Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel Read online

  His cell phone rang and he jumped. It was an unfamiliar number. He hoped it wasn’t Priscilla Castro coming up with a new urgent home repair. He said a cautious hello.

  A wavering voice on the other end of the call asked, “Is this Grant Masters?”

  Only if you’re not related to Priscilla Castro. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Masters, my name is Lucille Schoemaker. Your daughter-in-law thought perhaps you could help me and gave me your number.”

  Charley was the best. “How can I help you?”

  “It’s a little delicate,” she said and cleared her throat. “I need some bars installed in my bathroom. By the toilet.”

  One of the many joys of aging. The knees didn’t work the same as they used to. He remembered when his own mother had reached that point. “I can take care of that for you.”

  “If you could, it would be wonderful!”

  “Not a problem.” He’d fit her in somehow.

  He missed two more calls when he was showering in his room at Gerhardt’s. Good Lord. His part-time job was swiftly morphing into overtime. He was going to have to hire help. How happy was Matt over there in Seattle?

  It was a fleeting thought. Matt wanted to be in the restaurant business. Grant couldn’t drag his son away from that to spend his life fixing broken porches and painting houses. Still, maybe Matt would be open to coming to Icicle Falls on his next days off, just to help his old man get caught up.

  His call went to voice mail, of course. Matt would be working at the restaurant by now. “Hey, son. Wondering if you’re interested in coming up here for a couple of days and helping me out with a project or two.” Matt had done some roofing and he could handle tearing up shingles. He could also spray paint a house. “I need some help painting a place.” If he could at least delegate that to Matt, he could get busy over at Stef’s while he was waiting for the roofing materials for Cass’s house. “Give me a call if you’re interested in making a few bucks. I’ll throw in a six-pack of beer.”

  He doubted he’d have to pay his son much once Matt saw the cute woman who lived in the house. She seemed genuinely sweet. If he could have, Grant would’ve picked someone like her for a daughter-in-law. Too bad she and Matt were on different paths. It might have been a good match.

  Not that Grant did that kind of thing. Dangerous business playing around with people’s lives. Better to let relationships happen naturally.

  Of course, happening naturally hadn’t worked so well for Matt. Hopefully, down the road he’d find someone, settle down, maybe even move over the mountains and start a restaurant somewhere nearby.

  After catching up on the nightly news, Grant wandered over to Zelda’s, where his son was already digging into a plate of nachos. “Hey, Dad. I waited for ya, just like one pig waits for another.”

  “I can see that,” Grant said, sliding into the booth across from him.

  The same young server he’d met when he first hit town came up to the table. “Hi, Mr. Masters. I mean Grant.”

  “Hi there...”

  “Melody,” she reminded him.

  “Melody. How about bringing me some of what my son’s having. And a beer.”

  “IPA?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right away,” she said and hurried off.

  “Nice kid,” Grant observed.

  “Yeah. Her family moved here from Seattle. She’s working a couple of days a week for us, and Charley’s kind of taken her under her wing. Gonna transfer to WSU this fall.”

  Sometimes Grant was a little jealous of young people. They had their whole lives ahead of them, lots of adventures waiting. You’re not in your grave, he told himself. But sometimes he felt like he had one foot hovering over it. Why did life have to zip by so fast?

  Melody returned with his nachos and beer, and he dug in. Corn chips buried under melted cheese, black olives, shredded beef, green onions, jalapeños and black beans, the whole thing topped with sour cream, guacamole and chopped cilantro. Oh, yeah. It paid to know food people.

  Charley had been seating guests but she stopped by the table. “How are my men doing?”

  “Great,” Dan said. “I think Dad likes your nachos.”

  Grant had pretty much vacuumed them off the plate. “Best nachos I’ve had this side of Mexico.”

  She smiled. “Good. Wait until you try one of our steaks. Have it with a beer float,” she advised and left to seat more early birds.

  “Gross,” Dan said under his breath.

  It did sound like a terrible thing to do to beer, Grant had to admit.

  “But that’s nothing compared to some of the food combinations she’s come up with lately at home. Peanut butter and yogurt? Pickles and pretzels? God help us.”

  “Your mother never had any weird cravings when she was pregnant. I always thought that stuff was a myth.”

  “Not at our house,” Dan said and shoved a cheese-draped chip in his mouth.

  Charley was on her way back now, passing them with two middle-aged women in tow. One of them happened to glance in Grant’s direction. She stopped in her tracks and did a double take. “Oh, my gosh! Suzy, look.”

  Her friend Suzy turned around and her jaw fell open. She approached the table like a hungry puppy hoping for a scrap. “Oh, Mr. Clooney, I know you probably want to guard your privacy, but I’ve been a big fan of yours ever since ER. Could I trouble you for an autograph?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not,” Grant began.

  He was drowned out by her friend. “Me, too! Where’s a piece of paper when you need one?” She started rummaging in her purse.

  Meanwhile, Suzy had snatched the napkin from Dan’s lap and shoved it in front of Grant. “Here. Could you sign this? No one back in Sequim is going to believe this.”

  She had that right. “I’m not Clooney.”

