Dear Trish, someday I want to marry you...

Craig Cadman has proposed to Trish Lowery at least a dozen times. Of course, he started when he was nine and kept at it until her parents moved away when they were both teens. Clearly, she didn’t take him seriously. Because now, after ten years, she’s back...and engaged to someone else. He has to remember that. Just do the job, help her renovate her gram’s Victorian house and keep a professional distance. But Craig can’t forget those old feelings. Is working together just stirring up nostalgia...or is this something more?

“Don’t you go up there again.”

Trish turned so they faced each other only inches apart. “Listen. This is my house, and I plan to check out any and all repairs. How else can I know everything is done correctly?”

Craig held up his iPhone. “Pictures.” They were close enough that he felt her warm breath against his face, caught the scent of perfume. That was something new. She never wore perfume back when they were kids. “I guarantee my work.” He paused, diminishing the space between them so they were nearly nose to nose. “Don’t go up on the roof unless someone’s here. Namely me. You understand?”

“All right, already.” She stepped onto the ground. “When did you get so bossy?”

Trish’s cheeks were bright pink in the cold. Why hadn’t he kissed her when he’d had the chance? Every part of his being had wanted to. Still did. But...

They weren’t kids anymore. She was spoken for, committed to someone else. So was he. There would never be any Trish and Craig together.

Dear Reader,

It’s a sad time for Trish when she returns to Riverbend, New Jersey, after a ten-year absence. She just lost a grandmother who was so special, and now she’s back to collect the house her grandmother left her. She loved this place while growing up, as well as all her childhood friends. And of course Craig, the friend who’d wanted to marry her from the time he was nine.

I raised my family in northern New Jersey in a town similar to Riverbend and spent countless hours completing projects on our hundred-year-old farmhouse. Many of the windows had been painted shut decades before we bought it. Although our home wasn’t as spacious or as attractive as Trish’s inheritance, it did provide me with numerous projects, some of which I could include in her story. I became skilled at plastering, painting and repairing, and I can appreciate why someone wouldn’t want an old house.

I love hearing from readers and can be reached through my website, marionekholm.com, or heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com.

Marion

Forget Me Not

Marion Ekholm

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARION EKHOLM was writing stories and reading them to her friends back in fifth grade, in Plainville, Connecticut. She always wanted to be either a writer or an artist. Neither one seemed like a possibility in her day, when most women became either teachers or secretaries. But she had determination on her side and a mother willing to help with her dreams. She earned her BFA at Rhode Island School of Design and became a lace designer in New York City, met her husband and moved to New Jersey. Years later, she took stock of her life. She had a career, two children, a beautiful home and opportunities to travel extensively—but she’d never written anything other than letters. She began writing for real and eventually became an editor of a newspaper and sold numerous short stories and magazine articles. Thanks to Harlequin Heartwarming, she’s now a novelist. Her third novel, Forget Me Not, follows Just Like Em and An Act of Love. She’s found signing her books and talking to people who’ve read them an absolute delight.

This book is dedicated to Shelley Mosley, my critique partner, mentor and friend. Her encouragement over the years has been a driving force in my career. Thank you.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to the many people who helped me gather all the information for this book.

To my friend Fran Deming, who interviewed volunteer firemen at the Company No. 1 Fire Department in Mahwah, New Jersey. Although both of our husbands had belonged to that organization, I couldn’t remember all of the details. She managed to get answers to all my questions. Even so, my book is fiction, and a few artistic liberties may have been taken.

To my nephew Matt Suess, a fabulous photographer who told me what kind of camera Craig would use.

To Glenda Chagolla for her technical knowledge. I’ve enjoyed working with her at Glendale Community College, where she teaches CAD (computer-aided design) programs.

I learned about scissor lifts and knuckle booms from my son, David, a skilled electrician and handyman who answered any questions relating to DIY work.

Additional thanks go to Harlequin’s Dana Grimaldi, my personal editor, who provided directions for the story.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgements

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“ARE YOU GOING to marry me now that I’m all grown up?”

Trish placed her hand on the door frame and leaned closer to the storm window for a better view of the man on the front porch. Marry him? What on earth was he talking about?

“Do I know you?” There was something familiar about the grin that spread so quickly across his face. His deep blue eyes held an unmistakable twinkle.

“How’ve you been, Trish?” He chuckled. When she still couldn’t make a connection, he added, “You were the best babysitter I ever had.”

Trish sucked in her breath. “Butch?” she yelled. “Butchy Cadman? Look at you! Last time I saw you...”

“I was a good foot shorter.”

Trish pushed open the door, came onto the porch and stood next to him. She looked up and laughed. “Not quite that, but you sure have grown.” He had to be four or five inches taller than her five foot eight. She took a few steps back to get the full view of him while he watched her with equal interest.

“I always told you I’d catch up with you one day,” he said. “Don’t I get a hug for old times?” She held out her arms, and he enfolded her in a bear hug.

She reached up and ruffled his dark wavy hair. “I didn’t recognize you. Little Butchy Cadman.” With a sigh, she stepped out of his embrace, then caught his smirk.

“You blushing?” he asked.

Trish pushed away and tried to look undisturbed, but warmth radiated from her cheeks. “Still planning on marrying me, huh?” She grinned. “You should be over that by now. What’s it been? Ten years?”

“Me? Forget my first love? Never.” He sobered. “I’m really sorry you had to come back under these circumstances. I know how close you were to your grandmother.”

She swallowed and nodded thanks for his sympathy. Gram had left her this house in her will with the hope Trish would move back, keep it in the family and reestablish her roots. That wasn’t likely.

Trish rubbed her arms to fight off the November chill. With only two and a half weeks before Thanksgiving, they couldn’t expect the Indian summer to last much longer. “Okay if we go inside?”

“Sure.”

Trish and her parents used to live here in Riverbend, New Jersey, near Gram. Moving away had been difficult—Trish left a grandmother she adored as well as all her friends while starting her junior year in high school. Her father’s promotion had taken them to Virginia, where he could commute to his new job in Washington, DC. When her grandmother became ill a year ago, Trish moved to New York City so she could be close by. If only she’d relocated earlier. Their time together had been so short.

“So, Butch,” she said once they were in the large vestibule, “are you here on your father’s behalf, or will he stop by later to give me an estimate?”

“Dad died nearly two years ago.”

“Oh.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He nodded. “I took over the business, so I do all the estimating and most of the renovation work. And there’s another thing. I don’t go by Butch anymore. It’s Craig. Now that my dad’s gone, there’s no more confusion.”

“Okay. Craig it is.” She hesitated. The senior Cadman had had a sterling reputation not only for his integrity but also for his superior craftsmanship. Her grandmother had trusted him to do all the repairs on the house, from the plumbing to the electricity. But Craig, being so young...

“Do you need references?”

Trish shook her head. “Of course not. I just remember you tagging along with your dad...”

Craig took in a deep breath. “My father taught me everything he could, and before he died, I earned my contractor’s license. Besides that, I work with an experienced crew who also worked with my father. My mother can supply you with names of people I’ve worked for.” He chucked her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “Always ask, Trish. There are too many people out there who will do a rotten job and take you to the cleaners.”

Her faith restored, Trish waved toward the arched entrance to the living room. “Shall we look at the house?” They stopped at the large staircase. “No one’s lived here since Gram went to a nursing home. Neighbors kept an eye on it, and I’ve been up a few times to check. But I’m afraid there’s damage from the roof leaking when the last hurricane came barreling through.”

“Right. We’ve taken care of a lot of damage from storms this past summer.” Craig removed his heavy blue windbreaker and placed it over the staircase’s carved newel cap.

“I’ll need the roof repaired or replaced. I’d like an estimate on both. While I’m here, I’ll start on the central staircase, sanding it down and refinishing it. I’m hoping to get it back to its beautiful oak finish once that carpet’s removed.”

They walked into the living room, which was still loaded with heavy, outdated furniture. “No damages here. Just some ratty-looking wallpaper I’ll need to remove.”

Craig made notes on his iPad, scrutinizing the fieldstone fireplace as well as taking a quick picture. “When was the last time this was used?”

Trish shrugged. “I remember one Christmas...” She sighed. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I’ll check it out. Don’t want any unwanted fires messing up the repairs.”

When he looked in the direction of the old-fashioned furniture, Trish asked, “Do you know where I can donate all of this?” She swung her hand around, indicating several items in overstuffed maroon velvet. “I have no use for it, and I’d really prefer having the room cleared before I remove the wallpaper and paint.”

“Sure. Several churches in the area have banded together to help people affected by the hurricane. I’ll contact them and have it moved out.”

Trish clasped her hands together in delight. “That will be wonderful.”

“Except...” Craig walked over to the tall mahogany secretary before turning back to her. “Remember this?” His face lit up again with that grin. “We searched all those hidden compartments in here, expecting to find treasures.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “Right before you moved.” Craig’s expression sobered.

Trish glanced at the polished wood and remembered all too well. It was a memory she’d prefer to forget. Her parents had informed her that day they’d be moving, taking her away from all her friends and Butch. Checking Gram’s secretary for its secrets had been the last time they were together.

“Have you gone through any of the secret drawers since you came back?”

“I never did,” she said.

As Trish came to his side, he caressed the dark wood. She grasped the large panel that served as a writing surface, pulled it down and exposed all the various compartments. “You suppose there are any treasures we could have missed?” When she reached for one of the carved containers that fit seamlessly into the background, Craig placed his hand over hers.

“Your grandmother had some wonderful antiques, things you should keep.”

