A single dad’s mission

Wanting to do right by his impressionable daughters, widower Cam Calhoun knows they need a woman’s touch. But when his high school sweetheart returns to town to open a beauty spa, Cam plans to keep his distance. Meredith Brennan left him without a word over a decade ago. Now talk of hairstyles and nail polish have his tomboy daughters way too excited. Yet when Meredith hires him to make her dream come true, Cam discovers he just might have what she needs most: the love of a family.

Meredith shook each of Cam’s students’ hands.

“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” she told the kids, “that students could work magic like this. I’d move into this house in a heartbeat.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.” She grinned at the girl who’d asked the question. “The bathroom remodel is gorgeous—I’d have plenty of room for all my hair stuff.”

Cam and the boys groaned as one.

Meredith tipped Cam a smile that laughed at herself, and he felt his heart flutter once more, a sweet sensation of anticipation. Hope. It was a feeling he’d missed, but why was he feeling it now? Because no way, no how, was he tempting fate by revisiting old mistakes.

Once burned, twice careful.

He wasn’t a starstruck teen anymore. He was a father, a teacher, a son, a home owner. He had responsibilities in their small community and he had no intention of forgetting that.

Although that smile tempted him to do just that.

RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, freshly baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and for the dirt...

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

A Family to Cherish

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.

—1 Corinthians 6:19–20

I have been threatened with bodily harm if I don’t dedicate this book to our beautiful Lacey, a woman unafraid to get dirty but who cleans up well! Lacey is responsible for any and all family makeovers, she is our fashion guru and knows how to get “the look” just right. She introduced me to Solutions Studio and Spa and the “Fridd” family story, and bought me my first spa pedicure. The fact that she gave me two gorgeous grandchildren should not be overlooked, either!

And to Rachel Burkot, my go-to gal at Harlequin Books, an assistant editor who is always ready with a quick response, a get-’er-done personality and a nature that’s sweet beyond words. Thank you for accepting the job at Harlequin, dear girl!

Acknowledgments

So many! First to the Fridd family for letting me invade their spa, poke my nose into back rooms, get a clue for the busy behind-the-scenes areas that make them operate effortlessly! And a huge thanks to Dr. Michael Haben of the Haben Practice for Voice & Laryngeal Laser Surgery. His cutting-edge techniques reshaped the plotline of this book. How wonderful to have such expertise in our own backyard! Dr. Haben answered my questions, and his honest and quick response gave credibility to an important background story. Thank you so much, Dr. Haben!

To my buds in Allegany County, Don and Karen Ash, who work constantly to promote the area, their businesses and my books! God bless you guys! Dave Evans, retired alternative woodshop teacher from Bolivar-Richburg High School: your work inspired mine, and I thank you sincerely. Your efforts in education are not unappreciated.

Thanks always to my family for their constant work to keep me presentable, somewhat organized and a little bit normal. My eccentricities should not be blamed on them. They’ll get mad if I don’t name them all (bunch o’ babies!!), but in all sincerity I could not do this without their help and belief. Huge thanks to my day-care moms who allow me to exploit their children to sell sweet books. You guys rock!

Dave… Love you, Dude. Keep the tuna sandwiches coming, honey. They’re PERFECT! To my day-care girls, big and small. Sophie and Rachel Calhoun are inspired by my beautiful young friends here in upstate. Yes… Even the “snarky” ones, LOL!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Meredith_Brennan@stillwaters.com

Talk about an oxymoron. Nothing about Meredith Brennan put a person in mind of still waters in any way, shape or form. Cam Calhoun ran a hand across the back of his head, wondering why his first love’s name popped up in his business email box after all this time.

The elementary school doors swung wide before he could open the message. Children spilled out in an array of colors, overused outerwear showing the stress of a long winter. Kind of like him these days, more haggard than he’d like.

Need an estimate on building repair for potential new business. Phone 555-AGUA.

Agua?

Cam frowned, scowled, then sighed out loud.

Water.

She couldn’t just key in 2-4-8-2 like a normal person? But then this was Meredith they were talking about, not exactly low-key. Subtle. Quiet.

He set the phone aside as his two girls raced for the backseat door, Sophie edging Rachel by a hair. “I win!”

“You shoved!”

“Did not.”

“Did—”

“Enough.” Cam swiveled in his seat, firm. “Sisters take care of each other. Not everything’s a race.”

Nine-year-old Sophie sent him a doubtful look while Rachel reached forward to soothe the line between his eyes. “It kind of is, Daddy. To us.”

Cam got that. What he had trouble navigating was what to do about the constant competition between two smart, athletic girls, always one-upping each other. Was this normal? How would he know? He’d already consulted half-a-dozen parenting books and the answers were more confusing than the question.

“Belts on?”

“Yes.” Sophie immediately pulled out a book, ready to immerse herself in the wonders of imagination.

“Me, too,” piped Rachel. “And when can I stop using this stupid booster seat?”

“Gotta grow, kid.” He winked at her through the rearview mirror as he wound the car out of the school lot. “Soph, did you have time to brush your teeth after lunch?”

Her guilty look said she might have had time but hadn’t bothered. Would the Wellsville, New York, orthodontist care? Cam glanced at the dashboard clock, weighed his time frame, frowned and figured now was as good a time as any to call Meredith back. A ten-second phone call wasn’t that big a deal, right?

“Meredith Brennan, Stillwaters, may I help you?”

His heart did a fifteen-year-old wrench that inspired memories of blue eyes, not sky-blue, but that shadowed federal blue he’d used on the Kinsler living room. Long lashes, without mascara. And soft brown hair, not dark, not light, like the shell of a walnut, new-penny polished.

“It’s Cam Calhoun, Meredith. You sent me a message.”

“Cam.”

One word. One single, tentative, maybe breathless word and his head spun back to where his heart would never be allowed to go. Ten seconds in and he realized returning her call was a mistake.

“I’m glad you called. My brother Matt recommended you and I…”

Her voice trailed, uncertain.

Make that two of them, then. “You’ve got something Matt can’t handle?” Her half brother Matt Cavanaugh was a respected housing contractor now, neck deep in building a new subdivision.

“Too busy. Can you come by and look it over? See what you think? Matt says you’re the best in town.”

He was the best in the county, but Cam let that slide. He didn’t do great work out of pride, but necessity. Less than perfect, less than beautiful, less than right…

Those options didn’t exist in his world. “Where is this place?”

“The old Senator’s Mansion on Route 19.”

Cam’s heart gripped. He loved that Victorian home, the beauty and sanctity of the town treasure that had been empty for too long. “You need a house that big?” Instantly he envisioned a passel of kids running around, restoring life to the home.

“For a wellness spa and beauty salon.”

Cam’s vision disappeared in a puff of reality.

Meredith with a house full of kids leaving dripping soccer jerseys scattered? Meredith, of the perfect hair and nails, cleaning soccer cleats? What on earth had he been thinking? “We don’t need a spa in Wellsville.”

To her credit she laughed. “Spoken like a man on behalf of women everywhere, no doubt. But I disagree and I need someone to help this dream become a reality.”

Cam glanced back at the clock, saw he had over thirty minutes and made a quick decision. “I’m free right now if you’re there. I’m about two minutes from you.”

“Now?” Her voice hitched, but when she spoke again she sounded normal. Cam chalked it up to his own overactive imagination and refused to wonder what she looked like. He’d know soon enough, right?

“Now’s fine,” she continued. “I’m inside and the side door’s unlocked.”

“Perfect.” He tapped the hands-free device to disconnect the call as mayhem broke loose behind him.

“The red one’s mine.”

“It’s not. You lost yours, Sophie. I kept mine right here in the pocket of the door.”

“Dad!”

“Dad!”

Ignoring the squabble, he pulled into the curving drive that led to the mansion’s side door, envisioning prospective changes because he was determined not to think about what Meredith might be like fourteen years after she took off with her hairdressing license clutched in hand.

She stepped out the side door, a sweater coat wrapped around her. Was that cosmopolitan? Metro? Cam had no idea, but he knew one thing. She was still beautiful. Stylish. Her look fit the grandiose house and Cam had to haul in a deep breath, a breath big enough to push aside old hurts and wrongs.

They’d been kids. High school sweethearts that went their separate ways, quite normal.

Except when he stepped out of the car and released the girls from the backseat, he didn’t feel normal. He felt…

Damp-palm crazy nervous.

But that was ridiculous so he ignored the upswing in pulse and respiration and herded the girls toward her. “Meredith, my daughters, Sophie—” he palmed Sophie’s head, her dark brown hair a gift from her deceased mother “—and Rachel.”

True to form, seven-year-old Rachel reached out to shake hands.

Sophie hung back.

Meredith took the offered hand as Rachel beamed.

“I love your house! You must have a really big family to live in such a huge place! Do you have little girls like us?”

