A Brush With Love (16 page)

Scrambling backward, Meadow dropped the phone. Stared in fascinated horror at the cave-in that covered her kitchen in a heap of unprecedented February snow. Her dream-since-childhood business squashed by a southern Illinois blizzard. A “once-in-a-lifetime event,” this morning’s weatherman had called it, right after he’d informed viewers the groundhog had seen his shadow.

How could her demanding schedule survive six more weeks of winter?

Moreover, how could she fulfill contracts with clients when her workspace and best catering supplies were pulverized?

“
What
was that racket? Meadow, everything okay?”

Meadow became aware of the voice on the floor. She picked up her phone—the face of which now resembled how she felt inside: cracked in all directions. “No. Could you please come over? My kitchen ceiling collapsed.”

“You kidding me?”

“Wish I were.” Meadow fought tears. She hadn’t cried in ten years and wasn’t about to now. Fearing more collapse, Meadow fled for cover outside. Ironic.

She’d always loved wintertime, with its beautiful diamond glisten and the enchanting allure of hoarfrost.

Not. Today.

Meadow threw on a coat from the front hall closet, and the storm door slammed in her wake as she left to pace the front yard.

Midway between her red Tudor cottage door and the street, she passed a knight-white snowman standing sentry over her sidewalk. She didn’t know who had built him since no children lived near her, but she paused, glared at it, and decided the majestic ice imp was mocking her.

With a less-than-ladylike growl, she hauled her leg back and kicked.

Ploof!

Her entire foot and ankle disappeared into the snowman’s torso. “I hate you, and I hate that stupid groundhog!”

Groundhog? Colin McGrath set his box back on the passenger seat and rounded his truck to get a better look at the animated face issuing the words he’d just heard. He watched the woman across the street with interest. She had evidently just assaulted the snowman in her yard.

Stuck in an awkward stance resembling a frozen flamingo in a badly posed karate move, she whipped her arms around like a hostile windmill. Balance righted, she yanked her leg out of the snowman and raised her foot. Colin grew amused to find it shoeless.

The astonished glare she sent the snowman could’ve gone
viral on YouTube. As she sputtered something about it being a wretched, shoe-thieving traitor, Colin burst out laughing.

Until he saw her tears.

The brunette swiped madly at them before dropping to her knees. Concern coursed through him as she started scooping out wads of snow.

Her distress drew him quickly across the street.

Recalling the strength of her kick, he approached cautiously. “Bad day, I take it?”

Frosty’s would-be assassin shrieked, stood, and whirled. Hair swept from widening honey eyes, she looked familiar. But he’d been gone ten years. Colin fought to place her.

“Didn’t mean to startle you”—he eyed her barren ring finger—“miss.”

Her face plumed the color of cranberries on a cold winter day . . . like today. She slid back to the frozen ground and dug, probably for her MIA shoe. To no avail. Colin reached into the eviscerated snowman and yanked the foot-wear right out.

She stood again and snatched the loafer out of his hands. “May I help you?”

He bit his lip to block a grin. “No, ma’am, but I thought I better offer assistance.”

A scowl furrowed her lovely brow. “I don’t need your help.”

“I was referring to Frosty. He looked in need of swift intervention.” Colin could hold it in no longer. His pressure-cooked laugh released. He nodded to the snowman, then cast the pretty woman a glance he hoped would humor her. “Domestic dispute?”

Her lips thinned in a manner that made him ponder ducking. She gripped the shoe tighter and looked sorely tempted to hurl the thing at him.

He palmed the air. “Hey, kidding. In all seriousness, I noticed you seem upset. Anything I can do?”

“Unless you can fix a roof and my catering kitchen in seventy-two hours, no.”

He grinned, liking her spunk. “Actually, I may be able to help. Construction’s my trade. My name is—”

“I know who you are, but you obviously don’t remember me.” Her chin rose.

Dread hit him like a two-by-four. “Uh . . .”

Her arms locked across her chest. “You and your friends ruined my life. At least my high school experience.” Arms dropped, she shook her head and started to turn.

It all flooded back for Colin, who she was and everything she’d endured. He swallowed fiery lumps remembering: his part in inviting her to the lake, then his friends driving off without her. Terror and betrayal clouding her eyes as she stumbled after them.

He reached for her arm. “Oh wow, Meadow. Sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

“You didn’t back then, either.” She shrugged. “I am just as I was, overlooked and easily forgettable.” A frustrated glower flooded her expressive face.

His chest tightened with a marbling of remorse and remembrance, acknowledgment and empathy. Things he should’ve felt back then . . . but didn’t. Not really.

“I’m truly sorry.”

He meant it. From the depths of his heart, did he ever.

She rolled her eyes. “I bet. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”

Actually, it did. If the splinter still festered a decade later, it mattered a whole lot. He couldn’t let this go. Could not walk away from the distress in her eyes.

Gorgeous eyes. Hair the color of polished mahogany too, deep shine included.

He had to make the past up to her somehow. “Let me help you, Meadow. Please.”

Her fortitude ran sturdy as she shook her head. “You? Help me? Not on your life, Colin McGrath. You hurt me once. I’m not giving you a chance to do it twice.”

