by Cheryl Wyatt
Meadow rubbed Flora’s arms. “Sis, I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” She faced Colin. “Thanks. I’ll take care of the tarp. You may go now.”
He wasn’t going anywhere. “Past aside, you’re obviously in a fix, and I’m a fixer. My strength is renovation of structures damaged by disaster. My schedule’s open. Consider letting me help you for all the trouble I caused you in high school.”
Flora waved her phone. “I need to step outside and call Pete while you chat.”
Meadow winced. “What’s this going to cost me?”
Her question stung for the simple fact he sensed she meant cost in emotional trauma, not cash. He wanted to say it would cost nothing but knew Meadow wouldn’t buy it. “We’ll hammer details out later.” He wasn’t worried about money.
Her eyes narrowed, alerting him that she didn’t trust him as far as she could toss him. An idea struck.
“I saw Meals on Wheels stickers on your catering SUV. I know of some shut-in vets in this area. Maybe after the repair, you could spare them a few meals a month for my services.”
“I’d love to help veterans, but you’d be underpaid.”
He needed something else. “How about this? I noticed your design degree and chef school certificate in the kitchen. Your place is gorgeously decorated. I recall you were master decorator of the school’s renovation.”
He and his woodshop class buddies had taken care of the outside—Meadow the inside. She’d done fantastically. Her work had earned scholarships to a premier design school he didn’t think she could have afforded otherwise.
Regret slammed him over his mistreatment of her and kids like her, harassed when they should have been helped. She and her siblings had been among underprivileged outcasts made fun of by so-called privileged kids like him.
He was obviously being handed a second chance here. To Colin, part of godly sorrow meant righting the effects of wrong conduct.
“We can barter and each pay for our own materials. I fix your catering kitchen, you feed my vet buddies a few meals and help me decorate my new place, and we’ll call it even. The house—and my pole barn office-slash-shop—are complete construction-wise, but the insides are drab, blank palettes of possibility.”
“That doesn’t solve my business dilemma. I have contracted caters.” The weight of the cave-in ramifications must have set in, because she pressed her fingers to her temples. Volcanic panic was an understatement for the expression going live on her face.
“You could work out of my pole barn kitchen until we fix yours. I have a huge space, with a comfortable new couch you could sleep on, if you like.”
Visions of wedding tulle, rainbow silk flowers, satin napkins, bows and lace, fine china and crystal assaulted him. He’d seen evidence of it everywhere at her place.
He hated frilly things, food, and breakable stuff in his workspace. He shivered.
Still, he needed to man up here.
Meadow’s hands fell stiffly to her sides, revealing her simultaneously hopeless and suspicious. “Why are you doing this?”
“Honest truth? I’m not sure.”
Her lips pursed. “Guilt, maybe?”
“Or maybe just because it’s the right thing to do and I spent too much of my life doing the wrong thing.” He held her gaze with enough gravity to hopefully begin convincing her he’d changed.
She searched his eyes in earnest. Then shook her head, broke eye contact, and paced. “Flora sure is taking a long time on that call.”
He suspected she stayed gone on purpose. Why, he had no clue. To help his cause?
What had swayed Flora? Knowledge of his family struggles? Few people knew his parents had indulged him financially and materially but neglected him relationally and emotionally. Had his mom really shared that with Flora? If Meadow knew, would she have compassion for him despite all he’d done in the past?
Colin always had a tough time being vulnerable. But he’d do it if it would help Meadow forgive him.
Colin sent a mental prayer up for wisdom and right words. “You have good reason for not trusting me, Meadow. If you want, let’s have Pete draw up a contract.”
Her face lessened in skepticism, her arms relaxed, and she shrugged at his last suggestion. He hoped that meant she was letting down her guard. He not only wanted to fix the damage in her kitchen but wanted to repair the pain of her past and make up for the anguish he’d caused in her soul.
As a Christian, he needed to find a good local church and get involved. He was back, but he wasn’t the same. Things couldn’t be the same; he’d make sure of it.