Meredith’s laugh tunneled Cam back again, but he refused to be mentally transported any further than the house standing before him.

She bent low, meeting the girls at their own level, giving him a bird’s-eye view of soft, highlighted hair, a perfect blend of sun-kissed gold-to-brown, pink cheeks that seemed unfettered by makeup and lashes that brought back too many memories to be good for either of them.

“I don’t have kids,” she told the girls. She reached out and took each one by the hand, drawing them forward. They went along willingly, as if she were some kind of designer-clothes-clad pied piper. Which she wasn’t.

Right?

He followed them in, paused to shut the bulky door and turned in time to see her over-the-shoulder expression.

Talk about awkward.

He’d give her ten minutes and an out-of-the-park price that would push her business elsewhere. No harm, no foul, because the last thing he needed with outdoor soccer season approaching was to be tied to a huge job for a fastidious woman while juggling soccer games, 4-H functions, and his full-time job as a wood-shop teacher at the high school.

Ten minutes he had.

More time when it came to his high school sweetheart who was even more beautiful now? Wasn’t about to happen.

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and a pencil from behind his ear, keeping his gaze averted. Limiting eye contact was better for his heart and probably his soul. Although there wasn’t enough of the latter left to worry about.

* * *

Dream eyes.

She remembered Cam’s baby blues like it was yesterday.

But it wasn’t, and he was married with children so Meredith put a firm grip on the emotional punch she felt when their eyes met as he stepped out of the SUV.

The smaller girl clung to her hand as if they were new best friends. The older girl remained withdrawn, her gaze cautious, assessing her surroundings. She didn’t look like Cam, but she acted like him, the hinted wariness offering another gut stab.

When they were young, Meredith had longed to embrace everything. Live free. Experience life. Escape the town that knew too much about her and her whacked-out family demographics, the cheating father, the drug deals gone sour that nearly toppled the family business. The illegitimate half brother who had the rug pulled out from under him. The workaholic brother trying to fix everything he could from a young age.

It had all been too much. Too dark. Too heart-wrenching to witness your family fall apart like that. Sometimes a girl needed a chance to start anew. Begin fresh. So she did.

Cam loved staying put, a hometown boy all the way.

Well, the joke was on her, because here she was, back in Allegany County. Who said God didn’t have a sense of humor? “Girls, would you like to explore the rest of the house while your dad and I talk?”

“Yes.” Rachel swung toward the stately mahogany staircase, expectant.

“Umm…” Sophie looked like she wanted to follow, but paused, uncertain.

“There’s nothing they can get into?” Cam asked.

Meredith turned, met those blue eyes dead on and stumbled for words. “I…don’t think so.”

He frowned.

“I mean no. The house is empty. There’s nothing here.”

He directed his attention to the girls. “And you know not to touch anything, right?”

Two heads bobbed in unison, one dark, one fair, quite different but obviously united in adventure. Meredith couldn’t help but grin.

“Okay. But if there’s a problem, just yell. I’ll be…” Cam shot a look from room to cavernous room “…somewhere. This place is absolutely amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” Mahogany-trimmed rectangular arches lay to the left and right of the center entry hall, while the broad, turned staircase to the second floor lay before them. Meredith moved to the expansive living room on the left and swept a hand across an antique glass window. “Aren’t they stunning?”

Cam stepped closer and made a face. “But not caulked properly. And half of them are facing west. Big drafts in winter and spring. And they won’t be up to code.”

“Code?”

“Fire code. Building code. They’re sealed so they don’t offer an escape route.”

“And bad hair can be a life-threatening experience.”

She offered the retort lightly, but Cam turned a serious stare her way. “Are you planning a pedicure tub, like the one Heather’s mother had?”

Heather had been Meredith’s best friend throughout high school. Her mother had run a two-stool shop in her home and did mani-pedi’s alongside. Sandy Madigan’s gentle example had offered Meredith her first shot at her current career. She nodded. “Yes. Four.”

“Blow dryers?”

“Yes.”

“Curling irons?”

She was starting to see his point. “Umm…yes.”

“Chemical propellants?”

She frowned.

“Hair spray.”

“Oh.” She grinned. “Of course.”

“So multiple sources of heat and flammable liquids. Brett Stanton and Bud Schmidt do the fire code inspections for the town. They’ll check thoroughly to ensure everyone’s safety. Code is important.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“Listen, Meredith—”

“Cam, I was kidding.” She sent him a more solemn look. “Of course fire codes and building codes are important. I just saw my brother go through all this with his new subdivision. I get it. Really.”

“Matt’s doing new build.” Cam’s voice took on a teaching air. “We’re upgrading old. That presents a host of different problems.”

“All of which drive costs up.”

His shrug said that was a given.

“So these windows.” Meredith ran her fingers along the wide, dark trim surrounding the old glass. “Can we modify them or do we have to replace them? I want to do what’s right for the house while keeping in mind my budget.”

“Which is?”

The figure she named thinned his mouth. “You either need a bigger budget or go step by step.”

“That pricey, huh? Even with my help?”

“Your…what?” Cam faced her, surprised.

“My help.”

“As in?”

She hoped he didn’t mean to be as offensive as he sounded, but the look he swept her outfit said he meant it all right.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Don’t go all knee-jerk, Mere. Remember, he only knows the girl you were. Not the woman you are. “I redid my entire place in Maryland. Not the skilled stuff like trim and moldings and cupboards. But the patching, painting, papering. New light fixtures. All me. I’m not afraid to get dirty, Cam, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His guilty look confirmed her assertion and reaffirmed her first instincts. No way in the world should she and Cam be working together. She decided then and there to let him bow out gracefully. “Listen, it was nice of Matt to suggest you and all, but it’s probably better if I find someone else, don’t you think? Considering our history…”

“Ancient news and there is no one else, at least no one who’s approved by the Landmark Society. That approval saves a whole lot of time because they trust me to do the job right,” Cam told her as he squatted to examine the floor. He frowned, scribbled a note, then rose in a fluid move that said he stayed in shape, a fact she’d noticed first thing. The dark brown bomber jacket fit broad shoulders before tapering to his trim waist. Classic blue jeans ended at camel-colored work boots. His hair was clipped short, browner than she remembered, but the North didn’t get a whole lot of winter sun. His skin had a healthy look that made the furrow of worry seem out of place, but his eyes…

His eyes were the same soft shade of sky that melted her heart back in the day. Gorgeous eyes, she thought before clamping a lid on memory lane. His gaze proved harder than she remembered. Sadder.

Life could do a number on people. She knew that. Even when you thought you were chasing the right dream…

She put away that train of thought promptly. She’d learned a lot by being cheated out of the life she thought she’d have and the job she knew she’d earned. But falling in love with a married man…

With political connections…

That went beyond dumb. But only once does a person get a chance to make such a colossal mistake. Luckily she’d smartened up, but caution and mistrust mingled as if they were her two new middle names.

Cam crossed into the formal dining room. “This crown molding is exquisite. You’ve got yourself a classic Queen Anne in all her glory.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s more elaborate than a simple Victorian,” he explained. He swept a hand across the low, wooden panels framing the room and his expression took on a reverent cast. “The mahogany wainscoting. The gingerbread-trimmed second story. The wraparound porch. The turret on the north front corner.”

“I love the turret.” Meredith moved to the left and bent low. “The minute we saw this, we knew it would be perfect.”

“Your husband and you?”

She grimaced at something resembling mice droppings. Closer inspection proved her right. “Mom, Grandma and me. I’m not married.”

She tossed the personal info into the conversation easily because he was married, so her single state was immaterial. And that was good.

“Ah.” He snapped his tape measure open, measured quickly, then closed it as he continued through to the expansive kitchen. “Do you hear the girls?”

“No.”

He made a U-turn for the stairs. “Nine years of fatherhood has taught me that silence is rarely golden.”

“Oops.”

“Soph! Rachel! Where are you?”

He took the steps at a quick clip, then called their names again on the top landing.

Silence answered him. He turned toward Meredith. “Attic?”

“This way.” She started toward the equally ornate attic staircase at the end of the hall, but a giggle from the turret room halted their progress.

“Yes, m’lady?” Rachel’s little voice had taken on a seven-year-old’s rendition of peasant Scotland.

“I need proper biscuits, Higgins. These are quite stale.” Sophie’s tone embraced a more haughty British aristocracy.

“But cook just made them,” Rachel protested, indignant.

“Cook’s a fool.”

“And the butter is fresh, mum.”

Cam and Meredith stepped in as Sophie pirouetted, backlit by the bank of windows lining the rounded wall of the turret room. The higher angle of the March sun glared with little remorse through smoggy windows, lighting streams of dancing dust motes, but the sight of two little girls made Meredith remember another little girl playing dress-up. Pretending to be fancy and special. Above reproach.

That was a long time ago. When she was Daddy’s little girl. Before the world saw Neal Brennan’s true colors. And before she made the very same mistakes she’d abhorred in him.

