by Casey Dawes
He shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently.”
“So are you going to ask her out?”
“Naw. She doesn’t need someone like me.”
Mary glared at him. “You know I won’t allow you to talk like that. You’re still the same guy I’ve known since seventh grade. A little worse for wear, true, but it only adds to your charm.”
He shook his head. “If I ever decide to try online dating, I’ll be sure to have you write my profile.” He gestured with the cup of coffee. “Thanks. I’ve got some things to check out with Joe — topics that don’t include my love life.”
Mary gestured to the back kitchen door. “You know where to go.”
Hunter went outside to the shop housed in what used to be the garage.
When Hunter walked in, Joe looked up from sanding a surfboard. “How’s it going?” he asked. “How’d you deal with your folks last weekend?”
Hunter sighed and leaned against a workbench.
“That bad, huh?” Joe said.
“Yeah. Dad hasn’t changed. He didn’t think much of me before I went to war. Now he can barely look at me. Mom wants me to sit at home and ‘rest’ all the time.”
Joe nodded and kept sanding. “It’s tough for civilians to get it. Even though it’s good to be home, I miss the guys.”
“Yeah. Know what you mean.”
The rasping sandpaper soothed the silence.
Time to ask.
“Joe, doing nothing is driving me nuts. I need a job. Do you have anything?”
Joe’s motions were steady and rhythmic. “We’re not really busy, Hunter. A couple of roofs while the rains hold off. Maybe some indoor work — sheetrock, that kind of thing. Not much for a man of your talent.”
“I’ll lay sheetrock, Joe, I don’t care. Just give me something.” Hunter tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Joe finished up and picked up a rag to wipe his hands.
“Okay,” Joe said. “I do have something you can do. Sheetrock job on the west side of Santa Cruz.” He scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to Hunter. “Tell Chris Joe sent you.”
Hunter grinned and held out his hand. “Thanks, bro.”
Now all he had to do was find a more permanent place to live. Maybe it was time to tackle the woman at the inn again. The roach motel that was his temporary quarters wasn’t going to satisfy him long term.
But first things first.
By noon the next day Hunter was covered in sheetrock dust. He flexed sore muscles, grateful for the pain of making a living, instead of the pain of rehab. Chris, his new boss, seemed nice enough. After a few hours watching Hunter work the sheetrock, Chris had left him alone to go to another job location.
It suited Hunter just fine until the monotony of the task took over and he began to think too much.
Staying in a motel, even a cheap one, wasn’t going to do for the long run. He had some savings and a disability check that would last a little while longer, as long as VA benefits weren’t drastically cut by Congress. But making ends meet was never going to allow him to build the life he wanted on the tiny strip of land between the mountains and the sea.
He fit the 4 × 8 sheet snug next to the last one he’d placed on the studs, picked up the loaded screw gun and drove in the first screw.
He’d bet his last poker chip Sarah wasn’t married. But there was something going on with her. He’d seen it in her face. Why did she have to be the one to get his house?
He forced his mind back on the work and soon drifted to an automated state of mind — get sheetrock, screw it in, get sheetrock, screw it in …
An hour later, he took a break and chugged a bottle of water from the cooler stocked for workers, staring idly through the kitchen window at the curve of the bay in the distance. He wondered what kind of cabinets Joe had in mind for the high-end kitchen.
What had happened to the cabinets Hunter had made before he left for Iraq? He’d started a set of freestanding cherry wood cabinets from slabs he’d found buried in the back of an old lumberyard. His parents’ basement had provided a refuge and the wood had come alive in his hands. For the first time since his family had left Costanoa, he’d felt peaceful.
Until that final argument with his father, the one that had driven him to enlist.
Much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to go to Sausalito for the weekend and see if he could find those cabinets. Were they as good as he remembered them? Could he build a business of his own making cabinets and freestanding furniture? Something to explore with Joe.
Hunter picked up another sheet of drywall and slid it into the next opening.
In spite of the cool of the day, he sweated from the intense work, the moisture driving dust into the pores of his skin.
Should he find an apartment? The West Side was overrun with college students, but maybe he could find an apartment further south, although the places he’d checked out a few weeks ago were well beyond his budget. Ironically, the same economic collapse that had destroyed the housing market had driven rental prices up. Perhaps all he could afford was a room in an old house.
He smiled.
Sarah had said she was creating an inn. Why couldn’t he be her first guest? She probably needed handyman help. Maybe they could strike a deal.
With a grin and a whistle Hunter walked back to the pile of for another piece of sheetrock.
• • •
Saturday Hunter dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans and approached his old home for the second time. The cool morning and a hint of clouds over the mountains forecast the light rain that was expected by the afternoon.
Hunter studied the old house before knocking.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
How could he live in his childhood home and recreate the life he wanted if it was owned by someone else? Worse yet, once guests began to arrive, he’d be sharing the place with strangers.
Still, he had to live somewhere. This was as good a place as any. Besides this inn came with the prettiest innkeeper.
He knocked.
