Baby, Come Home (8 page)

“I hear you make a mean chicken salad,” Amy offered, remembering the story Nikki had relayed about Rachel giving Porter food poisoning on a picnic. Apparently the woman was working her way through the Armstrongs.

“Anything you make will be fine,” Kendall interjected. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to Molly.”

“I’ll see you later,” Rachel sang after him.

Amy waited until he was out of earshot, then said in a conspiratorial tone, “I heard Kendall say he likes spicy food.”

“Really?”

“The spicier, the better.”

Rachel smiled. “Thanks for the tip. See you later.” Then she walked away, hips sashaying.

Amy nursed a tiny pang of guilt for lying. Then she remembered the lipstick on Kendall’s mouth when he’d knocked on her door last night and the casual way he’d called her “baby” with those lips. She smiled to herself.

Paybacks were hell.

9

K
endall picked up a tray and smiled at Colonel Molly McIntyre, a bulldog of a woman who ran the kitchen like a mess mergeant. Retired from the U.S. Army, she’d grown up in Sweetness and answered the call for help when the Armstrongs needed someone to feed the workers who were rebuilding the town. For a long time, Colonel Molly had been the only woman within miles, and remained lukewarm about the infusion of Northern females brought in to get the new town off the ground. Her respect was hard-won.

“What can I get for you, pigeon?” she asked, referring to Kendall’s stint in the Air Force.

“Two plates of bacon and eggs over easy, wheat toast.”

She began dishing up the food from warming containers. “Hungry this morning?”

“Ordering for two. We have a visitor.” He nodded toward Amy, who stood across the room checking her phone—probably seeing if her boyfriend, Tony, had called, he thought miserably. “Do you remember Amy Bradshaw?”

Molly looked thoughtful. “Heddy Bradshaw’s niece?”

“That’s right. Heddy took her in after her parents were killed in a car accident.”

“Weren’t you sweet on her?” Molly asked.

Kendall’s face warmed. “I guess you could say that.”

“Heddy used to write me letters about how sure she was that you were going to ruin her niece.”

Kendall gave a little laugh. “Why would she say that?”

“She said there was only one reason a boy like you would be hanging around a girl like her.”

Anger sparked in his stomach. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say about her own kin. Amy was a little rough around the edges, but she was a good girl. Besides, Heddy wasn’t exactly the motherly type. Amy practically raised herself.”

“Heddy was a hard woman,” Molly conceded, serving up the plates. “What’s Amy doing back here?”

“She’s an engineer. She’s going to help us rebuild Evermore Bridge.”

Molly looked nostalgic. “I used to love riding horses over that bridge when I was growing up.” Then she made a face. “That was before your time, pigeon.”

“I did the same thing.”
With Amy.

“Well, sounds like the girl did well for herself,” Molly said, handing over the plates. “Is she going to stay on after the bridge is built?”

Kendall looked over at Amy, who was putting away her phone and heading their way. “I’m working on that.”

When Amy walked up, he noticed her eyes looked troubled—problems with “her guy”? He managed a smile. “Amy, do you remember Molly McIntyre?”

“Of course,” Amy said. Her voice was friendly enough, but she looked nervous for some reason. “You were a good friend to my aunt Heddy…and to me. It’s nice to see you.”

Molly smiled. “You’ve changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you.”

“I hope so,” Amy said, holding Molly’s gaze.

Kendall had a feeling he was being excluded from the moment, but let it pass. “Molly, I’m going to show Amy the timber we recovered from the original bridge to see if any of it can be salvaged.”

“Betsy will probably be there,” Molly said, referring to the programmer who maintained the Sweetness Lost and Found webpage. “But if not, you know the key code.” Molly smiled. “Welcome home, Amy.”

Amy blinked, then inclined her head. “Thank you, Ms. McIntyre.”

“Molly,” the woman corrected with a wink.

Kendall watched Amy closely as he retrieved fresh coffee from a beverage station then walked to a table and set down the food tray. She followed, but seemed lost in thought—back in time, or hundreds of miles away?

“I got you some breakfast,” he said, sliding one of the plates in front of her. “The food in here leaves a little to be desired, but breakfast is usually passable. Eggs over easy, just the way you like them.”

She bristled. “Thanks, but I’ll just have the toast and coffee.”

He pressed his lips together. Eggs over easy was a Southern tradition…and it was becoming increasingly clear that Amy had rejected things that reminded her of her heritage. While she ate, she watched the people around her warily and seemed ill at ease, constantly checking her phone.

“Expecting a call?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said. “I still have a life in Broadway, you know.”

He nodded. A
boyfriend
. “How long have you lived there?”

“A few years,” she said vaguely.

“Is that where you went when you left Sweetness?” he prodded.

