Second Chance (Cold Springs Series Book 1)

by Henderson, Nancy

  Perhaps coming home had been a mistake. Tears stung the back of her eyes as she jumped in her vehicle and backed into the street. She didn’t belong here. Were Aunt Jean alive, she’d have the right words Sam needed to hear. She’d fix things, or at least reassure her.

  It hadn’t taken more than five minutes to reach Burt’s house, a small ranch with a separate two-story detached garage. Dusk was quickly settling. Sam hadn’t realized that she’d spent so much time at the apartment, but she had spent more time than expected picking up her car and even more at Mother’s and admitting she was now exhausted was an understatement. She shouldn’t have come here tonight.

  Burt had every light in the house on, which was odd considering he usually worried about conserving electricity.

  She turned her vehicle off and hopped out, knowing Burt never bothered locking his door. She didn’t knock, just let herself in unannounced. Knowing Burt, he would scold her for knocking, saying she wasn’t a guest, that only strangers knocked.

  Sam heard talking and stopped in her tracks.

  “Did you meet her yet?” Burt asked

  “No, and I don’t intend to.”

  “Why not?”

  “What’s the point?” came the familiar voice. It was not Burt but the voice that had called her from the train. Ian.

  It was rude and presumptuous to just barge in here and assume Burt had no one over. No one had been parked in his driveway.

  “Look,” came Burt’s voice. “Every man’s got to have somebody.”

  Was he talking about Jean?

  Sam backed up, started to leave when she felt something move under her foot. A cat yowled, nearly scaring the wits out of her. Burt and his guest came running.

  “Uh, hi. Sorry about the cat. I uh, stepped on him…or her.” She looked around, but the cat had run off. “I hope he’s okay.”

  “He’s all right.” Burt waved his hand. “C’mon in and sit down. You remember Ian?”

  Ian. That Ian Woods. Of course, it was the same Ian. How many Ian Woods did she think lived in Cold Springs? Sam smiled probably the dorkiest smile she could muster. Yup. Just like being sixteen again.

  He wore jeans, ripped at the knee, and a white T-shirt. His face—five o’clock shadow—had a chiseled jawline and thick, dark hair that hadn’t begun to recede yet. And his eyes, the same ice blue as when he was seventeen. Only he wasn’t seventeen. He was older. He looked different. Serious.

  Sam backed up against Burt’s refrigerator.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  “Hi” was all Sam could mutter. Gone was the boyish grin. She expected some sort of sarcastic remark from him but was relieved when none came. Ian was just unusually quiet. Deathly quiet.

  Burt was headed toward the living room. Sam stopped him before he could disappear. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to ask you about Aunt Jean’s things.”

  Burt turned toward her, his expression troubled. She felt as if she’d said the wrong thing and felt immediately guilty. “What do you want to do with everything?”

  “It’s your place now.” He turned and continued on to the living room. “I’ve got TV to watch.”

  His tone was sharp. Avoidance. That was why Aunt Jean’s things were still there. Sam should have known. Of course, she’d known. What else had she expected?

  “Well, maybe I’ll just box things up,” she called into the living room. “You can go through them when you’re ready, okay?”

  “Dammit, I told you, they’re not my things!”

  Sam jumped back, feeling as if Burt had slapped her. Rarely had she heard him swear…well, except when there was a punchline attached to it. He’d certainly never sworn at her. She realized where it had come from, that it wasn’t Burt, but grief talking, but it still hurt.

  Sam started to leave, realized that Ian’s gaze was on her and tried to avoid making eye contact. “Well, I suppose I could take her clothes to a thrift store or something.”

  “We can put them in the back shed.” Ian motioned toward the back of the house. He caught the door as she opened it and followed her outside. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have time in the morning. I’ll help you box and load up everything. We can use my truck.”

  Ian’s voice was like warm chocolate, and Sam felt warmth rush to the pit of her stomach. Sam was both shocked and surprised by his eagerness to help. She wondered how Ian had gotten to know Burt. Sam had known Burt her whole life but she’d never known Ian to follow in Burt’s or Jean’s lives. The only place Sam had ever known Ian was from school.

  She wondered how Ian’s life had unfolded since high school. Obviously, he hadn’t left Cold Springs which was a fine path to take with his life, although she couldn’t help but feel a little envious, which was stupid.

  She didn’t even know where that had come from. No one had forced her to leave Cold Springs or forced her to lose touch with the people she grew up with. She only had herself to blame for that.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “I know Burt.” He was quick to answer. “I know he wouldn’t want Jean’s things thrown out, and I know he certainly thinks a lot of you.”

  Sam didn’t see any point in arguing. She needed the assistance, and Ian was right. Burt wouldn’t want Jean’s things thrown out. Maybe in time he would want to go through them himself. If they were stored in his shed, he’d have his own timing and he’d have no rush to do it. Maybe it would make things easier on him.

  “All right. Tomorrow then, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  “Okay, well. Thank you.”

  She got in her vehicle and drove back to the diner. All the while, she wondered how odd it was that someone would offer to help when they barely knew her. Plus there was nothing in it for him. No one ever did anything like that in the city.