The warmth of his hand brought back more memories, ones she’d thought were long gone. She pulled her hand free and traced the carved surface with an index finger. “Is this valuable? Do you think I could get a good price for it?”

He looked at her as though she’d spit on his shoe. “Sure. Henry’s Antiques is always in the market for family treasures.”

She grabbed his forearm and felt his muscles tense. “Keeping family treasures isn’t a luxury I can afford. As it is, I’ll be using what Gram left me plus everything I have just to get this place ready for sale.”

Craig shook off her hand and turned toward the vestibule. “Let’s see the rest of the place.” He carried a yardstick that he swatted against his hand and occasionally used it to point to different areas.

They took the stairs to the second floor. Several rooms had ugly water stains on the ceilings. Trish opened one of the doors and scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think the bathrooms on this floor need a major renovation.” She had avoided the bathrooms yesterday when she’d arrived, using the smaller powder room on the first floor instead.

Craig stepped onto the linoleum and made a cursory examination. “If you want to get a good price, you’ll need some major modernization here. Bathrooms and kitchens can sell a house.”

“With some major expense,” Trish added as they backed into the hall.

Finally Trish stopped at the door to the attic staircase. “This was my favorite place to play. Remember all the times we stayed here on rainy days and dressed up in old clothes?” Her grandmother had made hot chocolate and provided cookies for Trish and all her friends in the neighborhood. She’d felt wanted and cared for, none of the indifference she found with her own parents. Trish had often wondered why her parents even bothered to have her. Whenever those thoughts invaded her mind, she’d run to her grandmother for all the love and hugs anyone could provide.

“Right. Your grandfather’s top hat and fedora. You still have them?”

“I’m not sure. Most of the things stored here were moved to drier areas, and I haven’t had a chance to check. Oh,” she said once they reached the top stair, “you can see the roof damage.” She pointed to the cracks in the roof where light came in.

Craig walked around, examining different beams, poking with a yardstick in places that looked particularly bad and snapping pictures. “This problem could get worse, especially if we get more rain. We should cover it with a tarp until it can be repaired.”

After checking the two attic windows for any leaks or damage, they went downstairs to the basement. “You’re lucky there’s no water damage down there,” Craig said after a quick tour. “That hurricane ruined more than roofs. Lots of homes were flooded. Fortunately, this place sits on a little rise.”

When they came back upstairs, Craig grabbed his jacket before they headed for the kitchen.

“You mentioned kitchens can sell a house, and most of these appliances are dated.” The country-style kitchen featured a pastel fridge, windowed cabinets, wallpaper with sunflower borders and colorful flower pictures. Canisters in a sunflower motif sat on the counter. She’d bought them for her grandmother. How many times had they taken flour and sugar from them to make cookies? She lifted the coffeepot, an old electric percolator. “Would you like some?”

Craig nodded and settled with his things at the kitchen table.

Trish poured coffee into large mugs and brought them to the table, where Craig continued to make notes. After putting some of her cleaning supplies back under the sink, she joined him. Once he stopped writing, she took a deep breath. “What do you think? Is this going to cost me a fortune?”

“Probably.” He glanced around a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. “This kitchen is pre–World War II. It definitely needs modernization, and you’ll find it well worth any expense. You’ll have a lovely old house to leave your own grandchildren one day.”

“I thought I made myself clear. I want to sell the place.” The words came out softly, forced past the lump in her throat. “I plan to spend my vacation fixing it up so I can get a better price. Should I bother or just let it go as a handyman’s special?”

A disapproving scowl crept across his face. Then his expression went blank, and he looked away.

Trish bit back a sigh. Hadn’t she already suffered enough guilt over her decision to sell? She stood and leaned against the sink, waiting for his verdict.

“It’s a sound structure. If you don’t mind my helping on some of the interior areas, I can have my crew do all the tough stuff.” He sat back and watched her with an intensity she found disturbing. “I was hoping you’d decided to come back and stay.”

“Why?” She laughed and propped her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. When she shook her head, her hair swished along the top of her shoulders. “You may have gotten taller, but you’re still three years my junior, and I have no intention of marrying you. You’ll just have to find another girl.”

“I have.”

All her playfulness vanished, and she stared at him, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You didn’t give me much hope,” Craig added.

“Anyone I know?” Trish asked, regaining her composure.

He sat up and folded his hands on the table, looking at her with way too much satisfaction. “Cyndi Parker.”

“Cyndi Parker! From down the street?”

“Always liked older women.”

“And shorter ones? Unless she’s grown, she has to be...” Trish held her hand out to where she pictured Cyndi might come to.

Craig swatted himself at a halfway point on his chest. “She comes up to about here in her heels.” That grin again. “What about you? You have any romance in your life?”

An image of Harrison came to mind. He was six years older than her twenty-six years, nine years older than Craig. “As a matter of fact, I’m engaged.” Trish pulled out the ring she’d slipped into her pocket for safekeeping while she cleaned and placed it on her left hand. Harrison had given her the diamond only a few days after her grandmother’s funeral, a little after the reading of Gram’s will. Both the inheritance and engagement had come as happy surprises. “My fiancé, Harrison Morris, and I are going to use the money from the sale of the house for a down payment on a new condo.”

Craig acknowledged her remark with a raised eyebrow but didn’t offer a comment. She looked away, remembering her disagreements with Harrison over the house. Even though he’d never seen it, he’d already said he wouldn’t consider moving into an old house in suburban New Jersey. If only Harrison liked traditional architecture instead of the stark lines of steel and glass that he’d shown her in and around New York.

“I’ll get started on this,” Craig said, standing and grasping the iPad, “and get back to you in a day or two.” He pulled on his jacket, bringing their meeting to a close.

With a nod, Trish followed him to the back door that led onto the porch. She grabbed her grandmother’s old camel-colored coat off the hook by the door and slipped into it. “When will you contact someone about the furniture?” They walked the large deck that made a half circle around the house until they reached the front.

“I’ll wait till you call Henry’s about the antiques. He’ll come by and give you an appraisal. That way you won’t give away anything of value.”

“You don’t approve, do you?” Trish asked as they walked to his large white van. Handyman Specialist, LLC, was emblazoned in red on the side along with his phone number and website address. Another website address in blue and a different font, cadsbycadman.com, sat under his name.

“We all have to do what we have to do.” Craig turned to survey the Victorian-style home. “I’ve always liked this house.” His hand on his chin, Craig stood there for several seconds before hitting the side of his van with an open palm. “I’ll get back to you with the estimate. Great seeing you again, Trish.”

Trish walked back to the house, remembering when she’d babysat for the Cadmans. Craig was nine and she was twelve. She loved children and always wished she had brothers and sisters. Starting as a mother’s helper, Trish took over the full duties of a babysitter eventually when both parents had to work. When he no longer needed a sitter, they spent a great deal of time together as friends. Extremely precocious, Craig had skipped a grade. He adored her and insisted she wait till he grew up so they could marry.

He skipped another grade. By the time she was a junior, Craig entered his sophomore year and seemed determined to catch up with her. Although he was shorter than his entire class, he stayed ahead of everyone scholastically. When she had trouble in algebra, he offered to help and their roles switched.

The memory made her smile. Craig turned out to be far beyond his years in more than academics. The day tutoring led to a kiss, her mother walked in and put a stop to any further education. Her father was transferred soon after, and they had to move.

The three-year age difference seemed less important now than it did then. Thinking back to some of the men she’d dated, Trish couldn’t recall their kisses. But Craig stood out.

CHAPTER TWO

CRAIG TRIED TO concentrate on his driving, but thoughts of his meeting with Trish continued to play havoc with his mind. He was over her, wasn’t he? Of course he was. Hadn’t he been dating Cyndi for months? Then why did seeing Trish drag up all those memories and send his hormones into overdrive?

She hadn’t checked those secret drawers in the secretary. If she had... He had to find some way to get back there and remove his note. He’d been so upset when he learned she was moving. No way would he want that note surfacing now.

Craig drove to the back of Moody’s Lumber Company and stopped at the small office. His father had first rented the place from Moody when Craig was an infant, and it had served them well over the years. The Cadmans’ business had grown thanks to his father’s well-known integrity, and Craig was determined to fill his father’s shoes. Not much chance of that with everyone still referring to him as Butchy, Craig Cadman’s kid. Bringing Trish’s house back to its original splendor might be exactly what he had to do to prove he was as good as his father.

When Craig stepped inside the office, his mother was looking over some papers with Maxwell Moody, the owner of the lumber company. Craig’s little brother, Noah, was sitting in her lap.

“How did it go, Butch?” she asked. “Trish give you the job?” Besides being a wife and mother, Rachel Cadman had served as secretary and journeyman to his father over the years. In many ways she’d provided the stability that kept the business from faltering when her husband became ill and died. Rachel also worked for Maxwell, who provided the crew that assisted Craig in his repairs. He looked up as Craig advanced. They acknowledged each other with a nod.

“Butchy,” Noah shouted. A moment later, he came around the desk and propelled himself into Craig’s arms.

Craig attempted to balance himself while the boy squirmed. “Noah. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” The boy placed a stranglehold around Craig’s neck.

“Teachers’ meetings.” Rachel came around the desk and took a reluctant Noah from Craig’s arms.

“I want to show him the hat I made for Thanksgiving,” Noah said, still reaching out to Craig.

“It’s at home. He’ll have to wait and see it when we celebrate with the big turkey dinner.” Noah pursed his lips and gave her his grumpy face. “How about you build a house? Your brother and I need to talk.” She placed the boy on the floor and watched him run to the box of wood pieces.

