by Shirley Jump
Tom Winston had said Peyton should take some time off. He hadn’t said she couldn’t work at all—which meant it was totally fine that she’d sent a follow-up email to Catherine about her latest project and arranged for this Skype conference call today. If Peyton could just get past that screwup where she had forgotten to schedule the installation of both the countertops and the flooring, making the client miss an important open house, just prove herself again, maybe the promotion she’d been working toward wouldn’t be such a lost cause.
Peyton had found a table in a quiet corner of Miss Viv’s diner. It offered Wi-Fi and unlimited coffee refills, which was perfect for Peyton. She’d been working since she sat down, finishing up the ideas she’d been working on ever since her boss had ordered her to take a two-week break. As much as Peyton knew she should, she just couldn’t let that much time go by without working.
“Hi, Catherine,” Peyton said, when the computers connected and the screen filled with the live image of her client’s elegant features. “How are you today?”
“Overwhelmed and scattered, as usual.” Catherine let out a throaty laugh. “I swear, one of these days, I’m going to take on a challenge bigger than I can handle.”
“I doubt that. Every house you flip is more amazing than the one before.”
“Thanks to you and your creative eye. We make a good team, Peyton.”
A smile curved across Peyton’s face. “All thanks to you and giving this fresh-out-of-college girl a chance years ago. And another one now.”
Catherine waved a hand. “We will move past that. Everyone has a bad day, just not two in a row, hmm?” Catherine shifted in her seat, a reupholstered fauteuil armchair she had rescued from a trash pile two years ago. She’d brought it and a parlor makeover project to Peyton. It had been the first project they’d undertaken together, a test that Peyton had thankfully passed. Until she’d missed several critical deadlines on the Devall Street house. Another designer at Winston had stepped in at the last minute, but Catherine had not been happy about the necessary reschedule of the open house and nearly fired the firm.
Peyton had been on pins and needles ever since she sent the email to Catherine earlier this week, asking for a second chance. “Everything is back on track on my end,” Peyton said now, though she knew that was a bit of a stretch, “and I’m eager to work on the next house with you. I took the liberty of checking on the progress of Drexel Ave., and drawing up some ideas for Market Street, in case you still had that one next in line.”
Catherine assessed her, peering over her reading glasses and into the computer screen. She might be a difficult, exacting client, but she was also a straight shooter, something that Peyton respected. “Okay. What do you have for me?”
Peyton clicked on her computer and brought up the image of the design board she’d created, then shuffled the samples from her bag into a pile for quick reference. As she did, she gave herself a quick mental pep talk. Yeah, it had been a while since she had done this job, and yes, pretty much everything in her future relied on her making a good impression with this one project, but she could do this. So she gave herself the advice she had been whispering in her head for years, when she was standing outside the nursery window while little underweight Maddy struggled to hold her own those first few days, when she watched Maddy take those first tentative steps, and in those weeks since Susannah’s death when Peyton had worried incessantly about the right decisions.
Take a breath, and just...go.
“For Market Street, I know you wanted a modern, upscale feel, while still staying true to the building’s Southern roots,” Peyton began.
Catherine grinned. “You paid attention. I think we had that conversation a year ago.”
“I remember being excited about it, even then. A nice challenge, instead of another cookie-cutter design.”
Catherine laughed. “You know me. I am far from cookie-cutter.”
Peyton picked up a few samples and held them in front of the webcam as she walked Catherine through the elements on the design board, referencing images of the house. “This house has great bones, and with its old-world roots, I think we can really make it amazing, by combining history with modern touches.” As she ran through her plans, her confidence grew—and she could see Catherine responding to her ideas.
Catherine put a hand up. “Let me stop you there.”
Peyton’s breath caught.
“I love it. All of it. The colors, the design.” She waved at the screen. “Go forth and decorate.”
