If Bridget and Becca had been boys, at that point they would’ve socked each other on the arm and run off to play ball or something. But since they were both female, they stood where they were, nodding and looking uncomfortable.
“Thanks for letting them hang out here today. I haven’t quite worked out the logistics of working and parenting here yet.”
Meghan waved her hand. “Don’t even mention it. I’m happy to help out whenever I can. I work at the elementary school in town, so if you ever need a hand in getting the kids home, I don’t mind dropping them off on my way.”
Part of a weight lifted from my shoulders. “Really? Aw, you don’t know how much that means to me. Thanks.”
“Burton’s all about community and helping each other out.” She hesitated before going on. “It’s not perfect, for sure. And living in a small town takes some getting used to. Growing up in the Cove, it felt almost like coming home to me when I moved here. But people are going to be nosy, and you’re going to get to a point where you wish they’d butt out. Just try to remember most of them mean well.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” I swatted Oliver on the backside and leaned in to kiss Becca’s cheek. “You two be good, you hear? Listen to Meghan. Don’t give her any trouble.”
“They won’t. Go on and do what you need to, and don’t hurry back.”
Bridget took one step toward my kids. “If you want, we can cut through by my house and go see the horses over at Mr. Nelson’s farm. There’s a little stream we need to cross, but it’s fun.”
“Okay.” Ollie was ready to follow her anywhere at the mention of horses. Becca hung back, no big surprise; she glanced first at Meghan and then at me.
“Maybe I should stay here and help with the baby.”
I started to speak up, but Meghan cut me a quelling look. “Well, sure, Becca, you’re welcome to stay here with Colleen and me, but I’m actually just about to put her down for a nap. So you might get bored, just sitting around while I do that. And I can tell you, it would be a lot more fun to explore the farm and check out the horses.”
“But isn’t it kind of . . . dangerous to go off on our own? Without a grown up, I mean?” Becca twisted a strand of her hair around one finger, her face troubled.
Meghan laughed. “No, honey, there’s nothing dangerous out there, I promise. The worst that might happen is you’d fall into the stream and get wet, but it’s shallow all the way across, especially this time of year. And Fred’s horses are so gentle and kind . . . they wouldn’t harm a fly. You should go and have fun.”
Becca still wasn’t convinced. Then Bridget spoke again. “We could stop in at the farm stand, too, and see my mom. She’ll probably give us something to eat.”
I saw the way my daughter’s eyes lit up. Horses, streams, farms . . . they all might be fun, but moms trumped everything. I felt that same sense of heaviness that I had just a little earlier. There was a lot I could do for my daughter, but bringing back the mother she still missed so desperately wasn’t one of them.
“It’s okay, Daddy?” Becca needed just one more push of reassurance.
“Of course it is. Go. I want a full report when I get back.”
“All right!” She turned, and as kids did, the three of them sprinted across the driveway, heading for the back of the house. I stood still until they were out of my view, with nothing left but a cloud of dust and the echoes of their laughter.
Next to me, Meghan sighed and shifted the baby. “She’s struggling, isn’t she?”
I nodded. “Yeah, seems like. I keep thinking it’s just going to take time, but I wonder if there’s something else I should be doing. Should I push her, or let this just run its course? Do I get mad, or try to stay patient? I wish there were an easy answer somewhere.”
“I think you just sang the anthem of parents everywhere.” Meghan grinned wryly. “I don’t have any experience to speak from, but I hear what my friends say. And Ali and Rilla are always second-guessing themselves. My brother and his wife Lindsay are the same way. I’m pretty sure you just have to play it by ear and ride it out.”
“Those are mixed-up metaphors there.” I ran one hand through my hair. “Thanks for the thought, though. And again, for keeping the kids.”
“No problem. Good luck this afternoon.” Meghan tugged down the baby’s shirt over the tot’s round stomach, smiling when the little one rubbed at her eyes. “You’re meeting with Jenna, right?”
