“Thanks for the help,” Frankie said. “I never could have done this without you.”
“Dad, come see the desk.” Harper dragged Logan to where she and Frankie had been working on their latest project, even though he’d seen it the day before. With no noticeable change in days, work seemed to have stalled, but he humored Harper anyway. “I tried to get Frankie to let me paint it aqua or something,” Harper said with a scowl, “but she wanted to stick with the stain.”
Logan stepped forward, finally finding the excuse to do what he’d been tempted to do before. He pulled out each of the small drawers and pushed them in again, their S-shaped fronts melding into the design. Running his finger along one of the two appliquéd panels around the center cutout, he felt the wood give, if only a couple of millimeters. Sliding his index finger into the gap between the top of the panel and the top of the secretary, he found he could pull the panel to reveal a hidden compartment.
“I think it looks fantastic this color, sweetie, and it’s going to look great when it’s all shiny again.” He gave his daughter’s shoulder a squeeze.
“We’ll paint the dresser,” Frankie appeased Harper. “Thanks to HGTV trends, farmhouse chic has become my bread and butter, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do that to this desk. It’s a classic,” she explained to Logan. “But try finding a matching drawer pull to replace this broken one …” She shook her head. “Replacing them all with new ones would be so much easier, but I think it’s worth a try to keep it as close to the original as I can.”
Frankie stepped forward and placed her palms on the desk, close enough to Logan that she could whisper and he would hear—and feel—her every word. “I’ve always had a soft spot for antique secretary desks, and when I found this one …” She sighed with pleasure. “It deserved nothing less than complete restoration.”
Logan wondered if he should move away, take a half step back, but he didn’t. “Are you trying to convince me you have a heart? That you’re actually a historian rather than a mad scientist slash psycho toy-torturer?”
Logan saw the beginnings of a smile before Frankie turned away, obviously ignoring him. “Harper, what do you say I finish the desk while you’re at school so you and I can work on the kitchen island starting Monday?” She paused a beat. “I’m thinking it needs paint.”
“Blue?” Harper asked, eyes wide with excitement.
“Actually, yes. I think so. What do you say?”
“Yes!” Harper fist-pumped. Her approval was no surprise to either adult. “Can we show it at the festival?”
“Of course.” Frankie crossed her arms over her chest, watching Harper’s celebration with amusement.
Logan couldn’t help but be surprised that his girl was so excited by all of this. He never would have expected it. She never would have had these kinds of opportunities if it weren’t for meeting Frankie. All because of that goofy cat with some fairy-tale sidekick name.
Speaking of … the back door rattled, but it turned out to be a person, not the feline.
“Hey, Dad.” Frankie greeted a bald man wearing a T-shirt with the local high school’s mascot, the logo faded and cracked. It probably dated back to when Frankie had attended.
“Hey, Frankie.” He engulfed his daughter in a hug, his height and girth so much more than hers that she looked like a kid next to him. With a laugh, he let her go and introduced himself to Logan and Harper. “Name’s Frank.” His proffered hand swallowed Logan’s. “You guys caught me off the premises.” He didn’t look the least bit chagrined. “Had to run to Hammers for a second.” The hardware store wasn’t far down the street. “Ran out of ammo for the staple gun.” Frank shook his beefy fist holding the staples at Logan in what could have been taken a threat, the metal hitting the cardboard with dull thuds.
“Ha. I figured you’d gone on a lemonade run, Dad.”
“Ah, now that’s not a bad idea,” Frank said, nodding. “I was finishing these chairs for Anthony. I’m sure he could fix me up.” He loaded the staple gun and popped four or five staples into the bottom of a chair.
Logan loved listening to the father-daughter rapport and hoped he had that easy of a relationship with Harper in another fifteen to twenty years.