Meadow’s petrified look from the hallway twisted his insides as he descended the ladder he’d brought in from her shed. He tried not to grimace as he considered how to put this to her gently.

“What’s the verdict?” Flora’s voice quavered.

He steered his gaze toward Meadow. “You live
and
work here?”

“Yes. My home and business are one in the same. How extensive is the damage?” Meadow’s hands wrung like nervous dishrags.

“For sure, it’s not safe for you to stay here while repairs are made. The entire roof is unstable with all that snow and ice, and I can’t promise there won’t be more damage before morning. It’s starting to get dark. I can cover the hole with a tarp and reassess come daylight, but suffice it to say that kitchen’s not going to be usable for a while.”

Color drained from the sisters’ faces. They held one another up.

“How long’s a while?” Meadow’s pallor elicited his empathy.

Colin aimed for delicacy of tone. “I estimate a month.”

Flora wobbled. “No! My wedding’s in three weeks! This is catastrophic.”

Meadow rubbed Flora’s arms. “Sis, I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” She faced Colin. “Thanks. I’ll take care of the tarp. You may go now.”

He wasn’t going anywhere. “Past aside, you’re obviously in a fix, and I’m a fixer. My strength is renovation of structures damaged by disaster. My schedule’s open. Consider letting me help you for all the trouble I caused you in high school.”

Flora waved her phone. “I need to step outside and call Pete while you chat.”

Meadow winced. “What’s this going to cost me?”

Her question stung for the simple fact he sensed she meant cost in emotional trauma, not cash. He wanted to say it would cost nothing but knew Meadow wouldn’t buy it. “We’ll hammer details out later.” He wasn’t worried about money.

Her eyes narrowed, alerting him that she didn’t trust him as far as she could toss him. An idea struck.

“I saw Meals on Wheels stickers on your catering SUV. I know of some shut-in vets in this area. Maybe after the repair, you could spare them a few meals a month for my services.”

“I’d love to help veterans, but you’d be underpaid.”

He needed something else. “How about this? I noticed your design degree and chef school certificate in the kitchen.
Your place is gorgeously decorated. I recall you were master decorator of the school’s renovation.”

He and his woodshop class buddies had taken care of the outside, Meadow, the inside. She’d done fantastically. Her work had earned scholarships to a premier design school he didn’t think she could have afforded otherwise.

Regret slammed him over his mistreatment of her and kids like her, harassed when they should have been helped. She and her siblings had been among underprivileged outcasts made fun of by so-called privileged kids like him.

He was obviously being handed a second chance here. To Colin, part of godly sorrow meant righting the effects of wrong conduct.

“We can barter and each pay for our own materials. I fix your catering kitchen, you feed my vet buddies a few meals and help me decorate my new place, and we’ll call it even. The house—and my pole barn office-slash-shop—are complete construction-wise, but the insides are drab, blank palettes of possibility.”

“That doesn’t solve my business dilemma. I have contracted caters.” The weight of the cave-in ramifications must have set in, because she pressed her fingers to her temples. Volcanic panic was an understatement for the expression going live on her face.

“You could work out of my pole barn kitchen until we fix yours. I have a huge space, with a comfortable new couch you could sleep on, if you like.”

Visions of wedding tulle, rainbow silk flowers, satin napkins, bows and lace, fine china and crystal assaulted him. He’d seen evidence of it everywhere at her place.

He hated frilly things, food, and breakable stuff in his workspace. He shivered.

Still, he needed to man up here.

Meadow’s hands fell stiffly to her sides, revealing her simultaneously hopeless and suspicious. “Why are you doing this?”

“Honest truth? I’m not sure.”

Her lips pursed. “Guilt, maybe?”

“Or maybe just because it’s the right thing to do and I spent too much of my life doing the wrong thing.” He held her gaze with enough gravity to hopefully begin convincing her he’d changed.

She searched his eyes in earnest. Then shook her head, broke eye contact, and paced. “Flora sure is taking a long time on that call.”

He suspected she stayed gone on purpose. Why, he had no clue. To help his cause?

What had swayed Flora? Knowledge of his family struggles? Few people knew his parents had indulged him financially and materially but neglected him relationally and emotionally. Had his mom really shared that with Flora? If Meadow knew, would she have compassion for him despite all he’d done in the past?

Colin always had a tough time being vulnerable. But he’d do it if it would help Meadow forgive him.

Colin sent a mental prayer up for wisdom and right words. “You have good reason for not trusting me, Meadow. If you want, let’s have Pete draw up a contract.”

Her face lessened in skepticism, her arms relaxed, and she shrugged at his last suggestion. He hoped that meant she
was letting down her guard. He not only wanted to fix the damage in her kitchen but wanted to repair the pain of her past and make up for the anguish he’d caused in her soul.

As a Christian, he needed to find a good local church and get involved. He was back, but he wasn’t the same. Things couldn’t be the same; he’d make sure of it.

First item on his Meadow Agenda:
Earn her respect and forgiveness.

The story continues in
Serving Up a Sweetheart
by Cheryl Wyatt . . .