“I told her to call me Craig.” His mother raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips but didn’t add anything. “I want her to think of me as a grown-up, not the little kid she babysat.”

Rachel pushed several strands of light brown hair behind her ear. Sometime during the past six months, she’d started dyeing away the gray. “I know.” Rachel sighed. “It’s just...”

“I understand it’s hard, Mom, but if she calls...”

“When she calls. Trish hired you, didn’t she?”

Craig gave his mother a peck on her cheek. “I think we’re in once I finish some estimates. I’m sure the roof needs to be repaired. And the bathrooms are way out of date.” He took out his iPad and showed her the pictures he’d taken. Maxwell strained his neck so he could see, as well.

Noah came over with several pieces of two-by-four and tried to look at the pictures. Rachel held the iPad so he could see, too, and flipped slowly through the album. She stopped. “What’s this?”

Craig leaned over. “Oh, that’s her old secretary. She’s getting rid of everything and I thought... I’m going to offer her something, maybe deduct it from the cost of the repairs.”

He took the iPad from her then. He’d forgotten he’d snapped Trish’s picture and didn’t want his mother asking questions about it.

With a shrug, Rachel went back to her desk. “What we really need is money,” she said, rubbing the tips of her fingers and thumb together. “Antiques may be nice, but you can’t eat them.”

Craig nodded. “It’s just...”

“I know. You want something for the house you’ll build for you and Cyndi,” Maxwell said, assuming Craig’s relationship had gotten that far. Craig didn’t bother to correct him. There was no chance of that, but he knew most people seeing him and Cyndi together would come to the same conclusion.

Cyndi was an enigma. He never knew what to expect. One minute she’d throw herself at him, kissing him to distraction, and the next she’d be flirting with someone else.

They’d grown up just a few houses from each other and often played together with Trish and other kids in the neighborhood, usually at Trish’s grandmother’s. He thought of Cyndi as a butterfly that flitted here and there and didn’t offer any kind of permanence. He still enjoyed her company, but he wasn’t interested in marriage to Cyndi or anyone else.

She had come up to him at Moody’s, having returned to live with her parents after a divorce. They’d talked a bit and caught up, and then she asked him out. The most popular girl in high school, head cheerleader, prom queen, and she asked him. Back in his nerdy days, she’d forgotten he existed.

Maxwell stood and picked up his empty coffee cup. “Don’t go overboard with an offer on that antique. The woman probably inherited a good deal from her grandmother, and you don’t have to be overly generous.”

Craig nodded but didn’t comment. Price wasn’t the issue in this instance. “I’ll cover her roof with a tarp tomorrow and decide if we’ll need to replace it.”

“Good. The crew finished their last job early. It will be nice to get them working on something other than inventory and sweeping floors.” Once he went through the connecting door to his own office, Maxwell turned and raised his cup toward Craig. “Sorry, kid, but you’ll always be Butch to me, just like Craig will always be your father.” He sighed and shook his head. “But...your father would probably approve if you took his name, so I’ll give it a try.”

Noah came over with his selection of wood. “Wanna help me build something?”

Craig bent down to his level and brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers, something he remembered their father doing. Unfortunately, Noah probably didn’t even remember their father. An unplanned child so late in life had come with joy, but also unexpected problems when his father died. Craig stood and took the piece of wood, examining it closely. “Any other pieces this size? We’ll need several.”

Noah did an about-face and ran back to the large crate containing all the scraps. He looked over his shoulder, a smile lighting his face. “Yep, we got enough to build a house.”

And so it began. Every day he spent time with Noah, teaching his brother the way his father had taught him—how to hold the hammer, center the nail and hit it without destroying his fingers. But Craig couldn’t help feeling that their father should be doing this. And maybe his dad’s time wouldn’t have been cut short if he hadn’t had to deal with all the ramifications of a new child.

* * *

“HI, MOM,” TRISH said when she finally reached her mother. “How are you enjoying your trip?” Her parents had bought an RV and were traveling the Southwest after her father’s early retirement.

“Unbelievable. We just left the Grand Canyon, and we’re heading south to some warmer weather. Actually had a little snow. How’s it back East?”

“Indian summer. Everything’s settled with Gram’s house, so I moved in to start fixing it. You sure you don’t want anything? Furniture? Antiques?”

“Absolutely not. We were delighted that she left everything to you, and we don’t want anything to tie us down. Right, Tom?” A deeper voice made an acknowledgment before her mother continued. “Your father and I plan to see the world before old age robs us of our faculties.”

Trish chuckled. “My goodness, Mom, you haven’t even cashed your first Social Security check yet.”

After a long pause, her mother asked, “So, what’s new with Harrison? Has he seen Gram’s house?” Harrison was one of the few men she had dated who managed to impress them.

“No. I’ve decided to sell it.”

Her mother took a quick, deep breath. “Really? But I thought...”

“We’re going to use the money for something closer to our work in the city.”

“And can he come up with an amount equal to what you’ll be contributing?”

Trish resented her mother’s tone. “Of course. He owns a condo that he plans to sell, and it more than equals what Gram left me.”

“I only meant that your grandmother gave everything to you because she thought you would appreciate it and want to live there.”

With a sigh, Trish said, “I do appreciate it. And like you and Dad, I need to live my life the way I see fit. I never gave you any flak over you selling everything and getting that trailer.”

“It’s an RV, dear, a recreational vehicle, and you’d better not give us any flak, or we won’t drive up to your wedding. When is it, anyway?”

Since she and Harrison hadn’t settled on a specific date, Trish hesitated. “Sometime after the house is sold.”

“Well, make sure your plans are for the spring. Your father and I don’t like to travel in the snow.”

Trish chuckled. “I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.”

For a moment, her mother didn’t respond. “I suppose you connected with Butch again.”

She sounded almost reluctant to mention him. At one point, Trish’s parents and Craig’s had been friends, but for reasons Trish had never understood, they weren’t speaking to each other by the time her family moved to Virginia. “He goes by Craig now. His father passed away a few years ago, and he’s taken over the business. I asked him for some estimates on the repairs that need to be done here.”

“And that’s it? He’s not still madly in love with you?”

“He has a girlfriend, Mom.” For a moment, Trish wondered why that thought filled her with an unexpected sadness. She shook off her reaction. Silly. They’d both moved past childish crushes and had new directions in their lives.

* * *

SETTLING ON ONE of the kitchen chairs, Trish reached for a cup of coffee. She’d risen to the ringing of her cell phone before seven. The birds hadn’t even been up.

She pulled her blue bathrobe tighter. Maybe she should have Craig check the heating system. The temperatures outside were close to freezing despite the sunny skies, and the inside didn’t seem much warmer.

“This is your inheritance?” Harrison had asked, referring to the picture Trish had sent on her iPhone.

“Yes!” She hoped the joy in her voice made an impression over the phone. “I can’t wait till you get here to see it. So many memories. I’ve started cleaning and hope to have it livable while I’m here.”

“You still planning to take off from work for a whole month? Won’t that jeopardize your job?” Had Harrison started the day on a sour note? He sounded critical. This was not exactly the bright, sunny good cheer she wanted in the morning.

Trish hadn’t taken a vacation in over three years. She deserved one, and it would give her a little rest before returning to her new promotion. Right now she and Harrison worked in the same department; however, once she received her promotion they’d be working down the hall from each other. And once they married, and lived in the same house, they’d be able to commute together. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be from her grandmother’s house.

Now, with matrimony on the horizon, she was considering other career moves. Harrison made enough to support them both, so eventually she could be a stay-at-home mom and take care of the many children they’d talked about having. Just thinking about it made her smile.

“I needed this chance to get away.” Not about to slog through her decision again, Trish asked, “When can you come see the place?”

Trish had wanted moral support as well as some physical labor from Harrison to get her grandmother’s house spruced up. They’d even talked about spending their vacations together to get as much completed as possible before the eventual sale.

“I’m so rushed, flying in and out to different locations in California. I can come on Sunday.” He provided a date and Trish looked it up on a calendar.

“You’ll be gone the week of Thanksgiving?”

“Right. The company wants all this training completed before Christmas. You know how people go crazy with credit-card problems before and after the holidays.” Her plan to surprise him with a turkey and all the trimmings slowly slipped away.

But no one should skip a proper Thanksgiving, and if it meant taking time away from work on her grandmother’s house, so be it. “How about we celebrate on that Sunday when you’re here? I make a mean turkey.”

“Don’t.” He hesitated. “I thought you wanted to get painting done...finish some projects on the house. I’m not doing them all by myself while you’re busy cooking.”

Trish considered this a moment and tried to control her voice, something she had plenty of practice at in her customer-service job. Keep your voice pleasant. Don’t antagonize the patrons even more. They were already stressed-out calling about problems with their credit cards.

She took a calming breath. “So you’ll be here only that one day?”

“Right.” He waited a moment longer before adding, “Sweetheart, I wasn’t going to mention it, hoped to keep it a surprise, but... I can’t stay any longer because I put in for a promotion. I’ve got reservations in Los Angeles and San Francisco for interviews. How would you like to settle in California? It’s a possibility if the interviews go well.”

Trish hesitated. California. She’d always lived on the East Coast, never even seen the West Coast state. But that certainly had exciting possibilities. For him. Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? “Let’s talk about it when you arrive.”

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER THE CALL, Trish forced herself to concentrate on anything other than her disappointment. She’d hoped to spend some time working on the house with Harrison. With so much to do on her own, she decided to tackle the furniture problem. Which items would interest an antiques salesman? She began by taking pictures to show Henry of each piece that might have value.