“But don’t you want to see—”
“I trust you. Despite what happened on Devall Street, I think you’re going to do great. I’m thrilled you’re staying on top of Drexel Ave. and glad to have you on Market Street. And I’m pleased to hear you have gotten your personal life straightened out.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the work. I’ll have Tom draw up the contract.”
Catherine nodded. “Construction should be done in two weeks, so be ready to run with this a week from Monday.”
It took a solid minute after Catherine signed off for Peyton to realize that not only had she made her boss happy, but she’d also been given carte blanche to decorate the house the way she wanted. It was the most control Catherine had ever handed over before—and a chance for Peyton to go back to Tom and show him she was ready for the promotion.
She had a monumental to-do list in front of her, but first, her phone sat there, silent and black. Still no texts or calls from Luke. Her finger hesitated over his number. Five more seconds to make a quick call wouldn’t hurt, Peyton decided. The phone on the other end rang four times, then went to voice mail.
Peyton pushed away the little tickle of worry in her gut. Luke could be busy playing with Maddy, or making Maddy a snack or any of the other hundreds of things that comprised a day with a four-year-old. Shrugging off the nagging sensation, she turned back to her laptop.
“Peyton?”
She glanced up to see Jack Barlow standing beside her. Luke’s younger brother, and almost a carbon copy of him. Luke had that twinkle in his eye, though, and that little curve to his grin that made it dimple on one side. Jack had shorter hair, a longish military cut, and a serious cast to his face. She rose and they exchanged a quick, friendly hug. “It’s nice to see you, Jack.”
“I just stopped over for a quick bite and some coffee before I get back to work. I took Luke’s shift at the garage this morning. It’s good to see you. I heard you were back in town.”
“For a couple weeks, yes.”
“Stay an extra week and you can come to my wedding.” Jack grinned, a smile as wide as the state of Texas blooming on his face. “Meri Prescott is making an honest man out of me at the end of the month.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.” Meri had been one of those stunningly beautiful women who made everyone around her pale in comparison. She’d been as nice as she’d been pretty, and Peyton was glad to see both Meri and Jack get a happy ending.
But also a little jealous. She’d never had anyone light up when they talked about her, the way that Jack lit up about Meri. The man was definitely in head-over-heels, heart-thumping, rainbows-and-sunsets love. The kind of crazy love that flooded a person’s world, made them do insane things like get married a few months after reuniting.
Not Peyton Reynolds. She was far too sensible and grounded to do something like that. When and if she met her Mr. Right, she’d take it slow, one step at a time. No rushing into the biggest decision of her life. Uh-huh. Just as she’d made a slow, calculated decision to kiss Luke on that bench. Every time she was around the man, he made common sense disappear.
“Luke must be glad to see you again,” Jack said.
Luke. Just hearing his name sent a flutter through her, a wave of heat that filled her cheeks. Exactly the opposite of being sensible and grounded and slow. Which was her number one reason for staying far, far away from a romantic entanglement with the man. “It’s always nice to connect with an old frie
nd,” she said.
Jack scoffed. “Uh-huh. That’s what I said about seeing Meri again. And look where we are now. Don’t be too sure the same won’t happen with you and Luke.”
She scoffed. “Luke isn’t going to turn into Mr. Settle Down just because I’m in town.”
“Stranger things have happened. Luke’s a different man these days. I think it’s because of you and the changes your return brought to his life.” He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Peyton. Real good.” He gave her a grin, then headed off to his car.
Peyton turned back to her work, determined to put Luke far from her mind. But the little tickle of worry about Maddy didn’t disappear, and grew to become a full-out fist clawing at her gut when her second, third and fourth calls to Luke’s phone all went to voice mail.
Ten minutes later, Peyton could stand it no longer. She gathered up her computer and samples, hopped in her car and drove like hell to the other side of town.