A bellow from inside let him know someone was on the way. He grinned in anticipation, unconsciously straightening his shoulders.
A few seconds later, the door was thrust open and Sarah and her dog stood in the doorway. Once she recognized him, Sarah’s welcoming smile turned into a glare. Her appearance turned downright hostile when he began to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tamping down his humor. “It’s just you have a grease streak from here to here.” He gestured from his forehead to his chin.
“Plumbing.” She glowered.
“I could help with that.”
“No thanks. What do you want?”
“You know, for a prospective innkeeper, you’re not very friendly. Especially, to someone who wants a room. I really could be quite useful. Plumbing, electricity, the works.” He revealed his most engaging smile, the one that had worked on countless girls in his teenage years.
“I need to take care of those things myself. I can’t afford to pay anyone. I like being self-sufficient.” She stared at him. “And the inn isn’t open, remember?”
He cocked his head. “You wouldn’t have to pay me. Just rent me a room — my old one will do — and allow me to use the kitchen. It would be a win-win.”
“I hate that expression.”
He laughed. “So do I. It’s so rarely true. Except in this case, of course.”
“Of course.”
He was finally rewarded with a smile and his hopes began to rise. “Then?”
She shook her head. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy. And handy.” She blushed. “In the best sense of the word.” Her cheeks turned pinker. “But I’m really not ready for anyone to move in yet.” Her dark brown eyes were steady. “And even when I do open the inn, I don’t think you could afford to live here full-time. I’m trying to make a destination property — I don’t know if you know what that is, but it’s going to be pricey.”
>
Hunter’s spirits fell. It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? A commodity he wasn’t likely to have in abundance any time soon. A veteran’s home loan would have enabled him to get the house with a reasonable payment, but loans for day to day living expenses weren’t available and Santa Cruz was expensive.
He was lucky he hadn’t been able to get the house. It was time to give up on his dream and move on.
“Okay.” He turned to go.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said quietly.
Yeah.
Chapter 4
Sarah shut the door on Hunter’s retreating back, her throat closing around her remorse. She was no better than the people trying to cut veteran’s benefits.
She put her hand on her stomach. But what if he was crazy? She had a baby to protect. There were too many stories about vets becoming violent when stressed.
He probably sleeps with a gun under his pillow.
No. She’d made the right decision.
Then why did she feel so terrible?
Pushing the scene aside as she tucked her hair behind her ear, she climbed the stairs to her project. Plumbing was turning out to be a lot harder than Sarah anticipated. Replacing a washer should have been a simple task.
When she got to the bathroom, she wiped the ever-present tears from her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her dark brown eyes were watery, olive skin streaked with the grease Hunter had mentioned, and her chestnut hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in a month. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
I can’t wait for this stage of pregnancy to be over.
Maybe I can’t do it on my own.
The image of Hunter’s strong back returned. Having someone reliable to lean on would be a welcome change.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and picked up the home handyman book she’d gotten at Ocean Reads.
“Turn the water off under the sink.”
She’d done that part. Must have been where the grease came from.
“Remove the cap from the top of the faucet.” Easy.
“Unscrew the handle.” That’s where she ran into trouble. No matter how hard she’d tried, the screw wouldn’t budge.
Maybe if she hit it …
She took her wrench, smacked the top of the faucet, and tried again with the screwdriver.
Nothing.
Back to the wrench.
She hit the faucet again. And again. Finally, she pounded it for a full minute before tossing the wrench in the sink.
This time when she turned the screw she was rewarded with a creaking twist.
She spun the screwdriver. The screw popped out.
Water sprayed everywhere.
“Shit!” Sarah yelled at the faucet, grabbed the wrench, and crawled back under the sink. She smacked the shut-off valve on the pipe and gave it another turn. Gradually the water from the faucet slowed to a stop.
Brutality seems to be the only method that works with rusted metal objects.
She flung the wrench back in the sink and stomped downstairs. At this rate she’d never be open by spring.
Sitting with a cup of coffee and pad of paper, she drummed on the table as she thought about ways to speed up the process. This was supposed to be Rick’s job. Wasn’t plumbing, along with taking out the garbage, in the man’s job description? Her father had always made these kinds of problems disappear.
But her father had also started sleeping with a mistress when Sarah was only three.
So there you had it. Men were unreliable.
For her baby’s sake she’d better learn to fix the damn plumbing herself.
As she finished the coffee, she glanced through a plumbing catalog she’d picked up. An etched glass vessel sink was alluring. Would it fit with a Victorian bed and breakfast? The sleek fixtures were even more tantalizing. Not a speck of rust.
Unfortunately, her first guests were going to have to live with an authentic, less-than-perfect bathroom. Ah, well. It went along with the less-than-perfect innkeeper.
She dragged herself from the chair and trudged back up the stairs.
She’d changed the washer and finished cleaning up when the phone rang. “Sarah’s Inn,” she answered, trying out her business name for the first time.
“That’s a great name!” Mandy exclaimed.
“Thanks!” The woman was persistent. But at least she’s female.
