows dark.
Shadows cast by clouds blotted away the sunbeams dancing across the new wood shingles on the roof.
Absently, she reached for Ringo and tucked him under her arm. She’d been desperate to get away from the city, and now she was here. Disappointment and fatigue caused her eyes to burn with tears. Evidently, a new location didn’t offer a different life. She was still herself, still overwhelmed, and still alone -- just in a strange place. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she straightened her shoulders, blinked back the useless tears, and approached the house.
The two-story home spoke of grandeur long past. A rounded turret formed one corner of the home, and the other end of the wraparound porch echoed back with a pointed turret roof. Dormer attic windows poked through the roof like unseeing eyes. The house was built of ancient red brick and the trim had been painted so many times, or so few times, that no paint scheme was obvious, just a hodgepodge of grayed peeling paint and weathered wood. The double front doors were missing window glass; plywood covered the openings, and a rusty awning protruded over the porch from the second story. Julia tilted her head to see if the awning had indeed once hung over the second story windows, instead of sagging onto the porch roof.
Picking her way through knee-deep weeds in the yard with birds singing riotously in the trees, she stepped onto the porch and the boards creaked in welcome. Sure enough, the crew she’d hired over the phone had replaced the rotting deck boards, leaving the porch floor looking yellow compared to the rest of the house. A new lock and handle shone on one door, and Julia bent with a groan to lift the welcome mat and find the key.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened, pressed her lips into a thin line, and stepped across the threshold. The smell of sawdust and new wood filled her first breath. Rays of sun streamed into the room through the dirty windows, lighting dust motes that fluttered in the air like pixies. The room felt hopeful – an emotion she no longer allowed. Hope only meant reality wasn’t good enough. Ringo squirmed under her arm, and she let him down to run circles, sniffing all along the floor of the room.
Smoothing her hand along the replaced parts of the wood doorjamb, the wood creamy and pale, she took in the various patched floorboards, as well as several windowsills the carpenters had repaired. They’d been told to only improve the inside to a livable point and not to paint or finish the wood. Electricians and a plumber had also been there to make sure the place was manageable but just barely. She wanted to do all the finishes because she desperately needed a project, but she also knew she’d need help with the repairs. Her construction skills were minimal to nonexistent.
Kinking her head back, she took in the stamped tin ceiling, still perfectly intact. Her eyes fell to the wall where an elaborately scrolled wood mantle, over a tarnished brass insert fireplace, filled nearly half the wall. On the other side of the room, ornate wooden built-in cabinets and columns opened into the formal dining room. A smaller version of the living room fireplace was on the far wall, and the rounded turret formed a lovely bay window in one corner.
Ringo scampered through an open door off the living room and Julia followed, her footsteps echoing through the empty room. Her fingers lingered on the dark wood doorjamb, and her eyes cast upward to the dusty open transom over the door. Glancing back down, she found herself in the den, the walls lined with ancient wood shelves and grimy dark solid wood paneling. Limp velvet curtains covered the windows, blocking the sun.
“It’s so dark in here,” she commented, wandering to the window to tug open the drapes. Sunshine spilled onto the floor as the antique fabric tore across the seam at the top and fell at her feet with a poof of dust. Sputtering, she waved at the grimy cloud.
“I guess I won’t be making a gown from those,” she mumbled, pushing at the filthy rags with her foot.
Smiling lamely at her little joke, Julia headed back to the living room. Curious, she glanced through the rooms, amazed that this was her home. Her heart beat in her ears, causing her to feel as if she were on a precipice of some kind. Pausing for a moment longer, she took a deep breath, pulling the unusual sensation of home into her lungs. Any type of excitement that bubbled up must be pushed away. If Julia knew anything, she was certain that what felt good now would only cause her pain later.
An ornate wooden staircase led upward in the opposite corner of the living room with a landing in the corner, but she chose to investigate a doorway toward the back of the house. A narrow, paneled hall led her past a powder room, obviously not original to the house, but functional, then on to the butler pantry and the back of the kitchen.
Pausing in the pantry door, she took a moment to admire the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, the bottom cupboard doors with peeling paint and missing hardware, and the uppers with wavy glass doors. She loved to cook, and this pantry would be fantastic.
She frowned and withdrew her hand from the pantry door. She had loved to cook, she reminded herself. She had no idea if she could now. It might be too difficult for her to follow a recipe. Besides, she didn’t have a reason to cook anyway.
Stepping inside the pantry, she reached down to open a cabinet door but instead of swinging open, the door leaned out toward her. Charmed by what must have been a flour bin, Julia wished the house could tell her all it had seen through the years. Surely, it had seen happiness, drama, and tragedy in its long lifetime.
Closing the bin and laying her hand on the scarred wood counter, she decided maybe she’d been wrong about this just being a different place. She’d been inside for only a few moments, and already, the old home was weaving its way into her heart.
She frowned. Even the thought of liking her house brought a lump to her throat. It didn’t seem right that she could come here and be happy – that’s not why she’d come. Happiness didn’t last; she had to be practical.
Barking and the clatter of nails on the wood floor overhead interrupted her thoughts, and she walked out of the pantry. “Ringo, where are you, boy?” she called into the vast empty space of the house.
There was no response and she worried distractedly about the dog as she surveyed the kitchen. The room was large enough but desperately in need of help. Filth and grease covered the walls, and the floor was stained and dirty. Only a sink sitting on cracked cupboards and a mustard-yellow fridge revealed the room had been a kitchen. The broken-down look of this room fit her expectations.
The plumber had assured her she’d have running water but had also advised her that the plumbing would need to be updated right away. Even though the crew she’d hired had swept up and taken out various kinds of trash, the room still smelled of ancient dust, grime, and neglect.
This would be her first project she decided quickly, before she could change her mind. Cleanliness came first and she could lose herself for weeks just working on the kitchen. Meals were a requirement -- that was just fact. More barking and scuffling overhead forced Julia to turn back toward the living room.
“Ringo?” she called, but the dog didn
’t reply with a yip or a whine. At the bottom of the stairs, Julia stopped to touch a curve of the ornate banister before biting her bottom lip and painstakingly lifting her foot to the first step. One step at a time, she made her way to the top, her fingers white on the worn rail and sweat beading her brow.
The second floor of the house was dark and dismal with old paint and cracked peeling wallpaper. Discouraged, she paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath and regroup. The agonizingly slow healing process never seemed to end. She’d learned to walk again fairly quickly, but stairs were another story altogether.
Had she ever been agile? Had she even given it a second thought – appreciated it? She blew out a huffing breath, causing her bangs to stand up from her forehead.
Ringo trotted happily out of a bedroom to circle her feet. Julia’s frustration melted away as she bent to scoop up the little dog and hold him up to face her. “You naughty boy, why didn’t you come when I called?” She touched the dog’s forehead to hers, melting into laughter when he lapped at her face with his wide wet tongue. Cradling the dog in her arms, she smiled down at him. “Oh, Ringo dog, who rescued who, huh?”
He yipped, his tongue hanging as he smiled back.
Placing the wiggling dog back on the floor, she followed him slowly through the second floor of the old home, finding four sizeable bedrooms with filthy, old fashioned, nine-pane windows. Each room contained a fireplace, and there was another outdated bathroom. It was far more room than she and Ringo required. Empty space full of nothing.
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