Righting a Wrong (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella)

by Rachael Anderson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Ripple Effect Romance Series

  Other Works by Rachael Anderson

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About Rachael Anderson

  Coming Next

  Lost and Found, Chapter One

  Copyright © 2014 Rachael Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  Ebook Edition

  Published by HEA Publishing

  The Ripple Effect Romance Series

  Like a pebble tossed into calm water,

  a simple act can ripple outward

  and have a far-reaching effect on those we meet

  perhaps setting a life on a different course—

  one filled with excitement, adventure, and sometimes even love.

  Other Works by Rachael Anderson

  Novels

  Prejudice Meets Pride (Meet Your Match #1)

  Rough Around the Edges Meets Refined (Meet Your Match #2)

  Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match #3)

  The Reluctant Bachelorette

  Working it Out

  Novellas

  Twist of Fate

  The Meltdown Match

  For my beautiful and talented niece, Cambri

  You’re as gorgeous on the inside as you are on the outside

  Late November

  Thick snowflakes dotted Jace Sutton’s windshield, slowly marring his view of the rundown bungalow-style house with a for sale sign pounded into the frozen ground out front. He eyed the home with a mixture of irony and resignation. In two weeks, he’d officially be homeless, and unless he wanted to move in with his grandfather and sister—which he didn’t—Jace needed to make an offer on a house soon.

  Only ten months earlier, his best friend had swooped into town, turned the head of Jace’s girlfriend, Eden, and stolen her heart. Now Drew wanted to steal Jace’s house too. Well, not steal exactly, more like take back what rightfully belonged to Eden. It was the house she’d been raised in, the house where her roots were firmly planted, the house she would always call home. The only reason Jace had purchased it from her in the first place was because she desperately needed the money and wouldn’t accept his help any other way.

  So Jace had moved in, and Eden and her mother had moved out. Jace had fixed up a few things here and there, including replacing the warped and damaged hardwood floors. But instead of installing the rich mahogany planks he’d always wanted, he went with a knotty light oak color because it was the closest match to the original floor. He’d wanted to knock down walls, open up the living space, and replace the cobblestone fireplace with white painted wood paneling and a large, craftsman style mantle. He wanted to update the kitchen cabinets, the bathroom tile, and the freestanding vintage bathtub that Eden’s grandmother had picked out herself.

  But if he did any of that, he’d be changing a place that was dear to Eden’s heart, and he could never bring himself to do it. He’d loved her that much, even though it was never enough for either of them. So when Drew came knocking on his door, asking to buy it back for his new wife, Jace had agreed. And although it was difficult to see them so happy when he was left alone, it was better this way. The house was finally back in the right hands, and Jace could now get the fresh start he needed.

  Unfortunately for him, there were only three homes on the market in Bridger, Colorado. And since Jace didn’t know what to do with ten acres of farmland or have the money to repair a cracked foundation and some major structural damage, that left only one option—the home currently disappearing behind the soft layer of snow on his windshield.

  There was no denying it had character or that enough sweat equity could turn it into something he’d always wanted. The fact that it was close to the store and situated in a quaint neighborhood was an added bonus. Really, nothing should stop him from snatching it up and thanking his lucky stars it was available—nothing except the painful memories it unlocked every time Jace looked at it. Maybe he was cursed or just plain unlucky because it seemed to be his lot in life to own yet another home that held a special place in the heart of a woman he’d once loved.

  But where buying Eden’s home had felt like a step in the right direction, contemplating the purchase of this house felt like a huge step backward, reminding him of a girl he’d rather forget.

  But what other choice did he have?

  He drew in a deep breath as the house disappeared completely. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe, if Jace got to work covering up the old with the new and took a chainsaw to that cursed maple tree, he might finally be able to erase the memory of a certain girl who’d once wanted to buy this house and make it her own. A girl who’d gotten in the way of every relationship he’d ever had.

  Early Spring, Five Months Later

  Cambri rolled down her car window and breathed in the fresh air. It had been nearly six years since she’d navigated these streets—not that there was much to navigate. The town consisted of one stoplight, a handful of stop signs, and a lot of intersections with no signage at all. There was a time when Cambri had thought it was the perfect size, but after living in University Park, Pennsylvania and Charlotte, North Carolina, she’d come to realize that Bridger was as podunk as they came.

  She turned down her old street and unconsciously slowed the rental car she was driving. A few trees had grown larger. A few homes had obviously gotten a new paint job. A yard that was once fenced was now open, and a yard that was once open was now fenced. But overall, her street remained unchanged.

  And then she saw the home where she’d grown up.