“Daddy, do you see this?” Rachel spun about, arms out, a little girl twirl of gladness. “I just love it so much!”

“It’s beautiful, Rach.” Cam moved forward, palmed her head and leaned down. “And it’s a perfect space for dancing.”

“Kitchen help isn’t allowed to dance,” announced Sophie. She glided across the floor as if extending a dress out to the side, then curtsied toward her father. “Perhaps on her day off.”

“Since you have an orthodontist appointment in twenty minutes, her dancing debut must wait anyway. Come on, ladies.”

The girls didn’t argue, but Sophie sent a wistful look back toward the light-filled, dusty turret. “It’s like a princess dream room, Daddy.”

“You don’t like princesses, Soph.”

Sophie made a face her father didn’t see.

But Meredith saw it, and wondered why a little girl would pretend not to like princesses.

Not her business, she decided as she followed them down the stairs. Cam was obviously in as big a hurry to leave as she was to have him gone. He’d go, give her an estimate she’d politely decline, then go back to his wife and perfect family while she hunted up another remodeler to do the work.

He reached the side porch door and turned. “I’ll get back to you with a rough idea. Best I can do with my time frame today.”

Meredith nodded, playing along. “Of course. Thanks, Cam.”

He herded the girls across the porch. At the outer porch door, Rachel slipped from his grip and raced back to Meredith, surprising her with a hug that felt delightful. “Thank you for letting us play in your pretty house. I love it,” she whispered, head back, her gaze trained upward.

“I’m so glad, honey. Come again, okay?”

“I’d like that.”

“Rach. Gotta go,” Cam said.

“I know, I’m coming. Bye, Miss…”

“Meredith.”

“Brennan,” Cam corrected. “Her name is Miss Brennan.”

“They can call me Meredith, Cam. It’s all right.”

“It’s not, but thanks. I’ll be in touch.” He opened the side door, let the girls precede him and then shut it quietly without so much as a backward glance.

Not that she wanted him to glance back. She hadn’t wanted him to come around in the first place—that was all Matt’s doing—and seeing Cam’s reluctance made her realize gut instincts were best followed. His and hers.

Chapter Two

Fifty-two hundred dollars.

Cam added the hard knot of financial anxiety alongside five years of guilt and figured he deserved both. If he’d been more careful, more devoted, a better husband, he might still have a wife and the girls would have a mother.

Somewhere along the way of being father and provider, he’d forgotten to treat life’s blessings with the care they deserved. That carelessness cost his wife her life, made him a single parent, and left his girls with no mother to guide them or explain things to them.

The thought of more than five thousand dollars he didn’t have raised hairs along the back of his neck, but he signed the contract for Sophie’s braces and wished he could pray help into reality.

God helps those who help themselves.

His mother’s tart voice rankled. He ignored it and counted his blessings. He loved his teaching job, the chance to show high school kids usable trades. Woodworking. Plastering. Plumbing. Basic electricity. He taught valuable, lasting skills to kids who might never make it into a four-year college but could do well in a trade-school environment. And to kids who simply wanted to learn how to take care of themselves with skilled hands.

He had a home. It needed work, but it was clean and bright, a safe and open environment for the girls.

And he had his girls, precious gifts from God, the two lights in an otherwise shadowed life.

Cam slipped the dental estimate into his jacket pocket, waited while the girls adjusted their seat belts in the backseat, and racked his brain.

The dental office offered a payment plan.

Cam hated payment plans.

He pulled into his mother’s driveway as the girls started squabbling. His right brain knew they were tired and hungry and needed to run off built-up energy. Sitting in a dental office for nearly ninety minutes hadn’t added to Rachel’s humor or Sophie’s patience.

His left brain didn’t give a hoot and wanted peace and quiet.

“Stop. Now.” He got out of the car and hoisted a small white bag. “I’m dropping off Grandma’s medicine, then we’re going home. Stay in the car. Got it?”

Sophie gave him a “whatever” look.

Rachel smiled sweetly. “Yes, Daddy.”

Cam refused to sigh as he took his mother’s back steps two at a time. Sophie might make her feelings known, but she’d most likely be sitting there with her belt on, reading a book or daydreaming when he got back.

Rachel?

She pretended cooperation, a winning smile under her mop-of-innocence curls, but she acquiesced in name only. Most likely she’d be chasing his mother’s cat into the barn when he returned.

Fifty-two hundred dollars.

He shook his head as if clearing his brain, knocked, then walked in. “Mom? I’ve got your medicine.”

“I’m in here.”

Cam moved toward the querulous voice, fighting useless annoyance. His mother’s perpetual drama had become a way of life a long time ago. “Hey, Mom.” He swept the dark room a look. “Don’t you want a light on?”

“Light hurts my eyes.”

“Another headache?”

“Always.”

He swallowed words that matched the irritation, not an easy task. “Did you take something for it?”

“I don’t remember.”

Oh, she remembered all right. They’d gone through a battery of tests last year as her memory seemed to fade. The diagnosis: old and ornery.

The prognosis: she had the Murray-family strong heart from her mother’s side and might live to be a hundred.

Cam wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she was his mother and with his sister and brother both out of state, Cam needed to be available. Although not nearly as much as she’d like, which was why he was getting the “poor me” act now.

He’d promised to swing by earlier. Meredith’s estimate had messed up his time frame, but stopping by the old Senator’s Mansion then meant he didn’t have to travel to the other side of town now, at the end of a long day with two tired, hungry girls. Would Evelyn Calhoun understand that?

No.

“Can I get you something? Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.” She patted his arm with a weak hand and sighed. “Just tired. And I worried so when you didn’t come like you said, imagining all kinds of things.”

“I left you a message.”

“Did you?” She thinned her gaze, looking up. “I must not have heard the phone.”

Another trick he wasn’t buying. She had caller ID on the phone and through her TV. If she didn’t want to talk to the caller, she didn’t pick up the phone. Which was fine until she used it on him to make him feel guilty for not being there long enough. Often enough.

“How did Sophia’s dentist appointment go? Everything fine?”

“Braces. Pricey. About what you’d expect.”

“I expect people are spending way too much money trying to look prettier, younger and thinner these days.” Her words pitched stronger in argument. Surprise, surprise. “The way young girls slather on makeup and wear high heels. It’s not right. None of it.” Her voice accelerated as she climbed on an old but favorite soapbox. “Sophie’s teeth are fine. They do the job, don’t they?”

The girls raced in at that moment, and Cam couldn’t be angry that they’d disobeyed his directive to stay in the car. It was getting dark and cold and his simple drop-off had turned into an interrogation. Or lamentation. Either label equated to something long and somewhat depressing.

“Hey, girls. I’m just saying goodbye to Grandma.”

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Hi, Gram!”

Evelyn laid an exaggerated hand against her forehead. “Girls, girls. So loud.”

“I’ll take them home. Get them fed. That will quiet them down. Kind of like feeding time at the zoo.” Cam sent a teasing grin to the girls and they lit up in return.

“They’ve had no supper?”

Accusation laced Evelyn’s words and Cam counted to ten—no wait, five. He wouldn’t be sticking around long enough to make it to ten. “Girls. Let’s go.”

“Dad, did you tell Grandma about the pretty lady’s house?”

“No.”

“What lady?” His mother’s voice scaled up.

Great.

“Meredith.” Rachel announced the name like they were new best friends.

“Rachel.” Cam crossed his arms and met her gaze, unblinking.

“She said I could call her that,” the little blonde insisted.

Innocence painted her features, but Cam recognized the belligerent heart behind the facade. “And what did I tell you?”

Rachel sighed, overdone. “To call her Miss Brennan.”

“You were with Meredith Brennan?”

“Doing an estimate. Yes.”

“Instead of bringing my pills?”

He fully intended to wring Rachel’s neck for plunging him into the heart of a discussion he’d be okay with having…never. “She needed an estimate and I was on that side of town.”

“Why did she call you?” Evelyn emphasized the pronoun in a way that suggested any old woodworker would do.

Because I’m the best around, was what he longed to say, but his mother wouldn’t get that. Evelyn Calhoun went beyond frugal and bordered on neurotic when it came to spending money. That someone would pay higher costs for Cam’s expertise didn’t sit right with her. But she sat more upright hearing Meredith’s name, and the self-righteous jut of her chin didn’t bode well for anyone.

“Are you seeing her?”

“What? No. It’s a job, Mom.”

“Why you? Why now? She’s been back for months.”

Cam grasped each little girl’s hand in one of his own, determined to bring the conversation to an end. “Gotta get these guys home. Call if you need anything.”

She rose, following them out, looking considerably stronger than she’d implied moments before. “We’ve been down this road before, Cameron. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

She’d used that quote all his life. Among others, most of them as negative and ominous as the one she’d just spewed. And while Cam read the common sense in the message, he refused to be a doom-and-gloom person, and that set them at odds more often than not.