“Since you’re here, I’m going to run these down to Anthony at the diner.” Finishing with the staple gun, Frank set the chair to rights and then took the staple gun apart and stowed it safely away. “The legs were loose, so I welded them tighter. Don’t worry about leaving when you need to, though. I’ll keep an eye on the door.” He hefted a chair in each hand, the chrome shining like new next to the metallic red of the vinyl seat cushions.
The man exited the front door toward Tony’s Diner, and the shop was suddenly much quieter.
“Now are we going to the other place, the one that might have a bed for me?” Harper clasped Frankie’s forearm.
Embarrassed that Harper was somewhat whiny, Logan reminded himself it was nice that she felt comfortable with Frankie.
“I think we might already be here,” Logan responded, giving Frankie a questioning look. “Right?”
Frankie put both hands up in a don’t shoot gesture and addressed Harper. “I have something I wanted you to see, but you can be honest with me if you don’t like it.” She led them around a corner and into the back display section of the store. “It isn’t your traditional bed.”
Harper followed Frankie, winding around the many offerings like the cat winding himself around doorframes and humans’ legs, and Logan followed along behind. “I didn’t see a bed here before. Dad asked me before we went out this morning.”
“Oh, so you did think to check with me,” Frankie said in a teasing voice, but the fact that she said it told Logan she’d been wondering. “That makes me feel better.” Frankie stopped in front of a daybed constructed from old wood with chipped paint. “Maybe you didn’t see it.”
Harper hopped onto the box spring and mattress draped in an old quilt only fit for an octogenarian. Inspecting the back and sides of the bed, Harper finally looked up at Frankie. “Is this made of old doors?”
“Two of them.” Frankie took a few fussy throw pillows off the bed, probably in an attempt to make it look more kid-friendly. The needlepoint did nothing for it. “One door along the back, and another cut in half for the sides.” When they’d been put together, the back had been elevated, giving the bed a more couch-like shape. “The fun thing is that during the day, you can scatter pillows across the back and it can look like your very own sofa in your bedroom.” Frankie turned around in a circle as if looking for an alternative. “I don’t think I have anything else right now, but we can keep looking if you don’t like it.”
“And the peeling paint?” Logan imagined Harper getting sick from lead paint, even if she was way too old to be eating it.
“I’ve sanded and sealed it. No wood splinters, no actual peeling of any sort. It only looks rough,” Frankie assured him. “What do you think?” she asked Harper.
“Did you make it?” Harper lay back on the bed and kicked her heels up over the arm at her feet. With her child height, that left her head near the middle of the bed.
“I sure did.” Frankie smiled down at Harper, pleased that she would ask.
“Then I love it.” Harper closed her eyes, looking like she might fall asleep if left much longer.
Frankie grabbed Harper’s feet by the shoes and shook them playfully. “Let’s be clear: You don’t have to say that to make me happy. It’s probably different from what you had before or what your friends have. I promise, you don’t have to like my work to like me.” She paused and gestured toward Logan. “For example, I have three pairs of glasses, and I didn’t get even one of them from your dad. And that doesn’t mean I don’t like him.” She sent an exaggerated wink his way, which made Harper laugh and his heart flop. What was so wrong with him that she fixed him up with everyone else but her?
“I like it.” Harper swung her legs over the side of the bed, twisting so she ended up
standing next to the bed. “Can I have it, Daddy, please?”
Logan rolled his eyes, threw his hands up in the air, and let them drop heavily with a loud sigh. “I guess.” He was barely able to keep the laugh from his words. “If that’s what the princess wants, then that’s what the princess gets.”
“Should we load this up, then?” Frankie said. Curiously, she walked to the opposite side of the bed to strip off her decorations rather than starting in the closest corner, but then Logan noticed her surreptitiously removing the price tag and slipping it into her pocket. “Harper, could you grab my drill? I think it would be easier to remove the bolts for transport and set it back up at your house.”
While lighter than the dresser, the bed frame was bulkier. The three of them negotiated around the various objects in the shop, with a banged-up shin Frankie bore without complaint their only casualty. He called that a win, though he wished it had been him that had gotten hurt instead of her.