“In that general area.”

“And do you like it there?”

“It’s been a decent place to live and work.”

“Until lately?”

She shrugged. “The state was hit hard when the manufacturing layoffs started to cascade, but I’ve managed to stay busy.”

“I’m surprised you had the time to work on our project.”

Her mouth twitched. “Actually, I was in the running to lead a reservoir repair project that would’ve meant a two-year commitment, but someone else was chosen.”

“Ah. Well, their loss was our gain.”

Her tight smile telegraphed that she would’ve rather had the reservoir project.

“You didn’t want to come back home, did you?” he asked.

“This isn’t my home anymore,” she said quickly, almost harshly.

“Fair enough,” he murmured.

She took a sip of coffee. “And, no, this project wasn’t my first choice,” she added, her tone softening. “But I appreciate the opportunity and I’ll do a good job.”

“I know you will. But you seem…on edge.”

“Being here stirs up a lot of bad memories.”

That hurt. “A few good ones, too, I hope.”

Her hazel eyes were unreadable, then she nodded to his empty plate. “Are you ready to show me this reclaimed timber?”

“Sure,” he said, feeling helpless to alleviate her uneasiness, especially since he knew he was partly to blame. She helped him clear the table and stack the trays and plates on the edge of the conveyer belt that would send them through a commercial dishwasher.

“No paper plates?” she asked.

“Right, and no plastic utensils. We’re trying to control our waste output, especially since the dump is brimming with tornado debris that couldn’t be recycled.”

“But doesn’t it take hot water and energy to clean the dishes?”

“Our windmill farm supplies more than enough electricity to run the town, and we use water-saving appliances.”

“Does that include the hot water heaters in the boardinghouse?” she asked drily. “I had to take a cold shower this morning.”

He made a rueful noise. “Sorry. Porter’s working on it.”

“Nikki says that Porter’s also working on building a church?”

Kendall smiled, but then wiped it away with his hand. “Eventually.”

Amy gave a little laugh. “You mean never.”

“Not never. Just not right away.”

“Meaning, he’s not ready to get married?”

“Meaning, there are other priorities, like the bridge.”

He led her to a rear exit. They walked outside into the brisk air. Amy pushed a springy lock of hair behind her ear, and shivered in her fleece coat. A few yards away from the dining hall sat a tall, long metal building that featured two garage doors and a regular door. They walked to the regular entrance and Kendall knocked.

“Come in,” came a woman’s voice.

Kendall opened the door and held it while Amy walked through. It was a warehouse, lined with rows of shelves and pallets chock-full of everything from furniture to farm implements to canoes to a golf cart.

“You found all of these things?” Amy asked, astounded.

“Yep. When Marcus and Porter and I arrived last year and started working the land, we realized we had to have a place to store the things we found. Molly and other volunteers clean and repair everything, then they get matched to a list of items residents declared missing after the tornado. If the former resident can be located, the items get shipped to them, or people can come to pick them up. If an item isn’t on the list, it gets tagged and shelved.”

To the right of the entrance was a work area with a long desk, tables, file cabinets and utility sinks. A teenager with jet-black hair sitting at the desk looked up from her laptop and removed earbuds. “Hiya, Kendall.”

“Hi, Betsy. This is Amy Bradshaw. Amy, meet Betsy Hahn.”

They exchanged greetings, but he noticed that Amy remained aloof.

“Betsy maintains the Lost and Found webpage,” Kendall said. “Thanks to her, former residents can sign up to be notified if their belongings are found. Or they can browse the unclaimed items and file a form to prove ownership.”

“That’s nice,” Amy said.

“Where are you from?” Betsy asked conversationally.

Amy squirmed. “Here, originally.”

“No kidding? Bradshaw, did you say? I’ll look you up while Kendall shows you around.”

“I wasn’t living here when the tornado struck,” Amy said.

The young woman shrugged. “Still, there might be something that belonged to a relative.”

Kendall watched Amy’s face. He knew she was thinking that if something of her aunt’s had been unearthed, she didn’t want it. The day she’d left, her car had been packed with a photo album holding pictures of her parents, a couple of garbage bags of clothes and as many books as the backseat could hold. When he’d asked her about the things in her aunt’s rental house, she’d said, “Let it all rot.”

His heart had broken then for the hand that life had dealt her, depriving her of her parents, and it broke for her now.

“The timber?” she prompted, as if she were reading his thoughts.

“This way.” He led her to a large wire cage marked “Evermore Bridge.” Stacked inside were enormous timbers and various pieces of wood that Amy studied intently. “This is all virgin timber, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Original stands taken right off this mountain.”

“Incredible,” she breathed.