“You’d take a chance like that again, Cameron? After what she did to you?”

He wouldn’t spar where the girls could hear. It was difficult enough to minimize his mother’s negative effect on them and still be a helpful son, a tightrope he walked daily.

You hate it, his inner self scoffed. Stand your ground, have your say and be done with it. Mark and Julia have no problem doing just that.

That was part of the problem. His siblings had distance on their side. Cam lived a few miles away on a twelve-acre parcel he’d bought a couple of years back. Room for the girls to run. Climb. Ride. Practice their sports.

Still, he wouldn’t argue with his mother in front of impressionable children. Reaching the door, they raced to the car. Sophie edged Rachel by using a well-placed shoulder, a great move in soccer. Not so much on little sisters at the end of a long day.

Rachel’s cries split the night. Cam followed them, wondering which fire to douse first. His mother’s intrinsic negativity, his daughter’s screams of indignation, Sophie’s heavy-handedness or…

His mind flashed back to the vision of Sophie in Meredith’s turret room. Bowing. Curtsying. Sashaying around as if wearing a fancy ball gown.

His girls cared nothing for that sort of thing. Never had, never would. A pair of little jocks, just like their mother.

He grabbed up Rachel, hugged her, tucked her into her booster seat and secured her seat belt. He’d throw a frozen pizza into the oven and “nuke” green beans, the only vegetable both girls liked.

Then baths. Story. Bed.

Only then could he ponder the price tag for Sophie’s dental work. Work that would be essentially complete in two-and-a-half years, just about the time Rachel would need to start.

He refused to sigh. Or whine. Or beat his head against a wall. For the moment, anyway.

As he backed onto the two-lane country road, visions of the gracious Victorian swam into focus. Corner brackets. Framed ceiling lights. Muraled upper walls. Built-ins everywhere, a sign of a well-done Queen Anne. Shelves, closets, cabinets, pantry cupboards. This grand old lady had them all and he’d always longed for a chance to work on her, but not with Meredith Brennan.

Never with Meredith Brennan.

Chapter Three

“Tell me again why you can’t do this, Matt.” Meredith gazed up at her newly married half brother late Friday. She encompassed the entire mansion in a wave of her hand. “You said yourself the building’s in decent shape, that it just needs a little sprucing up to be spa-ready.”

Matt slanted her a no-nonsense look. “My exact words were ‘it needs a doll-up and major revisions on utilities to bear the load of spa equipment.’”

“So…”

He stood his ground, solid. Determined. “Cam’s your man. He’s an expert at classic home refurbishing, he’s approved by the Landmark Society, he’s experienced and he’s the best around. You saw what he did with the Kinsler estate.”

She had, but… “I—”

“Mere.” Matt grasped her shoulders with two firm hands. Sympathy met her gaze, but behind the kindness lay straight-up honesty. “I’d do it if I could. But Phase One of Cobbled Creek is almost completely sold and I’ve got Phase Two ready to go. It’s March and we’re moving into prime building season. And since my father-in-law is my partner—” his eyes twinkled into hers “—you don’t mess with time frames that cost the business money.”

“Money’s not a problem,” Meredith told him. Her bequest from her late grandfather had secured the sprawling Victorian. The just-upgraded loan from her grandmother would cover the remodeling. And hopefully a partnership with her old friend Heather Madigan would provide the necessary customer base, crucial to developing a new business.

“Not your money,” Matt explained. “Mine. Outdoor construction time is finite here.” Matt jerked his head south where the shaded foothills of the Allegheny Mountains rolled in splotched gray and white, stick trees poking up, bereft and dark, the late-winter look unappealing. “With the first section of the subdivision nearly complete, I’m already digging basements for the next group.” He pressed her shoulders with gentle affection. “Stick with Cam. Unless you’re too afraid.”

Afraid? Her? Of Cam Calhoun? As if.

Meredith shrugged Matt off. “I’m not afraid of anything. I’d just rather not open up a box that’s best left shut.”

“It’s business, kid.” Matt’s military training kept him on the upside of common sense. “And speaking from experience, we can’t afford to let old wounds adversely affect business relationships in a town this size. We make amends and move on.” He jerked a shoulder toward the rambling house. “With two kids to take care of, Cam could use the work and you need someone good enough to create what you envision here. I’m a construction guy. Not a fine carpenter.”

His words tipped the balance. Meredith knew what she wanted, she’d envisioned the finished product that would allow beautiful but affordable spa luxuries to the men and women of Allegany County. The recent upsurge in employment and business made this move timely. Grandpa’s money made it affordable.

But why Cam? Of all the craftsmen in all the world…

Reality smacked her. Wellsville and Jamison weren’t that big. And fine carpenters weren’t common in large metropolises. Here?

The local towns were blessed to have a craftsman of Cam’s caliber available. She huffed a sigh, folded her arms and dropped her chin. “Okay.”

Matt laughed, gave her a brotherly chuck on the arm and headed toward his truck. “Gotta head out. Callie’s got a doctor’s appointment in thirty minutes.”

“Aha.”

He met her up-thrust brows with a wink. “It’s too early for big announcements, but prayers are appreciated.”

“Oh, Matt.” Meredith hugged him before he climbed into the truck. “I’m so happy for you. And a baby…”

“Not gettin’ any younger,” Matt told her, “so we decided not to wait.”

“When?”

“Thanksgiving if all goes well.”

“Perfect.”

Matt’s crooked grin showed his full agreement. “’Bout as close to that as you can get on Earth, sis.”

He drove off, leaving her to contemplate her current predicament. Was she stupid to have invested in this old place? Or was she savvy to have recognized the amazing potential?

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

Sage words. Sound advice she wished she’d embodied a few years ago before losing her heart to a man who led two lives, a man like her trouble-making illicit father. If she’d heeded her mother’s wisdom back then, she’d have averted a lot of unnecessary drama.

A stupid mistake, one she would never repeat and would rather forget. She hoped coming home to Allegany County allowed just that.

* * *

Some days Cam hated that the cemetery stood half a mile east of their home. Others, like today, he welcomed the proximity. Once the girls awoke, his hours would race from one task to another, a typical Saturday in the life of a single parent. And then he’d play catch-up on Sunday, taking care of menial tasks left undone during the busy week before starting all over again Monday morning. But he refused to dwell on the negatives. His beautiful girls made the time, the work and the sacrifice worthwhile.

Cam would have said the chill morning fog painted the trek from the gravel-stone path to the gray stone marker in monochromes, if he was prone to drama.

He wasn’t.

But the sigh in his heart softened his jaw as the etched words became more legible with each step.

Kristine DeRose Calhoun

Beloved wife, mother and daughter

The stark reality of the carved letters sucker-punched him every time. The all-consuming ache he’d felt those first weeks and months had dulled to an old sore, but he couldn’t come to the graveyard to pay respects without remembering Kristy there, on their old couch, gone forever.

Irreparable harm. That’s what he’d done. Not like he’d gone to bed expecting her to die, but he’d gone to bed cranky and bad-tempered, as if her time, her work with the girls, her tasks were less important than his. Sometimes that hurt more than her death, that he’d minimized her worth in sharp words that last night.

He laid the single red rose on the grave, a tribute to an old promise, when Kristy had scoffed at the idea of money wasted on twelve flowers, destined to be tossed away within days. “One flower,” she’d told him, smiling, trailing her hand along his scruffy cheek. “Just one, now and again. To show me you care.”

He had cared. Did care. As he stared at the single flush of color against dull grays of the early-spring graveyard, he wished he had a chance, one more chance to say he was sorry.

So sorry.

But he’d blown that, too, so he leaned down, laid his hand against the cold, smooth stone, and prayed the prayer that remained unanswered, a prayer for forgiveness.

The hard, flat surface yielded nothing, but he was used to that. He straightened and tipped the visor of his faded baseball cap, but didn’t wink like he used to when she was alive.

Because she wasn’t.

* * *

“Meredith!”

Meredith turned from the display of nineteenth-century-styled tinware and laughed as Rachel Calhoun raced around two tables of carved wooden bowls to tackle into her on Saturday morning. “Hey, Rach. How’s it going?”

“Rachel. Walk,” Cam said.

“Sorry, Dad. Meredith’s here!”

“I see that.”

Cam’s tone said she ranked pretty much last on the list of people he hoped to run into this cold, rainy Saturday, but she’d figured that out the other day. Meredith looked around, searching, then raised a brow of question to the little girl wrapped around her legs. “Where’s Sophie?”

“Indoor soccer practice,” Rachel explained. “I already had mine.”

“Which explains the cool athletic look you’re sporting,” Meredith noted. Rachel’s face brightened and she turned this way and that, peering over her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to see the number on her jersey. “I’m number seven, see?”

“It’s a great number.”

“Sophie’s number seven, too.”

