by Leah Atwood
“I’m trying to help you.”
“I never asked for your help.” His brother shoved him backward.
The bookcase behind him rattled as he slammed into it. And the next thing he knew, he had Colin by the shirt, swinging him around until it was his back up against the shelving and—
“Drew!”
The air seeped from his lungs. Maren.
Chapter 6
She shouldn’t have pushed Drew into coming here.
Maren sat on the couch in Colin Renwycke’s living room, hands twisting in her lap, while Drew perched rigid on the arm of a chair. Colin had disappeared up the stairs a minute ago. His footfalls sounded in creaks and groans in the ceiling overhead.
“Drew—”
“Don’t ask.”
“You were fighting.”
He dropped from the arm of the chair onto its cushion. “I tried to tell you it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“And what were you going to do if I hadn’t come in? Throw a punch?”
Drew’s shadowed eyes refused to meet hers.
She stood, angled around the coffee table and sidestepped a tipped over ottoman. “Where are you going?”
She stopped at the base of the stairs. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Drew lurched to his feet. “Maren.”
Sure it was ridiculous following Colin upstairs, thinking anything she might say could soothe whatever had just happened down here. But Drew had been too riled to see what she’d seen when she walked in.
The haunted look in Colin’s eyes as Drew held him against the bookcase. As if…
As if he’d wanted his brother to go ahead and hit him. Knock him out and put him out of his misery.
“Maren,” Drew’s voice softened. “He doesn’t even remem—” He cut off his own words. And then simply shook his head, letting her go.
The second floor hallway was a series of doors, dark wood wainscoting climbing up the walls underneath stifling burgundy paint. She peeked in the first door—bathroom.
Thumping movement sounded from the second. She lifted her fist and knocked.
“Go away, Drew.”
“It’s not Drew.” Silence.
Then padding footsteps and the door swung open. And…
And her throat clogged. Could this really be the same man she’d met last December? The one with the model’s pose and vibrant eyes, the brilliant conversationalist who’d reeled her in with his hometown anecdotes and stories of his childhood?
His eyes were still that disarming shade of blue and probably underneath the beard there was still the sculpted jaw. He’d changed into jeans, but not out of the faded t-shirt—the one Drew had fisted in their scuffle. The circles under Colin’s eyes and the slump in his stance, the emotion lurking behind his gaze…
Drew was right.
She didn’t know Colin at all.
“Hey.” It was the only word she could get out.
“Maren, right?”
She tried not to flinch at the realization that he barely remembered her and towed her focus away to take in the room behind him. Rich, espresso-colored furniture, rumpled blue bedspread in a pile at the foot of the bed. A shelf hanging over his dresser with several comic books on display.
Oh right. He loves comic books. He’d told her that last year. So she did know something.
“It’s all coming back.”
Colin was studying her now, and oh, in that moment, despite the glaring differences, the family resemblance was uncanny.
So like Drew. So not at all like Drew.
“We went out for dinner, didn’t we? I had this amazing ravioli. And then we went on a carriage ride and it was snowing.”
She nodded mutely.
He turned back to his room, disappeared into the closet and returned with a sweater. “That was a good gig, that cover shoot.” He peeled off shirt. Her gaze flitted around the room until he spoke again, fully clothed. “And it was a good date, too.” He stepped toward her, the grin he’d offered in generous portions last year finally breaking through now. “And now you’re here.”
“You invited me to the farm and I…well, I took you up on it. Total whim.”
“Total whim is totally how I like to do life.”
It’s the kind of thing he would have said on their date. And she would have laughed and made a mental note to have Ethan Whitney say something similar in her next book. Because it sounded fanciful and fun.
But now…after what she’d just seen downstairs…? “I know this is weird me being here and—”
He leaned one hand on the doorframe over her. “Not that weird.”
“And you weren’t expecting us, but Drew drove all this way because…well, I think he misses you. And he really wants you to come home for Christmas. He’s been doing all these renovations and working like crazy and…” And where was she going with this?
And why were Colin’s eyes darkening? “Look, it’s cool to see you again. It’s bringing back fun memories of that date. Truthfully, I would’ve called you if I hadn’t moved down here so soon after that. We should’ve had a second date.” His posture straightened. “But Drew and me, we’re not a Lifetime Christmas special. There’s crappy history there.”
“But you’re family. He’s your older brother—”
“Which he loves to remind me of. Older, wiser, smarter.”
“I don’t think he—”
“You don’t know, okay?”
The force in his tone blocked any reply and she backed into the hallway. But she didn’t leave. Not yet. Instead, she reached into the purse over her shoulder and pulled out a book—her book. The one with Colin’s face, his midnight stare on the cover not all that different than his expression now.
“I, um…I wanted to give you a copy of it. Came out in September. Maybe you’ve already seen it, but…”
“I haven’t. Broke things off with my agency just a week after this photo shoot.” He took the book, examining the front before turning it over to skim the back cover copy. “I remember you telling me about this story. You said I was just like the character in your head.”