  Cambri pulled to a stop, and her mouth went dry. What happened? Where was the large pine and the aspen trees, or her mother’s favorite rose bush that had once softened the far side of the front porch? Where were all those colorful irises that would have been standing alert, ready to bloom any day now? It looked as though someone had gone through the yard and plucked out all the beautiful flowers and shrubs so weeds like purslane and morning glory could have free rein. Even the grass was riddled with crabgrass and dandelions.

  The yard had once been her mother’s pride and joy, and now—now it was gone.

  Dad! What have you done?

  Cambri left her suitcase in the truck and headed for the house, unable to look at the yard any longer. It wasn’t until she’d raised her hand to pound on the door that she hesitated. Was she ready to face what was on the other side? Was she ready to see her father again?

  No. She’d probably never be ready, but she couldn’t put it off any longer either. With a deep intake of breath, Cambri forced her hand forward and knocked, then cringed at how hollow and empty it sounded, as though the house were only a shell of its former self.

  Footsteps were heard before the door creaked open, revealing Suzie Small’s sweet, elderly face—a neighbor who had lived across the stree
t for as long as Cambri could remember. Her hair had thinned, and a few more wrinkles covered her face, but Suzie’s smile was the same as it had always been—warm and sincere, like a large bear hug.

  “Cambri Blaine, is that really you? Come in and let me have a look at you!” Her gnarled and fragile hands came to rest on Cambri’s cheeks. “Your face is a breath of fresh air, my dear. We’ve missed you so.”

  “Speak for yourself!” snapped a deep voice from the back. “I told you I don’t need a babysitter, especially someone who has no interest in me. I can take care of myself.”

  Suzie rolled her eyes before giving Cambri a light pat on the cheek. “That’s his way of saying he’s missed you too,” she said quietly.

  Yeah, missed me the way a fish misses a hook in his gut, Cambri thought dryly, then gave Suzie a quick hug. “Thanks for calling me and for looking out for him until I could get here.”

  “It was no trouble. No trouble at all.” Suzie picked up her purse from the sofa table and slung it over her petite shoulder. “They only discharged him this morning, so he’s in need of a few groceries. I didn’t want to leave him, but now that you’re here, I’m going to run and pick up a few things and let you two catch up. But I want to hear about all your adventures when I get back, you hear?”

  Cambri nodded. “Thank you, Suzie. For everything.”

  The door closed behind her, and an almost eerie silence engulfed the house. The blinds were closed, making it feel dark and stuffy. And the smell—wow. The house could definitely use an airing out. But at least the inside didn’t look as though it had been stripped and left forgotten like the outside. The piano was still in the living room next to the old floral couch, and all the family pictures still hung on the wall.

  The old hardwood floor creaked as Cambri walked toward the kitchen. She dropped her purse on the counter before making her way toward her father’s darkened room. He lay in his bed, looking thinner and older than a nearly seventy-year-old body should look. His bald head had wrinkled with age, and the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. A heavy feeling filled Cambri’s chest. It shouldn’t have taken six years to return.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Without looking her way, he said, “I told you I don’t need a sitter. I’m not some feeble, sick person.”

  Cambri cocked her head to the side. “You had a heart attack. I’m pretty sure that makes you at least a little feeble for now.”

  A grunt sounded, and her father folded his arms the way a small child would do when throwing a tantrum. Cambri almost smiled. Almost. The reminder that she’d nearly lost her one remaining parent kept it away.

  She would have gripped his aging hand in hers, but her father would have none of that. Harvey Blaine didn’t believe in sympathy. To him, it was a sign of weakness, and he was anything but weak. The fact that he’d survived a massive heart attack attested to it. According to doctors, it was a miracle he was still alive.

  Now it was Cambri’s turn to perform a miracle by getting her stubborn father to take his meds, rest, get to his appointments on time, and adjust his high-cholesterol diet to something rich in vitamins, fiber, and heart-healthy protein. With his arms still folded and a slight pout on his lips, Cambri had her work cut out for her.

  A recliner sat in the corner, and Cambri plopped down on it, tucking her legs under her.

  “What about your job?” her father said. “Don’t they need you there?”

  Cambri shrugged. “I had some vacation time coming, and my boss agreed to let me do some work from here and telecommute on the days he needs me. Looks like I’m all yours for a few weeks.”

  His mouth fell open. “A few weeks! What willy-nilly doctor told you I’d need anyone for that long? Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back on my feet.”

  “Let’s wait and see what the doctor says at your next appointment. Until then, you’re going to get plenty of rest, take your medicine, and eat whatever I make for you.”

  “I don’t see how that will help—unless your cooking’s improved since high school. I’ll probably starve.”

  Cambri sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks. She mustered a perky tone and changed the subject. “What’s happened since I left?”

  Breathing heavily, her father flopped back against his pillow. “Catching you up on six years will take longer than a few weeks, that’s for sure. Maybe if you’d called once in a while, you wouldn’t be so ignorant.”