Logan waited until they’d loaded the bed before broaching the subject of payment. Knowing she’d give him a fight, Logan stood with his wallet out when she returned from locking the alley door. “How much do I owe you?”
Frankie put both fists on her hips. “I did not lure you back to my shop so I could take financial advantage of you.” She smirked at him, and he stepped back. “I thought it might be something Harper could like, and it’s my gift to her.”
With the fierceness in her look, Logan decided to put his wallet back in his pocket. He would track her father down later and give him the money, making up some excuse of not having had cash earlier. “Then at least let us buy you lunch.”
Chapter 10
Exactly one week later, Logan mowed his new lawn for the first time. With the task complete, he stowed the lawn mower in the shed and closed the rickety doors around it. The warped wood of the uneven doors left gaps big enough for critters to gain access to the gardening equipment, but aside from wishing he could train them to do the yard work for him, he didn’t much mind. Country living beat overcrowded suburbia, no comparison.
There were things he’d appreciated about their years in the suburbs—well-maintained homes and yards, city snow removal, playmates for Harper a short walk away, sidewalks, and then there was access to every kind of store, shop, and restaurant chain within minutes. Living outside a small town would take some getting used to, but he was adjusting—as was Harper, who’d had a sleepover with Sarah Jane the night before. That had left him with no valid excuse for putting off a first date with Tess.
Tess. He shook his head at himself. Why was he even trying? Sure, she was a good enough person. Smart, successful, a snappy dresser. She reminded him of everything he’d enjoyed in the city. In fact, six months ago, she would have been the perfect woman for him. But now, comfortably ensconced in Cobble Creek, it no longer felt like the direction he wanted his life to go.
Cobble Creek was everything he remembered from his childhood and more, now that he could scrutinize it from an adult’s perspective. As a boy, he’d treasured annual summer visits at his Uncle George and Aunt Valerie’s house for a couple of weeks. The days evaporated quickly, but the memories of hiking and fly fishing lingered. He recalled cool nights camping under the stars with crickets chirping in the underbrush. He’d learned the satisfaction of manual labor on Uncle George’s farm, like changing siphon tubes and moving hand lines for irrigation and learning to drive a tractor at age eleven. George even taught him how to change the clutch on the four-wheeler and how to grill a mean steak over an open fire. Now that he was living in Cobble Creek, Logan could return the favor to his aunt and uncle by inviting them up for visits from their retirement community in Arizona.
Those summertime experiences were some of Logan’s favorite childhood memories, and he’d moved to Cobble Creek for the express purpose of sharing similar ones with his daughter. He’d become acutely aware their time together was ticking past. They’d spent the last few years trying to claw their way out of the hole of misery in the aftermath of Christina’s sudden death. Though they’d done the best they could, if he didn’t do anything about it soon, he and Harper would never escape. The last thing he wanted to do was look back and find he’d squandered the best years he would have with Harper. In the weeks he’d been here, he’d seen a sliver of joy return into Harper’s life as well as his own. Maybe they were finally on the path to rejuvenation and healing. Nature and time away were doing their job.
Sunlight filtered through the lodgepole pines and aspens. Other than the occasional bird call, the only sound was the leaves whispering in the wake of a breeze. After searching a few short weeks, Logan had been surprised to find his dream home—a mid-century modern surrounded by rugged forest. A wooden deck extended from the back of the house with a footprint as big as the great room itself. While the house was on the smaller side—three bedrooms and one living area—it had an open kitchen, an inviting fireplace he was pretty sure would come in handy for at least half of the year if not more, and floor-to-vaulted-ceiling windows to allow a generous view of the surrounding trees, livening the home’s interior with vibrancy and life. Inside, the home was finished with herringbone wood floors and thick, natural millwork.
With a few pieces from Frank & Signs, Logan and Harper had minimally furnished both bedrooms, the home office, and the living room, but that was one of his objectives—no clutter anywhere. Now to figure out his work office …
He washed up and changed into fresh clothes, determined to take a critical look at the place while no one was there on a Saturday.