  The two women gaped at him as if he’d told them the world would be ending at midnight.

  Then Suzy gave a knowing nod. “Of course,” she said with a wink. She lowered her voice. “Don’t worry, Mr. Clooney. We won’t tell a soul.”

  “Really, I’m not him,” Grant insisted.

  “But would you sign this anyway?” Suzy begged, waving the napkin at him.

  Doing this always made him feel twitchy. Anyone could look online and find the real celebrity’s signature. But sometimes giving in was the only way to make the hounding stop.

  Ignoring his son’s snickers, he signed the napkin.

  “I can’t find anything,” moaned the other woman. “Here.” She stuck her arm in front of him. “Sign my arm. Maybe I can get it tattooed on permanently.”

  A permanent fake signature. Great. “I wouldn’t do that,” Grant cautioned. “The ink might get infected.”

  “I’ll risk it. Just sign anyway.”

  He obliged, feeling like a fool the whole time. Don’t sue me, Clooney. I had this face first.

  “Thank you,” the woman breathed. “I’ll never wash this arm again.”

  “I’ll never wash this arm again,” his son mimicked in a high falsetto after the women had moved on.

  “Very funny,” Grant snapped. “You could have said something, you know.”

  “What would be the point? No one listens. Anyway, what can it hurt... George?”

  Grant pointed a finger at him. “You gonna post bail if I get arrested for impersonating a celebrity?”

  The women were seated now, but still ogling him. This was probably how animals in zoos felt. “You know what—I think I’ll head on back to Gerhardt’s,” he said, pulling a couple of bills out of his pocket.

  “Yeah, it’s a tough life,” Dan teased. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

  “Yeah, you’d think.” But he wasn’t. He hated all the fawning and fussing. As if a guy had any contr
ol over how he looked.

  Charley was with them now. “Sorry about that, Dad. They’re from out of town and I couldn’t bring myself to burst their bubble.”

  “I know,” Grant said. He stood and kissed Charley on the cheek and two besotted sighs escaped the tourists’ table. “I’m going to take off. There’s something on ESPN.” He hoped.

  Dan smirked. “Still can’t handle being George Clooney.”

  “It’s your cross to bear,” Charley said, straight-faced.

  “Ha-ha.” Everyone was a comic.

  Oh, well. He was ready to kick back and relax anyway. He strolled past Gingerbread Haus on his way to the inn and found himself wondering what Cass Wilkes did on her days off. Forget the ladies and focus on the job. Or the sports channel.

  Working and sports, both good. But not enough. Life without a woman was like a half-built house. Empty.

  Aw, Lou, why’d you have to leave me?

  Chapter Ten

  Grant had made a good start on painting Griffin’s house, and he’d ordered the necessary materials for Cass Wilkes’s roof and taken time to help with a few “honey do” emergencies in town, including Lucille Schoemaker’s. The next order of business was to get over to the Stahl residence and start fixing that mess, so Thursday found him at Stef’s place, shoring up the wall so he could get the all-important beam installed. He had help coming later for that—one of Dan’s guys was going to swing by after the job they were doing up on Mountain View and bring along a lift. Meanwhile, Grant had plenty to do here.

  It was one of Stef’s days off, and he’d sent her to his supplier in Wenatchee to pick out flooring, then gotten to work. He’d done as much as he could on his own, shoring up the wall some more and cutting joists. Then he switched to pulling up flooring in the dining room. He was working up a fine sweat when Stef’s husband, Brad, walked in.

  He was an average-looking guy, probably about five-ten and maybe weighed a hundred and fifty if he was lucky. Not a lot of muscle power under that shirt. He checked out Grant’s progress with a frown.

  “Your wife’s not here,” Grant said, getting his crowbar under one end of the old wood and prying it up.

  “Oh. Well, I just came home for lunch. Where is she?”

  “I sent her to pick out the wood for your new floors.”

  Stahl nodded. “I thought we were gonna do that together.”

  Grant decided it would be best not to comment and kept prying up boards.

  Stahl strolled over to him. “I was working on this. Did she tell you?”

  “She said you were having trouble getting it done.” That could be taken the wrong way. “Too busy,” Grant improvised.

  “I am,” Stahl said, almost defensively. “My business is growing.”

  “Good to have a growing business.” Grant pulled up a plank of wood and started on the next one.

  “I was going to get this finished.”

  And clearly the guy wasn’t happy about his wife bringing in someone to mop up after him. “Women get impatient,” Grant said diplomatically. “My wife always wanted things done as of yesterday.”

  “How’d you deal with that?”

  “I got stuff done as of yesterday.”

  “Sounds like she has you whipped,” Stahl teased. He was smiling, but Grant knew a barb when he heard one.

  He didn’t rise to the bait. “She did.”

  “Did? You’re not together anymore?”

  “Afraid not. She died three years ago.”

