by Lois Richer
Seth shoved the internal scolding aside to make room for the greater ache in his heart. Another Christmas gone. Another empty holiday put behind him. In the cold, late-day light of early January, darkness seeped into him.
What was she doing now? Was her mother cherishing her? Or was the girl’s presence cramping her mother’s style? And then what would Jasmine do?
Regret threatened to overtake him, but what would he change? Falling in love with the wild beauty of Jasmine on her good days? Or the grace and peace he found in the short years he’d had to father Jasmine’s daughter from a prior relationship? Tori. Sweet, earnest, yearning for love, happy with the smallest things, not an ounce of greed in her.
You’d change the abandonment, his inner voice scolded. And over two years of wondering where Tori is. What she’s doing. And if Jasmine is taking care of her, or putting herself first in typical style.
He had no way of knowing, and despite being a cop, no way of finding out. So he hoped…and prayed…and tried to leave it in God’s hands. But on quiet afternoons like this one, when there wasn’t enough work to grip his hands, much less his heart? On those days, his mind leaped to various scenarios of where Jasmine was now and who was caring for her beautiful, nearly twelve-year-old daughter.
Not one of the imagined scenes involved a picket fence and regular meals.
He sighed, hauled open the door to the café, forced a smile and hailed the owner. “Tina, how about a cup of coffee and one of your ham-and-Swiss panini?”
“With banana peppers, mustard and extra cheese.” She slid the mug across the counter to him, made a little face of understanding, then reached out and patted his cheek. “Seth, you old bear, you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s plastered across that gorgeous Campbell face of yours for all the world to see.”
“Long day.”
“I see that.” Her look of commiseration said she understood, but she couldn’t. No one could.
If you spend every long, cold, snowy day feeling sorry for yourself, this is going to be one wretched winter. Get a grip.
Seth hauled in a breath and couldn’t disagree with the mental reminder. His mother had framed a solid, plain-font version of the Serenity Prayer and hung it in his kitchen. On dark days like today, its simplicity helped. He still needed to learn to accept what couldn’t be changed, but he was trying harder, and that helped.
He turned to sit at one of Tina’s bistro-style tables and came face-to-face with a miniature woman wearing a black-and-white tweed coat. A bright red scarf lay draped around her neck. Coal-black eyes under a head of short, thick, straight dark hair said this had to be Gianna’s grandmother. Her bright smile confirmed it.
“Company! Just what I wanted!” She pulled out the chair opposite Seth and sat down with the authority of seven decades. “I’m pretty sure I’d be in the way over there—” she hooked a blunt thumb over her left shoulder indicating the western end of Main Street “—so they tucked me here, but winter afternoons in a lakeshore community aren’t exactly teeming with business.”
“Can’t argue that.” Tina smiled at the woman, refilled her coffee cup and set Seth’s sandwich down in front of him. “Seth, this is Carmen Bianchi. She’s moving into—”
“My place on the water.” He reached across the table to shake her hand, and the strength of her grip didn’t surprise him. Her knowledgeable look said she was letting the younger generation think they’d taken control. For the moment, she’d let them live under that illusion.
He liked her straight away. “Are you hungry, Mrs. Bianchi?” Seth indicated his sandwich and the bowl of fries that followed. “There’s plenty here. Or we can order you something.”
“I just finished a piece of Tina Marie’s ham-and-broccoli quiche, and it was excellent,” she explained, with a glance at the schoolhouse-style clock on the side wall. “I’ve already decided I’m going to annoy her by being a regular customer until she gives up the recipe.”
Tina grinned from behind the counter. “We love regular customers. Annoy away.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re ever an annoyance, Mrs. Bianchi.” Seth handed over the basket of fries, smiled when she helped herself, and added, “Unless you’re bossing folks around who think they’re running the show.”
“I like a man who reads things well. You’re a cop, right?”
“A sheriff’s deputy,” Seth replied. “How’d you know?”
“You sat facing the door. You’re carrying a weapon in your back right waistband. Your eyes say gentle but your chin says you’ll do what needs to be done. My husband was a state trooper for thirty years.”
“You’re not too shabby at reading people yourself, Mrs. Bianchi.”
“Call me Carmen,” she told him, and helped herself to another fry. “And Tina Marie, you should come over here and chat with us until it gets busy.”
“Add matchmaker to her list of attributes,” Tina joked from where she was washing stoneware in the small, double sink. “I learned a long time ago to steer clear of the Campbell boys, though, so thanks anyway. Heartbreakers, every one.”
Seth pseudowhispered after swallowing a bite of his sandwich, “That means she’s still pining for my brother who’s stationed in Fort Bragg.”
