Forget Me Not. Marion EkholmЧитать онлайн книгу.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
“ARE YOU GOING to marry me now that I’m all grown up?”
Trish placed her hand on the door frame and leaned closer to the storm window for a better view of the man on the front porch. Marry him? What on earth was he talking about?
“Do I know you?” There was something familiar about the grin that spread so quickly across his face. His deep blue eyes held an unmistakable twinkle.
“How’ve you been, Trish?” He chuckled. When she still couldn’t make a connection, he added, “You were the best babysitter I ever had.”
Trish sucked in her breath. “Butch?” she yelled. “Butchy Cadman? Look at you! Last time I saw you...”
“I was a good foot shorter.”
Trish pushed open the door, came onto the porch and stood next to him. She looked up and laughed. “Not quite that, but you sure have grown.” He had to be four or five inches taller than her five foot eight. She took a few steps back to get the full view of him while he watched her with equal interest.
“I always told you I’d catch up with you one day,” he said. “Don’t I get a hug for old times?” She held out her arms, and he enfolded her in a bear hug.
She reached up and ruffled his dark wavy hair. “I didn’t recognize you. Little Butchy Cadman.” With a sigh, she stepped out of his embrace, then caught his smirk.
“You blushing?” he asked.
Trish pushed away and tried to look undisturbed, but warmth radiated from her cheeks. “Still planning on marrying me, huh?” She grinned. “You should be over that by now. What’s it been? Ten years?”
“Me? Forget my first love? Never.” He sobered. “I’m really sorry you had to come back under these circumstances. I know how close you were to your grandmother.”
She swallowed and nodded thanks for his sympathy. Gram had left her this house in her will with the hope Trish would move back, keep it in the family and reestablish her roots. That wasn’t likely.
Trish rubbed her arms to fight off the November chill. With only two and a half weeks before Thanksgiving, they couldn’t expect the Indian summer to last much longer. “Okay if we go inside?”
“Sure.”
Trish and her parents used to live here in Riverbend, New Jersey, near Gram. Moving away had been difficult—Trish left a grandmother she adored as well as all her friends while starting her junior year in high school. Her father’s promotion had taken them to Virginia, where he could commute to his new job in Washington, DC. When her grandmother became ill a year ago, Trish moved to New York City so she could be close by. If only she’d relocated earlier. Their time together had been so short.
“So, Butch,” she said once they were in the large vestibule, “are you here on your father’s behalf, or will he stop by later to give me an estimate?”
“Dad died nearly two years ago.”
“Oh.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He nodded. “I took over the business, so I do all the estimating and most of the renovation work. And there’s another thing. I don’t go by Butch anymore. It’s Craig. Now that my dad’s gone, there’s no more confusion.”
“Okay. Craig it is.” She hesitated. The senior Cadman had had a sterling reputation not only for his integrity but also for his superior craftsmanship. Her grandmother had trusted him to do all the repairs on the house, from the plumbing to the electricity. But Craig, being so young...
“Do you need references?”
Trish shook her head. “Of course not. I just remember you tagging along with your dad...”
Craig took in a deep breath. “My father taught me everything he could, and before he died, I earned my contractor’s license. Besides that, I work with an experienced crew who also worked with my father. My mother can supply you with names of people I’ve worked for.” He chucked her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “Always ask, Trish. There are too many people out there who will do a rotten job and take you to the cleaners.”
Her faith restored, Trish waved toward the arched entrance to the living room. “Shall we look at the house?” They stopped at the large staircase. “No one’s lived here since Gram went to a nursing home. Neighbors kept an eye on it, and I’ve been up a few times to check. But I’m afraid there’s damage from the roof leaking when the last hurricane came barreling through.”
“Right. We’ve taken care of a lot of damage from storms this past summer.” Craig removed his heavy blue windbreaker and placed it over the staircase’s carved newel cap.
“I’ll need the roof repaired or replaced. I’d like an estimate on both. While I’m here, I’ll start on the central staircase, sanding it down and refinishing it. I’m hoping to get it back to its beautiful oak finish once that carpet’s removed.”
They walked into the living room, which was still loaded with heavy, outdated furniture. “No damages here. Just some ratty-looking wallpaper I’ll need to remove.”
Craig made notes on his iPad, scrutinizing the fieldstone fireplace as well as taking a quick picture. “When was the last time this was used?”
Trish shrugged. “I remember one Christmas...” She sighed. “But that was a long time ago.”
“I’ll check it out. Don’t want any unwanted fires messing up the repairs.”
When he looked in the direction of the old-fashioned furniture, Trish asked, “Do you know where I can donate all of this?” She swung her hand around, indicating several items in overstuffed maroon velvet. “I have no use for it, and I’d really prefer having the room cleared before I remove the wallpaper and paint.”
“Sure.