Kendall’s heart swelled with pride. He didn’t know very many women who could recognize and appreciate the historical significance of what they were looking at.

“This could be a heel plate,” she said, then pointed. “And those are chords, and maybe a lateral member.” She ran her hand over the smooth aged surfaces. “The rest are probably floor beams and treads. I’ll bet if we look hard enough, we’ll find numbers on them to correspond to where they were installed.”

He was amazed she could so readily identify these disparate parts. “That’s great, but numbers won’t do us much good without the original blueprints. Unfortunately, they blew away with everything else stored at the courthouse.”

“Marcus mentioned they weren’t available,” she murmured.

“But the Preservation Society sent us blueprints on a similar bridge in Ohio. Do you think you’ll still be able to use these pieces?”

“Maybe, if they’re in good shape,” she said, giving each log a pat or a rub. “Can you have them moved to the site?”

“Absolutely.”

It was the first time since Amy arrived that he’d seen a familiar light in her eyes. Her cheeks were pink and she was animated, her quick mind turning over the details of the project before them. A wide smile lifted her mouth.

“Oh, Kendall, this is…” She looked up to lock gazes with him. Kendall’s senses leapt to feel the old sizzle between them.

“Yes?” He took a step toward her.

Then her smile faded, and he knew he’d lost her again.

“I mean…that would be great,” she said, visibly reining in her enthusiasm. Then she straightened. “I should be getting back. I’d like to change and get a few things ready for the conference call.”

He nodded, disappointed, but closed the door to the cage and backtracked to the front of the warehouse.

When they passed one section of furniture odds and ends, though, Amy stopped. “That looks like your mother’s dish cabinet, the one she kept in the dining room.”

He smiled. “It is, minus the glass. And that’s Mom and Dad’s bed. And the coffee table—”

“From the family room,” Amy said.

“That’s right. Marcus made it for her.”

“How is your mother?”

“Right as rain,” he said. “After the storm, she moved to Calhoun to live with her sister, but she’s determined to come back to Sweetness someday. We’re holding all this stuff for her until the town is stable and we can build her a house to move into.”

“She was always good to me,” Amy murmured.

“She’d love to see you,” he said.

Amy gave him a rueful smile. “Except I won’t be here when she comes back.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll find my own way out.”

Kendall watched her go, his arms aching to reach out to her. She always seemed to be walking away from him. And he always seemed powerless to stop her.

10

W
hen Amy arrived at the construction office for the conference call with the Preservation Society, she was surprised to find Marcus alone.

“Come in,” he said, standing. “Have a seat. Kendall should be here shortly. Something came up at the last minute and I needed him to take care of it.”

Meaning, he wanted to speak to her alone for a few minutes.

Amy leaned her portfolio against his desk, then sat in a chair opposite him with a sense of impending doom.

“How’s it going so far?” Marcus asked, settling back into his chair.

“The bridge site seems stable. I have all the measurements and pictures I need. For the first day, I’d say things are good.”

He gave her a flat smile. “I meant with Kendall.”

She shifted in her seat. “For the first day, I’d say things are good.”

“When are you going to tell him he has a son?”

Amy released a pent-up breath. “How long have you known?”

“A few months.”

“
How
did you know?”

“When I started researching Broadway, I came across your name in a professional listing. I dug a little. When I found out you had a child, the timing seemed right, and when I found a picture of him on the internet, it was pretty clear that he’s an Armstrong.”

“His name is Bradshaw,” Amy corrected.

“You should’ve told Kendall you were pregnant, Amy. He would’ve married you and taken care of you both.”

Amy bit her lip. “Probably. Kendall always does the right thing. But I didn’t want to be part of a package deal, and it was clear that Kendall didn’t want me for myself.”

Marcus pulled his hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m sure you had your reasons for not telling him, but if I found out, he can find out, too.”

She gave him a tight smile. “And yet, he hasn’t, has he?”

Marcus sighed. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I have my son to think of.”

“He doesn’t know who his father is?”

She shook her head.

“They both need to know.”

Amy pressed her lips together. “You’re right, but I need time. This isn’t going to be easy for anyone.”

“Where is the boy now?”

“Tony is in military boarding school this quarter.”

Marcus smiled. “Kendall will be happy about that.”

Not when he found out why, she mused. “Marcus, I appreciate your discretion, but I need to handle this situation the way I see fit.”

He nodded. “I agree that you should be the one to tell Kendall. But know that if you don’t tell him, I will.”

The door banged shut and Amy turned to see Kendall standing there, his cheeks pink from the cold. “Tell me what?”

Amy’s heart stood still.

“Uh, we were just talking about the project,” Marcus said, obviously trying to buy time.

“So what don’t you want to tell me?” Kendall asked, shrugging out of his coat.

