“Reno here doesn’t want the lovely Miz Brooks staying at my place for the next couple weeks.”
“I can speak for myself, jackass.” The beginnings of a headache began to hammer Reno between the eyes.
“Watch your language, son.”
Their mother slapped Jackson’s booted feet off a table scarred from years of abuse from the five boys who’d eaten their meals there. “And you . . .” She thrust a finger at his six-foot-two little brother. “Watch your manners. Both the Marines and I taught you better than that.”
“Sorry.”
Reno chuckled. There was nothing funnier than when one of the other boys got reprimanded. Just proved you were never too old to be mothered. At thirty-four, Reno didn’t mind that at all—circumstances with his past being what they were. In fact, he considered himself damned lucky.
Jana Wilder pulled down a mug from the cupboard and filled it with steaming coffee. She stirred in three spoonfuls of sugar, then sat down at the table between him and Jack. She took a careful sip, set the drink down, then glared, while he and his brother waited patiently for her words of wisdom.
And let there be no doubt the woman would spew them like Shakespeare—Texas style.
“Now, Reno, what’s got your tail all in a knot about us being hospitable with the TV folks?”
“Where do I start?”
Arched brows pulled together over her sharp blue eyes. “I expect at the beginning is a good place.”
“Changes.” Reno shoved away from the table and stood. He thrust his hands on his hips and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Damn woman wants to change everything that’s good about this town. And you want to let her stay in Jack’s place for six weeks? Where’s he going to stay? What about Izzy?”
“I have four empty bedrooms in this house. There’s plenty of room for your brother. And any chance I get to spend time with my granddaughter, well, that’s even better.”
Reno refused to sound any more like a petulant child than he already did. So instead of pushing out the rest of his frustrated rants and raves, he bit his lip.
“If he turns any redder, we’re going to have to call 9–1–1.” Jackson chuckled. “I think he wants to know why you didn’t invite the lovely Miz Brooks to stay here instead of at the apartment.”
Since he’d been nine, Reno’d had a leg up on the dark, threatening glares. Hell, he’d practiced them for hours, weeks, months, just to get one up on his brothers. Lucky for him, Jack picked up on the hidden message behind his narrowed eyes.
“Huh. Look at the time. Got cattle to check. Gotta go saddle up.” Jack stood and gave their mother a kiss on the cheek, then clasped Reno on the shoulder. “See you out at the barn. If you survive.”
When the kitchen door slammed shut, Reno glanced back down at his mother, who looked much as she had the time she’d sat him down at this very table and told him that under no uncertain terms would he ever be taken away from her and his father. They’d held true to their word. But that didn’t lessen the anxiety doing the two-step in his stomach.
“Well, now,” she said with a little pat on his arm. “I figured Ms. Brooks would want some privacy. A little peace and quiet. No place better for that than the apartment. Some days, I wish I could move in there myself. It’s so nice and serene.”
“You are welcome,” Reno said. “She is not.”
“This is all about the hardware store, isn’t it?” His mother gave his arm a tug, and he sat back down. “She put you on the list, and you don’t like that.”
“The shop is exactly the way Dad left it.” His heart took a wobbly sidestep. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Except that your daddy had plans to make some changes. He just up and died before he got them done, sugarplum. I promise you, he wouldn’t mind your spiffing the place up a little.”
Reno shook his head. “I worked beside him in that store every day. I saw the look on his face when he’d walk around and dust or add new items to the shelves. It was pure pleasure. The way things are with that shop, it made him happy.” He paused. Took a breath. Let the pain subside. “I feel him there. Like he’s watching me, approving of the way I’m taking care of the place for him. I’m afraid if I . . .”
“Oh, son.” His mother stroked his cheek and gave him a smile. “Nothing stays the same. I know it’s been hard on you since we lost Jared, then your daddy. Not to mention Diana.”
No matter which way Reno turned, he faced a reminder of all he’d lost. Including the woman he’d loved to a horrific accident just two years ago—a mere two months after his dad died. Not that he suffered those losses alone or selfishly slighted anyone else’s grief, but sometimes he wondered if there would ever be a day he didn’t feel the pain so deep inside that he often couldn’t breathe.
The coolness of his mother’s fingers on his cheek kept him grounded to the conversation. The moment. But it did not ease the ache.
“But, sugarplum, we all have to learn to move on,” she said. “They’d want us to. Everything and everybody changes. You just need to get on board is all.”
Reno looked up, and as much as he wanted to please this woman who’d taken him in and raised him as her own, he could not. He laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Mom. That train is going to have to leave the station without me.”
Roofing. Siding. A new door. Paint. And that was only the beginning of what needed to be done for the exterior of the senior center. Those projects didn’t even begin to count the list of improvements necessary for the inside. Charli stood back, arms folded, and watched her lead contractor climb the ladder to the roof. A crew of at least twenty volunteers had shown up to help in any way they could. Just one of the many things Charli loved about small towns. Whenever anyone needed help, someone would be there to answer the call without question or expectation of compensation.