“A little odd, but still wonderful,” Meredith said.

“It was my Mommy’s number in high school,” Rachel continued. “We asked the coaches if we could both use it ’cause we’re on different teams.”

“A marvelous family tradition.” Meredith stooped low and met the little girl’s frank gaze. “Your mommy must be very proud to have two beautiful athletic daughters following in her footsteps.”

“She’s dead.”

Silence yawned. Meredith swallowed hard, saw the stark honesty in the little girl’s expression, and looked up to Cam for confirmation. The look of loss in his light eyes offered affirmation. Meredith gave Rachel a quick hug. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know that.”

Rachel mused, then nodded. “You’re new. And she died when I was really small. Daddy remembers. So does Sophie. And I kind of do. A little.”

Meredith looked into this miniature version of Cam’s blue eyes and read the wistfulness there, a pensiveness that suggested she didn’t really remember but longed to.

Meredith’s heart opened wide, along with her arms. She hugged Rachel, then rocked back on her heels. “So. Are you good?” she asked, nodding at the light blue soccer uniform.

Rachel beamed. “Yes. Very.”

“I’m not a bit surprised.” Meredith laughed and stood, then grimaced as her knees unlocked.

“Are you all right?”

Cam’s voice actually sounded concerned, but that was because Cam Calhoun was one of the world’s nicest guys. “Fine. My knees do not like that position, though, and they remind me that I’m not twenty anymore. Or seven.” She smiled down at the little girl, then redirected her attention to Cam. “I assume since I haven’t heard from you that you’re going to pass on my project?”

“No.” He frowned slightly, as though her assumption surprised him, but then why hadn’t he called? Gotten back to her? It had been…

“It’s only been two days,” he reminded her. “And I need to get a better look at the upstairs measurements to do a full write-up, but as long as you’re not in a huge hurry for the work to be complete—”

Meredith didn’t clamp her guilty look in time.

Cam sighed and maintained eye contact using that assessing expression he seemed to have perfected. Patient with a hint of long-suffering that said more than words ever could. “What time frame were you expecting, Meredith?”

She flinched and admitted, “Six weeks.”

“Twelve,” he countered in a flat voice. “And that’s pushing it. It’s March. We’d be looking at a July finishing date.”

“You’re serious?”

“Always.”

She smiled, his one-word answer reminding her that he was generally serious. And sincere. And heart-wrenching handsome, with or without his glasses on. And a widower.

She hadn’t counted on that last fact. And while it shouldn’t make a difference, she’d taken stoic comfort in his married state these past two days when old memories ran like creek water on a summer’s day. But now twelve weeks of working together to get Stillwaters into shape?

“What will take so long?” His look of impatience made her rephrase the sentence. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I meant what aspects of the job push it to twelve weeks? The new plumbing? Electric upgrades?”

“My job.”

She frowned, not understanding.

Cam tipped his head. A tiny wrinkle between his brows begged to be smoothed away.

Meredith ignored the plea.

“I’m a teacher.”

Well, that explained those practiced classroom looks. The steady gaze, the heightened expectations. “A teacher? Really?”

“Is it that surprising, Mere? It’s been fourteen years.”

Oh, she knew that. She’d spent those fourteen years working, training, finessing and climbing her way up the ladder of spa success only to crash when the spa owner’s daughter decided her four-year business degree from a third-tier school bested fourteen years of hard-earned experience. Jude Anne Geisler played the trump card well, offering to let the world know that Meredith had been running around with Sylvia Sinclair Bellwater’s husband.

By that point it didn’t matter that Meredith had been duped by the successful businessman and his clever alias. Her fault, she knew. She squelched an urge to get even because the man she knew as Chas Bell had a wife and three kids who would be hurt if those allegations became public. Sylvia Bellwater didn’t need to go through what Meredith’s mother had endured. Not at her hands, anyway.

And she knew Chas would eventually be found out. Scum had a way of rising to the surface.

But it wouldn’t be because of her, so she sidestepped the drama while the resort owner’s daughter stepped into the management position Meredith had primed herself for the past five years.

Nepotism and her own stupidity put her out of the job she’d worked for, and brought her back home to Wellsville and Jamison. She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I didn’t know.”

“So I’m working full-time until the end of June. I’ve got two busy little girls.” He chucked Rachel under the chin. She grinned up at him, the wide smile flashing love and devotion between father and daughter. The exchanged look drew Meredith back in time, to another little girl, gazing at her dad in adoration. Only that little girl had been sadly misled. This one wouldn’t be.

“And outdoor soccer season is starting.”

“And they both play, which puts you in a time crunch.” Meredith tipped her smile down. Rachel grinned up at her with Cam’s eyes. Cam’s face. Cam’s light hair.

“Yes. I generally only take on big projects in the summer, so you’re timing isn’t good—”

She frowned, disappointed.

“And pouting will get you nowhere.”

“That wasn’t pouting. It was frowning. Huge difference.”

Her quick retort made him smile, and the minute he did, fourteen years melted away in a flash of warmth. “Let’s go with slight difference. More accurate. So if you’re still interested…”

“In getting the work done,” she interjected, then sent him an innocent smile.

“Exactly.” His expression said nothing else was on the table, so that was good, right? “I can come by later today, finish measuring and give you an estimate. Then you can decide.”

“I’ve already decided,” she told him. When he looked surprised and a little discomfited, she went on, “I checked out your references from Matt, viewed the Kinsler place at length, and worked out an arrangement with Grandma for the loan. We’re good.”

“You’re giving me carte blanche without an estimate? That’s not good business.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She faced him square. “I’m cutting a deal with a skilled craftsman who is known throughout the town as fair, conscientious and amazing.”

His eyes sparked at the word amazing and if she was interested at all, she’d have thought she noted a glimmer of something not exactly business-related in his expression.

If you were interested? Are you kidding me? Did you not see that look, that flash of light in his eyes? Come on, girl, get back in the game.

“Cameron.”

A cross-sounding voice interrupted their conversation. Rachel stepped closer to her father, and Meredith wished she could mimic the little girl’s wrinkle of displeasure, but grown-ups were required to maintain a game face in public. Right now Meredith considered it a really stupid rule.

“Mrs. Dennehy. How are you?” Cam kept his tone easy while Meredith considered ways to put the meddlesome old woman in her place. Claire Dennehy had sharpened her tongue at the Brennan family’s expense for a long time. Of course, Meredith’s father had given the town plenty of reason to gossip. Gambling, drug addiction, womanizing and illegitimate children made for great backyard fodder, but Claire and Cam’s mother had gone above and beyond in their condemnations, which meant Meredith’s teenage relationship with Cam put both women in a tongue-wagging tizzy.

The fact that they ran into each other here, in John Dennehy’s old-fashioned mercantile, gave Claire a new opportunity to scold, but if Meredith was going to make it in this town, she needed to toughen up. And Rachel didn’t need to hear the old woman’s caustic drivel. “Rachel, would you like to look at some wallpaper samples with me?”

“Wallpaper?” Rachel wrinkled her nose, puzzled.

Cam snorted.

Meredith ignored his noise and headed toward the door. “If it’s all right with you, we’ll head a little west on Main Street and see what Mr. Schiffler’s got in Victorian prints.”

Cam sent her a grateful look that said he recognized her ploy to move Rachel out of earshot, but the arched brow said they’d be discussing the wallpaper idea.

His amused look of challenge made her look forward to the discussion, a fact she’d examine later. Right now her big goal was removing seven-year-old hearing from the reach of a cranky old woman.

* * *

“I went to see your mother last night.” Claire threw down the comment like a dueling glove, then waited for Cam to retrieve it.

He refused the challenge and kept his peace. “I appreciate that. She gets lonely.”

“She’d be less lonely if certain people spent more time with her.”

“Or if she went places,” Cam returned mildly. “Did you happen to take her any black licorice?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll get some now.” His mother loved black licorice. And black jelly beans. Anise cookies. She enjoyed the biting flavor of the spiced treats.

“She didn’t look good.”

Cam pointed to the display case. “I’ll take a pound of the black jelly beans and the same of the black licorice whips.”

“Her color’s bad.”

His mother’s color would improve if she got outside more often and exercised her cheeks by smiling now and again. Neither option was likely.

“And she had a coughing spell something fierce when I was there. That will be nine-thirty-nine.”

Cam handed her a ten-dollar bill, smiled his thanks, and accepted the small bag and the change she handed him. “Have a nice day, now.”

He felt her stewing as he walked out the door, miffed because he refused to jump into a discussion about his mother. Their relationship, as strange as it was, was their business.

Not Claire’s.

He shoved his shoulders back consciously, as if listening to Claire’s negativity bowed him down. It didn’t, but it could, and Cam refused to let that happen. Thank heavens Meredith had been there to sweep Rachel out the door. Rachel was too quick for her own good, and listening to ill-tempered diatribes wasn’t in her best interest. Especially when she was adept at repeating things at the worst possible moments.