“As if.” Tina frowned at him, then winked at Carmen. “Max had his chance. What normal woman would find a big, rugged special forces operative appealing?”
Carmen laughed out loud. “What woman wouldn’t? I love young people.” She leaned forward, still smiling. “I’m so glad Gianna and I have moved here. Our little mountain town is lovely, but so lonely in winter. And winter wears out its welcome long before the thermometer brings us a reprieve.”
Seth knew the truth of that, but the café door opened before he could reply, and when Gianna Costanza breezed in with a gust of fresh, cold air, his need to talk disappeared.
The softly lit café brightened in her presence. Snowflakes dotted her shoulders, her cap and the spill of curls falling down her back.
“Gram! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would take this long to get all of our stuff moved inside. But you’ve found friends, I see.” She flashed her smile to Seth and Tina Marie as she arched a brow. “And if that’s a panino right there, I’d love one to go.”
“Or you could take a breath and eat right here,” Carmen said.
“I’d do that except that Mauro and Joey need to be on their way,” Gianna answered. She turned more fully toward Tina. “Actually, can you make it three panini? With fries like the big guy has?” She smiled at Seth, then extended her hand across the counter to Tina. “I’m Gianna Costanza. Gram and I are opening the vintage clothing store in Seth’s rental space on Main.”
“Wonderful.” Tina gripped her hand with an answering smile. “This town needs more women in charge.”
“Or just more women in general.” Seth stood, grinned, then tweaked Tina’s short brown hair as the other ladies laughed. Tina gave his arm a friendly whack before turning her attention to Gianna’s order. He turned back toward Gianna and Carmen. “If you ladies need anything, I’m just across the road.”
“Thank you, Seth.” Carmen’s smile said she appreciated his offer.
“Actually, there is something else I meant to ask you about.” Gianna moved a step closer. “I need to install rack holders on the exterior walls to display the used clothing. And hooks above to showcase styles or finish a ‘look.’ Can you give me the names of carpenters I might be able to hire?”
“Sure. Give me your phone.”
She looked puzzled, but handed over the phone. It took Seth mere seconds to pull up his name. Under the “notes” section he put carpenter and renovator. He handed the phone back and waited to assess Gianna’s reaction.
He might crash and burn.
Or win the day….
She burst out laughing, and Seth notched a mental x into the “win” column.
“Do you actually have time to do this?” she asked. “And are you really a carpe
nter?”
Carmen inhaled sharply.
The older woman’s dark expression surprised Seth. “I’m a deputy sheriff by day and a guy who loves to work with wood on my days off. With Dad in the hardware business, do-it-yourself became a required phrase for Campbell kids to learn in preschool. But mostly, I love that old building and would rather do the work myself,” he explained. “Draw me a sketch of what you’re thinking, and I’ll get the supplies this week. I’ve got next weekend off, so if I gather what I need in the next few days, I can probably have the job done by midmonth, in plenty of time for your opening.”
His words dimmed her expression, as if he’d lowered a shade over a lamplit window. Regret tightened her pretty features. “I’d hate to put you out. Let me call around and see if there’s anyone who can jump right on this for me. With your approval as property owner, of course.”
Seth went straight from the “win” column to “crashed and burned” in the space of a few seconds. That made Carmen’s expression more noteworthy, but Seth could read the writing on the wall. He had no intention of crashing or burning ever again. Not on purpose. The last time took his heart and nipped his soul.
Keeping his face relaxed, he shrugged one shoulder toward her new shop. “Just let me know who you get so I can confer with them. That old building was built strong, but I’m partial to it, so TLC is important to me.”
“Will do.” She offered him a quick smile and moved to the counter, waiting for her to-go order.
He’d been dismissed. So be it.
He turned to say a quick goodbye to Carmen, but the look on the Italian woman’s face as she gazed at her granddaughter, a look of anguish mixed with love—
Seth’s heart melted. He was a peacemaker, by birth and profession. He championed the underdog, helped the oppressed, carried a gun and wore a badge because it fit his nature. Carmen’s look of concern said these women had a story.
So did he.
And if they respected his right to privacy, he’d do the same, because life was better when compassion ruled the day. But he still wanted to know who would be working on his grandmother’s building, because family legacies were important.
People matter. Buildings can be rebuilt.
While that was true, Seth shrugged off the internal warning. He knew how to control a piece of wood and a hammer. Years of being Charlie Campbell’s son meant the entire clan understood at least the elementary skills of building and refurbishing.
Women?
He’d been put through the wringer in the past and had no intention of risking a similar fate anytime soon.
Copyright © 2014 by Ruth M. Blodgett
ISBN-13: 9781460332016
NORTH COUNTRY MOM
Copyright © 2014 by Lois M. Richer
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