First item on his Meadow Agenda: Earn her respect and forgiveness.
“Colin McGrath is the last person I want help from.” Yet here she was, shoving entrees in the fridge in his pole barn, where she’d slept the past three nights. Meadow groaned.
Flora, seated at a table Colin had scooted in for them, flipped through Meadow’s appetizer book without comment. Her sister’s silence spoke volumes. Meadow sighed and disinfected counters she’d prepped event food on. “To be fair, Colin made me feel welcome.” Linens he’d provided were so comfortable, she’d slept like a brick.
“Don’t be stubborn.” Flora started logging RSVPs to her and Pete’s wedding.
Anxiety in her voice gave Meadow courage to set her feelings aside for the sake of her sister, understandably stressed. “You’re right. Don’t worry. Your wedding will be perfect.” She massaged Flora’s tense shoulders, then opened her wedding décor craft bin.
“Thanks. I know this is hard on you too.” A baiting look entered Flora’s eyes. “Colin sure went to extra specialness to make you feel at home here.”
Meadow loaded a pearlescent glue stick into her hot-glue gun. Then she spread out a satin keepsake napkin. “Out of sheer guilt.”
“I don’t know, sis. He lingers looks your way. You’re available. Word on the street is he’s eligible—”
“That will never happen. Once a bully, always a bully.”
Flora straightened suddenly. “Nice place you’ve got here, McGrath.”
Glue gun in hand, Meadow whirled.
Ack! The object of conversation stood in the doorway, conglomeration of bags hooked on his fingers. How much did he hear? Conviction hit Meadow at what she’d said and how. But she couldn’t bring herself to bend the doubt where his motives were concerned. Plus, Flora’s ridiculous romantic comments were sure to rile him.
Yet his face held amusement, not derision.
Arms unfolding, he pressed off from the doorjamb. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.” He stepped over, set two carryout bags on the table, and kept a third. “Like me.”
Meadow’s face heated.
A grin fought for leverage on his lips as he nodded toward her hand. “If you’re planning to shoot me with that thing, I suggest higher-caliber ammo.”
Meadow’s gaze flew to her fist. Sure enough, she was aiming the glue gun right at him. She yanked up a swath of satin and continued dotting pearl-like patterns on the bride’s reception napkin for an upcoming Valentine wedding, in keeping with the client’s desired romantic theme.
“You brought us lunch from Favre’s?” Flora beamed like the foodie she was, but Meadow recognized her exaggerated motions as a peacemaking attempt.
“Figured if you’d eaten, you could save this for another meal.” A muscle worked in Colin’s jaw when his eyes roved over Meadow. Regret therein sent her gaze to her lap.
Flora chattered on, entrenched in her peacekeeping mission. She’d always tried to pacify their parents’ fighting. After their dad was sentenced to thirty years for felony child endangerment, abuse, and domestic battery, their mom drugged herself into a lethal coma. Meadow was twelve.
Even after the Larson children went to live with their grandparents, Flora was always the one soothing sibling discord. An impossible feat at times since they were all close in age and raised in an atmosphere of abuse until then.
The turning point had been the night Mea
dow, age ten, witnessed her father shove Flora off a porch. The fall had broken Flora’s arm, his words her spirit. Worse, he’d warned them not to speak of it. Flora’s muffled cries of pain into her filthy pillow had shattered Meadow’s soul.
She’d run to a neighbor, who reported Flora’s injury to police. That neighbor had been Del, Meadow’s eventual high school home economics teacher and, retired from teaching now, her catering partner. Ironically, Meadow’s courage as a teen despite social stigma had eventually empowered Del to leave her own abuse system.
Reporting her dad’s abuse and mom’s drug use had been the hardest thing Meadow had ever done. Even as a tween, she’d hard-earned enough wisdom to know peace wasn’t possible unless her parents got professional help. Horrifically, when EMTs and police arrived, Flora had tried to pretend she was okay for the sake of keeping family peace.
