Her Road Home

He held the thick metal front door for her. “Don’t judge it by the exterior. They have the best seafood for fifty miles.”

“If you say it, I believe it. I think.” She ducked under his arm.

A jukebox belted out the Beach Boys in the corner, and the bar stretched along the wall to the left. Behind the bar, where a mirror would normally reflect liquor bottles, stood a saltwater fish tank, stretching the entire length of the back wall. It was brightly lit from above, but the back had been blacked out, so the exotic fish stood out in bold relief. Schools of small bright yellow, red and blue fish darted around the huge tank like pennants fluttering in the wind.

He led the way past the bar to a dining area, where empty tables sat, dressed in red-and-white checked tablecloths. She followed him down a step to the patio. A glass wall blocked the wind coming in from the ocean side. Red and white umbrellas touting Mexican beer shaded glass-topped tables. The patio extended to the high tide point of the surf, the waves nearly lapping its base.

“Oh, I take back everything I was thinking. This is even better than the California I heard about, back in Ohio. How did you find this place?”

“It’s a closely guarded secret. The outside is to discourage tourists, I think.”

* * *

HE LED SAM to an unoccupied sun-filled corner. At a square table he pulled out a chair facing the ocean, and settled her into it before taking the one alongside. The waitress arrived, wanting their drink order.

She ordered a glass of the house Chablis without ever pulling her eyes from the long low waves combing the beach.

He took the proffered menus and ordered a Coke, thinking how pretty her hair looked, glinting platinum in the sun. With a bit more tan, she could pass for a vacationing movie star.

“Can you give me your mother’s address, Nick? I’d like to send her a little thank-you, for the use of her car.”

To avoid her look, he opened a menu and scanned it. “My mother died, fifteen years ago.”

“Oh,” She sounded like she’d stepped in a hole. “Nick, I’m so sorry.” Her fingers touched the back of his hand. Long, elegant fingers. Soft skin. Touching him. He kept his eyes on the menu.

Don’t drag out the dirty laundry basket. Not on a first date. When he fisted his hand, her fingers hovered for a moment, then withdrew. For the best. He didn’t want her sympathy. Besides, sympathy evaporated fast given the blowtorch of his past. “It happened a long time ago. Do you want to try the crab?”

“Sure. But you’ll have to show me how. I’ve never had the guts to tackle those leg-cracker things.”

He glanced up to see if she was joking. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve never eaten crab?”

“Give me a break. Ohio isn’t exactly Mollusk Mecca, you know.”

“I guess not.” He gathered the menus, trying to hide a smile. “Crab is a crustacean.”

She waved a hand. “Whatever.”

Time to test those walls. “What’s Ohio like?” It was a bonus that he got to watch that gorgeous mouth move.

“Just about as different from this as you can get.” She looked out at the sea, squinting a bit in the glare. “California is like a teenager, all brash and full of energy. Ohio is a middle-class, middle-aged grown-up. Flat, staid and earnest.”

“Your family still there?”

She stopped, just long enough for him to realize he’d never seen her still. “My mom died when I was born. My dad died six years ago.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“I was first, and only.” She pulled a strand of wind-blown hair away from her lips. “But my mom was it for him—he never remarried. So he had to make do with me.” She smiled. “It was lucky for me, though. In the summer he had to take me to work with him, and I learned my love of building from him. If there had been a brother, Dad probably wouldn’t have thought to teach me.”

He ignored the heat in his chest, warmed by the smile that wasn’t meant for him. “Sounds like a fun childhood.”

Her smile faded. “It sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

When the waitress interrupted, he ordered for them. She asked if Sam wanted another glass of wine. Sam looked down as if surprised to find the glass empty. She shook her head, and the waitress left.

Sam folded her arms on the table. “What about you? Where did you come from?”

“Right here, in Widow’s Grove. I thought you knew.”

She looked him full in the face, eyes round in shock. “Jesse said something about it, but I thought she was kidding. You’ve never lived anywhere else? Ever?”

“Well, my trade school and internship was in L.A., but I scooted back here as soon as I could.”

Her lips quirked. “Homesick?”

He thought about the jail cell that had been his home for six months. “More than you can imagine. Like every other teenager from a small town, I couldn’t wait to blow this place. But L.A. didn’t suit me. Too many dazzling lights. Too many people. Too many bars.” He took a sip of Coke to make himself shut up, and kicked the laundry basket full of past to a dark corner. “Why did you leave home?”

She looked out to sea so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with an overflowing basket.

“About a month after Dad died, I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. You know how when you’re thinking, you don’t see what you’re looking at?”

She couldn’t have seen his nod.

“When I came to, I was staring at the kitchen cabinets. I really saw them. The white paint was dingy, and worn around the handles. The section over the counter actually sagged in the middle. I looked around the room. The linoleum was worn almost through, in places. The porcelain sink was rust-stained and the white tile on the counters was chipped.”

He knew she wasn’t seeing the waves she focused on.