He paused, scraped a hand to his jeans, and eyed Schiffler’s door.

He’d just thanked God for Meredith Brennan. What in the world was he thinking?

Obviously an anomaly he wasn’t about to repeat. He entered the store just in time to hear Rachel exclaim, “I love this one, Meredith!”

Excitement highlighted Rachel’s delight as twin grins looked his way, a glimpse of shared femininity. Warmth flowed through him, seeing Rachel perched on a tall stool alongside Meredith. The little girl’s fair curls matched the soft highlights in Meredith’s hair, and for one brief flash of time they looked like they belonged together.

Except they didn’t.

Rachel waved him over. “Dad, you have got to see this.”

“Whaddya got, kid?”

“Look.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the fussy border done in shades of pink and white. The wide strip showcased delicate teacups, doilies and china teapots in mixed floral designs. Gold-rimmed plates lined the back of the paper shelf and a vase of pink roses enhanced the effect of the floral-trimmed china. The whole thing was Victorian-friendly, ultrafeminine and way too pink. “Whoa. Girly. Where are the soccer balls? Baseball gloves. You don’t really like this, do you?”

Meredith’s gaze cooled like hot maple syrup on fresh snow, but Cam kept his eyes on Rachel. She made a pretty fair imitation of his frown and shook her head. “Way too prissy. Please.”

“Well, I like it,” Meredith announced. “It would be beautiful in a girl’s room over a pink-sprigged floral print with white upper walls.”

Cam pretended to gag. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not in the least.” She sent Rachel a soft smile. “There’s nothing wrong with being a tomboy who enjoys pretty things.”

Meredith’s words reinspired Rachel’s sparkle. Cam thought of her bedroom at home. He’d painted it ivory when they moved into the old place a couple of years ago. Work and parenting had kept him from making the changes he’d envisioned when he bought the small farm, but the girls didn’t seem to care. Life kept them plenty busy. Who had time to notice things like room color? Wallpaper? Please.

Rachel’s profile said otherwise, reason enough right there to limit her time with Meredith. He’d worked hard to raise the girls to be strong and independent. Assertive and athletic. All too soon maturing hormones would thrust them into a new world of girliness, but Cam refused to rush that process. His motto: All A’s, No B’s. Athletics and academics, no boys allowed. At least until the girls were thirty or so. Then they’d talk.

“Gotta go get your sister, kid.”

“Okay.” Rachel nodded and smiled, but Cam noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes, eyes that drifted back to the feminine border.

He ignored the longing look and faced Meredith. “This afternoon good for you? Around two?”

“Fine.” She didn’t smile at him, but squatted low to share a smile with his daughter. “Thanks for the advice. I like the way you see colors.”

Rachel’s warm expression said the words meant more than just a casual compliment. “Thank you. I liked working with you.”

“Then we’ll have to do it again,” Meredith promised. “Since your dad and I will be working together, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

She stood and Cam noticed the same wince he’d witnessed in the mercantile, as if her knees didn’t care to cooperate. He had a couple of joints like that, but the fact that Meredith didn’t acknowledge it this time scored extra points in his book. Not that he was keeping score. And the cool look she sent him said she wouldn’t care if he was keeping score because he’d gone into the minus column for not jumping on the teacup-and-flower bandwagon.

Oh, well.

Raising girls in a world rife with sensuality and innuendo was difficult enough for a man alone. Feeding into girly mumbo jumbo didn’t make sense to him, especially for two gifted competitors like Sophie and Rachel. No, he’d stick to the familiar basics. Home. Work. Family. And sports channels on cable.

He jerked his head toward the mélange of wall-covering books in front of Meredith. “We’ll discuss this—” he made a face to underscore his negative opinion of wallpaper

“—later, okay?”

“Which ones to use? Perfect.” She sent him a pert smile, a quick flash of teeth that said she’d go toe to toe with him. A long time ago, he’d have enjoyed that prospect. Now?

Not so much.

Meredith called her sister-in-law Callie once Cam left the store. When Callie answered with a quick hello, Meredith waded in. “Explain to me again why men are necessary?”

“Propagation of the species?”

“Modern technology could argue otherwise.”

“Because they’re better at digging up septic tanks and killing spiders?”

“There are machines for the first, and I can squash a spider with barely a grimace.”

“Because they smell good on Sunday morning?”

Meredith had been close enough to Cam to know he smelled good on Saturday mornings, too. Very good, in fact, a hint of savory and spice. She hauled in a breath and asked for the third time that week, “Refresh me on why you and Matt are too busy to fix up this old house for me.”

“Cam can’t do it?” Callie asked. Meredith’s moment of silence offered answer enough. “Oh, I see. Cam can do it and you’re running scared.”

“Annoyed possibly. Not scared.”

“And he hasn’t had an easy time since losing his wife,” Callie continued.

“A fact everyone left out of the equation,” Meredith muttered. “Why didn’t someone tell me he was a widower? With kids?”

Callie hesitated.

Meredith read the conversational gap and sighed. “All right, I get it. I’m not exactly approachable about the past, all the teen drama.”

“Those were rough times for you and your family.” Callie’s voice held assurance and affection. “I saw that in Matt. I see it in you and Jeff. When parents mess you over big time, it’s an adjustment that can take a long time to fix.”

Meredith didn’t want or need fixing. She was hardworking and industrious, with great shoes and hair. Although her nails could use some work, she noted, looking down. And when did looking good become a crime?

“Mere, we’d do it if we could.” Callie’s tone softened and Meredith felt like a first-class jerk for playing the guilt card. “You know that.”

Meredith did know that, but changing family dynamics fast-forwarded her into a new reality. Callie and Matt were expecting a baby and Matt was in the process of adopting Callie’s son, Jake, an eight-year-old sweetheart.

Meredith’s older brother Jeff had gotten married on New Year’s Eve, and if Hannah’s recent pale features were any indication, Meredith figured she’d have two new family members before year’s end. Two bundles of joy to feed and rock. Anticipation mixed with envy. There was a time she’d thought of her future in those terms. Home. Family. Cute husband. Children.

An incoming text interrupted her pity party. She saw three words and Cam’s number, and smiled in spite of herself while Callie was left hanging.

Pink teapots? Really?

The shared joke jerked her out of her self-imposed funk. “I’ll talk to you later, Callie. And give Jake a hug for me.”

“Will do.”

Meredith saved Cam’s text, put the phone away and closed the wallpaper books. Once outside, she drew a breath as frigid March winds swirled dust devils of stinging snow mixed with rain beneath her coat. Warmth came late in the foothills. She’d grown accustomed to softer springs in Maryland. Early buds, cherry blossoms, spring bulbs burgeoning forth. That wouldn’t happen for a while in the Southern Tier of New York, but lamenting the weather didn’t make the short list. Weather was what it was.

Great hair? Meredith walked by the old-time mercantile, shoulders back and head high, just in case Claire Dennehy was watching.

Great hair was priceless.

Chapter Four

“I can’t find Sally.”

“What?” Cam set aside the wood specs he’d been configuring, closed the laptop and slipped it into the cushioned bag that afternoon.

“Sally, the kitten. She’s gone.”

“You named that last kitten? Even though she’s not staying?”

“Well, she still needs a name,” Rachel interjected practically as she burrowed into her coat like a pup chasing its tail. “All little kitties need names, Daddy.”

Sophie followed them to the car, her reluctance to leave slowing her step, shading her gaze.

“The mom will find her, honey. They always do.”

Sophie looked up at him, pensive, then shifted a troubled look to the barn. “Are you sure? She’s awfully small. And the other two are right there with their mom, eating.”

“I’m sure.”

“Daddy, can we play dress-up at Meredith’s?” Rachel’s concern was more readily appeased than Sophie’s. Today was no exception.

“You mean Miss Brennan’s?”

“She doesn’t care. Really.” Rachel gave that notion a dismissive wave and grasped his hand. “I think she likes us, Daddy. And it would be fun to dress up in old-fashioned clothes in her house.”

“Of course she likes you,” Cam told her. He ruffled her hair as she climbed into the car, then winked at Sophie on the other side. “You’re the best girls ever. But we don’t have any old-fashioned stuff.”

“I know.” Rachel frowned, attempting to reason this out. “We could get some. I wonder where you buy them?”

Cam didn’t have a clue. “I don’t think you do. I think people, like…leave them to you.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like old people in your family.”

“Like Grandma?”

The unlikelihood of that came through Rachel’s tone and showed on her face.

“Not everybody keeps that kind of stuff,” Cam explained.

“Well, they wear old-fashioned things in the parade every year,” Sophie offered as she buckled her shoulder belt. “Somebody must know where to get them.”

“Do we care that much?” Cam settled his laptop bag on the front passenger seat and met the girls’ gazes through the rear-view mirror once he’d taken his seat. “Because I can check it out if we do.”