The large secretary drew her attention. Where had they found those secret hiding places? Had the carvings moved to create openings? Trish had made several unsuccessful attempts to push and pull the sculptured leaves and flowers when the doorbell rang.

Abandoning the secretary and its secrets, she glanced down at her attire. Still dressed in pj’s and a robe, she pulled the robe’s belt tighter before heading to the front door.

She saw Butch through the large oval window etched in a lovely art-nouveau design of flowers and ribbons.

Trish opened the door and said, “Oh, hello, Butch...” She placed a hand over her mouth. “...I mean Craig.”

“Listen,” he said, “you can call me Butch if you want. Lots of people still do.” He sounded frustrated.

“But you’d prefer Craig?”

Wearing a green ski sweater with white deer marching across his chest, he leaned against one of the posts that supported the porch roof. In his youth he’d lacked height and hadn’t participated in sports. Since his interests gravitated to books, he’d remained a thin teenager, labeled by most people as too intellectual. At some point, he’d definitely matured, having a well-developed body and... Trish gave herself a shake and forced herself to concentrate on the paint peeling on the post, and not the man resting against it.

“I’m here to check out the roof.” He pointed to an extension ladder lying parallel to the sidewalk. “Also, do you have your grandmother’s flag?” He reached up to the flag holder attached to the post before glancing back at her. “I remember her putting it out on Veterans Day, and just about everyone’s flying one. Lets people know someone’s occupying the house.”

“Of course. I’ll get it. Can you put it up while I get dressed?” Trish hurried to the closet. After retrieving the flag, she headed to the small room off the kitchen that contained a single bed. It had served so many purposes: a sewing room, a library and even an office when her grandfather was alive. When her grandmother became ill, it served as her bedroom so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.

Trish dressed warmly in several layers so she could go outside. In her worn jeans, red turtleneck and sweater, she headed out the front door to check on Craig. She found him on the ladder, pulling leaves out of the eaves trough.

“You’re planning to put that on your bill, aren’t you? Cleaning gutters?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned and tossed a handful of multicolored maple leaves at her, which she swatted away. “You need a free flow of water during the next rain so it doesn’t puddle on the roof. I’m coming down.”

When Craig reached the ground, he pointed to the flag. “Looks very patriotic for Veterans Day. Your gram would be proud.”

“Come in. I’ve got coffee ready. Have you finished the estimates?”

“Started but not finished, and no, thanks. I don’t need more caffeine. I told a few people about your furniture and...” He turned and extended his hand toward the truck pulling into the driveway. “They’re quite anxious to get started.” Several older men and a teenager exited the truck and came onto the porch. “This is Reverend Meyer from the Methodist church, his son and his grandson, and they’ll be happy to take anything you want to get rid of.”

Reverend Meyer grasped her hand in a firm shake. “I knew your grandmother. A wonderful woman and a pillar of the community.” With that said, he walked past her, obviously anxious to get started. And she hadn’t even determined what she wanted to give away.

Deciding certain eyesores had to go, Trish pulled the door open so they could enter. “You’ll be able to fill your truck.”

“So kind of you. We have several families who were devastated by the floods, and we can use anything you want to give us. All tax deductible, of course.” He followed her into the living room. “Just point out what we can take.”

“Everything in this room—couch, chairs, tables and lamps. Leave the secretary.” She turned to Craig. “What do you think? Anything else in here that Henry’s Antiques might have an interest in?”

Reverend Meyer stopped moving one of the chairs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t consulted the antiques dealer yet.” He swept a hand around the room. “Just about everything here looks like something Henry might want.”

Trish hesitated, weighing the financial benefits against helping people who’d been devastated by a flood. “You take what’s in the living room. That should pretty much fill your truck, and I’ll get back to you about the rest after I’ve spoken to the antiques dealer. You can have anything else he won’t consider for his store.”

After several nods in her direction, Reverend Meyer motioned his helpers over to the sofa. “Let’s start with this.” While they worked on removing the furniture, Craig directed her to the secretary.

“I’d like to buy this once you find out the value from Henry.” When she didn’t immediately reply, he added, “You were going to sell it, weren’t you?”

Trish’s ambivalence had her wondering, not for the first time, if her decision to sell everything might be a mistake. With her fingers barely touching the wood, Trish felt a connection to her past. “It has memories. So many.” After pressing her lips together to keep from getting too sentimental, she turned to Craig. “You’re first on the list.”

He reached over and drew his finger under her eyelash, sweeping away the tear that had slipped onto her cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t rush into anything.”

She forced a laugh and backed away. The touch was too sweet, too intimate. “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional. I’d have no place for this desk. It’s too large.” And she doubted if Harrison would ever want anything this archaic.

Reverend Meyer came back into the room. “Okay if we take the matching chairs?”

“Of course.”

The reverend hesitated. “I don’t mean to be unappreciative, but what we could really use is a few beds. Do you have any of those? Something basic. So many people haven’t a decent place to sleep.”

“Of course. Come upstairs and I’ll show you the beds that can go.” Trish went up the large curved staircase and motioned for the men to follow.

“I’m heading for the roof,” Craig said and disappeared out the front door.

Once they reached one of the guest bedrooms, Trish pointed to the double bed. “There are linens for this. I’ll get them for you.” While the men removed the bed, she gathered sheets, pillows and several blankets from the hall closet.

When they returned, she pointed to two of the other bedrooms and had the men remove the beds. “The mattresses have seen better days, I’m sorry to say.” She followed through with the linens needed for those.

“Anything we can get is a blessing.”

They left the nightstands and dressers, saying she should find out their potential value. Her grandmother’s room she left intact for now. It contained several antique pieces, including an elegant armoire. She’d have to take a picture of that to show Henry.

She found several large plastic bags and stuffed them with usable items from the closet while the men worked. It made her feel as though she’d finally managed to make a dent in all that she had to do, and she was grateful to Craig for finding people who needed all these unwanted items. Once she was ready to leave the house, she could give up the cot in the downstairs bedroom, as well.

“That’s it for now,” the reverend said. “The truck’s full.” He handed her a list of the items he’d packed away. “You can add the values for tax purposes. The church’s logo is at the top with our phone number. Call us whenever you want another pickup.”

“Will do.” Trish shook his hand and grinned. With the beds gone, along with most of the living room furniture, she had more space to move around and see the condition of the rooms.

Craig came in just then. “You won’t need a whole new roof after all. Just a section. I can give you the estimate on that now.” He handed her a printed paper with a detailed description of all the items needed practically down to the last nail, including a meticulous drawing of the roof section in three dimensions.

Trish glanced at it before looking back at him. “How’d you do this?” Had he prepared the information before coming over here and actually looking at the problem? She hadn’t heard him drive away to go print out a report. And how did she know if it was accurate?

“I inspected the roof.”

“When?”

“A few minutes ago. While you were working with Reverend Meyer.”

“How did you do all of this?” Trish waved the sheet in front of him.

Craig’s eyebrow went up, giving him a quizzical expression. “On my computer.” He nodded toward his van. “I have everything I need in there.” He grabbed the paper from her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Trish followed him and waited while he slid the side door of the van open. “My office.” He stepped in and offered her a hand to pull her up onto the metal floor. “I took a picture, put that and all my figures in a program I’ve developed, and out comes what I’ll need to complete the project.”

“Craig Cadman, you invented this?”

He grinned. “Well, yeah, pretty much. I’ve taken courses in CAD...” When her eyebrows went up, he explained, “...computer-aided drafting/design, and created something that combines several programs. It’s patented, and a few other people have shown an interest. I sell it through my website, cadsbycadman.com.” He paused while she continued to stare.

“Show me what the roof looks like now.” She jumped out onto the driveway and waited for him. He hesitated before following her.

“Trish, I don’t think you should go up there.”

“I’ve been on that roof so many times. I used to help my grandfather hang all the Christmas decorations.”

“Yeah, when you were a kid.”

Ignoring him, she headed for the ladder at the front of the house and placed one foot on the bottom rung. Craig came up behind her and lifted her off.

His voice came out in a warm breath against her ear. “I’ll go up first, and you stay on the ladder. Don’t you dare go on the roof.” After releasing her, he nudged past and hurried up the rungs. Once he was on the roof, he waited until she came near the top rung. “Now you stay put.” He held out his hands, palms facing her. Craig turned and scrambled across the tiles toward the damaged area. When he looked back, she was right behind him. “I told you—”

“Oh, stop having a hissy fit. I’m not afraid of heights.”

Craig sat on his haunches and chuckled. “I should have remembered you always have to do everything your own way.” He reached out and took her hand to pull her closer before turning to indicate the section that needed repair. “It’s not too bad, and I can get it done today if you approve.”

“How did this happen?” Trish poked at several shredded shingles.

“I found bits of branches embedded. The hurricane must have torn some limbs from one of the trees and shot them against the roof.”

“Definitely start on this as soon as possible.” After taking a seat next to him, she focused on the maple trees that lined the street. All the leaves had dropped, been raked into the street and carted away. She stretched out her legs and leaned back on her elbows, duplicating Craig’s stance. “I can see all the houses from here, and you’re right. Just about everyone’s put out their flags. It reminds me of Fourth of July. Remember marching in the parades?”

“Yep. Happy times.”

Trish pointed to an empty area on one of the corners. “Didn’t Mr. Flurry have a house there?”

“It was damaged during a fire. I was hired to demolish it.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“No. Luckily Mr. Flurry and his wife were on vacation at the time.”