“Hey, I’ve been doing the research on what you need to get your kitchen up to code. I have some great ideas to make the additional fixtures easy to install and maintain, as well as being reasonably priced. I can’t — ”
“Wait! What additional fixtures?”
“You need a few different drains.”
Drains. Drains meant plumbing. Sarah groaned and sat down on the upstairs landing.
“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Mandy laughed. “I think we can get a handyman to help us do it.”
“That’d be great, except I’m the handyman … woman.”
Mandy laughed again. “We may need to find you an assistant for this job. One that knows what he, or she, is doing.”
“Are you saying I don’t?”
“Well, do you?”
Sarah sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“Can I come over on Monday to show you the plans?” Mandy asked.
Sarah took a deep breath. “Sure,” she said, trying to put some enthusiasm in her voice.
“Great! Got to run! I know you’ll be happy with my ideas! You try to find an assistant, okay? Bye!” Mandy hung up.
The upstairs light was fading fast, bringing a chill into the hallway. Rain drops began to splatter on the roof. Daisy barked, whined, and lay down next to her.
Mandy was right. She was going to need help. Maybe she should take Hunter up on his offer. He seemed capable.
She thought of his strong hands and shivered. What would it be like if he touched her?
No. Having Hunter around would be an exceedingly bad idea.
She needed to find a handywoman. This was going to be a female operation — no men allowed.
• • •
“Mom, I’m home,” Sarah called out as she walked through the kitchen doorway that evening. The kitchen was a disaster.
Ravioli again.
“Where are you?” She stuck a spoon in the sauce, blew on it, and tasted. A silky mixture of oregano, garlic, tomatoes, and mushrooms teased her tongue. She really should hire her mother as the chef.
Right. Sarah needed to see less of her mother, not more.
Sarah slumped in a chair and Daisy laid her head on her lap. Absently, she petted the dog. It would be so easy to lie down and sleep. Just a moment.
“Sarah! Are you okay?”
Her mother’s voice roused her from a delicious dream of lying on a Hawaiian beach. “Sure, Mom. Just tired.”
“You’re working too hard. You should be resting, not trying to open an inn.”
“Where were you, mom?” Time to change the subject.
Her mother blushed. “Talking with Marcos. He’s coming to California a week from today. I’m picking him up and we’re going into San Francisco for a long weekend. You okay by yourself?” She put her hand on Sarah’s head and stroked her hair.
“Fine, Mom. It will be good for you to get away.” And have someone else to pay attention to.
Elizabeth put a pot of water on the stove. “What did you do today?”
Sarah grinned. “Changed a washer in the upstairs bathroom. Of course, it took four hours, but I did it!”
“You can’t keep doing this all by yourself, especially after the baby comes. You’re going to need a handyman. It’s too bad … ” Her mother’s voice trailed off, but Sarah knew Elizabeth was going to bring up Rick again.
“Rick wouldn’t have been any help, Mom. He couldn’t even change a light bulb. I can do it by myself, Mom. Don’t you have any faith in me?” Sarah’s muscles tensed and she could hear her voice grow louder. “Just because I got pr
egnant, doesn’t mean my life is ruined. I can make this work. I don’t need a handyman, or a chef, or anybody.” She burst into tears, ran from the room, and slammed her bedroom door behind her before flinging herself on her bed. The soft pillow absorbed her tears.
I’m a two-year-old having a temper tantrum. I’m not old enough to have a baby.
She couldn’t stop herself. Every time her breath began to slow, the list of things that needed to be done overwhelmed her and her sobs grew louder.
Even her mother’s gentle knock on the door couldn’t stop her.
The mattress dipped when Elizabeth sat down and wrapped her arms around Sarah. Sarah leaned into her mother’s warmth and let herself cry, just as she had when she was a little girl. Her mother stroked her head and whispered, “It’ll be okay. In a few months the hormones will settle down. You’ll feel better.”
I’ll never feel better.
“You don’t have to do things alone, you know.”
Why does everyone keep saying that?
Her mother’s voice soothed her. “You know, the last time Annie and I were at Costanoa Grill, Mandy said something about stopping by the inn to see if she could help you.”
“She came by,” Sarah said in between sobs. “She said she’d help. She’ll give me a list, but then what? And who’s going to do the work?”
“You’ll have to start looking for a handyman.”
“I’ll figure out the plumbing. How hard can it be? I don’t want a man around — any man.” Sarah started to cry again. “Men suck. They lie and tell you what you want to hear. Then when you need them, they go away like … Rick … and, well, you know what Daddy did to you.”
“Hush, sweetheart. Not every man is like Rick. As for your father, we were too young when we married.”
“That’s no excuse. He should have been better!” Sarah balled her fists.
Her mother laughed. “We all should be better than we are. But we’re human beings. With flaws.” She touched Sarah’s chest. “Even you.”
“I suppose. But I still don’t want a man in my life.”
“I’m sure that will change,” Elizabeth said.
“Not likely.”
“I understand how you feel, but give it time, okay? Things will be brighter in a few months. I promise you.”