“Yeah. Guess it would be silly of me to ask if you know her.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Of course I know her. Actually, Jenna’s dad was one of the first people I got to know here in Burton. He’s the town mechanic, and he fixed my car when it broke down.” Her smile grew bigger, and her eyes twinkled. “When I left his shop the day I met him, I swore I’d never set foot back in this backwater town again. And now look at me.”
“Town got to you, huh?”
“More like Sam got to me. I love Burton, don’t get me wrong, but I’d live wherever Sam wanted, just to be with him.”
I remembered that feeling. I knew what it was like to love someone so much that where we lived didn’t matter. But sometimes remembering was too painful, when all I had left was that memory. Pushing away the hurt, I changed the subject back to my meeting.
“So this Jenna—what’s she like? Tough? Does she know what she’s doing, with this job?”
Meghan tilted her head to one side. “Tough? Ummm . . . in a way, yes. Jenna’s the youngest of Boomer and Millie’s four girls, and where some kids in that position would be spoiled, I get the feeling Jenna had to up her game so she wasn’t left behind. When I first knew her, she was just a kid, really spunky, but kind of scattered.” She paused. “She’s had sort of a rough couple of years since, though, and she’s done a lot of growing up. Now she’s very serious. Focused. I hear she’s doing good things at the historical society, and I’m sure they wouldn’t have put her in charge of this project if there was any doubt about that. Just . . . I don’t know. Give her a chance, okay?”
I held up both hands. “Hey, I’m not planning to go in there and mow the girl down. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m basically a teddy bear.”
“Ha!” Meghan shot me a skeptical smirk. “That’s not what I hear. You might be surprised to know that the lines between Crystal Cove and Burton buzz pretty frequently. Between my mom talking to me, and now that Alex and Cal are living down there, I get word from them, too. Alex is pretty close friends with Abby and Ryland. I know this job is important to you, being the first one for your company in its new format. I’m just saying, remember this is Jenna’s first time in charge, too.”
I decided it wasn’t worth it to argue the point anymore, so I only nodded and opened the door to my truck. “I’ll keep that in mind. I have my phone if you need anything, and I hope I won’t be more than a couple of hours. Text me or call if anything comes up.”
Oak Grove Planation was only about a ten-minute drive from Sam and Meghan Reynolds’ farm. I found the turn-off without any difficulty, thanks to the GPS feature on my phone, but if I’d thought that the Reynolds’ driveway was a little bumpy, this one threatened to give me whiplash and a concussion. My head hit the roof of the cab more than once.
The damn poor excuse for a road twisted through overgrown trees and bushes, making me wonder what the original approach had been like. Back in the day, when Oak Grove was a showpiece in the neighborhood, it was likely that this had all been open, with a driveway wide enough for carriages and horses to use. Nature had been attempting to reclaim the land for close to sixty years, I knew. Left unchecked, it wouldn’t be long before this road would be completely engulfed, indistinguishable from the rest of the forest.
But I was here to make sure that didn’t happen. Not that nature didn’t have its place; I respected native flora and fauna, and I’d actually been part of a few side-jobs to reintroduce plant life that had been threatened with extinction. In this case, however, human histo
ry took precedence over everything else.
I was just beginning to wonder if I’d missed a turn when a sudden curve opened up the road, and within seconds, a huge white house rose out of the tall weeds. I came to an abrupt halt, just staring at it, taking in the ruined splendor that had once upon a time been a home.
Oak Grove had been built in 1839, with the owners embracing the popular Greek Revival-style of architecture so well-loved in this part of the world in those days. The first thing that struck me as I looked at the house for the first time was the absolute symmetry of it: the windows were perfectly spaced, and the double glass door was in dead center, between the middle two Doric columns. A balcony nestled between the wide lower porch and the gabled roof, and two smaller matching wings flanked the main body.