  Of course, Cold Springs had always been friendlier than New York City. That was one of the reasons why Sam wanted to come back. There was no personality in the city. Nothing was personal. Here everyone had their nose in everyone’s business, and while it was often annoying, sometimes it was just…nice. In the ten years she’d been away, Sam had missed nice. Nice felt good again.

  It was dark by the time she let herself in and made it back upstairs to the apartment. She had every light turned on and it still didn’t feel right. She was an intruder here. On one hand, it was as if Aunt Jean would come around the corner any minute and welcome her with open arms into her home, and on the other hand, Sam was an intruder and had no right messing around in Jean’s things, moving and rearranging—certainly not taking her things to Goodwill. Even though Aunt Jean had left everything to Sam, it still felt wrong.

  Shoulders slumped, she looked around the room. There was no way she was sleeping in Aunt Jean’s bed. Not that she had died in it. Sadly, Aunt Jean had suffered her heart attack while talking to the customers she loved downstairs in her diner. Nevertheless, Aunt Jean’s bed was too personal. The entire bedroom made up the way it was, was too personal. She would sleep on the loveseat in the little living room.

  Making sure the door was locked, she kicked off her shoes, quickly changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, and found a blanket and extra pillow in the top of a closet in the hallway. She had expected the most sleepless, uncomfortable night of her life with her feet hanging off the end of the loveseat. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  ~ * ~

  True to his word, Ian’s truck was waiting in front of the diner first thing the next morning. He drove a beat-up Ford F-150, an older model with rust taking over much of the blue paint.

  “Thanks for offering to help.” Sam held the door for him. The breeze had a brisk chill to it, sending cold straight to her bones. She would have to shovel the sidewalk this winter, she suddenly thought. The thought was an unwelcome one.

  “It’s n
o problem. I wasn’t doing much today.”

  “How do you know Burt so well?” she blurted as he passed by. She decided the only way to know was to bluntly ask. That and she felt a bit overprotective of Burt now that she was back in town, or maybe now that Aunt Jean was no longer around. Or maybe a combination of the two.

  Ian shrugged. “I started going to the diner before…before I left town.”

  Sam got the distinct feeling that Ian didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t know why, just something she picked up on. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He went to pull the door shut and the knob came off in his hand. “Well, that needs to be fixed.”

  Sam gave a surprised start.

  “Good thing you know somebody.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “I’ll get my tools.”

  Sam hadn’t seen him smile before, and it suited him. Not just suited him. It lit up his whole face. He was rough and brawny like one of the heroes in her mother’s romance novels. Sam felt heat rush to her cheeks.

  She stood in the kitchen as he left and came back with a toolbox. “So you became a handyman.”

  “Contractor.”

  “Sorry... What’s the difference?”

  “Handyman doesn’t sound very professional.” He winked. “Sorry about your aunt, by the way.”

  “Yes, well…thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “I think you’ll make a go of it here,” he said, his voice husky, deeper than she remembered.

  She smiled. Ian was the first person besides Burt who believed in her. Even if he did want her to hire him as her handyman. She’d take it.

  “Are you sure you have time?” She didn’t want to take him away from anything he needed to do. “Can I pay you for your trouble?”

  He seemed hesitant for a minute then scratched his head. “Burt said you know a lot about contracts?”

  “I used to I suppose. Why?”

  He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to take a look at this and see if it’s legit.”

  He handed the paper to Sam. “It’s a maintenance contract I was just offered. My first one. I’ve never really dealt with them before, and I really want to sign it, but I’m not sure about some things in it. Could you take a look at it and let me know what you think? I’ll pay you, of course.”

  Sam briefly glanced at the document. She didn’t mind returning the favor for Ian, but a maintenance contract and a book contract were two entirely different animals. “I really don’t have any experience with anything other than publishing contracts.”

  “It’s all the same legal bullshit, right?”

  “Well, perhaps, in some way, I suppose.” She really didn’t know without studying it. “Can I take a day or two to look it over?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  She set the papers on the counter. “I’ll start it tonight and see how it reads.”

  “That’d be fine. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sam was grateful for the opportunity to do the favor. She felt better doing something for him, like she wasn’t beholding to him. Sometimes she hated that independent streak in her that felt she had to return every favor someone gave her. Years of living in the city, she supposed. Here in Cold Springs people just did things for others because they were being nice, not because they were trying to gain something in return.

  The next five hours went by in a blur. Ian and Sam said next to nothing to each other. Ian did as she instructed, boxing things up, lifting boxes, throwing them in his truck and taking them over to Burt’s back shed. He made twelve trips and refused to take any money Sam offered to pay for the gas he used hauling the boxes. When he left, she felt guilty for moving all of Aunt Jean’s possessions, exhausted, and also relieved.

  Now, standing in the little apartment, it was exactly as she had expected it to be before moving here: empty except for the loveseat and the little kitchen table.

