The Wishing Season (A Chapel Springs Romance Book 3)

by Denise Hunter

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. They were going to be sharing this house for a year. At this rate he could squash her dream in weeks. She had to nip it in the bud, however unpleasant it might be.

  The door swung open, hitting her in the hip, pushing her forward. She caught her balance and turned to glare at Cole.

  “Sorry.” He shifted his grocery bags and pocketed his keys. “You didn’t lock the door.”

  “My sister just got here.” She reached around him and turned the deadbolt, conscious of the way he didn’t budge. Of the way his nearness made the hairs on her arms rise. The way his muscles bulged under the weight of the grocery bags. Good heavens, his arms were the size of her thighs.

  Why? Why did he have to be the one to make every cell purr like a kitten?

  “Hi. I’m Madison.”

  PJ stepped back to safety while Madison and Cole traded greetings.

  “Better get the groceries in,” he said when they were finished. “It’s hotter than blazes out there.”

  “Nice and cool in here though,” PJ blurted.

  “Yep.”

  “All the windows are closed, though, so don’t worry.” PJ shot him a knowing look.

  His brow furrowed. “Okay . . . Good.”

  He started to pass her.

  She stepped in his way. “Have you seen my edger? It was in one of these bags.”

  He stopped beside her, close. His musky scent filled her nostrils, and the warmth from his body washed over her.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  She nudged her chin up. He was so freaking tall. “Are you sure? I’ve been all through them.”

  He fixed her with a look that she felt clear down to her marrow. His arm brushed hers as he shifted a bag, but she made herself stay still.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re welcome to mine. They’re in the first bedroom on the right.”

  She crossed her arms, backing off. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Suit yourself, Sunshine,” he said quietly, the low tone humming through her ears.

  He trudged up the stairs, his footfalls fading away. Only then did PJ let out the breath she held. She felt Madison’s eyes on her as she headed back to the kitchen. If Cole had more groceries to bring in, she wasn’t hanging around to see him again.

  She picked up the roller and filled it, then realized it was already full. The roller made slurping sounds as she spread the paint on the wall.

  “So that’s what’s going on,” Madison said.

  PJ smoothed out a paint drip from pressing too hard. “What?”

  “There’s enough chemistry between you two to keep a high school lab busy for a year.”

  “Chemis—” PJ stopped rolling and looked at Madison. “If by chemistry you mean mutual dislike, you’d be right.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “He has a girlfriend.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I have no idea. I hear him on the phone sometimes.”

  “So you haven’t actually seen her?”

  PJ huffed. “No.”

  Madison smirked. “You’re prickly tonight.” She sounded more amused than put out as she dipped her brush in the can. “He puts you on edge.”

  No, the theft of her cookware put her on edge. The attempt to flood her dining room put her on edge. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “He calls you Sunshine. That’s so cute.”

  “Trust me, it’s not a compliment.”

  “He’s awfully good-looking.”

  PJ glared at Madison. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Madison’s lips twitched, her eyes widening, innocent. “Of course.”

  It was after nine when Madison and their mom left. The kitchen walls were finished, the brush and rollers washed and drying in the bathroom sink. PJ was tired and hungry, and she had to get up early for work.

  The drone of a saw carried into the house. She followed the sound to the kitchen window and stared across the backyard to the light shining through the shed windows. Cole had been out there since shortly after he’d gotten home.

  She thought about her cookware, the window . . . It hadn’t been far from her mind all night. Her mom had even commented on how quiet she was. Madison had covertly quirked a brow at PJ, as if she had the inside scoop.

  The truth was, whatever chemistry she and Cole had or didn’t have was irrelevant. The man was out to steal her dream, and she wasn’t letting him get away with it. Her heart beat faster. There was nothing sunshiny about the thoughts she was having. And there was no use putting off a confrontation. She’d just go home and toss and turn.

  She slipped out the patio door and into the muggy night. The first fireflies of the season flashed over the flower garden, and the smell of rain hung heavily in the air. The loud whine of the saw grew sharper as she neared. She hoped he didn’t plan to work much later or they’d have angry neighbors.

  The old wooden door swung heavily on its hinge as she entered, and the smell of sawdust assaulted her. Big enough for a car, the room held only some old boxes and a makeshift saw table Cole had set up. He hunched over it, his back to her, guiding a piece of plywood under the blade.

  Sawdust littered the cracked cement floor. He wore a ratty T-shirt, a pair of paint-speckled jeans, and work boots that had seen better days. When he finished the cut, he slid the board to the floor and began measuring another.

  PJ watched him work, reminding herself to remember what he’d done. To remember the beautiful cookware she’d spent her very limited cash on. Money she’d have to pay back with interest. Maybe the open window hadn’t caused any lasting damage, but it could’ve. What if she hadn’t come over tonight? What if he did something worse next time?

  “Something on your mind?”

  She jumped, not realizing he was aware of her presence. She lengthened her spine and raised her chin, though he couldn’t see her; he was still hunched over the table.