I thought for a moment that if I blinked, I might catch the house flickering between its current dilapidation and past glory. I could almost see it, the gleaming carriages pulling up to the porch, where women in wide-skirted gowns were handed out by waiting gentlemen. I could hear the music, the voices and smell the cooking food . . .
Caught up in something that was half-vision, half-daydream, I jerked in surprise when a slim, dark-haired figure walked across the porch. I knew almost immediately that she must be Jenna Sutton, here to meet with me, but her sudden appearance was so unexpected that my heart pounded. I coughed a little to cover my discomfort and then eased the truck a bit closer to the house before I turned it off and climbed out.
“Mr. Turner?” Her voice was clear and calm, carrying across the space between us. There was no mistaking the Georgia in those words, the softening of the vowels that always cried South to me. I took a few steps closer and lifted my hand to wave.
“Yes, I’m Lincoln Turner. You must be Ms. Sutton.” I risked standing on the bottom step and extended my hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m looking forward to us working together.”
Jenna slid off the dark sunglasses that shaded her eyes and regarded me for a minute, as though making up her mind whether or not I was safe to touch. For a flash of time, she reminded me uncannily of Becca; her face wore the same expression of uncertainty and trepidation.
And then she slid her hand into mine, holding it firmly as we shook. Now that we stood nearer to each other, I could see how young this chick really seemed to be. Her dark hair was drawn away from her face and caught in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Wide hazel eyes were checking me out, surreptitiously, of course.
She was shorter than me, but not tiny. Jeans that were still a pretty vivid blue covered long legs, topped by a simple gray shirt with a V-neck. Being that I was a guy, I automatically took note of her rack—hard to tell, as the shirt was kind of loose, but it looked to be decent—and the way her jeans hugged the curve of her ass, which wasn’t bad at all. She wore cowboy boots with a low stacked heel, and I could tell by their wear that they weren’t just for show.
Releasing my hand, she took a step back, replaced her glasses and stood with her hands on her hips. “I’m looking forward to it, too. I know I should be cool and keep it business-like, but I have to tell you, I’m really excited about this project.” She turned her head to glance up at the house. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
I had to laugh, which made Jenna swing her gaze back to me. I couldn’t tell for sure since she had her eyes covered with the sunglasses, but by the stiffening of her body and set of her mouth, I realized she probably thought I was laughing at her, at her enthusiasm. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
“Sorry. I’m actually pretty amped about it, too. I only laughed because my partner Ryland—he’s the Kent in Kent and Turner—that’s how he starts every new job, by saying exactly what you just did. At least, that’s what he does with the good ones. He goes to see them before I do, usually, and by the time I get there, he’s fallen half-way in love. I’ve always had to be the one to come along and point out the issues in his beloved—you know, like cracked foundations and bad roofs. I’m the guy who jerks the needle off the record in the middle of the romantic song, you know? I pour a bucket of cold water over his candlelight dinner.”
Her mouth had relaxed as I spoke, and now it curved into a small half-smile. “That’s quite a few metaphors there, Mr. Turner. And you don’t come off very well in any of them. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
I rubbed my jaw. “Oh, you should talk with Ry. Pretty sure it’s that bad and worse. But it’s always been okay, because that’s what you need in any partnership: one person who’s a misty-eyed romantic, and one who’s a stone-cold realist. I’ve been happy to play the voice of reason up to now.”
She cocked her head. “Only up to now? So are you warning me that I should expect raptures of poetry to spout out of your mouth on this project? That might actually work, because if the new partnership is between you and me, I can assure you that I won’t be the dewy-eyed romantic. I’m perfectly happy to be that bucket of frigid water. What did you call it? The stone-cold voice of reason. I’m all over that.”
Laughing, I shifted my weight, testing the strength of the porch railing before leaning against it carefully. “Oh, sugar, I don’t know. You already ruined that image when you told me this house is a beauty.”
