| |
IGNORING COLE, WHO was working on his patch job, Morgan kicked the graffiti-covered drywall across the room.
Why had she thought she could do this? She should have trashed the whole project as soon as she saw the house. Definitely when she found the graffiti.
It’s for Austin.
Thinking about his talent, how she could create a better life for the boy reset her determination. She checked her phone for text messages or missed calls. He hadn’t responded to the text she’d sent this morning. She’d try again when school was out.
“Sorry,” she muttered and fetched the drywall. “I guess I need to buy a trash can.”
One more thing for her list, which was growing like Jack’s beanstalk.
Cole hadn’t reacted to her temper fit. “Getting a Dumpster for construction debris will be part of your contract.” He dusted his hands on his jeans. “I can help with the boxes in the basement.”
She tried to hide her dread. They had to be dealt with, and now that her house was clean, she didn’t want to bring them into the living room. She’d have to suck it up and work in the basement.
She could do it. Her lamps would brighten the place. The sooner she went through the boxes, the sooner she could get rid of them, turn the space from a dark, gloomy dungeon into a ... less dark, less gloomy area.
Once the boxes were gone, could she get a concrete floor poured? Jack’s beanstalk had grown another branch.
Did she want Cole around? Which was better—having him see her fear or having him around for company and support?
She didn’t need his support.
What was wrong with company? Friends, she reminded herself.
“Are there outlets?” she asked. “So I can plug in the lamps.”
“There should be. There’s an overhead fixture which, if the bulbs are good, should help now that you’ve got power.”
Why hadn’t she noticed? As if she’d seen anything other than what was right in front of her, and most of that through her phone’s camera.
“I’ll check,” she said.
Her palms went wet, her mouth turned to sandpaper. Clenching her fists, she headed downstairs, ears perked to see if Cole followed.
Feeling a modicum of relief when she sensed his presence behind her, Morgan marched to the basement door. Flung it open. The stairwell lay in darkness. She fumbled for the flashlight app on her phone. A second light joined hers.
Sucking a deep breath, she descended, one hand on the rail, the other sending a beacon ahead of her.
If she didn’t stop, she could do this. Cole hadn’t said a word.
She reached the bottom step and moved her phone’s light across the space. The boxes hadn’t miraculously disappeared. Her phone revealed a large overhead fluorescent fixture in the center of the room. Morgan flipped the switch on the wall.
Nothing.
“Guess it needs new bulbs,” she said. “Given how everything else in the house is gone, I shouldn’t be surprised. Do you think the whole fixture’s dead?”
Cole stood behind her, and she realized he couldn’t get around her on the narrow stairs. She sucked in another mega-breath and stepped onto the basement floor.
Still not speaking, Cole moved past her and illuminated the fixture with his light. “No bulbs,” he said. “There’s a chance the entire fixture’s bad, but I’d go for the bulbs being the issue.”
“Would it make sense to go to a warehouse store in Salem, or can I get what I need at the Tool Shed?”
“Bigger selection at the warehouse stores, but you could get the essentials locally. Your call,” he said. “For a few starter items, it’s easier and faster to shop in town.”
“Would you mind another shopping trip?” she asked. “You have a truck today, and things like trash cans won’t fit in my car.”
If she asked, then it was her decision, not Cole trying to run the show.
“Glad to help.”
“Let me talk to my neighbor first, set up a time to meet with whoever’s in charge of their handyman slash construction company.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
What? He wasn’t going to be her shadow? Had she gotten through to him? “I was locked in a basement storage room when I was five. I was alone for hours. My parents thought I was at a friend’s house.”
Why had she blurted that out now?
He paused, his gaze capturing hers. “Scary.”
“Terrifying. Apparently, there are still triggers.”
“Like dark basements.” He stepped closer, extended a hand.
To her surprise, she accepted it.
It was nothing more than a gentle squeeze. His hands were warm. Chalky traces of whatever he’d been working with filmed them.
She squeezed back, stood on tiptoe and brushed a quick kiss across his cheek, feeling the faint scrape of stubble against her lips.
Heat rising to her face, she darted up the stairs. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
~~~
COLE STOOD, FROZEN in shock. What had he done? Said? More like what he hadn’t done or said. He ran his fingertips where her lips had been, southerly stirrings making themselves known.
Morgan obviously didn’t like being told what to do, even if it was for her own good. Dare he start looking in boxes? She didn’t like being down here, and she’d told him why. He sensed it wasn’t something she shared easily.
Using his phone for light, he got out his box cutter and started slitting the cartons open. He wouldn’t look inside, just save her some work. He unstacked some boxes, but couldn’t get far without destroying the path through the basement. He could do more when he returned for the next drywall mud coat.
Back upstairs, he fetched the journals Morgan had dumped in the bedroom and brought them to the sofa. Forward or backward? Since he’d already read the final entries, he’d back up, one book at a time.
He’d gotten through a third of the next journal, his suspicions neither confirmed nor eliminated, when Morgan walked through the front door.
“Tom, the head guy of the handyman team, is coming at seven tonight. Will that work for you?” she asked.
“Not a problem.” Cole stuck a scrap of paper to mark his place and stood. “Ready to go shopping?”