She remembered Mr. Flurry, not exactly the nicest man around. “The people who bought my parents’ old house did some major additions, totally destroyed the cookie-cutter image of all those Cape Cod houses built after World War II. Have you made any changes to your place?”

“No. We don’t own it anymore. Not since my father died.”

Trish turned to him, wondering if she should pry. Why not? They’d always been able to talk to each other. “What happened?”

He cleared his throat. “Long story.”

“If you’d rather not...”

“No. It’s okay. Just don’t know where to begin.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “My father had problems, getting tired and unable to work a full shift. Mom forced him to go to the doctor. He needed a bypass.” Craig took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He didn’t make it, and his hospital bills were staggering.”

“Where do you and your mother live now?”

Craig sat back and relaxed next to her. “She and Noah moved in with her sister, that blue cookie-cutter house over there next to Mr. Flurry’s vacant lot.” He pointed to a house not too far from where Trish had lived. “My aunt Jenny didn’t have enough room for all of us, so I took an apartment near the lumberyard.”

Trish remembered his aunt, a pleasant woman who always had a full cookie jar. But the other name... “Who’s Noah?”

“My brother.”

Trish sat up with a start and stared, leaning toward him. “Your brother?”

Craig grasped her arm. “Watch it. We’re a good forty feet above the ground, and I don’t want to scrape you off the sidewalk.”

She slid over until they were hip to hip. “How did you get a brother?”

With a chuckle, Craig placed his arm around her shoulders and held on to her. “How do you think? Do I have to explain about the birds and the bees?”

Trish rolled her eyes and leaned against him. “I’ve got a good idea. However, wasn’t your mother a little old to be adding to your family?”

“Forty-three. And it wasn’t planned.”

“Obviously a welcomed surprise.” The two shared another laugh.

“So, Trish, where do you live?” he asked, not releasing her. His arm around her felt comfortable and something else...safe.

“In Queens, just a short subway trip to my job in Manhattan.”

“You planning to stay in Queens once you’re married?” Craig was staring out across the street.

“No. I have a lovely studio apartment, but it’s too small. Harrison has an older condo on the Palisades in New Jersey, overlooking the Hudson. Once he sells it, we’re hoping to combine our funds and get something closer to the city.” Trish concentrated on the toes of her sneakers and wiggled them a little before looking past them to the landscape spread before them.

“And this house wouldn’t do? You know we’re called the bedroom of New York for a reason. The train runs right through the town.” Craig pulled his arm away, leaned forward and pointed. “See? There it goes now. You just sit in a comfortable seat, take a nap or read a book, and you’re in Manhattan in no time.”

“My point exactly. I’ve tried talking to Harrison about it, but so far no luck.” She turned toward him, adding a smile. “Maybe you could convince him when he comes here.”

“Then you want to keep the house? Live here? Raise a family?”

With a sigh, Trish watched the train disappearing in the distance. “I want something we’ll both enjoy. If this place isn’t going to work for both of us, we’ll find something that does.”

Trish pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and leaned forward. Craig sat up, as well, duplicating her position.

“Why did you stop writing to me?” he asked.

* * *

HE HAD TO KNOW. Before she left for Virginia, they had been best friends, talked to each other every day. They had shared everything. Their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams for the future. Why had their email correspondence suddenly stopped?

“I was new to the school... I’m sorry. I... We were so far away from each other.” She paused. Would she continue? He didn’t want to spook her, certainly not on the roof, but he remembered those months after she left as an agonizing time.

“I wanted to come back, live with my grandparents. But Gramp got sick, and Mom said I couldn’t.” Her gray-blue eyes, with flecks of gold, revealed a sadness that equaled his own. “My mother got on my case, said I had to adjust to my new life, meet new people.”

Trish turned away and pressed her face into her knees. “I did. Had a boyfriend, and he...well, he had a fit when he saw I was emailing you.” Her expression hardened. “It was ten years ago, Craig. Life goes on. Yours certainly did.”

She moved away and started for the edge of the roof when Craig grabbed her arm.

“Wait. I’ll go first,” he said and maneuvered around her.

“You plan to catch me if I fall?”

“No. Figure I’d have a better chance to get down if I’m not hampered by all your blood and guts covering the ladder.” He reached the first rung, swung his leg around and started down. “Be careful, now.” When she didn’t respond, he stopped, his head even with the edge of the roof. “I mean it, Trish.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful. You plan to move so I can come down?” He nodded and started his descent. A few moments later, when Trish reached the bottom rung, Craig trapped her against the ladder.

“Don’t you go up there again.”

Trish turned so they faced each other only inches apart. “Listen, mister. This is my house, and I plan to check out any and all repairs. How else can I know everything is done correctly?”

Craig held up his iPhone. “Pictures.” They were close enough that he felt her warm breath against his face, caught the scent of perfume. That was something new. She never wore perfume back when they were kids. “I guarantee my work.” He paused, diminishing the space between them so they were nearly nose to nose. “Don’t go up unless someone’s here. Namely me. You understand?”

“All right, already.” She stepped onto the ground. “When did you get so bossy?”

Trish’s cheeks were bright pink in the cold. Why didn’t he kiss her while he had the chance? Every part of his being wanted to. But...the moment passed and sanity returned. They weren’t kids anymore. She was spoken for, committed to someone else. So was he. There would never be any Trish and Craig together.

CHAPTER FOUR

AN HOUR LATER Trish came out of her house to discover Craig on the roof again, this time with a crew of two men she didn’t recognize. He came down the ladder and walked over to her. “There are one or two more places that need repair, but I checked with Max. Moody’s Lumber replaced the roof about ten years ago. You should get at least ten more, providing you’re not hit by another wicked storm. We’ll do that one side so you won’t be able to see any difference with the older shingles.”

“Thank you,” Trish said. “Anyone with fewer scruples could have insisted I needed the whole roof replaced. Can I get you anything? Lunches for you and your men?”

“That’s a nice thought, but we’ve already made plans with some other guys from the lumber company. We meet at Drexel’s Deli whenever we’re working. You’re welcome to join us.”

A voice from on high said, “Yeah, join us. We could really use someone with a little more class.”

Craig glanced up before turning back to her with a chuckle. “Ignore Ray. He’s the only low-class jerk in the group.”

“I heard that,” the man shouted, “and he’s right!”

“Thanks for the invite, but I bought some groceries yesterday. Another time,” she said to the men on the roof. Smiling, she turned to Craig. “If I’m not needed here, I’ll head into town.”

Craig started for his van, which was blocking her Toyota. “I’ll get this out of your way.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m going to walk. I’d like to check out several places, and I don’t need my car.”

“Okay. We should have all the roof repairs completed this afternoon, and I’ll finish the prospectus tomorrow morning for the other projects we discussed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Trish started down the street at a brisk walk, listening to the rat-tat-tat of hammers ringing their song throughout the neighborhood. Once she and Craig went over the repairs, she could prioritize, budget her money and get the most for her dollar. In the meantime, Trish planned to check out Henry’s Antiques and show him the pictures she’d taken.

The temperature had become a little nippy, and she double-wrapped her green scarf around her neck. The sound of leaves crunching under her sneakers gave her the true feeling of fall. Some chestnuts had fallen, and she picked them up along with a perfect red maple leaf that had escaped the street sweepers. She twirled the stem and stopped in front of the house once owned by Craig’s family.

Several people were outside raking the leaves. They turned to wave to her. “Hello,” she called out. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Before you know it we’ll have snow.”

How sad for Craig to lose his father and then his home. Yet the joy that lit Craig’s features when he mentioned Noah warmed her heart. What would it be like to have a sibling that young? Craig and Trish had often regretted being the only children in their families. Now Craig had one up on her. The thought brought a smile, and she continued to Henry’s.

Center Street, in the older part of town, had turned into a mixture of commercial and residential buildings with several businesses in some of the older homes. One magnificent brick estate, built more than a hundred years ago, posted a doctor’s sign in front. Across the street, Gram’s lawyer had taken residence. Trish had spent the day there when all her grandmother’s possessions were transferred.

The fire department sat on a corner with Moody’s Lumber Company farther down the block. A portion of the grammar school Trish and Craig had walked to could be glimpsed behind the pharmacy, where one could still sit at the counter and order a sundae.

She stopped in front of Henry’s Antiques. At one time a five-and-dime, the shop had remained unoccupied until Henry moved in and removed the sign. Thanks to the dark green trimming, the dusky red building had a Christmas look. Trish glanced at some of the items displayed in the crowded windows before stepping into the store. An armoire in pale blue with a floral design painted on the large doors looked elegant and expensive. Very similar to her grandmother’s. Would Henry want her grandmother’s things in this shop? Determined to find out, Trish headed for the counter.

“Hello,” a man called. Although out of sight, he continued to talk. “Look around. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Trish waited by a tall golden dresser, something with a Chinese influence and definitely pricey. The other items arranged around the room had a classiness beyond her grandmother’s dusty collection. She turned when a thin man with gray hair and a matching goatee approached. “How may I help you?” Definitely a different voice from the one that had invited her in.

“Henry?”

“One of them. I’m Stanley Henry.” He turned and motioned to the younger man with similar features coming from the back. “This is my nephew Dave. And you are...?”

“Trish Lowery.” She expected some recognition of her last name. After all, her family had lived in the town for nearly one hundred years. Nothing.

“Were you looking for something specific?” Stanley asked.

“No. I’m interested in selling some of my grandmother’s antiques. I have pictures, if you’d like to see them.”

