A Man 0f His Word (Round-The-Clock Brides Book 4)

by Sandra Steffen

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Meanwhile, I want to see that quote and whatever else you show prospective clients.”

  He imagined she would run a background check on him—young mothers couldn’t be too careful these days. And there was no guarantee she was going to go through with this. But he would work up a quote, present her with sketches, designs, photographs and references. If all went well, she would like it enough to let him begin. And maybe, just maybe, after this project was finished, he would close his eyes at night without seeing death. Perhaps he would stop waking up with a start, when he slept at all. Maybe once he saw Jay’s beautiful family settled comfortably into their newly remodeled home, Cole would learn to live with the knowledge that the wrong man had died.

  Thirty-three minutes after arriving in Orchard Hill, Cole was back in his black Ford 4x4. The slightly damp paintings from Violet and Gracie were on the bucket seat next to him.

  Absently rubbing his sore thigh, Cole remembered when Jay had shown him artwork his daughters had sent him, but he’d failed to mention how stubborn April was. Cole couldn’t help wondering what else his best friend had left out.

  There was no reason on God’s green earth for Cole to feel as if a weight was lifting. It was a little early for that, and yet he was pretty sure a half smile tugged one corner of his mouth up. Toward heaven.

  Chapter Two

  “Tell me you aren’t actually considering hiring him.”

  April padded quietly through her home, her sister’s voice insistent in her ear. Moonlight slanted through the windows on the east side of the house, the late night breeze a caress along the skin on her arms and legs not covered by her short pajamas.

  Marilee called from her loft in Denver every Thursday. They’d always been close, but after Jay died these phone calls had come to mean even more to April.

  She stopped at the kitchen sink, rinsed out a glass and switched off the overhead light. Like Gracie and Violet, April and her only sister were as different as night and day. In spite of that and the miles that separated them, or perhaps because of those things, they’d always been close.

  “I’m serious, April. You don’t even know him. I mean, yes, he bravely served our country and was Jay’s best friend, two truly commendable attributes. But hire him out of the blue to finish your upstairs when you had no intention of tackling such a big headache?”

  Tonight, April wished she hadn’t answered the phone.

  “Yes, he’s a decorated war hero, Marilee. But in ways I can’t explain, he was closer to Jay than his own brothers, and you and I both know how strong his bond was with them.”

  “I miss him, too,” Marilee murmured. “It’ll never feel right—his dying, I mean.”

  Even the house sighed.

  April left the kitchen and wandered into the living room, her steps falling lightly on the hardwood floor. “I’m still here,” she whispered. “If I don’t say anything it’s because I’m checking on the girls.”

  Marilee continued to list all the reasons April should be ultracautious about hiring Cole Cavanaugh to turn her unused upstairs into living space. Only half listening, April entered her daughters’ room where moonlight sprinkled like fairy dust onto the floor, its shimmery glow illuminating the two little princesses who were fast asleep.

  Gracie lay on her back, the tattered ears of her favorite stuffed rabbit held lovingly in her right hand. On the other bed Violet lay on her side, one little arm dangling over the edge of her mattress. April marveled at their perfection: their hair mussed, their bow lips parted slightly, their unbelievably long eyelashes casting faint shadows on their cheeks.

  They’d grown so much this past year. Soon they would be starting school, losing their baby teeth, following their own hearts and finding their own direction. Jay was missing so much. The enormity of it brought a lump to April’s throat and an almost unbearable ache to her chest.

  She pressed a light kiss to each of the girls’ foreheads and breathed them in. As different as they were, they were both summer: raspberries and dandelions, nests made of fluff and warm, soft rain.

  With her sister’s voice a steady hum in her ear, she gently drew a light throw over each of them. Gracie sighed, and Violet wiggled. By morning her throw would be on the floor.

  “Just because he fought next to Jay doesn’t mean you should trust him with a nail gun,” Marilee insisted.

  April didn’t bother reminding her only sister that Cole Cavanaugh was a licensed contractor who appeared to be as reputable and honorable as she’d expected any best friend of Jay’s to be. “I don’t recall asking you if I should trust him,” she whispered, pulling the door partway shut behind her.

  “I knew it. You trust him. I know you. You take one look at a person and your mind is made up. You’re too nice for your own good.”

  April rolled her eyes as she wandered back out to the living room. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and considered going up, but it was airless and dusty up there and she was barefoot. Besides, she didn’t need to see the second floor to know what she was going to do.

  “For your information,” she told her sister, “I had a background check run on him.”

  “And?”

  She thought about the email she’d received from Sam Lafferty that very afternoon. According to the report from the private investigator Marsh, Reed and Noah Sullivan had hired to find the mother of the baby boy they’d discovered on their doorstep last summer, Cole Cavanaugh grew up in northern Ohio.

  “His mother passed away when he was fifteen, and his father died a few years later,” April told her sister. “After college he moved to upstate New York where a great uncle of his lived. Other than a couple of speeding tickets in his early twenties, his record is squeaky clean. No wives, past or present, no children, no siblings. He co-owns a successful construction company with a friend from college, has more than one medal of valor and was gravely wounded twice. According to the report, the second time very nearly cost him his left leg and his life. Shall I go on?”