“I’m working on the second book now. The publisher’s given me two deadline extensions already.” She watched him trace the raised lettering on the spine. “I honestly don’t think I would’ve gotten anywhere with it if I hadn’t wound up in Maple Valley. You were right about the farm—it’s a perfect writing spot.”
His focus moved from the book to her face, a momentary softening making space for his interest. “You just showed up there? And Drew let you stay?”
“I did, and as for staying, Winnie helped with that.”
“Winnie’s there?”
He didn’t know? What had happened to so thoroughly fracture this family?
But before she could reply, Colin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Thanks for the book. I’ll read it, promise. But whatever Drew came for, it’s not happening.”
“But he drove all this way.”
“He drove an hour.”
“In a blizzard. And you’re just going to send him on his way?”
Colin backed into his bedroom. “Wait it out downstairs, if you want. I don’t care.” And with that, he closed the door.
Maren just stood there, feet rooted to the worn hallway carpet, exasperation-fueled surprise pulsing through her. So that was it? In a daze she retraced her steps and found Drew waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He held up a bundled hand towel.
“Makeshift ice pack. For your head.”
She stopped two stairs above him. “My head’s fine, Drew. It really didn’t hit that hard. What’s not fine is that.” She pointed behind her. “You and Colin.”
He stepped onto the bottom step so they were eye level and lifted the towel-wrapped ice to her forehead. “You’ve got a bump.”
“Drew—”
Though his touch was gentle, his voice was firm. “I tried, Mare. I tried and the same thing happened as always happens. I’ve got your coat. Let’s just
go.”
She reached for his wrist and removed his hand and his homemade ice pack from her head. “It’s blizzarding!”
They stood so close she could almost hear his frustration. Wind rattled the window next to the stairway, and the storm in Drew’s eyes flickered. She waited for the tension coiling inside him to let loose—in words or movement or…something.
But the only thing that moved was his stance—from stiff to depleted as his shoulders dropped.
And his only words were soft. “If you’d rather stay here and wait out the storm, I understand. I’ll find someplace to hang out, come back and get you when it’s over.”
He draped her coat over the bannister and was out the front door before she could blink.
Because apparently that was how the Renwycke men handled conflict. Closed doors. Avoidance.
Except that wasn’t entirely fair to Drew. He was right. He’d tried.
And she knew him well enough by now to know that was more than simple anger chasing him from the house. Hurt or regret or maybe even something more.
She glanced up the stairs one last time. Nothing—no sound.
She shrugged into her coat and let herself out of the house. The cold instantly slapped against her cheeks, snowflakes like pinpricks and the wind attempting to push her back inside.
She stepped in the tracks Drew’s boots had already made, head down and chin tucked into her coat. Not until she reached the truck did she catch a glimpse of Drew’s form inside, his forehead leaning into the steering wheel. He jerked up when she opened the door.
And for the first time since they’d reached Des Moines, something like relief seeped into his expression.
* * *
Drew’s woodshop was supposed to be his sanctuary. When he’d moved back to Iowa this August, when he’d wondered if coming home was a mistake and if this carved out piece of property would ever feel like it used to, the little building tucked between the barn and the machine shed had been his one slice of peace.
But tonight not even the smell of sawdust or the humming warmth of the space heater managed to thaw the chilled places inside him.
He scratched a worn piece of sandpaper along the wood surface in front of him, ignoring the cramp in his hand and the ache in his back, a nagging reminder that he’d been sitting in this crouched position too long.
He’d long since lost track of time. After waiting out today’s snowstorm in a dinky diner in Des Moines, he and Maren had made the drive home in silence. Maren had tapped away at her laptop while he drove, the freshly plowed interstate nearly deserted.
Black masked the sky by the time they arrived at the farm. He’d walked Maren to the front door before reversing course and coming out here. That had to have been a couple hours ago already.
“Drew?”
He turned as the woodshop’s door opened and a whoosh of brittle night air shoved in. Maren appeared, a plate in her mittened hands, and she closed the door with her boot.
Even in the dim glow of the woodshop—only the pale white of a dangling bulb for light—he could see the uncertainty on Maren’s face. And all at once, the regret slammed into him. Without meaning to, he’d shut her out today.
And—it hit him now, startling but undeniable—he missed her.
She skirted around Grandpa’s old table saw—the one he’d moved from the machine shed. Didn’t work nearly as good as the newer one in the corner, but it felt right having it in here.
“You didn’t come in for dinner,” she said as she sidestepped his tool counter. The aroma of something basily and Italian wafted from the tray. “So dinner’s coming to you.”
The already small space of the woodshop seemed to shrink as she drew near. The familiar sight of her blue and green striped pajama pants underneath her winter coat drew the closest thing he had to a smile.
She stopped in front of him. “Sorry about the attire. I pumped out a scene in the attic, but it’s extra cold up there tonight. My pajamas are warmer, so…” She shrugged.
“You should’ve worked down by the living room fireplace.
“Actually, that’s what I was going to do, but when I saw the telltale light of the woodshop and realized you never came in…” Another shrug and she nudged the tray toward him.