Dave Henry, who had a pleasant smile and blond hair, came over. “Lowery, you say. As in Helen Lowery?”

Stanley looked at his nephew with a quizzical expression. “Of course, Helen Lowery, from one of the founding families, the lady who recently died?” He turned back to Trish and approached, his hand extended. “Our condolences. And you have something to show us?”

With his demeanor becoming more gracious, Stanley gripped her hand. Trish suddenly felt like a field mouse trapped by a marauding hawk. She pulled free. “Um, I have a question. Do you purchase antiques outright to sell in your store?”

Stanley sighed. “Unfortunately, we can’t. Not enough space.” He smiled, helping to displace the hawk image. “Most of the items here,” he said, waving his hand around the shop, “are on consignment. I run another store in Manhattan, and we also advertise on the internet. I’m sure we can give your grandmother’s items a proper showplace and get you the best possible price.”

Trish held out her cell phone, displaying the picture of her grandmother’s bedroom furniture. Stanley took her phone as Dave came over to join his uncle. “We really need to see your treasures in person. May we make an appointment?”

Trish pulled her phone back. “Of course.”

“Okay if I handle this?” Dave asked. He nodded toward his uncle before turning back to Trish. “When are you available?”

Trish appreciated Dave taking over the conversation. “Anytime today. The sooner the better. I have a limited time here, and I need this resolved before I leave.”

“Would this afternoon be appropriate? At two? I know the address.” He turned to his uncle. “If you wouldn’t mind watching the store for me?”

With a nod, Trish thanked them and headed for the door, followed closely by Dave. After opening the door for her, he said, “I’m sure your grandmother has lovely items, and we’ll be able to work out some satisfactory plans for them.” He offered his hand. “Very nice meeting you, Ms. Lowery.”

Just as she exited, a noisy blast echoed through the town—one, two, three times—and Trish stumbled. Dave grabbed her arm and steadied her.

“That darn fire horn.” He glanced down the street. “Better watch it. Any moment, we’ll have volunteers speeding toward the firehouse.” He pointed to the brick building across the street and pulled her away from the sidewalk’s edge. “Here they come now.”

Trish stood there watching as one vehicle after another came down the road with lights flashing and pulled into the firehouse’s parking lot. Was that Moody’s truck? The front was filled with several men...men who’d been on her roof. How could they appear so quickly? The horn had just sounded.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, slipping away from Dave’s grasp. She headed down the street at a near run.

When she reached her house, she saw Craig taking down the ladder. “What happened?” How would anything get finished if they took off anytime the fire horn blew?

“Most of my crew are volunteers.” He placed the ladder on the ground and headed for his van. “Including me.” Trish followed him to the driver’s side. Was he about to take off, too? She grabbed the sleeve of the OSHA green shirt he had pulled over his sweater.

“When will you be back?”

Craig got into the cab, holding on to the door. He leaned over toward her. “When the fire’s out.” She stepped away as he slammed the door and backed out of the driveway, his headlights flashing.

“You okay?”

Trish turned to see Dave Henry standing there on the sidewalk. “Did you think your house was on fire?” he asked as he approached. “You took off looking very upset.”

“I saw Moody’s truck with all the men who had been on my roof. They didn’t finish.”

“They’ll be back.” He glanced at the house and rubbed his arms. “I didn’t take a jacket. Didn’t realize how cold it had gotten.”

Small towns. She had forgotten how familiar people were with each other, how concerned they were for each other’s welfare. She needed to remember that. “Would you care to come in, Mr. Henry? I can offer you some coffee.”

“That sounds wonderful, and please call me Dave. Whenever anyone calls me Mr. Henry, I’m expecting to see my uncle behind me.” He followed her into the house, pausing several times to look around the vestibule before they reached the kitchen.

“Sorry, the heat isn’t up to par. I plan to have Craig look into it when he gets back.” She handed him a cup of coffee from the electric percolator she had left on. She pushed over the cream and sugar. “This should help to warm you.”

Dave stopped rubbing his hands together and reached for the mug without adding any condiments. He held it several moments before taking a sip. “Oh, this hits the spot. So, are you planning to live here? It’s a beautiful house.”

“No. My fiancé and I want to sell it. In the meantime, Craig is fixing whatever needs repairs.”

“Craig Cadman, the handyman who drove off to the fire?” Dave waved a hand in the direction Craig had taken. “I know him. Does fantastic work, and his mother has refinished several antique dressers for us. You’re not the girl he’s been dating, are you? I’d heard he was dating, but I didn’t hear that he’d gotten engaged.”

Trish couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. We’re old friends, but he’s dating someone else.” She held the mug to her lips and looked over the rim at Dave. His blond hair was a little mussed, probably windblown from following her. Otherwise he was as neat as his uncle, although not as intimidating.

“Would you care to look at the antiques while you’re here?” She put her mug down. It would be wonderful to get this chore taken care of so she’d know what other items could be donated to the church.

Dave nodded. “That would be great.” He walked to her counter. “I’ve been checking out these dishes.” After picking one up and looking at the back, he turned to her with an expectant smile. “Any chance you want to get rid of these?”

Trish joined him. “It’s a complete set, with several of the larger pieces in the china cabinet.” Her finger traced the delicate cream-and-gold edge with its tiny pink and yellow roses and some miniature blue flower that looked like a forget-me-not. It had always been her favorite. When she and Harrison had looked at china, though, they’d gone for a more modern geometric pattern. No sense in having two full sets of dishes. “Sure. I’m interested in selling it.”

“Okay if I run back and get a few things? I’ll need to take my own pictures, and frankly, this place isn’t much warmer than the outside. The only thing you’re missing is the arctic breeze.” He gave her a heartfelt smile while he continued to rub his hands.

“Why don’t I drive you?” Since all the work vehicles had gone, she could easily get to her car.

“That would be great.”

They headed out the front door just as Craig pulled in beside her car. When he got out of his van, Trish asked, “You put the fire out already?”

“Nope. I got there too late. The truck had already left.” He stared a moment before extending his hand. “Nice to see you again, Dave. Hope you can give Trish some great deals.”

“Take care of her heat, will you? I’ve got to get back to my place to warm up.”

Craig’s eyebrow went up, and he looked at Trish. “Heat?”

“I forgot to mention, I couldn’t get the furnace to work. The key’s under the mat, and we’ll be back in a little while.”

Once she had the car started, Dave got in on the passenger side. “You have heat in this?” he asked, blowing into his hands as he rubbed them together.

“Yes. You’ll be toasty by the time we reach your shop.”

* * *

CRAIG RETRIEVED THE old-fashioned three-inch key and headed for the basement to check the furnace, an oil burner probably installed a good fifty years ago. No wonder it wasn’t providing any heat. No fuel. When was the last time they had a shipment? He went upstairs, sat on one of the kitchen chairs and dialed the local oil company most people used in the area.

“Hey, Marty,” Craig said. They had been classmates, and Craig graduated a year before Marty did. “When was the last time you delivered to Mrs. Lowery?”

“You mean before she died?”

Craig took a deep breath. “Yes, before she died.”

“Sometime last winter, I guess.”

“Okay, she needs another fill-up.”

“Why, is she alive again?” He cackled, a sure sign he wasn’t taking Craig seriously.

“Since when did you turn into the town’s comedian? Her granddaughter is staying here, and there’s no more fuel. She’s freezing. When can you make a delivery?”

“Who’s paying for it? I already closed Mrs. Lowery’s account.”

“You’ll get your money from the granddaughter.”

“Okay, I’ll make it my last delivery today. Say, isn’t she the Lowery gal you were sweet on?”

“The pipes are freezing, Marty.”

“She’s back in town and you’ve got another girlfriend?”

“Take care of it, Marty.”

“Cyndi Parker, isn’t it? I remember her doing all those splits and backflips as the head cheerleader.”

“Just deliver the oil.” Craig disconnected the call. Living all your life in a small town had definite disadvantages. Who else had been tracking his love life?

About to return the key to its not-so-secret hiding place, Craig stopped. Perfect time to check out that secretary and find that note. He went to the living room and lowered the large desktop just as a car pulled into the drive. Great. Trish was back.

Craig returned the large panel and headed for the front door. He opened it as Trish walked up the stairs with Dave Henry following her. This might be a good chance to get the price for the secretary.

“Found out why there’s no heat. You ran out of fuel. I ordered a fill-up from Marty Cassidy’s Homefuel. It should arrive later today.”

Trish paused by the open door, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I never even thought about that. Thank you.” She walked past him, motioning Dave to follow. “I’m making lunch—warm soup so Dave and I can defrost. Have the men come back from the fire?” When Craig shook his head, she added, “Would you like some soup or are you going back on the roof?”

His crew would probably stop for food after returning from the fire, and he didn’t want to miss out on lunch. “Warm soup sounds fine.” Once in the kitchen, Craig leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, while Trish pulled out packages from the refrigerator. All the ingredients looked like his favorites, and he wondered if she had bought them for him. “You making grilled cheese?”

She grinned. “Of course. Can’t have tomato soup without grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“With ham?” He moved closer and opened one of the wrapped packages from Drexel’s Deli. “You remembered?” That had always been their preferred treat. “The grill still in the same old place?” When she nodded, he headed for the pantry.

Sure enough, the grill was right where he remembered. A little dusty. Probably hadn’t been used in years. He placed it on the counter and opened a drawer filled with dish towels. After a wipe-down, he plugged it in.

“You’re sure familiar with everything,” Dave said, coming over to stand by the counter. His gray winter parka was zipped to his neck even though the room had to be close to sixty degrees, despite no additional heat.