“Ms. Brooks?” Sarah Randall, Charli’s assistant, came up beside her with her ever-present clipboard plastered to her chest and her pretty blue eyes hidden behind a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses. “We have a volunteer who is offering us a forklift at no charge if you’re interested.”
“No charge?” Charli laughed. “Get his name and number before he changes his mind. We have to squeak in five buildings plus Town Square on a three-building budget.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sarah? How long have we been working together?”
“Nine months, ma’am.”
Charli sighed and grabbed the girl in a quick bear hug. “Then when are you going to quit calling me ma’am and stop acting like I’m going to bite?” She leaned back and looked into the girl’s wide eyes. “Have I ever yelled at you? Cussed you out? Lost my temper?”
“No ma— . . . Ms. Br—”
“Charli. You call me what everybody else does. Okay?”
“Hey, Charli,” the contractor called down. “You sure about that roof color?”
“See how easy that is?” Charli grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll give you permission to call me mud if I can’t pull off this makeover on time and on budget.”
“Or you can call her unemployed.”
Charli turned toward the new addition to the conversation—Max Downs, the field producer, and just one more in a line of many she needed to please.
Sometimes the growing list overwhelmed her. Those were the times she had to remind herself that she’d auditioned for the job. On a whim. Well, a dare actually from one of her Beverly Hills clients, who’d thought Charli would be perfect. Charli had thought it would be fun.
The day of the audition, she’d been clueless. Other than the occasional hamming it up for her brother for his photography class, she’d had no experience whatsoever in front of a camera. She’d had no idea of blocking, cues, or which lens to look into when she’d either read from cue cards or improvise a take. She’d not known the difference between a cinnamon roll and B-Roll.
The producers had been patient, and they’d given her more than a few extra chances when others mig
ht have thrown in the towel. What had once been a long, grueling learning experience had now become second nature.
She loved her job, but her dream had never been to be on television. She’d never imagined she’d have to turn away the clients she’d worked hard to please because she’d be on the road for six weeks at a time for over half the year. Six weeks seemed like forever when all you really wanted to do was wander into your own kitchen for a midnight snack.
She’d lived her entire life on the move. When she’d become a designer, her goal had been to create environments where families could spend time together. Where singles could have cozy rooms in which to welcome friends. Where people could gather and stay a while. Her dream had always been to settle down in a quaint little town close to a bigger city where she could set up shop. She didn’t want the big-city life. She wanted to wake up every day and walk out into her own yard. To be surrounded by the things she enjoyed and the people she loved.
Finding Pumpkin had been the start of finding that comfort. Charli had needed someone to come home to, someone familiar to chase away the solitude on those long, lonely nights. Pumpkin had happily filled the bill.
Hosting the makeover show had merely been a way to achieve her goal—to get her name and style out there. To save enough to buy her own home. Her own design studio.
At the end of the day, she’d fallen in love with the little towns she visited and renovated. They’d become her passion. And sometimes the towns and the people who lived there offered that missing element she’d searched for all her life. If the show ended tomorrow, she’d be sad and would miss all the amazingly talented people she worked with. In the end, she’d take what she’d learned right back to one of those little towns she’d come to love, and she’d fill her life with beautiful things and even more wonderful people.
“Morning, Max,” she said, taking no offense at his underlying threat. “You come to put in a full day of sweat equity?”
“No.” In his crisp button-down shirt, he handed her a Styrofoam cup. “But I brought you this. It’s the closest I could get to a double-shot skinny latte.”
While Sarah and her clipboard wandered off to corral the off-camera painters, construction workers, and various geniuses that made the show work and look good, Charli lifted the lid from the coffee and took a whiff. “What is this?”
“Black coffee, sugar substitute, and low-fat milk.”
“No Starbuck’s in Sweet?”
“Couldn’t even find an espresso machine. A cute little waitress at Bud’s Nothing Finer Diner made that for you.”
“Ah, then it looks like I’ll be ordering a machine off the Internet. Which reminds me, where will our deliveries be made? I found some really nice fabric online for the curtains inside the senior center, and I need to get it here pronto.”
Max glanced up and scanned the buildings down Main Street. “Best place looks to be the hardware store. They’ve got a decent-sized lot in back, where lumber and supplies can be stacked.”
Charli glanced down the street to the biggest target on her to-do list. “You mean Wilder and Sons?”
“Sure.” Max shrugged. “Seems logical. Guess we’d better clear it with the owner first, though.”
“I’ll do it.” Wow. That hardly came out sounding too eager.
“Great.” Max readjusted the ball cap that covered a bald patch the size of a dessert plate. “I’m going to talk to Abraham about camera angles and setting up some B-Roll.”
“Meet you back here in . . .” She glanced down at her watch. “An hour.”
With some quick instructions to the crew, Charli put her sneakers in motion and crossed the street, with Pumpkin trotting happily alongside. She didn’t know why facing the grumpy Mr. Wilder gave her such a thrill. Maybe it was because he was only on her “to-do” list and not her “to please” list.