  Her suitcases sat on the floor by the table. Hoisting one onto a kitchen chairs, she unzipped it and proceeded to unpack. It really wasn’t that bad. When she had time, she would repaint the place, maybe in various shades of blues or greens, but now she just wanted to make this a real home. A real home was a little closer now, but still far away with her furniture in storage.

  Pulling her cell from her back pocket, she dialed the moving company. She had programmed the number into the phone before she left New York. Thankful for preplanning, she got them on the phone and instructed them to bring everything to the second floor of her building as soon as possible.

  Sam had stored her furniture and large belongings in a storage facility she supposed as a safety measure in case she had to go back. Now she was determined to make a go of this place and cut a life out for herself in Cold Springs. Something about her mother and sister implying that she would fail had set the decision for success in her. That was enough to convince her that she was in this for the long haul. There was no going back.

  Now as she looked around the little empty apartment, she felt herself become a little more at ease. She didn’t own much, nothing more than one person living alone for so many years would own. She had Ian remove Aunt Jean’s bed to make room for her own when it arrived with the movers, and she planned to make do sleeping on Aunt Jean’s loveseat that she decided to keep. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but she could manage for a day or two. She felt herself relax somewhat. It would feel like home soon. She wondered if Aunt Jean would approve.

  ~ * ~

  Sam had offered to pay Ian Woods for fixing her front door, but he’d refused to take any money. When she’d asked him what she owed him, he’d said the door was just a sample of his work.

  Now, even as she worked scrubbing the dining room—she still had yet to tackle the kitchen which was the worst and most dreaded task at hand—she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. She had stayed up late reviewing the maintenance contract he’d brought over, and it really wasn’t terrible. Although it could be better, were Sam in Ian’s shoes she’d really try to renegotiate it.

  She wondered if he had a family, a wife, kids. With looks like that, he most definitely must have a girlfriend. His life was none of her business, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was something very different about him now. It was like a totally different person in the same body—only a much more mature, sexier body.

  People generally as a rule did not change. Something or someone must have had a major effect on him to bring about such a one-eighty in him.

  She thought of her apartment in New York. Life in the city suddenly seemed so simple. In New York, all she had to worry about was her work and her comfortable apartment. She didn’t have to worry about what Ian Woods thought of her. Here…everything was just—

  Small towns were just awkward.

  A knock came at the door. Sam could see Burt through the window. She opened the door, thankful that people couldn’t just walk in at will now.

  “Hi, Burt.”

  “Mornin’.” Burt looked around the dining room as he entered. “The place looks nice.”

  “I haven’t done anything to it yet.”

  “That’s what’s nice about it. Looks exactly the same. Where’s the coffee?”

  Sam smiled and pointed to the right of the counter where customers would sit. “I thought I’d put the coffeemaker there.”

  He perched himself onto one of the high counter stools. “Well, where is it?”

  “It’s on order.”

  Burt turned and looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “You mean to tell me you own a coffee house and you don’t even have a coffeemaker? What’d you do with Jean’s?”

  “It wasn’t working. So I ordered another one. A bigger one, so we can serve even more coffee.” Sam smiled, thinking she’d finally won Burt over with the promise of a never-ending supply of coffee.

  Burt gave her that look that screamed disapproval. “I could have looked at it f
or you. You probably didn’t have it plugged in.”

  “I plugged it in.” Sam went back to cleaning.

  “What am I supposed to do now? I came here for coffee.”

  “Um…we don’t open for another week.”

  “We? Who’s we?” He pointed to the yellow mug on the counter. It now contained lukewarm coffee. “Where’d you get that?”

  “I made it.” She smiled.

  “With what? That newfangled coffeemaker that’s on order.” He made air quotes with his fingers.

  Sam tried not to laugh. It was good to be back around Burt’s humor. It made her feel welcome and wanted here—in a strange sort of Burt way. He was eccentric and kind and was the model of small town and big hearts, just like Aunt Jean. Seeing him was the closest thing to having Aunt Jean here with her now. “It just so happens to be instant coffee. Can I get you some?”

  Burt made a face. “You’re going to be running a place that serves coffee and you try to kill me with instant? I’d rather go without.”

  The door suddenly opened and Mother and Theresa came in. Both were dressed in stylish matching tan linen slacks and fuchsia tees with matching cardigans.

  “You two look alike,” Sam said. She wondered where they were off to. Always somewhere.

  “We’re having our portraits done,” Theresa answered. She looked around and frowned.

  “For a book event?” Sam asked.

  “No, it’s just something we planned.” Mother waved her hand as if it were nothing. “Long before you came back. Burt.”

  “Madeleine.” Burt folded his arms over his chest.

  “I expected to find you here.” Mother’s dislike was obvious. “There’s no bringing Jean back by wasting time here.”

  “Wow, that’s harsh.”

  “Well, you act like she’s the only family you ever had.”

  Sam knew the remark had cut, and she was surprised when Burt remained silent. There had never been kindness between Burt and Mother. In Mother’s eyes, Burt had never been good enough for Aunt Jean. Or maybe he was too good. Sam didn’t really know the cause of their animosity toward one another. It wasn’t her place to know.