Sophie looked tempted but stayed quiet. Rachel nodded as she clipped her seat belt. “Yeah. It would be great. And I think Meredith would like it. She likes having us around.”

Good thing, thought Cam, since we’re going to be underfoot the next few months. He double-checked his tool list, then started the engine. “But remember, this is a job. You need to be good while I’m working or I have to find a sitter for you.”

He didn’t miss their exchanged glances. “Not Grandma, right?” Sophie made a face that inspired Rachel’s giggle.

Grandma didn’t make Cam’s short list of options, either, but he wasn’t a fan of disrespect. “Your grandmother loves you. She’s just got her own way of doing things.”

“Yeah. Mean.”

“Rachel.”

“Sor-ry.”

She stretched out the word as if underscoring her sincerity, but Cam knew better. Rachel called things as she saw them, but he didn’t want to raise mouthy kids. “You guys have your books?”

Sophie patted her backpack.

Rachel looked guilty.

Cam held up three books about an irascible kindergartner whose antics charmed kids of all ages and handed them over the seat. “Luckily, one of us was paying attention.”

She grinned. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ve got snacks packed, but don’t mess up Miss Brennan’s house, okay? Or leave food crumbs around for the mice.”

“Real mice?”

“Or rats?” Sophie wondered, intrigued. “Will you pay us if we catch one?”

Cam hesitated, then nodded, unsure how Meredith would handle that idea. Rodents were a fact of life in the country and he paid the girls fifty cents for every mouse they caught, inside and outside. He paid a dollar for rats, but they’d only bagged two of those over the past few years, thanks to Dora, their white-backed calico cat. Dora hunted regularly, as evidenced by the furry gifts she left on their side porch.

She’d had three kittens a few weeks back, two of which were promised to friends.

Kristy had loved kittens. Cats hadn’t been allowed in their apartment, but he’d promised they’d get one once they had their own place. She didn’t live long enough for that promise to become reality.

His fault.

Guilt festered, an angry wound in need of cleansing. But there was little to do for a wounded man who left his wife to die on the couch.

Pneumonia, the doctor said.

Five years later, Cam still felt a slap of disbelief that people died from pneumonia in this day and age, especially young women like his wife. But he should have known because he knew her lungs had been compromised as a child. He’d watched her use an atomizer for exercise-induced asthma. Problems in her first year had taken her to the hospital several times with infant pneumonia. What he hadn’t known was that the effects of those early problems could prove dangerous to the twenty-seven-year-old woman that shared his love, his life, his bed.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

He flicked a glance toward Rachel, erased his concerns and shrugged. “Nothing, honey. I’m just pondering how to do things at Miss Brennan’s.”

“Oh.” Rachel nodded, accepting, then sighed. “I love her hair. Don’t you, Sophie?”

Sophie darted a glance between Rachel and her father. Cam caught the tail end of the surreptitious look while paused at a stop light. “It’s all right,” she answered, purposely nonchalant.

“It’s gorgeous.” Rachel laced her observation with full drawn-out emotion. “I want hair like that when I get bigger.”

“I don’t.”

Rachel eyed her sister and shrugged. “Well, you couldn’t have it anyway. You’ve got dark hair. And it’s straight. I’ve got curls like Meredith.”

Cam cringed. The girls barely knew Meredith and already they were arguing about hair. What was next? Nails? Makeup? Boyfriends? “God made you different because you are different, Rach. That doesn’t make curls better than straight or vice versa.”

“Vice-a-whatta?”

“It doesn’t matter what your hair looks like,” he pressed.

Sophie’s eye roll said otherwise.

Rachel just laughed. “Of course it does. It’s hair. It’s supposed to look nice. Don’t you like the way Meredith’s hair looks, Daddy? All shiny and soft?”

Do not go there.

“How we act is more important,” Cam explained, feeling defensive and out of the loop, “than how we look outside.”

Sophie stayed quiet, staring out the window, then leaned forward. “You get your hair cut all the time, Daddy.”

“Yes.” He drew the word out, wondering. “I have to look decent to teach.”

“What if we want to look nice, too?”

Where Rachel finagled, Sophie calmly reasoned. Her words stabbed Cam. Could they possibly think they didn’t look nice? They were beautiful, lovely, adorable girls. They didn’t need artificial enhancements to make that more noticeable. He paused at a stop sign and met Sophie’s honest look.

“You always look nice, honey.”

She stayed silent, their gazes locked. Cam glimpsed a hint of the woman she was to become when she sat back and resumed gazing out the window, her face and posture quietly shutting him out.

He’d blown it, big time, but he had no idea why. Or how. Or why hair mattered to a pair of little girls who should be more interested in crushing opponents on a soccer field than playing with dolls.

As he turned into Meredith’s driveway, his mother’s warning resurfaced. He’d worked hard to raise grounded, gracious girls. Two days after meeting Meredith, he felt like Commander Queeg, murmurs of mutiny surfacing around him.

He parked near the side door and started to unload his gear. For the next few months he’d be here in whatever spare time he could muster. But the girls…

His precious girls.

He’d worked hard to direct them to things of import. If being around Meredith elevated looks and fashion higher than they should be, he’d seek another option. Yes, he needed the money this job would bring. He’d called the orthodontist’s office and set up Sophie’s first appointment to get the ball rolling.

But no amount of money could coerce him to risk his daughters’ emotional well-being. He’d recognized that early on, and refused to leave them with his mother more than occasionally for that very reason. Her negativity could quash their ingenuity, and he wouldn’t have that.

But he wasn’t about to go the other way, either, and have them turn into prima donnas, more concerned with appearance than content.

As the girls rushed the side door with their book bags in hand, Cam sent a look skyward. If only he’d been more on top of things five years ago, Kristy would be here, taking care of the girls, teaching them soccer drills and playing house with them. But she wasn’t, and there was only one person to blame for that, the husband who’d promised to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health.

He’d blown that big time with his wife. He had no intention of risking a grievous mistake with his daughters.

* * *

The bang of the side door preceded the hurried sound of small, running feet. Meredith grinned in anticipation, rose, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, then put a choke hold on an emotional upsurge when Cam’s cautioning voice followed the rapid footsteps.

“Girls. No running. This is a house, not a soccer field. Meredith?”

“I’m here.” She descended the wide, turning staircase quickly, feeling his upturned gaze, pretty sure the inside temperature had risen indiscriminately with his arrival. Or maybe it was her personal internal temperature, in which case a nice, cold glass of tea should do the trick.

One look into Cam’s sky-blue eyes said tea wouldn’t cut it.

Meredith hid that realization behind a mask of calm, a look she’d perfected while dealing with pretentious spa customers who thought money more valuable than good manners.

She wouldn’t have that problem in Wellsville and Jamison. Here she’d have to deal with the naysayers who thought great haircuts, pedicures and facials were acts of self-indulgence.

Meredith knew better. She’d watched her father ruin his life and his health by poisoning his system with drugs and alcohol.

Taking care of one’s self was a reverent act. God offered one body, one life. Meredith believed that. And while painted nails might not provide world peace, didn’t it make sense to add to the beauty of the world, not detract from it?

Cam would probably laugh at her assertion, but he’d be wrong. Looking nice fed heart and soul, and a good spa should be a peaceful, joyous experience. No matter what her fine carpenter thought of the whole deal. “You wanted to check upstairs?”

“Yes.” He thrust his chin toward the back porch. “I brought my tools along. I’m going to lock them inside the kitchen if that’s all right with you. The back porch locks, but the windows make the tools pretty noticeable, and it’s harder to break in through two rooms.”

“Has that been a problem around here?” Meredith couldn’t imagine it, but…

“Yes,” Cam admitted. “There have been a bunch of things gone missing from people’s cars, garages, porches. Saleable stuff, and my tools would bring a nice price to a thief. And most of them are portable.”

Meredith moved toward the porch. “Let’s bring them inside now, then. That way it’s done when we’re tired later.”

“We’re?”

Okay, she’d had it with that little note in Cam’s voice that doubted her abilities to walk and chew gum at the same time. She pivoted. “If you’ve got something to say, Cameron, say it now. Get it off your chest, and let’s deal with it, because I haven’t spent the last fourteen years working night and day to come back here and have you dismiss my work. First of all—” she waggled a finger while he took a wise half step back “—we were kids, it was a long time ago, and things didn’t work out for a wide spectrum of reasons, so if that’s what’s bothering you, I suggest you drop it. It’s over. Done. Finished. And second…”

She leaned in, narrowed her gaze and wished she’d kept her heels on. Without them he had a distinct height advantage, and that brought her face-to-face with a strong, broad chest. Nevertheless… “Taking care of your body, your skin, your face and your hair isn’t a bad thing. It’s food for the heart and soul, and—” she held up two fingers this time, pressing her point “—statistics prove that while women could generally care less about a man’s aging, a hint of gray, laugh lines, a thickening middle—”

He sucked in a nonexistent gut, but Meredith refused to laugh. They’d have this out here and now if they were going to be able to work together at all. “Men tend to flock toward younger women. So if looking good keeps a man from looking elsewhere, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Decent men don’t look elsewhere, Mere.”