When the doorbell rang, Trish glanced at Craig. “You think that could be the oil delivery?”

“Doubt it. Marty said he’d do it on his last run. Why don’t you answer the door, and I’ll get started on the soup.” He headed back to the pantry, where he’d seen several cans. After checking the dates, he realized all the cans were new. He smiled and started to whistle, right up until he heard her gasp of delight.

CHAPTER FIVE

“HARRISON! WHAT ARE you doing here? Come in and relax.” She pulled at his red tie so it wasn’t so tight around his neck, something he’d never allow on the job. “Here in my house, the casual look fits perfectly. You fit perfectly.” She couldn’t stop smiling. He was handsome in his dark gray suit. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I missed you.” He grabbed her hands then looked down at them. “Your hands are freezing.” He pulled her into a loving embrace and kissed her with a fervor she appreciated and rarely experienced from him.

Since they worked together and their company frowned on any fraternization between employees, they always maintained a proper working relationship. Even when they had total privacy, he never showed the same tendency to hug and give affection the way Trish did. Maybe their short separation had ignited some romantic flames. “Even your lips are cold. You been working outside?”

“No. It’s just that we don’t have heat.”

When he gave her his “I told you so” look, she slipped outside, still holding his hand. “Come on.” She hopped down the porch stairs and looked at the house. “What do you think?”

“So this is the relic?” Harrison stood, hands on hips, and looked at the house her great-grandfather had designed and built around the turn of the twentieth century. His son, her grandfather, had added his own imprint, making it a showpiece. “Wow. Is that what they call gingerbread?”

“I suppose some of it is. My grandfather liked to work with wood and—”

“It’s coming off, right? No one needs all that fancy trim nowadays, and a lot of it is just hanging there.”

“No, it’s not coming off.” Sure, some of the pieces had broken away, but Craig had assured her he could replace them.

Harrison raised his eyebrows. “You mean you won’t change any of this...” He swished his hand in an arc toward the house. “...this...”

Trish ground her teeth a moment before deciding to add her own comment. “Don’t say it. I mean it, Harrison. I love this place, and it’s important for me, so keep any negative opinions to yourself.”

Clamping his lips together, he nodded and placed an arm around her shoulders, pointing to the flag flipping around in the breeze. “Is that for something special?”

“Check out the neighborhood, Harrison.” Trish swung her arm around to take in all the houses on the street. “Everyone’s flying them because it’s Veterans Day.”

He shrugged but didn’t offer any other comment.

When she escorted him back inside, past the wide circular staircase and into the living room, she hoped to spark some enthusiasm for the old place. He remained unimpressed, but at least he didn’t offer more criticism. She warmed only slightly to another of his embraces. “What?” he asked. “I’m in the doghouse now for not jumping on your bandwagon?”

Trish sighed. How could she expect him to love this Victorian house when he had none of her memories? She cuddled against him and smiled when he pulled her back into his arms.

“You’re planning to spend a month here? I don’t see how it’s possible to fix all that needs to be done in that time.”

“I’ve hired a handyman. He’ll do most of the work.”

“How do you know he’s any good?” Harrison nuzzled her cheek. “I don’t want you to end up with more of a mess and possibly get cheated.”

Trish appreciated his concern. “It’s okay. I grew up with him, and he’s the best.”

“Good,” Harrison said, moving slightly away and brushing his hand through her hair. “Then you won’t have to stay here. My main concern has been you being so far away from—”

“Anyone hungry?”

Harrison and Trish jumped apart. Harrison was the first to recover. He strode toward the intruder, his fist clenched as though he planned to strike. “Who are you?”

“Right now I’m the cook. Lunch is served in the kitchen.” Craig made a quick pivot and disappeared into the hallway.

Trish grasped Harrison’s arm and felt the tension there. “That’s my handyman, Craig Cadman.”

“And he cooks?”

Trish patted his arm, hoping to relieve the unexpected hostility. “Not usually. Let’s go eat.”

* * *

SO THIS IS the fiancé, Craig thought as he returned to the kitchen.

Dave looked up from stirring the soup on the stove. “What was that? Is she okay?”

“Yeah.” He stopped speaking when Harrison and Trish walked in.

“I’d like you both to meet my fiancé, Harrison Morris.”

Craig offered his hand. “I’m Craig, the handyman.”

Dave came around, also extending his hand. “And I’m Dave, the antiques man.” He gave Craig a wink and went back to stirring the soup. “Do we have bowls for this?”

Trish picked up four of the china bowls she’d washed. “Do we have to use those?” Dave asked. “I thought I was buying them.”

Trish laughed and brought the bowls to the table. “They’ve gone through hundreds of meals over the past seventy-five years. I’ll wash them when we’re through, and as long as no one starts to juggle them, they should make it without any problem.” After opening several drawers, she placed napkins and spoons by the bowls.

Dave sighed, then went back for the pot of soup.

“What’s this?” Harrison thrust his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I planned on taking you out for lunch. And instead we’re settling for soup in a freezing kitchen.” He managed a convincing shiver and paused before adding, “With the help.” A moment later Harrison started laughing. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m sorry, guys. I just never expected...” He offered Trish a chair before taking one himself. “Let’s just do it. I took an extended lunch hour, and I need to get back to the city.”

Craig brought the grilled sandwiches to the table while Dave dished out the soup. At any moment Craig expected his crew to return. And he didn’t want an interruption, not when he had an opportunity to observe Harrison. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Craig, Harrison had trimmed dark hair that hadn’t started to thin, even though he was older than everyone else at the table. He looked as though he worked out, probably in some office gym.

What did Trish see in him? Was he the right one for her?

Craig reached for his sandwich and let old memories wash over him. “Remember when we sat in this kitchen, eating our favorite meal with your grandmother’s cookies baking in the oven?”

Trish grinned and pointed to her mouthful. She swallowed before adding, “Yes. Dozens of times.” She glanced at Harrison before concentrating on her sandwich again. He looked miffed.

Craig decided continuing down memory lane might not be the best idea. But Trish did remember. Was she experiencing the same nostalgia? Was the same knot tying up her insides?

He put down the sandwich, not able to deal with what was lost and could never be.

* * *

“SO, WHAT DO you think this secretary is worth?” Trish asked Dave.

He started to reply, but Harrison came over and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from Dave. “When I come here in the future, I’ll expect one of your home-cooked specialties.” He gave Craig a look that could only mean the meal he’d just consumed wasn’t up to par. “Really sorry I’ll be missing out on Thanksgiving.”

Did Trish know how to cook? She used to help her grandmother, but back then they were always happy with nothing fancier than a plate of cookies. Craig turned his attention back to the secretary. What would he do if Dave discovered the note? What would Harrison do? Laugh himself inside out?

“I’m sorry you’ll miss it, too.” She and Harrison embraced only a few feet away from him. Did Harrison really have to act so touchy-feely in front of everyone? And did Trish have to enjoy it so much?

“You’ll only have one day to help me paint?” Trish looked away, and Craig saw the hurt in her eyes. The rat.

“Right. I’m taking all of that Sunday off. We can get most of it done then.”

Sure. One day of painting and they’d be lucky to complete one room out of the half dozen that needed work. Didn’t the guy know anything about how long it took to mix the paint, put up tape, cover the walls, trim the woodwork and clean up afterward?

Harrison kissed her again on the cheek, and Craig considered bashing him in the head with one of the antique ornate brass lamps. As much as he wanted to know more about the secretary, Craig felt like leaving.

“Don’t your parents live in Chicago?” Trish asked. “Will you be joining them for Thanksgiving?”

“I may stop by, but it wouldn’t have much meaning if I can’t bring my fiancée.” Another embrace. At least her response was less than enthusiastic this time around. Was it the subject matter? Why wasn’t he taking her there to meet his family?

Trish managed to slip from under Harrison’s possessive arm and walked closer to Dave to re-ask her question. “So, what do you think, Dave? What kind of price can I get for the secretary?”

“Could one of you help me move it away from the wall? I’d like to see if there’s any signature or an indication of who might have made this. Do you have the history on this, Trish? Where it came from?” Craig moved over to the opposite side and helped swivel the large piece around to expose the back. Trish joined him.

“It’s always been here. I think Gram mentioned once her grandfather bought it for his wife as an anniversary gift. In fact, most of the items in the house were purchased by her father’s parents or grandparents. Gram didn’t see the point in replacing anything with a newer model unless the old one no longer served the purpose.” Trish chuckled. “She did upgrade to a flat-screen TV, though.”

“Oh, my!” Dave traced his finger on a faded mark while everyone else came over to see what had intrigued him. “This WW is from Willard Williams, a cabinetmaker back in the early eighteenth century. What a find! I’ll have to do a little more research, but we’re talking thousands. Especially since it’s in pristine condition.”

Thousands! Craig caught his breath and wondered how he’d ever come up with that much money for something that served no practical purpose.

Harrison again embraced Trish. Dollar signs must be floating in his head. Can’t she see where his interest lies?

Dave came around to the front and pulled down the writing section. “Yes, this is definitely Willard’s. See all the carved leaves and flowers on the drawers? And if I remember... Yes, the one with an animal opens...” Dave reached for the tiny carved squirrel and tried twisting and turning the decoration. Nothing happened.

To Craig’s total relief. Sweat trickled down his back. Had the heat kicked in? He searched for any excuse to leave. “I think the crew has returned. I’d better get back to work.”

“Thanks for lunch,” Trish said.