  “Where’s my cookware?”

  He took his time measuring. Marking. “Finally got up the nerve to ask, huh?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He looked over his shoulder, drilling her with those green eyes. “I didn’t take your cookware.”

  “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the window, either.”

  “What window?”

  “The window you opened last night. While it was raining. The window that let in a ton of water and practically flooded my dining room. Lucky for you, there was no permanent damage.”

  He straightened, turning. His nostrils flared. “I don’t know anything about an open window. And I didn’t take your pots and pans.”

  He was good, she’d give him that. Firm tone, direct eye contact. She almost believed him. But the evidence was even more convincing. She supposed it was possible she’d forgotten to shut the window, but someone had taken her cookware, and no one had better opportunity or more motive than Cole.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Should I?”

  “I’m not a thief.” Something shifted in his eyes, and he raised a brow. “And why would I try to flood a house that’s going to be mine?”

  Cocky, arrogant jerk. She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I will win this house. But I’ll do it fair and square.”

  “Don’t be so sure. The Grille will make a profit. Crossroads will be a financial drain.”

  “Well, maybe it’s not all about money for me, PJ.”

  She thought of those faces on his presentation board and her face heated. It wasn’t all about money for her either. It was about proving herself. To her family. To the community. To herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

  “Maybe not, but Mrs. Simmons will certainly take that into account. And if any more incidents happen, you can be sure I’ll be passing along my suspicions to her.”

  A shadow flickered over his jaw as he clenched it. “You do that.”

&
nbsp; “I will.” PJ turned on her heel and left the shed, her heart beating up into her throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  PJ JUMPED FROM RYAN’S TRUCK AND WENT AROUND TO THE back where all her belongings were piled in the bed. It would’ve gone faster with more people, but her sisters and their husbands were conveniently busy today.

  “I really appreciate your help,” she said.

  “Don’t forget you promised me pot roast. And mashed potatoes—homemade.”

  “The beef’s in the Crock-Pot as we speak. I even seared it and used my secret rub.”

  He lowered the tailgate and pulled a box forward. “It better be good. You have a ton of junk.”

  “Of course it will be. And it’s not junk. It’s kitchen equipment.”

  “How many blenders does one person need?”

  PJ grabbed a box and started inside. The last three weeks had sped by in a flurry of renovations, work, and hiring. July was almost over, and PJ had set a grand opening date of August first. Her nerves were getting the best of her. She’d had two more anxiety episodes this week. They’d left her shaky and scared. She hoped she didn’t have another today in front of Ryan.

  At least there had been no more suspicious incidents. She and Cole had settled into a sort of stalemate. They spoke only when necessary and tolerated each other’s noise and presence. She had a feeling it was about to get harder now that they’d be living under the same roof.

  An hour later, her belongings were settled into the house and the bed put together. She helped Ryan push it against the wall.

  “So where’s your partner today?” he asked.

  “He’s not my partner. And I don’t know or care where he is.”

  He smirked as he set her nightstand in place.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just, that’s not what Madison said.”

  PJ pursed her lips. “Madison is a lovesick newlywed. She’s seeing things that aren’t there.”

  “I trust her instincts. Which is more than I can say for you.”

  He was joking, but the barb stung. It was true she seemed to have a radar for losers. Never more so than with her last relationship.

  The doorbell rang as PJ set her lamp on the nightstand. “That’s Layla.”

  “Saved by the bell,” Ryan said.

  She smacked the back of his head as she passed him, then scooted past before he could retaliate.

  Layla was their brother-in-law Beckett’s sister. A home stager, she’d offered to help PJ arrange the tables and find inexpensive wall hangings and centerpieces.

  PJ hugged her at the door. The woman had always been beautiful, but since she’d married Seth Murphy in a whirlwind wedding a year and a half ago, she downright glowed.

  “You get prettier every time I see you,” PJ said. “I could almost hate you.”

  “You’re one to talk. Hey, this place is great.”

  “It should be. I’ve been working my butt off.”

  “Seth said you practically live at the hardware store these days.”

  PJ made a face. “I have the bills to prove it.”

  Ryan entered the foyer. “Hey, Layla.”

  “Hey, Ryan. I heard you’re the work mule today.”

  “Basically.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for him. He’s getting paid in food.”

  “And I’m going to eat like a pig, so make plenty.” He turned to PJ. “If we’re done here, I’m going to take off.”

  “Don’t you want to stay and help pick out centerpieces?” PJ asked.

  He scowled. “What time’s dinner?”

  “Five thirty. Don’t be late.”

  “I’m the one who’s late,” Layla said. “Sorry. I just got assigned the Avery house and had to stop there first.”

  Ryan turned on the threshold, eyes alert. “The Avery house? It’s for sale?”

  Ryan’s ex-wife had loved the house. It was just down the street from the Wishing House—a charming brick Craftsman with a wide front porch and a lawn shaded with ancient oaks. PJ knew they had dreamed of buying it one day, raising kids there.