Chapter Seven
Rainbow swirls of paint formed concentric circles that overlapped on the white paper, and sometimes skittered onto the laminate kitchen table. Madelyne was wearing one of Luke’s old dress shirts—or rather, the shirt was wearing her, considering that the blue cotton fabric dwarfed her tiny body and bloomed like a cloud around her slender frame. Her nose was red, her cheeks green and her chin blue, but there was a smile on her face the size of Texas, and that made Luke feel...
Good.
Which was weird, because Luke had never felt anything one way or another when a kid smiled. He had never, in fact, really interacted with kids before. Sure, packs of cousins ran around at family get-togethers, but they mostly stayed clear of the adults, barreling past in a giggling, screaming horde. But this kid—his own child—had stolen his heart in less than twenty-four hours, and he suspected he was never going to get it back.
“What’d I tell you?” his mother said, leaning in close and lowering her voice so Maddy wouldn’t overhear them. She’d come the minute he’d called today and set to work right away, spoiling Maddy mercilessly with lollipops and a new doll, finding ways to keep her entertained and doing everything a grandmother would do. Luke hadn’t told Madelyne who his mother was, of course, because he had to tackle the whole Maddy, I am your father conversation before he could do that. He wanted to tell Maddy he was her dad, wanted in some deep, base way to hear her say Daddy, but he sensed Maddy was still in a fragile place, and waiting was the best decision.
At first, Della had been mad at him for not telling her, then tickled pink to find out that she had a grandchild. Later, Luke suspected, there’d be a lot of questions to answer, but for now, Della was beaming at Madelyne as if the sun rose on the little girl’s face.
“Grandma always knows best,” Della whispered to her son.
“I’m just glad Grandma knows all the sh—” he caught himself before he cursed “—stuff I don’t know.”
He’d been at a complete and total loss for how to soothe Maddy when he’d called Della an hour ago. His mother had been the one to get the little girl’s attention with a snack. His mother had been the one to dig around in Luke’s fridge to find enough ingredients to fix Madelyne a grilled cheese sandwich, complete with a smiley face and a side of matchstick-thin apple slices, just the way she’d made lunch when Luke was little—something he’d completely forgotten in his panic. His mother had been the one to run over to the dollar store and return with finger paints and giant sheets of paper, creating a diversion that had entertained Madelyne for the past hour.
“Oh, you’ll learn.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Having kids is like an instant learning curve.”
“This is just temporary. Peyton’s going back to Baltimore in a couple weeks.”
His mother arched a brow at that. “You think you can just walk away at the end? That she isn’t going to need you for the rest of her life? You’re her father, Luke. That’s something that lasts a lot longer than summer camp.”
He chafed at the thought. He hadn’t signed on for a lifetime of parenting—hell, he could barely commit to a car lease for three years, never mind a relationship with someone who was going to expect him to be a perfect role model. He’d help out financially, of course, that went without saying, but as for all this relationship stuff—
“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I had to call in reinforcements before lunch, for God’s sake.”
“Hey, kids are tough. But you can handle this. She adores you,” Della said. “I can see it every time she talks to you. You’ll get the hang of it, I promise.”
His mother had a good point, but Luke still worried he might not be good at this parenting thing.
Except...
There was something nice about the way a four-year-old brought chaos to his house, nicer than the chaos he usually had with his messy friends. The paint puddling on his table, the toys peppering the living room like shrapnel, the crumbs piled under the kitchen chairs—it all sort of felt like being in the center of the living room floor right after the Christmas presents had all been unwrapped. Messy, but homey.
Della seemed completely unfazed by it all, as always. Of course, she’d raised three rough-and-tumble boys, so a few crumbs and drops of paint weren’t a big deal to his capable and easygoing mother.
Luke wrapped his mom in a one-armed hug. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime.” Then she met his gaze. “Did you call your dad back yet?”
“Tonight. I promise.”
Della put a hand on his cheek. “You’re a good son.”
Luke scoffed. “No, I’m not. But I’m working on it.”