Jenna straightened, drawing herself up to full height, and I knew I’d stepped onto a landmine. “First of all, calling something what it is doesn’t mean I’m caught up in a fantasy. This house is a beauty. There’s nothing that’s up for debate about that. I could go piece by piece, architectural point by point, and prove that without issue. Second, please don’t call me ‘sugar’.” She spit out the word as though it were full of venom. “I’m not some kid who doesn’t know what she’s doing. And I’m not just a clueless woman you can push around, either. I’ve done my research, I’ve run the numbers, and I know what we can and cannot do here. I’m perfectly capable—”
“Whoa there.” I held up one hand to cut her off. “Whoa there, Ms. Sutton. I’ll apologize for calling you sugar—this time. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, because I do it a lot. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean I think less of you or your abilities or your position in this job. It’s just how I am. Calling a woman by a term of endearment isn’t a sign of disrespect in my book. Sorry if it came across like that. And second—” I raised my voice a little to stave off the interruption I could see was coming. “Second, I didn’t say you were caught up in a fantasy. I didn’t mean to imply that about Ryland when he calls a building beautiful either. I was trying to say that we complement each other, because if you don’t have the love of the structures, the vision to see what they were and what they could be again? You’re just going through the motions. You’re not going to do anyone any favors by taking a job where you don’t feel the passion. It’s a balance. Some passion, some realism, and a good healthy dose of hope—you need all that before you take the leap into a project like this.”
Jenna nodded slowly. “Okay. I get that. And I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I guess I have a knee-jerk reaction to not being taken seriously by a certain type of man. I apologize if I let my bias show.”
“Apology accepted.” I craned my neck to look up toward the top of the house. “And just so you know we’re both on the same page, I was sitting out there in my truck, right when I turned the curve and saw her for the first time, and to tell you the truth, I was tumbling head over heels in love, just like Ryland does. I’ve never seen anything like this. I did some finishing work on a couple of planation houses in Alabama and Tennessee, back when I was with my first company, but I’ve never seen it from the start. Kind of blows my mind that this is sitting out here, about to be absorbed by the trees, and no one’s done anything about it for so long.”
“Yes.” This time, Jenna’s intensity was more passion than pissiness. “I know. I mean, I’ve lived in Burton my whole life. I knew Oak Grove was out here, but it was kind of like the church or the school or something else that was just there. I’m sure you’ve read the history, but
the owners wouldn’t do anything to bring her back and wouldn’t sell so someone else could. I didn’t think about it at the time, but it’s kind of maddening now. Why would you let this precious piece of history go to ruin, when there are other people willing to take it off your hands?”
I shrugged. “People are funny about some things. What’s important is that we can put a stop to the ruin now. I looked at the structural reports you had done, and they seem promising. A lot of weather-related wear and tear, sure, and just typical aging of a house that hasn’t been touched for over seventy years. But it doesn’t sound like anyone came in and did intentional damage, and the good news is that there were no previous attempts at renovation. We don’t have to undo someone else’s mistakes.”
“Exactly. Cora—she’s my boss at the historical society—she’s told me horror stories about owners who didn’t realize they were living in a historical house, who took down walls and tore up flooring, all in the name of modernization. Then we have to go in and try to recreate something that was, instead of just saving it.”
“I’ve been there, too. It’s a sad thing.” I let my eyes wander over the side of the house, caught sight of something I hadn’t noticed before and straightened to stand again. “But here—hey, is that the original stone on the fireplace chimney? Fuck me.” I glanced behind me. “Sorry. On the job, I kind of tend to have a gutter mouth. This is going to sound sexist, but we don’t have too many women on projects, and so I let the man thing take over. It can get bad.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Turner. I’ve heard the word fuck before.” She sounded slightly amused.
“Well, then, I take back my sorry. And one more thing. I’m Lincoln, or even better, Linc. Mr. Turner makes me feel like I’m about to be called down to the principal’s office.”
Always Our Love Page 6