  “It’s going up next week, and my boss wants it finished as soon as possible.”

  All of the playfulness had drained from Ryan’s face, and sadness flickered in his eyes.

  “Why do you ask?” Layla said.

  “I didn’t know they were moving,” PJ said, shifting the attention from her brother.

  “Just to a smaller home. They wanted a bedroom on the main floor.”

  “Makes sense. Speaking of bedrooms on the main floor, maybe you can take a peek at mine. I don’t think I like the way we arranged it.” She tucked her arm in Layla’s and started for the bedroom. “See you in a few hours, bro.”

  “See you.”

  She tried to focus on what Layla was saying, but her thoughts returned to Ryan and the wound that had just been reopened.

  Chapter Fourteen

  COLE SET THE CAN OF PAINT AND A FEW ODDS AND ENDS ON the counter and greeted Seth Murphy, owner of Murphy’s Hardware.

  “Back already?” Seth asked.

  “It’s always something. What are you doing here this late?”

  “My manager’s wife had a baby a couple days ago, and my high school worker’s on vacation.”

  Seth rang him up, and Cole forked over the cash. The renovations were costing more money than he’d anticipated. More time too. On top of that, he’d had to get a permit and a license, fill out government forms, and work with the local foster care network. Lots of red tape.

  Seth handed him the receipt. “How’s the house coming?”

  “I should be ready for kids in a few weeks.” He had a stack of applications for kids about to age out of the system. How would he even decide who to turn away?

  “You just missed PJ. I guess her grand opening is this weekend. Layla’s been staging the restaurant.”

  Cole had seen Seth’s wife around the place the past few days. “It’s looking good.” He’d poked around when PJ wasn’t there. Heaven knew she wasn’t going to offer him a grand tour.

  “You need any help with that range hookup, just give me a call. I’ve put in a few.”

  “Wouldn’t that be consorting with the enemy?”

  Seth shrugged. “Just keeping the customers happy.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  A minute later Cole pulled out of the hardware lot. Darkness was starting to fall, and katydids buzzed in the hills around him. He drove toward the house, the road winding alongside the river.

  As he neared town he saw PJ’s car at the mom-and-pop gas station. The gas hose ran to her car, and she was sitting inside. He took a second look as he passed. Her head rested on the steering wheel. He guessed he wasn’t the only one worn out.

  He entered town and braked for the light in front of the Rialto Theater, though there was no traffic. The town had pretty much cleared out for the evening. He couldn’t get the image of PJ hunched over the steering wheel out of his mind. She was always hopping with energy.

  Was she really just resting? Or was she upset over something? He remembered finding her in the house weeks ago, pale and shaken, her heart racing. He hadn’t noticed any more episodes, but it wasn’t like they’d been hanging out together. She’d moved in a few days earlier, but even so, they kept to their own floors.

  Ever since she’d accused him of stealing her cookware, he’d stayed out of her way. The accusation still stung, though he didn’t know why. They weren’t friends, though he must’ve begun to think in those terms; otherwise, why would he care what she thought?

  The light turned green, and he accelerated. His eyes drifted to the rearview mirror and settled on PJ’s car, still parked in front of the pump. The streetlamps flickered on, pushing back the impending darkness.

  If he didn’t check on her, he’d just worry. He swung his truck around at Cappy’s Pizzeria and headed back toward the station. He’d just drive by and make sure she looked okay. Hopefully it w
as dark enough she wouldn’t notice him skulking past.

  But when he slowed, the gas line was still connected to her car, and she was still slumped over the steering wheel. Frowning, he braked, pulling into the lot.

  The sweep of his headlights over the vehicle did nothing to alert her. He stopped beside her car and shoved his truck into park before getting out and rapping on the passenger window.

  She raised her head, and he released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You okay?”

  She nodded, looking away. But she didn’t look all right. Her eyes seemed distant, and she looked pale under the harsh station lights. He tried the door and found it unlocked.

  He planted his palm on the car’s roof, leaning down. “You sure? You’re breathing kind of fast.”

  “Go away, Cole.” Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her forehead was shiny with perspiration, though that could be because her car was hot as Hades.

  He went around the car and replaced the gas pump, capping her tank, then got in on the passenger side. He turned the key over and cranked up the air.

  “What are you doing?”

  He took her wrist from her lap. She tried to pull it away, but he held tight and took her pulse.

  “I’m fine.” She closed her eyes while he counted.

  “It’s 130,” he said a moment later. “You feel dizzy?”

  “No.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’ll be fine in a minute. Just go away. Please.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  Her hand felt cool and clammy. It trembled in his until she pulled it away. She lowered her head, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. She still hadn’t answered him.

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I’m fine, Cole. I just—just work myself up sometimes.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.” He got out and parked his truck, then opened the driver’s door. “Scoot over.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking you to the ER.”

  “I said I’m—”

  “If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to pick you up myself. Move over.”