“So I wandered to the living room. It was so weird. This was the house that Dad and I had worn for years, like a pair of well-loved slippers. On the other hand, I saw the house as a professional. What a disaster! How could we not have noticed that?

“Anyway, I figured I owed it to the old girl to spruce her up. I quit my job to work on the house. I needed a goal. I was kinda lost after Dad....” She shook her head, a sad ghost of a smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “By the end of the year, that house was a jewel. Walk-in closets, bay windows, curved archways. Man, that was a sweet place.”

He watched emotion flick across her face, sensing this woman didn’t divulge her past often. Or easily. “Why did you leave?”

She shrugged. “When I finished the renovation, I realized the house wasn’t mine anymore. I could just see a young mom, cooking dinner in the kitchen....”

“And so?”

“So, I contacted a real estate agent about selling. The offer that came in floored me. It started me thinking. Maybe I could make a living renovating houses and reselling them. I looked for another run-down house, but then I realized—it wasn’t only my house that didn’t fit me. Ohio didn’t, either.” She straightened the silverware in front of her. “Maybe it never had.”

When the server brought their meal, he wanted to shoo her away, afraid Sam would abandon her story. The girl must have sensed it, because she laid out the plates and left with only a smile.

Sam sat straight and put her napkin in her lap. “So I hit the road. I saw a lot of the country, and took on projects in places I liked: Florida, Texas and the last in Colorado.” She looked from him to the plate. “So here I am, on the California coast, with a plateful of crab and no skills for eating it.”

He flexed his knuckles. “Ah, but you are lucky enough to be dining with a master crab cracker.”

Through the meal, they discussed getting-to-know-you topics: music, food, movies, books. They lingered, talking long after the dishes had been cleared. He’d had female friends, but he’d never felt this relaxed on a first date. Hell, on any date.

Sam’s nostrils flared, taking in the salt air. “It never occurred to me that I’d live within driving distance of the ocean. Do you ever get tired of the view?” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, her hair lifting on a stray breeze.

He couldn’t pull his eyes from those long legs. “No, and I don’t think I ever will.”

At his reverent tone, her brow furrowed. Turning her head, seeing his smile, her eyes narrowed.

Wrong move, Slick.

Her face settled into tight, polite lines. “Well. Just look at the sun—what time is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Does it matter?” Note for the future—don’t gawk.

If there was a future.

She tossed her napkin on the table, scooted her chair back and reached for her small slouch purse. “I need to get back. I’m right in the middle of a big project.” She opened her purse and pulled out some bills.

He rolled on one hip and pulled his wallet. “I’ve got it.”

“I’ll pay for my own, thanks.” Her formal tone matched the cool in her eye.

He knew better than to argue with that tone. Damn. He’d known she had strong boundaries; he should have known better. But she’d been so relaxed, and he’d been enjoying himself so much that he let himself forget.

Now he may have blown his chance with the most interesting woman he’d met in eons. Idiot. No wonder you’re alone on Friday nights.

* * *

SAM KEPT QUIET on the way back to the house. This was a bad idea. You knew it.

Just loosen up a bit, the little girl whispered in a singsong voice.

If you loosen up, stuff is going to fall out.

Sam gathered her hair into a ponytail with her fist, pulling tight the tender hairs at the nape of her neck. Maybe the pain would wake her up. She’d been in denial. The nightmares were the rumble of thunder, signaling an approaching storm. Now was the time to hunker down—find some shelter.

Because it’s surer than hell gonna rain bad stuff.

She snuck a glance at Nick’s profile. He looked like a bad boy thanks to an unlucky arrangement of features. But she learned today he was really just a small-town homebody. Sweet, but...

Too sweet to get sucked into the funnel cloud heading her way.

A shudder rattled down her spine. She didn’t know what was going to happen when that storm hit, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Nick slowed, and turned at her driveway.

She reached to the floorboard to pick up her bag, before the car stopped. “Thanks for lunch, and for the ride.”

He turned, the questions in his eyes grazing the skin of her face, as if looking for a way in. “I had a good time, Sam. It felt like I’ve known you a lot longer than I have. I’d like to find out why. Can I call you?”

So he’d felt it, too. Usually she didn’t relax so easily. Lunch with Nick had filled more than her stomach. She’d enjoyed him way too much. When had that ever happened to her? Exactly never.

But within her, a harbinger wind whipped the small hope away. She scrambled out of the car. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m going to be really busy.”

“What are you afraid of, Sam? Me?”

“Not you.” She felt her lips twist, but the result probably wasn’t a smile. “We’ve both got things to do, Nick, and my things aren’t in Widow’s Grove. Better to just let it go.”

“Better how? Look, Sam. I know you’re going back to the road as soon as the house is done, and I have no intention of leaving Widow’s Grove, ever again.” He lifted his hand from the passenger seat, turning it palm up. “Doesn’t that make me safe?”