Marcus looked at her expectantly.

Her mind spun. “I didn’t want to tell you that…that I have the blueprints for the original covered bridge.”

To his credit, Marcus didn’t bat an eye.

Kendall smiled. “You do? But that’s great! Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

A hot flush climbed her neck. “Because I stole them.”

He looked confused. “Stole them? From where?”

“From the courthouse, long ago.” With her heart clicking, she reached for the portfolio leaning against the desk, then carried it to a table and unzipped it. Kendall and Marcus both crowded around, but Kendall moved more slowly. She was keenly aware of Kendall’s hip in proximity to hers. As relieved as she was to have narrowly diverted the conversation, she was still nervous over the close call.

Inside the portfolio were the sheets of yellowed, brittle blueprint paper with the official stamp, dated 1920.

“How did you manage to steal these?” Kendall asked with a frown.

“I smuggled them out one page at a time in a sketch pad,” she said in a small voice, feeling dirty. It had taken her months to avoid raising flags with the hawk-eyed archivist who’d maintained the town’s historical documents.

The blueprints showed front and side elevations of Evermore Bridge, along with many dissection diagrams, with each piece of wood numbered.

“I guess now we can reuse the timbers we found,” Kendall said, but his tone was dry…and critical.

Amy looked up to find censure in his expression. He didn’t realize that she’d taken the blueprints so she would always have a piece of their bridge with her. Good. Let him think that she’d stolen them for the thrill of it.

“Kendall, this is good news,” Marcus said.

Kendall lifted his hands. “I guess so. How lucky for us that Amy stole these historical documents from a federal building.”

Hurt barbed through her chest.
He still thinks I’m trash.

“Yes,” Marcus said pointedly. “How lucky for us, how lucky for this town.”

But the damage was done. Amy tingled with shame. “Of course the town can have the originals back. I’ll work from a copy I made.” She closed the portfolio, zipped it and handed it to Kendall. It was hard to make eye contact, and she wished she hadn’t. He looked at her with such distrust, as if he were asking, “What else don’t I know about you?”

A lot,
she conceded silently.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I suggest we get our notes together for the conference call.”

Amy was happy for the diversion. She booted up her laptop and retrieved project notes she’d already made and questions she had for the Preservation Society representative. As they compared notes among themselves, Kendall was perfunctory, and she remained aloof, as well. They both addressed Marcus more than each other, except when they disagreed.

“I think you should invest in a two-lane construction bridge here,” Amy said, pointing to a narrow portion of Timber Creek south of the covered bridge site. “That will allow us to work both sides of the creek and provide an alternate route for emergencies. And later, for bringing heavier loads to and from your recycling plant. I’m thinking something fast and strong, like prefab steel.”

“That’s not in the budget,” Kendall argued. “Besides, I thought you said you could design this covered bridge to withstand commercial loads.”

“I can,” Amy said, her ire rising. “But a construction bridge will cut assembly time of the new bridge in half.”

“So you can leave even sooner than you’d planned?” Kendall lobbed back.

Amy’s anger sizzled as they glared at each other. The ringing of the telephone broke the moment.

Marcus glanced at the handset. “Can you two call a truce until we wrap up this phone call? Remember, these people are giving us money. It would be nice to present a united front.”

Amy and Kendall exchanged brooding glances, then took seats opposite Marcus, their body language stiff. When Marcus answered the call and made introductions all around, Amy pushed down her emotions, and went into presentation mode. She’d worked with preservationists before and spoke to their concerns and motivations. They were delighted to hear the original blueprints for the bridge had been “located,” and ran down a list of forms they would need before releasing the grant money.

“Who is the primary construction contact?” the representative asked.

“I am,” Amy and Kendall said in unison, then frowned at each other.

“Actually,” Marcus said with a deceptively mild tone as he glanced back and forth between them, “
I
am. Please send those forms to the attention of Marcus Armstrong. Thank you for your time.” He pushed the disconnect button, then presented both of them with a flat smile. “I need a covered bridge in twelve weeks. Work it out.” He stood and retrieved a coat from a peg, then walked out.

When the office door banged shut, Amy pursed her mouth. “I thought you said we could be professional.”

“We can be,” he said, his jaw set stubbornly…so much like Tony. “I guess that means we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“We’re very different people,” she added.

“Always were,” he confirmed.

His comment stung, but she preferred the truth to fantasy.

“But I’m starting to see the wisdom in building a construction bridge,” he said.

Amy met his gaze. So she could leave even sooner than she’d planned.

“Who knows,” he said casually, “maybe we could cut assembly time down to ten weeks.”

“Or even eight,” she offered.

He nodded. “I’ll get a crew on it tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said.

“Good,” he said.