  Stahl’s gloat vanished. “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

  “It happens.” Grant gave the wood a vicious tug. Very philosophical. But the reality of it still hurt. Maybe some wounds never closed. He’d give anything to have Lou back, busy coming up with projects for him. This kid didn’t know how lucky he was. He needed to. “I have to admit, there were times when she drove me nuts with all the things she found for me to do around the house, but I loved her and I miss her like hell. Life’s short, sometimes shorter than you think it’s going to be. So yeah, all that crazy-making? I’d take it back in a heartbeat.”

  Stahl nodded, still looking uncomfortable, then retreated to the kitchen. Grant hoped he’d given the guy something to think about.

  Five minutes later his wife was back. “I found the most gorgeous wood,” she gushed to Grant. “Brazilian cherry. The man said it’s one of the toughest woods and I’m figuring with Petey we’d better go for tough.”

  Her husband appeared in the kitchen doorway. “You picked out the flooring? I thought we were going to do that together.”

  “Well, one of we has not been available.”

  Brad Stahl’s frown was back. He disappeared into the kitchen once more and his wife followed him. Grant turned up his music, determined not to hear whatever got said in there.

  He didn’t need to hear to guess that it wasn’t a lovey-dovey conversation. Within minutes, Stahl was headed for the door, jaws clenched tighter than a U-clamp.

  Then Stef herself was back, offering Grant something to drink.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” he said and kept working, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. He strongly suspected her husband wouldn’t appreciate the fact that Stef was airing her grievances to a stranger. Anyway, he was a handyman, not a marriage counselor.

  She didn’t seem to know the difference. “Brad doesn’t get it. He has no idea what it feels like to live with everything turned upside down.”

  Grant pointed out that her husband was living under the same conditions.

  “He couldn’t care less,” she scoffed. “As long as he’s got his man cave, he’s happy.”

  Grant wasn’t about to take sides. “This’ll be done soon and then you can both be happy.”

  Judging from the expression on her face, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I’ll be at Griffin’s if you need me for anything.”

  Yep, pissed at the husband. All her girlfriends would know it before the day was over. He understood the woman’s frustration, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Stahl. The guy had tried. He ought to get some credit for that.

  But that was how it went sometimes. When it came to women, a man was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

  He’d had a few times like that himself. Still, those occasions when he got it right... The smile on his wife’s face, the enthusiastic hug. Oh, yeah. Those were the moments a man savored. He hoped that once this place was all put together, Stef would give her man one of those smiles and enthusiastic hugs, and all would be well.

  By Friday, she’d certainly started smiling more as he began making progress on the great room. “It’s going to be fabulous,” she said when she came home from work. The glulam was installed, all the old flooring had been taken up, and the moisture barrier was in place. The new flooring had been delivered, and all that remained was to lay it down. He’d come back and do that after he’d finished Cass’s roof. Then his work here would be done. He knew she wanted that bathroom fixed, but some other sucker would have to deal with that. He’d had enough. The tension in the Stahl house was so thick you could cut it with a skill saw.

  He said goodbye to Stef, got in his truck and headed for his temporary home. He had just turned onto Cedar when he saw a car parked by the side of the road, its trunk open. The attractive woman with the chestnut curls was standing there, holding a car jack and staring at it as if she’d never seen one before.

  Woman in trouble. Hero needed. He pulled up behind her and got out of his truck. “Could you use a hand?”

  “That would be wonderful! Thank you. I’m afraid I never mastered the art of changing a tire.”

  “You don’t want to,” he said, relieving her of the jack. “It’s dirty work.”

  “I must confess, I don’t like getting dirty.”

  He suspe
cted she had plenty of men willing to get dirty on her behalf. Probably plenty who’d like to get dirty with her, too.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” she told him.

  “I saw you the other day at Zelda’s.”

  “I understand you’re Dan’s father.”

  So she’d been doing some checking on him. He smiled as he pulled off the hubcap. “I am. Grant Masters.”

  “I’m Muriel Wittman. I don’t know if you’ve met my daughter Samantha yet, but she’s one of Charley’s best friends.”

  “I think I have.” Had she been at the wedding? Probably.

  “I have two other daughters, Cecily and Bailey. You may not have met them.”

  “Don’t think so,” he said. He loosened a lug nut and tossed it in the upended hubcap.

  “Cecily works at our chocolate company, and Bailey owns Tea Time, a tearoom here in town. Her husband owns the Man Cave. Maybe you’ve been there?”

  “Not yet.” He heard they had pool tables. “I’ll have to check it out.”

  “I’m sure you’re still busy settling in.”

  “Slowly.”

  “It’s a friendly town, lots of good people.”

  “I can see that. I think I’ve just met one of them,” he added.

  That made her smile. Man, she had a great smile. She had to have some guy waiting in the wings.

  “So, Muriel, I’m curious. Is there a man in your life who’s going to wonder why you didn’t call him to change your flat?”

  Her cheeks turned pink as a rose. “No. I’m alone.”

  All right. His lucky day. “I find that hard to believe,” he said and yanked off the tire.

  “I’m a widow.”

  Charley hadn’t mentioned that. He stopped in his tracks, the tire in his hand. “I’m sorry. I lost my wife, so I know how you feel.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not easy, is it?”

  There was an understatement. He dumped the old tire in the trunk and got busy putting on the spare.