Meadow’s insides squeezed at the realization that her unforgiveness of Colin put Flora right back in that awful place. She saw Colin first observe Flora, then her. She avoided his intrusive gaze.
A knowing entered his expression as he commenced to help Flora reach plates.
Meadow studied him in profile. He’d matured well. He had dark blond hair and deep emerald eyes that drew a person’s entire soul in and an air of humility she’d not noticed before. Yet he emitted a confidence that altered the atmosphere and yielded impressions of safety and protection that made him easy to behold.
And, if she wasn’t careful, easy to open up to.
Look away. Just look away now.
Colin stepped into her view. “Sleeping okay here?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She met his gaze so he could see she meant it.
A slow smile transformed his chiseled face into something exquisite. Meadow had a tough time looking away. Flora’s blooming smirk put an end to that.
Seriously, no man had a right to look so incredible in a simple blue work shirt. Not to mention that his trim hips and long, strong legs entirely revolutionized cargo pants. Meadow fanned herself with banquet table flowers. Too vigorously. Silk petals whirled off like little helicopters flying every which way.
Flora’s grin exploded. The fiend.
A chair creaked as Colin leaned on it. “I’ve got building materials in the truck. Before I unload, do you ladies need anything?”
“I’m good. You, Flora?” Meadow pulled food from the bags, grateful for her sister’s perceptiveness in disengaging Colin with chatter so he’d leave sooner.
Flora patted a chair seat. “Actually, Colin, why don’t you join us for lunch before you get started?”
Meadow retracted her mental praise of Flora. Her sister’s Sibling Support grade just plunged from an A to a D.
“If Meadow doesn’t mind.”
She wriggled against his question and her unwieldy conscience. Wished for once it wasn’t so strong. At present, it felt like an elephant sitting on her chest, squishing her into submission. “We’d love you to join us.”
He smirked bigger than Flora and riveted Meadow with a gently humorous look that told her she wasn’t fooling anyone with her stiff-as-concrete statement.
Meadow stabbed her finger at his chair. “Just sit.”
Still clutching his bag as he pulled out the chair to sit, he grinned full, as did Flora. Meadow narrowed eyes at both of them. If mental snickers were a thing, they’d be masters at it.
Flora leaped up. “Oh, forgot! Need to meet Pete for lunch.”
“You have lunch here.” Meadow panicked at thoughts of being alone with Colin and the muddy past they shared. She felt like yanking Flora back down. “Sit.”
“Nah, you two enjoy yourselves. Just stick this in the fridge. Thanks, Colin!” Flora waved and dashed out the door before they could protest, plunge their bodies in her locomotive path, or beat her outside.
“Well.”
“Well.”
Meadow sighed. “This ranks a sturdy ten on the Awkward Moments Richter scale.”
“Yeah.” He pointed a fork at her plate, filled with flat-leaf parsley, red wine vinegar, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, capers, black olives, oregano, and onions, topped with olive oil and crumbled cheese. “Dig in. It’s Greek salad. Hope you still like it.”
Still? “It’s one of my favorites.”
“I remember. You used to bring it at lunch.”
In high school.
She set down her fork. Peered at him while white-knuckling the table edge.
He was not, not, not bringing this up, was he?
He didn’t meet her gaze.
Cleared his throat. Straightened his fork. Furrowed his brow. Shifted in his seat. Re-straightened his fork. Cleared his throat again. Then again.
Crud. He was either bringing it up, or he was choking to death on fear and feta cheese. Since he wasn’t turning blue, she supposed he was about to bring “it” up.
“If you intend to excavate the awful past, Colin, I’d appreciate a warning first.”
He looked up now and leveled her gaze with his. “Why, so you can flee?”
“I’ve got too much else to think about right now without dredging it up. I realize you may feel a need to hash it out, but I just can’t right now.”
“Understandable.”
“Good.” She plunged her fork into the delectable-smelling dish.
“So we’ll take a rain check with this discussion.”
She crunched the salad. Hard. She needed to escape the confusing way he made her feel. Half of her actually wanted to hear what he had to say.