  Cambri refused to let him get to her. It wasn’t as though he’d picked up the phone either. “Other than Suzie, who’s still around? The Clements?”

  Her father nodded.

  “Engersolls?”

  Another nod.

  “Whitakers?”

  He huffed. “Good riddance.”

  “Suttons?” Cambri kept her tone flippant, but she listened hard for his answer.

  “As if Cal would ever leave. He’s too loyal for that—not that you know what that means.”

  Cambri disregarded the gibe. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Sutton? They still around?”

  He huffed again. “They took off not long after you.”

  It was on the tip of Cambri’s tongue to ask about Jace, but she bit back the question. If his parents were no longer around, chances were that he wasn’t either, especially since Jace used to have his sights set on bigger things than Bridger. Which was a good thing. As difficult as it was to face her father, bumping into Jace would have been ten times worse.

  “Speaking of the Suttons, do you still fish with Grandpa Cal?” Cambri asked, reverting to the name she used to call Jace’s grandfather years earlier. Her father had been forty-three when Cambri was born, making him about the same age as Jace’s grandfather. The two had always been great friends, though Cambri had never figured out why. Grandpa Cal was all warm fuzzies whereas her father was a prickly pear.

  “He’s not your grandpa. And yes, I do—when I’m not in the hospital or in bed.”

  His comment hit a tender spot, and a lump formed in Cambri’s throat. What if he hadn’t made it? What if she was here for a funeral instead of caring for him? She needed to remember that when he started getting under her skin, which he would.

  Cambri rose from the chair and paused with her hand on the doorjamb. “Is there anything special you’d like me to make for dinner?”

  “Aren’t you going to kill the fatted calf?” he said sarcastically.

  “Haha.” But the barb hit its mark. Cambri knew before she came that she wouldn’t get the best reception, but she’d hoped for a little more warmth. For most people, a close call with death would make them grateful for what they had. But not so with her father. If anything, he was more of a curmudgeon than ever.

  Cambri left the darkened room behind and walked straight to the nearest window, where she lifted the blinds and opened it. Sunlight and fresh, early spring air drifted in, lifting her spirits.

  She could do this. She could get through these next few weeks, whip her father’s body back into shape, and return to her peaceful and happy life in Charlotte.

  “Morning, Dad.” Cambri walked around his bed and twisted open the blinds, allowing warm rays of the morning sun to stream into the room. “Sleep well?”

  “What in tarnation are you doing?” he spluttered. “If I’d wanted those shades open, I would have done it myself.”

  Cambri ignored his comment. She’d spent several hours the night before talking to Suzie and reading all the literature her father’s doctor had sent home, and one of the things she’d learned was that heart attack survivors were prone to depression during the weeks following the attack. Harvey Blaine had always been surly, but Cambri wasn’t about to let him become depressed as well. Sunlight was a natural mood lifter, and she would make sure he got plenty of it.

  She moved to his nightstand and opened one pill bottle after another, collecting his daily dose. Then she held out a glass of water, along with the handful of pills. “Breakfast is almost ready. If you take these, I’ll bring it in.”<
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  Her father eyed her hand with disdain. “I feel fine. I don’t need a bunch of medication to mess that all up.”

  “No medication, no breakfast.” Cambri wriggled her palm.

  “What’s for breakfast?”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “I can tell you it’s not the fatted calf.”

  Although he harrumphed, a twinkle of humor appeared. “I almost forgot how cheeky you could be.”

  “And I almost forgot how ornery you could be.”

  He rolled his eyes but grudgingly accepted the pills, swallowing them with a sip of water. Then he settled back against his pillow. “I always have sausage, eggs, and hash browns on Saturdays.”

  “Believe it or not, I remember.” Cambri retrieved a breakfast tray from the kitchen and set it on his lap, mentally preparing herself for what would come.

  “What’s that supposed to be?” Her father stared at the food in disgust.

  “Oatmeal, whole wheat toast, and freshly squeezed OJ,” said Cambri smoothly. “Try it. You might like it.”

  “Why isn’t there butter on this toast? Where’s my sausage and hash browns?”

  “Your heart doesn’t want bacon and hash browns. It wants oatmeal.”

  “Bullwinkle.”

  Cambri had to bite back a smile at that. When she was a little girl, her father used to cuss at everything. One day, she’d repeated some of those words, and her calm, quiet, and usually sweet mother totally lost it. She told Harvey that if he didn’t stop cussing right then and there, she’d move back to Denver and live with her mother.

  From that moment on, Harvey adopted a new method of cursing. He started using expressions like thunderation, son of a biscuit, or shiitake mushrooms—all of which earned him a chuckle rather than the evil eye from Cambri’s mom.

  And now here he was, with his wife nearly nine years gone, still using her preferred method of cussing.