  “That’s some background check.”

  April nodded. “Sam Lafferty was very thorough.”

  “Sam? That’s who ran the check? Why didn’t you say so? Did he mention me?”

  After making sure the front and back doors were locked, April entered her bedroom. “Why would Sam mention you? Don’t tell me you slept with him, too.”

  “Actually, I didn’t. I happened to meet Sam at Bell’s Tavern, but I was in Orchard Hill because Jay died and I needed to be there with you and the girls and he was about to fly somewhere or other for one of his clients. So no, nothing happened between Sam and me. Pity, that. But we’re not talking about me,” came Marilee’s droll response. “I just don’t know about this Cole Cavanaugh. He’s carrying a lot of baggage, justifiably so, but I’m afraid for you, April. I worry about you.”

  April sighed. God save her from all the people who loved her and worried about her.

  Her windows were dark behind the slatted blinds, for moonlight hadn’t reached this portion of the sky yet. She turned on the lamp on her bedside table and sighed. She didn’t need moonlight to bring on her melancholy.

  “So,” Marilee said, breaking into her reverie. “Are you going to tell me or aren’t you?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What is Cole Cavanaugh like?”

  “I did tell you. I described his hair and eye color, how well he knew Jay.”

  “But what did he smell like?” Marilee persisted.

  Marilee knew her and all her quirks. April knew Marilee just as well, and knew she’d get no peace until she answered her sister’s question.

  “If you must know, he’s winter.”

  Some people saw eyes first. Some never forgot a face. Others remembered voices. She’d heard of people who recognized others from their walk or the way they laughed. April associated
people with certain scents. It wasn’t conscious. It just happened. And Cole was winter.

  “Remind me, what does winter smell like again?”

  April rolled her eyes as if her older sister was sitting on her childhood bed across their room in the house in the Detroit suburbs where they grew up. “You live in Denver and know good and well what winter smells like. But fine, I’ll tell you. He’s boughs of spruce and a hint of peppermint and snowflakes floating on faint rays of buttery sunlight.”

  She found herself standing behind her bedroom door where a navy blue robe still hung. Her fingers glided over the lapel, her nose automatically nuzzling the soft fabric. Tears stung her eyes, for Jay’s scent was fading. And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

  “April are you still there?”

  Her sister’s voice brought April back to their conversation. “I’m here.”

  “Why do the upstairs now?” Marilee asked. “You haven’t been able to bring yourself to change anything, other than your mattress.”

  “A nice sister wouldn’t bring that up.”

  “You’re the nice sister, remember? I’m the wild one who eloped when I was seventeen and regretted it three weeks later. I gave our poor preacher father ulcers until the day he died. I would change that if I could. I’m the storm and you’re the port. You’re the sensible one. And what you’re thinking about doing doesn’t make sense.”

  April couldn’t explain it, but she’d seen something in Cole’s eyes yesterday, or more accurately, she saw something missing. She’d recognized the emptiness, for she saw the same lost look in her own reflection every day.

  “Be careful, April.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “Stubborn and careful are not the same thing. Give it a week. If you still feel it’s worth pursuing, you can consider hiring him, or better yet some local builder you’ve known for years.”

  “He’s coming back tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  April smiled in spite of herself. “Don’t worry.”

  On a groan, Marilee said, “That’s what I’m supposed to say when you caution me against doing something I’m going to do anyway. This turnabout is out of my comfort zone.”

  April laughed softly into the phone.

  “What will Jay’s family say?” Marilee asked.

  April’s laughter trailed away. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as she thought about the big, bossy, noisy, loving Avery clan, for they’d suffered Jay’s loss, too. “They’ll be surprised but they’ll listen and they’ll talk to me and they’ll talk to each other and they’ll give their opinions and advice. And they’ll want to meet the man who was with Jay when he died.”

  Marilee’s sigh matched April’s. As if they both felt they’d said enough for one night, they said their usual goodbyes and I love yous before disconnecting. April stood perfectly still, lost in thought for a long time afterward.

  Jay’s parents owned the busiest real estate company in Orchard Hill. Jim and JoAnn Avery had raised their six children in the same Victorian house they lived in today. The entire family had taken April into the fold the first time Jay brought her home. She considered her sisters-in-law some of her dearest friends. Both of Jay’s brothers happened to stop by every week. She recognized it as the pretext it was and invariably looked on while they moved something heavy or performed any number of household repairs. She indulged them and they appreciated it, for helping her made them feel closer to Jay.

  They mourned him. And missed him. As did she.

  It occurred to her, as she finally crawled into bed, fluffed her pillows and turned out the light, that everyone was stuck in the quagmire of missing Jay. And there seemed to be no way out of it.