“Luke, look what I made!” Madelyne held up the finger paint blur of colors. Rivers of excess paint dripped off the sheet and onto the table. Great globs stained the tile, slid under the feet of the chairs.
He reached for the paper towels, but his mother put a hand on his arm. “The cleanup can wait. When a child shows you something she made, you make a big deal out of it.”
His mother was right. How many times had she paused in baking bread or weeding the garden to gush over one of her boys’ projects? Whether it was a lumpy clay dish fired in art class or a lopsided birdhouse clumsily hammered together in shop, every creation made by a Barlow boy had earned a place of honor in her curio.
He bent down to Maddy’s level. “That is the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Awesome job, kid.”
Madelyne beamed as if he’d just told her the concentric circles of color, blended into a ruddy puke color, was the next Jackson Pollock. “I gonna put it on the fridg-rator. That’s where Auntie P puts my pitchers.”
He noticed she didn’t mention her mother. Every time Madelyne talked about her life, it was with Peyton at the center. Because Susannah had been uninvolved? Or because it hurt too much for the child to mention her late mother?
Madelyne scrambled out of the chair and slapped the messy painting onto the front of his stainless steel refrigerator. It slid down the smooth silver surface and landed with a plop on the floor.
“Uh-oh.” Madelyne toed at the mess, creating another circle of paint. She raised big, wide eyes to him. “Sowwy.”
“It’s okay. My floor was boring.” He dropped to his knees beside the kid and plopped his palms in the mess, then swiped left, right. “There. It’s not boring anymore.”
A pair of long, lean legs moved into his peripheral vision. High heels flexed Peyton’s calves into tight round hearts. “Oh. My. God. What did she do?”
“Made art.” Luke grinned. Which was exactly what Peyton was. Damn, the woman stopped his heart every time she came into the room.
“Oh, my God,” she said again.
Exactly what I was thinking. He forced his gaze away from her legs and stood. “It’s no big deal. It’s washable.”
“Auntie P!” Madelyne ran over to Peyton and plowed into her arms. Peyton scooped her niece to her chest and hugged her tight, heedless of the paint smearing her
dress, her hair.
Luke watched the two of them, hugging as if they had been separated for a year instead of a couple of hours, and felt something tug in his chest. Something a lot like jealousy. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and started cleaning up the floor and the fridge while his mom made small talk with Peyton. Because it hurt too much to see the way Maddy loved Peyton.
“You look like you haven’t aged a minute,” his mother said to Peyton. “Still as beautiful as always, Peyton. And I’m so sorry to hear about your sister. Such a tragic loss.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barlow.” Peyton hefted Maddy onto one hip. “Though I’m very surprised to see you here. Today.” She cast a worried glance in Luke’s direction.
“I just stopped over to give Luke a hand. And make a new friend.” She grinned at Maddy.
“I gots lots of new friends, Auntie P. Luke, and Miz Barlow, and Charlie.” Maddy wagged her fingers in the dog’s direction.
“You’ve got one amazing little girl there,” Della said. “Smart and sassy.”
Maddy giggled. “Miz Barlow says bein’ sassy is good. Cuz then boys don’t wanna mess with you.”
Peyton laughed, then tapped a finger on her niece’s nose. “An excellent life policy.”
“Well, Luke, I’ve got to get home and make dinner for your father.” His mother grabbed her purse, and the stack of finger paintings Maddy had made for her earlier. “So nice to meet you, Miss Madelyne.”
“T’ank you, Miz Barlow.” Madelyne gave Della a toothy smile. “I liked my sammiches.”
“I’m glad. I hope to get to see you again sometime while you’re here in Stone Gap.” She sent a pointed glance at Peyton. “Perhaps for dinner on Sunday night? So the whole family can be together?”
Peyton hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure whether to expand Maddy’s family circle. Sunday dinner at the Barlow house, Luke knew, was a big deal. It was stepping into the Barlow world, with all the hugs and teasing and warmth.