The challenge of reviving the hardware store was too good to pass up. Still, in no way did she think it would be an easy task.
She felt sorry for his wife. Not that she’d seen a woman around when she’d left the apartment that morning. But the house, yard, and surrounding acreage were immaculate and well tended with a caring hand. One glance around the dusty falling-down hardware store would convince anyone with half an eye that the man didn’t much care for aesthetics. And that led to only one conclusion—a Mrs. Grumpy was hiding somewhere in this town.
Charli was both eager and leery of meeting the woman who’d tolerate that darkly disagreeable man. Even if he did happen to be devastatingly handsome.
The bell over the door tinkled, and, in a blink, Charli was joined in the store by the man himself. His perma-scowl remained intact. Foolishly, she wondered what would turn him into Mr. Happy.
“Come to pay me?” Humor danced within those dark eyes.
“Rent isn’t due till Friday. That’s what you said last night. Have you changed your mind?”
“About your leaving?” He tilted his head, and those delicious dimples popped into view. “I believe it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. Mine? Steady as a rock.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
He leaned in just enough to where she found herself leaning too. Like he had some kind of magnet attached to his gorgeous chest. Those dark eyes glittered. “But you do still owe me for the shirt Pumpkin piddled on.”
“Oh.” The spell cracked and shattered. She patted the pockets of her jeans shorts, even knowing she never carried money there. “Well, once again you’ve caught me without cash. So I guess I’ll just have to give it to your wife later when I get back to the apartment.”
“You fishing, Fancy Pants?” He smiled.
Good Lord, stop with the dimples. Her heart—and her self-initiated ban on men—just really couldn’t take it.
“Because if you are, you’re going to need a bigger hook.”
“Fishing?”
“Do I look like the marrying kind?”
The directness of his question should have made her squirm. It didn’t. Because something deep and really twisted inside her couldn’t help but be relieved that he was unattached. Well, unmarried at least.
Did he look like the marrying kind?
She studied his face—looked into eyes so dark she could almost see her reflection—and read what she found there.
“Yes. You do.”
Obviously surprised at her response, his brows pulled together. “What can I do for you today, Fancy Pants?”
“You can call me Charli. Not Fancy Pants.” She scanned the store to keep from getting caught up in everything that made him the man he was. Especially off-limits. “And you can allow us to use this address for our deliveries.”
“Now why would I want to do that?”
“Laughing at me won’t change my mind,” she said. “Your store is perfect.” She walked toward a shelf packed with rows of fasteners, picked up a box of machine screws, and gave it a shake. “In return for the courtesy, we’ll be happy to purchase whatever supplies are possible from your store. We’ll have deliveries of lumber and other bulky items. You have a large yard in the back where they can be stored until we need them.” She had the urge to give her chin a “So there” jerk.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s simple, Mr. Wilder.” She set the box back on the shelf but in a different spot. Then she took a few other boxes and rearranged them too. “You’d be helping your community.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my community.”
“As far as the people go, you’re right. They’re wonderful. And hospitable. They genuinely care about each other and this town. And I can’t believe a man such as yourself would deny his neighbors the right to comfort or for their businesses to succeed.”
His beard-stubbled chin came up. “You don’t—”
“Don’t you believe that those who’ve worked hard all their lives and use the senior center as a place to gather deserve a decent roof over their heads?” she continued. “Or a place to enjoy a s
imple meal together? Most of them are alone, and lonely, and they use the center for companionship and camaraderie. Would you deny them that? If so, how could you face them afterward?”
His sensuous mouth flattened.
Gotcha.
Charli felt a victorious smile push at her lips. “You strike me as an intelligent man, Mr. Wilder. One who most likely has a heart. Somewhere. You don’t look the type to kick puppies or steal walking canes from the elderly. Call me crazy, but I choose to believe that not even you could be such a stubborn ass.”
For a moment, he remained silent. His penetrating glare dared her to back down.
He’d wait a long time for that to happen.
Being the daughter of an emotionless military man had taught her patience. Too bad for Mr. Wilder, she’d perfected it. Backing down did not exist in her vocabulary.
Beneath his intense scrutiny, she casually took another handful of boxes, blew the dust from the tops, and replaced them on the shelf. In a completely different order.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snatched the remaining boxes from her hands.
“You have them stocked wrong.”
“How long have you been in the hardware business?” he grumbled. “These boxes are exactly where they’re supposed to be.”
“Really?” She looked up. “You don’t think you should have them stocked according to type and size? They’re pretty much just a hodgepodge collection the way they are now.”
“I like the way they are.” He shoved the boxes back onto the shelf. “Stop touching my stuff.”
Charli laughed. “Well, there’s something you don’t hear a man say every day.”
“Did you come in here just to annoy me?”
“Maybe.” In her mind, she did a little celebration dance. “Mostly I came to tell you we’re going to have our deliveries made to your store.”
Candis Terry - [Sweet, Texas 01] Page 4