“Safe?” She dropped her hands and stepped away from the car. “I don’t know that word.” She turned to trudge up the drive, hearing the throb of the car’s engine, and feeling the familiar throb of separateness in her chest.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SAM SPENT A RESTLESS night awash in dreams that were complex and dark. She’d struggle almost to the surface of consciousness, only to be pulled under by another black wave. At dawn, sleep’s undertow pushed her onto the beach of Wednesday morning. Her muscles ached, as though she’d spent the night swimming against the current.

After brewing a pot of coffee, she sat on the front steps to strategize. Once the basic task of keeping the rain out was complete, maybe she’d install a porch swing. How great would it be to sit out here in the morning, watching the cloud shadows shifting over the landscape?

Besides, a swing would add a homey touch. Make it show better.

Later that morning, she drove into the packed parking lot of Widow’s Grove High. Much as she hated it, she had to face facts. She needed help.

The school was a cluster of single-story stucco buildings connected by covered walkways, outlined in flowerbed borders. Her alma mater in Ohio had been a stone block prison in comparison. Heading for the large double doors, she wondered if things would have been better if she’d attended a school like this.

Yeah, right. Like pretty scenery would have changed anything. Now, if you’d never met Mr. Collins, that would have made a difference.

She opened the heavy glass door and stepped into the past.

Amazing how all state-run learning institutions smelled the same: a mixture of old library books, decades of cafeteria food, dust and teenage hormones. She checked in at the office and received directions to the shop classroom.

Sam forced her shoulders back and her chin up, reminding herself that she was no longer a gangly, scuttling misfit. Strange how walking the halls brought back the sharp-edged emotions that memories themselves did not. A tall, awkward, tomboy from the wrong side of town might have skated under the radar of the cool girl clique—if she hadn’t had the audacity to be friends with their boyfriend pool.

Clllannnggg! At the bell, the cavernous hall became a flash-flood river of students. They wore cutting-edge fashions, piercings and blatant attitude. The girls chattered behind their hands about the boys, who postured in studious disregard. Exotic fragrances competed with sweet, immature ones, combining in a miasma of perfume and teenage sweat. Raucous laughter echoed off the cinder block walls and every voice ratcheted decibels, competing. Sam breathed in the youthful energy, the air fairly crackling with a potent mix of potential and angst.

It was one of those rare times when she stood at the edge of a double-sided mirror: on one side was the awkward teen outcast, on the other, a grown woman. A professional. A contractor.

An emotional mess.

She found the correct room number and dropped out of the flow of students.

Maybe so. But at least in one aspect of her life, she’d achieved her dream. A rare bubble of pride rose in her chest.

Dan Porter stood at the front of the classroom in dress slacks and a blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Samantha. You came!” His tone told her he hadn’t been at all sure she would. He hurried over on stubby legs to pump her hand.

The front of the large room was a typical classroom, with chairs in rows facing a blackboard. The back transitioned to a wood shop, with high ceilings and windows marching down one side.

“Class is about to start. Do you have the time to sit in? It would give you an idea of the kids’ knowledge levels. At the end, would you mind talking a bit about what you do for a living? I try to remind them that there will be life after high school. Or am I asking too much?”

Sam chuckled. “What would I expect from a man who prowls home improvement stores, springing on unsuspecting contractors? I’d be happy to talk, but I’m not ready to commit to hiring them.”

“That’s fair enough.”

She slid into a chair at the back as the bell rang. Several students slipped in as Dan closed the door. Sam was gratified to see both sexes represented; she’d been the only girl in her shop classes. The boys had accepted her, once they realized that she took it seriously. The girls weren’t as forgiving.

Dan began the class by asking them to recite the rules.

Smart way to get the kids to buy in to safety.

“I want to introduce Samantha Crozier, a local contractor.”

Heads turned, chairs squealed and the heavy regard of a tough audience settled on Sam. She sat still, squirming relegated only to her stomach.

“Ms. Crozier is going to speak with us at the end of class. You’re free to work on your individual projects, now. Anyone has questions, come see me.”

Sam followed the noisy crowd to the business side of the shop.

Wandering past the floor saws, she stopped to talk to several students. Their projects ranged from simple bookshelves to birdhouses.

One boy was using power tools to carve a long chunk of cedar. Tall and lanky, stringy black hair obscured most of his pale face. Clad totally in black, he had a safety pin through his eyebrow and homemade tattoos etched the backs of both hands. He ignored her, concentrating on his intricate work with a scroll saw.

When he paused, Sam asked, “What is it?”

“A sign for a band I know.”

Gothic letters spelling “Long Goodbye” stood in bold relief, an elongated dragon winding through them.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Huh.”

“Do you want to work in wood as a career?”

“Dunno.”

“You should think about it. You have talent.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The buzz of the electric router made further conversation impossible—though conversation seemed too ambitious a word. She moved to the next station.

At the end of class, Sam spoke for ten minutes about the building trade and the future of the industry.

When she was done, Dan spoke up. “We’ve got a few minutes for questions. This is your chance, people. Do you have anything you’ve wondered about the career that Sam could answer?”

The blonde girl in the front row raised her hand. “Have you run into prejudice, being a woman contractor?”

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