The softness in his voice said he sensed dangerous ground and would tread softly, while his words rang true. But Meredith had been surrounded by financially comfortable men with less than stellar virtue, starting with her father and ending with the man she’d thought she known. Loved. Trusted. Experience had shown her that a fair number of successful men thought nothing of breaking vows. Or lying and schmoozing to get what they wanted.

“While that’s true, there’s still nothing wrong with men or women wanting to take care of the vessel God gave them. Their body.” She stepped back and gave a wave in his general direction. “If looking good isn’t wrong for you, then why is it wrong for me? For women?”

His expression changed. Deepened. For a quick take of breath he looked thoughtful, but then he latched on to one thing of note, arched a brow and sent her a teasing smile. “I look good?”

He looked better than good, but she was not going there. “I meant it as an example.”

“For teaching purposes only?” He moved a step closer, and yes, he did still smell good, making her wonder if he’d reapplied the scent because he knew they’d be seeing each other, or if he managed to smell good all day without reapplication, a thought that made her want to draw closer. Just to see.

She didn’t.

But he did, and it was impossible to miss the glint in those blue eyes, a twinkle that said…

She had no idea what it said, but the sparkle drew her and she had no intention of being drawn to a guy who thought her simply decorative.

She started to turn, but he caught her hand as naturally as he had all those years before. His fingers melded with hers, the skin tough and callused, firm and solid. Pinpricks of awareness clenched her gut. He drew closer, held her gaze and made a face of regret. “I apologize for being a jerk.”

She started to shrug him off, pretending it didn’t matter, but he moved closer and tipped her chin up, a move she remembered well. “It was rude. I can admit I had preconceived notions about all this.” He waved his free hand around the gracious old house. “You’ve set me straight. I promise to keep an open mind. Generally.”

She growled.

He grinned and released her hand, and she was pretty sure a fairly good piece of her heart. But she’d learned the hard way that men were not always what they seemed.

Was that true with Cam?

Probably not, but Meredith wasn’t in a position to take chances. She’d lost her job, and probably a good share of her credibility by believing the wrong guy. She’d smartened up, but couldn’t afford more mistakes.

She’d been fooled once.

Her fault for being naive.

Letting herself get fooled twice?

Not about to happen, and definitely not in her hometown where private moments were a backyard conversation away from being common knowledge.

She led the way to the porch and helped lug Cam’s tools into the kitchen. She’d do whatever it took to guard Cam’s stuff.

She’d do even more to protect her heart.

Chapter Five

You can do this.

Eyeing the short walkway linking her car and Heather’s entry, Meredith wasn’t so sure.

She approached the door of the somewhat worn Federal-style building in Wellsville, noted the Closed Mondays sign, and hesitated.

A part of her wanted to run.

Another fraction longed to turn back the hands of time and fix things, an impossible task made harder by a guilt span of fourteen years. She raised her hand to knock, but a voice hailed her from above. “It’s open, Mere.”

She stepped out from under the overhang and looked up. “Hey, Heather.”

Heather Madigan jerked a thumb. “Come on in. Coffee’s fresh.”

Her voice and easy acceptance made Meredith feel more like a jerk, deservedly. As she let herself in, the door emitted an old, familiar squeak, a welcome whine that reminded customers of where they were.

“Same door,” she noted as Heather hurried into the room. Heather had gained weight, something she’d struggled with all through high school, but the look of cautious question in her face, her eyes, said Mere’s visit was only a little surprising.

Heather waved a hand toward the door and motioned left toward the kitchen. “I could change it, but it was always that way when Mom was running the shop. It reminds me of her.”

“Your mother was a good woman,” Meredith said softly. She faltered, then frowned in apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for her service. Her funeral. It was rude.”

“Everybody gets busy, Mere.” Heather poured two mugs of coffee, grabbed out milk and sugar, then turned. “It’s understandable.”

“It wasn’t that.” Meredith figured if she was going to wipe the slate clean, best to do it now. “I just couldn’t face coming home then. Seeing people. Having them talk.”

Heather settled a look on her that mixed common sense and compassion. “You always cared too much about that. You worried Mama something fierce because she said you’d fall head over heels for the first guy with a good line that came your way because you wanted desperately to be loved.”

The truth in Sandy Madigan’s words must have shown in Meredith’s face because Heather stepped forward. “And that’s what happened, right?”

Meredith hadn’t come here to spill secrets, but Heather’s look of sympathy touched old feelings, rusty from disuse. “Let’s just say your mother’s common sense held true. Like always.” Meredith walked back to the doorway separating the salon room from the small kitchen. “It looks the same.”

Heather frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is.” Meredith turned her way and inhaled. “The same scents, too. Coffee, shampoo, neutralizer.”

Heather laughed. “Brady hated that smell. He complained loud and long about how he smelled it in his shirts. In his food. How he couldn’t even go upstairs to get away from it.”

“So he left.” Meredith set the words out gently. To her surprise, Heather didn’t look all that disturbed.

“He never meant to stay, Mere. I was the one pushing, always. For a ring, then a wedding, then a family. He didn’t want any of it, but I was too young and naive to see that. Or admit it to myself.”

“How’s Rory?”

Heather’s smile broadened. “Amazing. So sweet. So smart. She’ll do more than this someday.” She spread her arms wide, indicating her attached-to-the-salon home. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Meredith pondered that comment, then pulled out a chair. “Can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” Heather supposed, but she pulled out the seat opposite and sat.

Meredith leaned forward and steepled her hands. “I’m starting a business.”

Heather nodded.

“A spa.”

A shadow darkened Heather’s features as realization set in. A spa would go toe to toe with her business. “Where?”

“The Senator’s Mansion.”

“That’s like three minutes from here.”

“Yes.” Meredith nodded, then slipped a proposal out of her bag. She extended it across the table to her old high school friend. “Here’s the layout. The basic plan. Cam’s doing the work for me.” That news didn’t shock Heather, because word spread fast in small towns. Maybe the following question would be a bigger surprise. A good one, Meredith hoped. Prayed. “And I was hoping you’d go into business with me. Be my partner.”

Heather’s eyes shot up. “What?”

Meredith hesitated, with good reason. She’d stomped the dust from her hometown off her feet fourteen years past and hadn’t looked back, not even as much as a Christmas card to her old friend.

Talk about cold. Stupid and unfeeling.

Now she had a chance to right old wrongs. Isn’t that what Matt had intimated? That she needed to make amends where needed? And wasn’t that what Christ instructed the throngs that gathered to hear him speak? To forgive, go forth and sin no more.

Heather was the perfect starting point. “I’ve got a great head for business, for spa procedures, for running a large-scale shop. What I don’t have is customers.”

Her admission softened Heather’s look of surprise. “I’ve got plenty of those.”

“And it would be a good pairing.” Meredith leaned in farther. “You and I always worked well together. We learned at your mother’s feet, we go-fered until we were old enough and pesky enough to do nails. Then hair. And I’ve worked with a lot of stylists over the years, but no one better than Sandra Dee Madigan.”

Heather put her head in her hands, groaned, then grinned. “That name. So funny. But so endearing.”

“She was a great lady.”

“I know. I miss her so much.” Heather glanced around, misty-eyed, then reached for a tissue. “I keep these everywhere,” she confessed. “Women get to talking and then they spill their guts about everything, and we have a cry fest, and go through crazy boxes of tissues.”

Meredith considered that. “That part is different with a spa. People aren’t so close together. There’s more autonomy.”

“Is that good or bad?” Heather wondered.

Meredith made a face. “Until just now I considered it the norm, but you’ve given me reason to rethink part of the layout. Because I think people would miss this.” She nodded toward the closer, tighter spacing of the old-style salon. “And we don’t want that.”

“I don’t have a lot of money, Mere.” Heather faced her, square and honest. “I had to re-mortgage when Brady took off and there’s no leverage to do that again.”

“We’ve got start-up costs from Gram,” Meredith explained. She opened the proposal to page four and pointed. “What you’d be bringing to the table is customers. Familiarity. A base from which to build.”

Heather examined the papers, then sat back. “It’s a lot to consider.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve done things my own way for a long time.”

“And now there’d be two of us running things. And a crew to run.”

“A crew.” Heather’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always thought how fun it would be to run a place.”

“And hard work,” Meredith advised her. “You have to handle all the down stuff, the negative stuff, the backstabbing-girl stuff.”

“Well, that won’t happen, so that’s not a problem,” Heather declared.

“No?” Mere eyed her, amused. She knew better.

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