The crazy half.
She inhaled several more bites, then made a show of looking at her replacement phone, provided by the cell company this morning. “Oh, the time! I should go see Del.”
He finished chewing and started gathering their trash. “Del?”
Meadow didn’t figure Colin knew Del by her nickname. Deloris Delafuente went by Del to friends and family. As a teacher, she’d wanted students to call her “Miss D.” Colin had been in her home economics class the same time as Meadow, but to tell him Del was Miss D would resurrect a past she’d rather keep buried.
“Del’s my catering partner. She wasn’t feeling well last weekend, called in sick Monday—unheard of for her. Today she was admitted to the hospital after pain sent her to the ER.”
“What do they think is wrong?”
“Not sure yet, but if you don’t mind, I need to skip out.” Relief hit that she was about to be rid of him. She poked through her phone until she found her navigation app. “Do you know the address of Havenbrook’s new veterans’ hospital? It only recently opened, and I haven’t ventured to that end of town in years.”
“It’s near your old neighborhood.”
Drat. His shrewd look and compassionate cadence revealed he knew she avoided that part of town because memories of her parents’ house were too painful to confront.
“I’ll drive you.”
What? No way was she getting in his truck with him. Memories rebounded of being left at the lake by him and his friends. “Not necessary.”
“Or desired? GPS will take you to a field behind the hospital. I know from experience.” He displayed his thumb, which she’d noticed earlier boasted a bandage. “Nail gun incident this morning.”
She couldn’t stop her sharp intake of air. “On my roof?” He’d been working late, using flood lamps, then rising early to start again. Had fatigue contributed to the accident?
He looked irritated with himself for mentioning it. “Maybe.”
“Colin, let me see—”
He put his hand behind his back. “It’d be easier for me to take you than direct you through confusing mazes of road construction.”
“Sure, change the subject off your injury.” That she was having this much compassion for the creature irked her. “Wait, you’re a veteran?”
He nodded. “I was also a contractor in Afghanistan. Rebuilt schools, hospitals, orphanages, and other war-damaged buildings.”
“That’s incredibly
brave, Colin.”
She made up her mind.
“Thank you for driving.”
Guilt hit him for offering since she looked so defeated. She really did not like him, enjoy his presence, or want to be positioned to need his help. His fault. However, he wasn’t that hurtful person anymore. Plus, visiting her old neighborhood would be tough, and he didn’t want her facing it alone. “Look, I have no agenda other than common courtesy.”
“For real?”
“Yep. Just being neighborly.”
“You won’t bring up the past?”
“Cross my heart.” He made the gesture over his chest.
Her gaze tracked his finger motion. Colin was pleased it lit on his hard-earned muscles. He wanted to smile.
The attraction was mutual, even if she didn’t want it, like it, or like him one iota. Nothing to worry about, though. He refused to ponder any romantic relationship.
Her face still reflected skepticism over his offer to drive her.
He didn’t have all day to convince her. She was up against scary deadlines and depending on him to meet them. He stood and put on his coat, then lifted hers off the back of a chair and settled it on her shoulders as she stood, like he did for his mom, aunts, and grandmas all the time.
The air cradling them supercharged. He wasn’t sure whether from chemistry that came from hands atop her shoulders or from the impressive sparks of anger arcing out her eyes. Wow. High voltage. He could weld steel with those. Wanting to respect her need for space, he stepped away and resisted chivalrous urges to finish helping her on with her coat.
One of her collar lapels curled up and one angled down, which sent his OCD into overdrive, though. His fingers itched to fix it.
On the way to the hospital, she surprisingly broke the awkward silence by shifting toward him. “You may remember Del. She was a high school teacher. Went by ‘Miss D.’ ”
Colin’s ears bled. “Oh man. She’s liable to stroke when she sees me.”
“Why? Oh wait. I recall her chasing you from her classroom with a metal spoon.”
“It was a wooden spoon, actually. I baked the big metal one into her birthday cake for my final exam. Which I deservedly failed.” He cringed. Then laughed.