“You provided the ingredients. Dave and I merely threw them together.”

She reached for his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” When she disentangled herself from Harrison, he gave Craig a fish-eyed glare but didn’t join them.

“The meal brought back great memories, Trish. Thank you.”

“And it tasted just as good as when Gram served it.” Trish chuckled. “I don’t think Harrison appreciated it much.”

“How could he? It’s only special to us.” Craig reached in his pocket and pulled out her key. “I didn’t get a chance to put it back.”

She took it from him, gripping his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Her fingers felt cold in his.

“You might not want to keep it in such an obvious place. Especially if what Dave said is true. Your antiques have some great value.” He held on to the old-fashioned metal a moment longer while he thought about it.

“Yeah, what a surprise.” Trish removed the key from his hand. “I’ll find a better hiding place.”

“You know, you really need these locks upgraded to dead bolts.”

“But this works well.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”

Surprised that she’d be affectionate in front of Harrison, Craig turned toward her just as Harrison came over and placed an arm around her shoulders. As he pulled her out of Craig’s reach, he said, “He’s right. Dead bolts are a must.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“You do that. Nice meeting you,” Harrison said, but his expression didn’t reflect any pleasure.

“Same here.” Craig gave the lie back, not adding any warmth in his reply.

* * *

DAVE WENT THROUGH each room, scribbling notes in a small loose-leaf notebook. Occasionally he took pictures, and he appeared extremely pleased at each new encounter. Although the upstairs bathrooms held no treasures, Dave said that claw-foot tubs were a real find. In one bathroom, he kicked at the linoleum that had begun to curl against the wall before he dropped to one knee and held on to the tub’s rim.

“These tubs are magnificent.” He examined it thoroughly both inside and out. “I rarely see so many beautiful details in an old house like this that haven’t fallen into decay.”

“Can I get a good price for the tubs?”

Dave straightened. “Is it true you plan to sell the house?”

Trish glanced at Harrison. “Well, yes.”

“Then I suggest you leave the tubs. You’ll fetch a much higher price.”

Harrison chortled. “Really?” He leaned over and pulled on the linoleum, managing to rip off a good chunk of it. “How much will this add to the value?” After showing the curling piece to Dave, he tossed it into the tub. “Who buys this kind of stuff?”

“I would.” Dave stood straighter. “In fact, I’ve been giving it more thought. Craig said he’s keeping the building’s integrity intact. I particularly like that he’s not removing the gingerbread. Yes, I’m definitely considering it.” He turned to Trish. “Do you have any other buyers in mind?”

Before Trish could say no, Harrison took over the conversation. “We’re looking into all possible avenues. And we’ll certainly consider any offers.” He wrapped an arm around Trish’s shoulders and drew her close. “Right, honey?”

Dave beamed. “Good. I’ll talk to my uncle and see what he thinks.”

* * *

BY THE TIME Harrison was ready to leave in his gold Lexus, the nail drivers had started again on the roof. “How can you stand the noise?” Harrison held her hands and pressed his lips against them. “I’ll be back early Sunday in my jeans and some old sneakers so we can get going on the painting. I hope the heat will be back on so we can work in some form of comfort.”

“It will be. Craig will...”

“I don’t know about this Craig. Is he really competent?” Harrison glanced at the roof. “He seems awfully young.”

“He is, but I’d trust him with any project. He was trained by the best.”

Harrison’s expression hardened. “I’d prefer you didn’t stay here. It’s not safe. Especially with those locks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I grew up here and know almost everyone in town. Besides, the police department and fire department are just down the block. This is a hundred times safer than either of our apartments back in the city.” She waited a moment before adding, “So, you’re really looking forward to transferring to California?”

Harrison placed his fingers against her mouth. “Let’s not talk about it before I go. I don’t want to jeopardize my chances.”

Harrison wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and nearly squeezing all the air out of her lungs. She pushed away to be able to breathe. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Training sessions. They’ll take about ten days. Sorry I’ll miss Thanksgiving, but I’ll get a turkey sandwich and wish I was with you.” He kissed her, one of those passionate kisses that promised so much more. He started to laugh as he pulled away. “Hey, you could be doing training sessions now that you’re taking that new position. I told you the job had its perks.”

Trish watched Harrison leave, waving until he disappeared down the street. How nice of him to take time away from his busy schedule just to see her. She thought about the possibilities of her new job. An office of her own. A pay increase. Travel. For some reason she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. Nor did she want to think of the ramifications of moving to California.

Now that she had returned to Riverbend, she realized this house, this neighborhood and the people she knew intimately were still important to her. Her heart felt ready to burst with affection.

She turned as Marty Cassidy drove his truck into her driveway. “Marty,” she called as she walked to the driver’s side. His door opened and he dropped to the ground, his flaming hair still as untamed as she remembered from high school. She transferred the passion she’d just felt for her hometown onto him with a warm hug and ran her hand through his unruly locks. “You look exactly the same.” She pulled away. “Except for a few extra pounds.”

“What can I say? My wife’s a great cook.”

Someone nudged Trish’s back, and she turned to see Craig reach past her. “Glad you could make it today.”

The two men shook hands. “Yeah, I know the pipes are about to explode.”

“So who did you marry, Marty? Anyone I know?”

“Mary Ellen Sinclair.” He grinned and Trish nodded, remembering Mary Ellen from their high school classes. “And we have three girls. Triplets.”

Trish grinned. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be blessed with three girls? “You planning on any more?”

“No, just the triplets for now. Mary Ellen said we wait till these three are out of diapers.” Marty turned to Craig. “So how many kids are you and Cyndi planning to have?”

Craig exhaled in a puff. “Zero.”

Trish waited for an explanation while Marty dived right in with a question. “What do you mean? No children or no Cyndi?” Marty began unloading the hose from the truck.

“You know, Marty, I always knew there was something about you I didn’t like. Maybe it’s the hair.” Craig made an abrupt turn. “While you pump the oil, I’ll go check on the furnace and make sure it’s ready to function.”

“Whew. What’s got his dander up?” They both watched Craig’s determined stride into the house.

“I haven’t a clue,” she said barely above a whisper.

“So, Trish, you planning on staying here, living in your grandmother’s old house?”

They continued to talk while Marty filled the oil tank. “You’ve got to come by and see Mary Ellen and the girls.”

“I’d love to.”

“And what’s up with Craig? Hostile. I only asked about Cyndi because everyone knows they’re dating.”

“I’ll ask him.”

When he was through, Trish went into the house to find Craig. She followed the banging noises coming from the basement. “This should work. It’s primed.” He stood, brushing off his hands. “Why don’t you stop by and see my mother? She was asking about you. The furnace will take an hour or two before it warms the whole house. I noticed before your hands were freezing.”

He reached over and grasped her hands again. His felt decidedly warm and comforting. “What did you mean before?” she asked.

“Before what?” They started up the stairs.

“About zero kids. Does Cyndi feel the same way?”

When they reached the hall, Craig stopped to feel the register. “This won’t warm up until the water flowing through it is heated.”

Trish pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Why wouldn’t you want kids? When you talked about your brother...”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Trish, my brother doesn’t have a father. Dad didn’t even reach fifty, and heart conditions run in my family. I’m not bringing children into this world if I might not see my own son through college or dance at my daughter’s wedding.”

“What about Cyndi? How does she feel about this?”

“The subject hasn’t come up.”

“Well, it should if you’re planning to get married.”

“Who said we’re getting married?”

“Didn’t you say...?”

“We’ve dated. Nothing more than that. And I can’t help it if some of our nosy classmates come up with their own interpretation.” He maneuvered past her. “I’d better get back on the roof and see how things are going up there.”

Trish watched him, feeling a terrible ache. What if her parents had decided not to have children? She had often felt unwanted, as though she interfered with their lifestyle. They rarely took vacations as a family. Her parents liked adult entertainment—a trip to Las Vegas, a cruise to the Caribbean. Most of the time she was dropped off with her grandmother whenever her parents went on a trip. The few times they did go as a family, it often included Craig’s parents.

Not that Trish had any regrets. She camped, hiked and played with Craig and his parents, so she knew firsthand what a family should be like.

She and Harrison planned to have many children, something they’d talked about at great length when he proposed. She’d raise them differently from how she’d grown up.

No sending her children off for someone else to care for. She’d play with her kids, get involved in their lives and help them with their homework, something her parents never did. Homework was done at Gram’s, usually with Craig’s help. Her father didn’t get involved in any physical recreation, but Craig’s dad often participated in softball or went for bike rides. All the things she couldn’t get her own parents to join in. Now they roamed the country “playing” in their RV.

Maybe Craig had a point: don’t have kids if you really don’t want them. Trish planned to be a stay-at-home mom, and Harrison had agreed. Thank goodness they were both on the same page.

CHAPTER SIX

TRISH WALKED OVER to Franklin Avenue and headed to Craig’s aunt’s home. She paused in front of the two-story Cape Cod structure built at the end of World War II. It was similar to the one Trish had lived in down the street. The homes had serviced returning GIs, one of them Craig’s grandfather. When he died, the house went to his oldest daughter, Jenny.

A flag fluttered by the door, snapping close to her head, and she pushed it aside. Before Trish could ring the bell, the door opened.

“I thought it was you.” Rachel came out and swept Trish into an embrace. “Come in, come in. I want you to meet Noah.”

A young boy, a replica of Craig, avoided looking directly at her. He glanced up at his mother as Trish went down to one knee and held out her arms.

“This is Butchy’s friend Trish. Say hello, Noah. Don’t be bashful.”

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