Fifteen minutes later, they wandered the aisles at the Tool Shed. He held his tongue on offering suggestions.
Wait for her to ask.
He discovered by hanging back and keeping his mouth shut, she did ask his opinions.
“Should we go to Thriftway, too, as long as we’re here?” she asked. “They might have a better selection for basic housewares. And I need food.”
He agreed, and by the time they got to the house, it was pushing six. When he offered to go home and come back for the seven o’clock meeting, Morgan pulled the deli chicken she’d bought from the bag.
“Why not stay? I have plenty to share. Of course, it’ll have to be picnic style. I brought bedding with me, so we’ll have a place to sit instead of standing at the kitchen counter. I brought my silverware, too.”
“Works for me.”
Cole and Morgan set their purchases in the dining room space to deal with as needed. After they put away the perishables, Morgan set dinner fixings on the kitchen counter—a chicken, potato salad, and a bag of tossed green salad. “Hope this is okay. The card table is too rickety, plus—no chairs.”
He grinned. “My kind of meal.”
“I’m not much of a cook, I’m afraid.”
Cole had figured that, or she wasn’t going to get into cooking until her house was more in order. Either way, he was having dinner with Morgan.
She spread a large quilt on the middle of the living room floor. “Plastic plates and heirloom silver. Quite the picnic.”
“Eclectic is good.” Cole filled his plate and took it into the living room, sitting cross-legged on the quilt.
Morgan joined him. “I should have bought wine. To celebrate my first meal on Elm Street.”
“Another time.” Cole scooped up a forkful of potato salad. Her first meal, not their first meal. That would have been expecting too much. However, he wasn’t getting vibes that this would be their last meal together here.
“I slit more boxes,” he said. “Save you time when you’re ready.” He watched her body language, but she didn’t tense. Maybe admitting the reason for her fear had given her courage.
They finished eating, and Morgan gathered the plates and silverware. “I’ll handle cleanup. I’d appreciate it if you’d put the new bulbs in the basement fixture. See if that was the problem.”
“Glad to do it.”
Cole carried a stepladder to the basement, then rearranged a few boxes so he could install the light bulbs in the overhead fixture. A flip of the switch said it had been the bulbs, not the fixture.
Score one for Cole.
“All done and working,” he said when he entered the living room.
Morgan folded the quilt. “I should have bought something to offer Tom when he comes over. I don’t even have a coffee pot yet.”
“I’m sure he won’t expect it. He’s here on a job estimate.”
Promptly at seven, a vehicle rumbled up the drive. Footfalls thumped up the porch steps. The doorbell rang. Morgan jumped to answer it.
Cole stood, tempted to follow, but held back. Morgan asked who it was. Good. Did she know what Tom looked like?
Someone says they’re coming over at seven, the doorbell rings at seven. Odds were pretty good it was the right guy. Still, Cole’s cop training said you couldn’t make assumptions.
Morgan invited the man in. He looked familiar. Cole extended his hand. “Cole Patton. I’m with the Pine Hills PD. You’re fire?”
Tom, standing about six-one, blond buzz cut, hazel eyes, and looking like he could pose for one of those firefighter calendars, shifted a clipboard and accepted the handshake. “That’s right. Tom Limbaugh. I head up the handyman group. Your neighbor, Layton Forsythe, said you wanted an estimate.”
Morgan swept her arm around the room. “There’s a lot to be done, and I’m on a fixed budget.”
“Not a problem. We’re always happy to work with clients,” Tom said.
Cole stepped closer to Morgan. “I’ve done a couple small jobs with your crew, but I don’t think our paths have crossed.”
“Given there are ten of us, working different shifts, that’s quite possible,” Tom said.
“Ten? I didn’t realize Pine Hills Fire had that many qualified construction people,” Cole said.
Tom smiled. “We draw from the surrounding towns as well.” He turned to Morgan, his smile widening. “How about you show me what you want done?”
Morgan went to the kitchen for the notes she and Cole had made. “Cole’s a licensed contractor, just not in Oregon. I was hoping he might be included on your crew.”
Tom threw Cole a scrutinizing gaze. “If he’s worked with us before, we might be able to fit him in.”
“He did some drywall repair for me,” Morgan said. “You can look at it, see if he’s up to your standards.”
Cole bristled. There was nothing Tom would find fault with in his work.
Half an hour later, Tom had made his notes. Cole had to admit, the guy knew his stuff. The few times he’d pitched in with their crew had been paint jobs, and he hadn’t seen how they handled the kind of projects Morgan needed. His concerns she wouldn’t get quality work eased. He’d still remind her to get references.
He prepared himself for her reaction when he brought it up.
“I’ll have numbers for you tomorrow,” Tom said. “I’ll give you choices, like we discussed.”
Morgan walked Tom to the door, Cole right behind him.
“My schedule is first shift Saturday through Tuesday. I’m available after work, or on my days off, if you can fit me in,” Cole said.
Tom gave Cole another assessing glance, then shifted his gaze to Morgan. “See what I can do,” he said, still focused on Morgan.
Why did Cole think that if Tom hired him, he’d stick him with the worst of the grunt work? He could hear his father laughing.
If you’d stayed with me, you’d be ordering people around, not taking orders.