He took the tray and set it on the counter. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize how much my stomach was growling until now.” He lifted the plate’s covering. “Ravioli?”
“I’d lie and pretend I made it, but Leigh brought it home from The Red Door. I’ve really got to try that restaurant sometime before…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. She’d only ever intended to stay a couple weeks. And probably now that she realized Colin wasn’t coming home…
“Actually, Drew, speaking of that…I just…I wanted to apologize. I’ve pried—a lot—about you and Colin and I’ve probably worn out my welcome here. You’re probably wondering when I’m going to give you your attic back and—”
“I told you to stay as long as you wanted.” He gulped down a bite of ravioli. “And I’m the one who should be apologizing. What you saw with Colin and then how I almost just left you at the house—”
“Except you didn’t.”
“And then the brooding thing.”
Now she was the one to crack a smile. “The totally unfair thing is brooding actually looks good on you. You’ve got the face for it, the eyes.” That tease in her voice, when had he gotten so used to it? “If I try to look broody, it just comes off as pouty.”
“Well, pajamas look better on you than they do me. So…there’s that. Truce?” He held out his hand.
She took off her mitten before placing her palm in his. “Truce.”
He went back to the meal as Maren peeled off her coat, his attention straying back to her while he ate. She wandered the small shop—studied the stacks of measured slabs leftover from the benches he’d made for the city, tried out the lawn swing still waiting for a restaining, and then stopped in front of the old desk he planned to sand and refinish one of these days. The knob had broken off one of its drawers and at least one leg needed replaced entirely.
“Now this is a desk.”
He finished off his ravioli. “You like it? Used to be in the back of the living room. Grandpa told me once it used to be his Dad’s, so you know the thing is old. Can’t tell you how many times Mom almost got rid of it.”
“I’m glad she didn’t. It’s a real antique. Like that piano inside.”
“And all it needs is a little TLC. I’ll get around to it one of these days. Trying to finish Winnie’s Christmas present at the moment.”
She turned to the project he’d been working on when she walked in. She ran one hand over the smooth wood of the headboard. It curved at the top, spindled knobs at either end. Knowing dawned in her green eyes. “Because she hates the lumpy bed in her room.”
“Exactly. Leigh won’t let me help pay for a new mattress, so I figure this is the least I can do.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He unscrewed the lid of the Thermos she’d brought with the tray. Not coffee. Hot chocolate? “Thanks. I wanted it to be contemporary enough for Win without looking too modern for the house.” He poured a cup of the thick liquid—definitely cocoa. Probably way too sweet for him, but at least she hadn’t forced one of her fancy coffees on him.
He motioned for Maren to sit on the stool he’d abandoned when she came in, then dragged over a sawhorse. He found a fresh piece of sandpaper then perched in front of the headboard, posed to continue working.
“Aren’t there electric sanders that can make jobs like this go a lot faster?”
He placed the paper against the wood and started rubbing. “Yeah, but it’s not nearly as relaxing.”
“Relaxing, huh? You might need to prove it.”
He shrugged, tore his own piece of sandpaper in half and handed it to her. She held it up to the wood and Drew scooted closer. “You want to go in a back and forth pattern with
the grain of the wood. If you go against the grain, any kind of scratch or unevenness will show up more after I stain it.”
He placed his hand over hers on the headboard, nudging it into movement. “And don’t press too hard. You shouldn’t feel any heat.”
“No heat, got it.”
Except with the space heater in the corner humming its warmth, the hot meal and hot cocoa in his stomach, he might not be able to follow his own advice. He shed his hoodie as Maren went to work.
“I didn’t realize there were so many rules to sanding.”
“It’s serious business, Grant.” The tease in his voice faded into an amicable quiet as they worked side by side.
“Drew?”
His arm brushed against hers as he sanded over a nick in the wood. “Do you really want to be a farmer?”
He blew on the headboard, sending sawdust scattering. “Of course.”
“But look at all this out here. Everything you’ve done in the house. You could make a career out of building customized furniture. Restoring antiques. Renovating houses. So many possibilities.”
The shop light dangling overhead shook as a flurry of wind grabbed hold of the building. The light flickered with the movement.
“Those things sound fun, sure. But none of them are career or financial guarantees. Besides, I’ve got all this land.” He took another drink of cocoa. “And the farm…it’s a two-person job.”
Her sanding stilled as her pause stretched. Her knees knocked against his as she turned on the stool to face him. “You wanted Colin to help. That’s why you were so eager to get him home for Christmas? So you could ask him to run the farm with you?”
He looked to the dirt floor, rubbing his thumb over the sandpaper. “I thought if he came home he might remember how much he liked it here. I even thought…” He glanced up at Maren. The overhead light painted honey streaks in her brown hair. “I thought seeing you, knowing you were here might help.”
She rolled her eyes then. “And clearly we both saw how much of an impact I made. I mean, I probably should’ve gotten the point a year ago when he never called. But whatever. Better late than never, I guess.”