  Behind her closed eyes she pictured her handsome young husband. Jay had had a calm nature and gray eyes that crinkled in the corners, two lines forming between them as he pondered something deep and meaningful. His mouth had worn a ready smile each day when he returned home from work as an architect with a firm in Grand Rapids, his blond hair windblown from driving with the windows down, his very presence making her and the girls feel safe and cherished.

  She imagined him discussing claw-foot bathtubs and walk-in closets with his fellow soldiers to pass the long nights far from home. And she imagined Cole Cavanaugh weighing in on the subject in a bunker thousands of miles away.

  In her mind she pictured Cole as he’d been when she’d first seen him on her front stoop yesterday. She’d known he was a soldier instantly, for bravery had its own stance, feet together, shoulders squared, chin up and gaze steady.

  She’d recognized him instantly from the photo she’d seen of him standing with Jay in front of a tank in the desert. It had taken only a few more seconds to feel as if she knew him. She hadn’t been prepared for that, any more than she’d been ready to let someone finish what Jay hadn’t been able to start.

  She didn’t think Cole Cavanaugh was ready, either, emotionally at least. And yet he’d come here. He’d shared his last memories of Jay, although doing so had drained him, emptying him of something vital, the way burning that mattress had emptied her.

  For some reason, Cole needed to be here while he figured out his next step. April couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she needed the same thing.

  * * *

  Violet and Gracie Avery were eating breakfast when Cole followed April into her kitchen at eight o’clock sharp Friday morning. It had been three days since he’d first knocked on her door. Technically that wasn’t a long time.

  He’d thought today would never come.

  After leaving here the other day, he’d driven through Orchard Hill on streets named for presidents and trees. He’d crossed the bridge over the Acorn River and discovered Orchard University and the trendy new subdivisions surrounding it. Back on this side of the river, he’d meandered through historic neighborhoods with their stately old homes and large lawns. He’d used up half a tank of gas and burned through an hour before he came upon what he’d been looking for.

  He sat at the entrance of Rest in Peace Cemetery for a long time. One day he would drive through the open gate, but on Tuesday he’d circled back to Orchard Road and checked into a room at the Stone Inn.

  According to a feisty old redhead who’d flirted outrageously with him and apparently with every other male who checked in, the place was haunted. For the past three nights he’d found himself listening for creaking rocking chairs and squeaky door hinges—anything to pass the time. The thought of specters didn’t frighten him, but the sensation that time was standing still had him climbing the walls.

  It had been a matter of days since he’d made his initial pitch to April regarding her upstairs, days that had dragged, just like every day dragged. But time hadn’t stood still. It was finally Friday. He was here, and so was the moment of truth when he supplied April with an official quote and she either agreed to let him do this or told him no.

  The girls were still in their pajamas, Violet’s legs wound around the spindly legs of her chair while Grace’s bare feet swung in circles twelve inches off the floor. Looking as fresh as morning dew, their mother wore shorts, a pink sleeveless shirt and sandals with cork wedge heels.

  He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. The floor plan was on top, pictures and sketches and blueprints of his most prized projects came next. There were four emailed letters of reference on the bottom, and a dozen more names, phone numbers and email addresses on the last page.

  The girls had stopped eating their cereal, and all three of the Avery women were looking at him. “I need to measure the upstairs before I put the final touches on my bid.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Why don’t you leave everything you have with me in the meantime?”

  He handed April the papers then slipped from the room and went upstairs. He measured twice, jotted notes and opened his
laptop. He filled in the blanks, computed materials and construction costs, double-checked his figures and the design, then returned to the kitchen where the girls were now eating toast. April was still reading.

  “I can go back to the inn and print out a final copy, or email you the finished quote,” he said.

  “It’s finished then?”

  She looked at him, and he swore something passed from her gaze to his. “It’s all done,” he said.

  “Can you email it to me right now?” She gave him her address, and with a click of a few buttons, he was done. Instantly her phone chirruped, signaling an incoming email.

  He should go. Give her time to look it over. She would get back to him when she was ready. And yet his feet were rooted to the floor.

  It occurred to him that the twins must have said something. He tried to answer, but evidently more was expected of him, because Gracie and Violet didn’t resume eating.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked for lack of other ideas.

  “Cereal and toast and juice and milk,” Gracie replied.

  “Want some?” Grace asked, her bread poised in midair over her plate.

  “No, thanks.” And then, because they continued to look expectantly at him, he added, “I ate breakfast before I drove over.”

  He glanced at April and saw that she was now looking at her laptop. It would probably take her a while to peruse everything, since he’d included suggestions for wood flooring and shower tiles and bathtubs and fixtures.

  “I’ll see myself out.”

  Without looking up, she said, “You’re welcome to wait.”

  The back door was open and the faint sound of birdsong carried inside on this warm, dewy August morning. It wasn’t enough to cover the ticking of a nearby clock or the unconscious thrum of his fingers on his jean-clad thigh.

  When one of the girls invited him outside to see their playhouse and her twin took up the chorus, April smiled up at him. Cole found himself taking in the glimmer of her eyes. The tenderness in her smile snuck up on him, curling into his chest, settling lower.