After a short, no-traffic drive into town, Logan unlocked the clinic door and sat in the most-used chair in the waiting room, taking in the ambiance, trying to put himself in the shoes of a longtime community member. Brooke was right. It was depressing in its too-bright swaths of orange-yellow and aqua blue. It had been meant to attract a new crowd, but it felt like a tech company start-up rather than a family optometry office. Or like he was trying too hard. Which he might have been.
At a loss of how to fix it, he decided to follow his instinct to at least fill his grumbling stomach and headed over to Tony’s Diner.
“Hey, Logan, what can I do you for today?” The owner, Anthony, was a decent guy, always good for a conversation or a listening ear. Maybe he’d have a minute to catch up. Never mind, it was a busy Saturday afternoon.
“Sprite, cheeseburger with everything, maybe substitute fruit for the fries. I have to at least pretend to be healthy, right?”
Anthony saluted with his order pad and retreated.
Logan was making too much of the décor “problem,” which was really a non-problem when it came down to it. If he hired Frankie to decorate the place, he’d be done with it. Except, she may not allow him to pay her for her work. He shook his head. He’d figure something out.
The real problem that kept him awake into the night was the headache with his in-laws. A few weeks after getting that letter from their lawyer, the sneaky shark had emailed Harper’s teacher, fishing for information that could be used against him. Luckily, Harper’s teacher felt it within her purview to forward the letter on to Logan instead of answering it. While the lawyer didn’t have anything to use against him, as far as Logan knew, the threat of losing custody had him second-guessing everything he did from choosing a home to who or if he dated. It may have been Kathy who had urged him to move on, but he doubted she would give her blessing. She would probably insist it was bad for Harper—another confusing change in an already unstable time of life.
Logan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to aid his concentration. Perhaps this fictional argument he was having with Kathy in his mind had a point. Dating probably wasn’t the best idea for Harper’s sake. What did that radio psychiatrist say about dating when kids lived at home? Another reason Tess probably wasn’t a good thing.
But what did the radio lady say about friendship? Harper was already too close to Frankie to separate them, Logan knew that for a fact, and he secretly admit
ted he probably was as well. But the in-laws couldn’t possibly find a way to use Frankie against him. Not if it was a friendship rather than a relationship. He massaged his temples. This emotional stuff was confusing.
“Burger and fruit.” Anthony set the plate in front of Logan and plunked down a glass of ice water instead of the requested Sprite. At Logan’s questioning look, Anthony explained, “You said you wanted to be healthy. I try to get my customers what they ask for, but you made me make a judgment call.”
“No. This is good.” Logan would take it as acceptance into the community. He was okay with Anthony looking out for him. Anthony started to turn away. “You got a minute? I need an opinion.”
The man came back, wiping his hands on his apron. “Depends. If it’s about food, sure. If it’s legal advice, not on your life. And if it’s about women …” He laughed like anyone would be crazy to consider it. “You’d be taking a real chance if you listened to me.” Anthony dropped into the chair across from him.
Logan nodded. “That’s about how I feel, too. Here’s the thing. There’s this woman I started going out with—”
“I’ve got to warn you, man.” Anthony cut him off, slicing his hand through the air. “Since this is the only place in town to grab a cup of joe, my diner is practically town central.” He paused a beat, and then went on. “I already know it’s Tess.”
Anthony’s tone was a warning, and Logan made a mental note not to say anything derogatory—not that he would have anyway.
“Yeah. I mean, Tess is … great.” Logan paused too long to be believable. “Thing is, I don’t want to hurt my daughter. You know, if she gets attached and all …”
Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as if waiting to see what a cornered raccoon would do. So he wasn’t buying it. That was okay. Logan didn’t actually want advice—especially on this part—what he needed was a friend.
The Fixer-Upper Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2) Page 7