Baby, Come Home (3 page)

Her heart stuttered. Kendall had grown from a beautiful boy into a devastatingly handsome man, his shoulders wide and muscled, his skin tanned, his brown hair streaked by the sun. He wasn’t quite smiling and he wasn’t quite scowling. As always, he was square in the middle of his brothers’ temperaments. He had the same deep blue eyes as Marcus and Porter, but where Marcus looked stern and Porter, mischievous, Kendall was the calm one.

The cautious one. The one who couldn’t commit.

With a sigh, she closed down the page and reopened the CAD drawing, hoping to lose herself in the details of the diagram. But her mind kept wandering and she kept making mistakes. Then she inadvertently pressed a key that undid an hour’s worth of work.

“Dammit!” she muttered.

The ring of the phone offered a welcome distraction from her burgeoning frustration. Out of habit from the past few weeks, she crossed her fingers and picked up the receiver.

“Amy Bradshaw.”

“Ms. Bradshaw, this is Michael Thoms from the Greater Michigan Water Commission.”

Her pulse spiked—the phone call she’d been waiting for. She strove for a calm tone. “Yes, Mr. Thoms…I’ve been expecting your call.”

“I have to apologize for the delay. Funding for the Peninsula Reservoir was held up in legislature, so we were holding off on filling positions on the project team.”

“I understand,” she said, her chest tightening with anticipation.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bradshaw. The project manager position went to another engineer who had slightly more experience.”

Her shoulders fell in disappointment, but she rallied her voice. “I understand.”

“If it’s any consolation, you were in the top three and the decision was close.”

She smiled. “That’s very kind of you to share, thank you.” After a few more minutes of small talk, Amy returned the receiver and tamped down the panic that licked at her. She’d been counting on that contract to stabilize her work hours and finances for the next two years. With the economy in the hard-hit manufacturing state still struggling to its feet, those kinds of public works projects were few and far between. She looked back to her computer screen. It would take a lot of wheelchair ramps to make up the difference.

Or you could go build a bridge,
her mind whispered.

She pushed to her feet and walked over to a bin that held tubes of rolled up blueprints. She flipped through them until she located the cardboard tube she had in mind. It was soft and shopworn from so many moves over the years. She opened the tube and withdrew several yellowed pages, then unrolled them on a drawing table and used paperweights to hold down the curled edges.

Building plans for Evermore Bridge, Sweetness, Georgia, 1920. Official copy, do not remove.
She
had
removed them from the courthouse, though…stolen them, to be more precise, as she was inclined to do in those days when something caught her fancy.

And now it seemed that things had come full circle. Amy released a bittersweet laugh. It seemed as if the universe was telling her she should go home to Sweetness.

Before she could change her mind, she picked up the phone and scrolled back to the number Marcus had called from, then pushed a button to connect the call. As the phone rang, she wondered nervously if Kendall would answer and if he did, what she might say.

But to her relief, Marcus’s voice came on the line. “Marcus Armstrong.”

“Marcus, this is Amy,” she began, but her voice petered out. She cleared her throat, then rushed ahead before she lost her nerve. “Is that offer of designing your new bridge still open?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then…I’ll take it.”

“Great. I’m glad you changed your mind. How soon can you get here?”

Tony would not be happy about her leaving. “Um, I need a week to tie up some loose ends. Will that work?”

“Sure. I guess I don’t have to tell you that you’ll be working with Kendall.”

She swallowed. “I assumed so.”

“Would you like to talk to him? He’s not here, but I can give you his cell phone number.”

“No, thanks,” she said. She needed to get her story straight before she faced Kendall Armstrong again. “I’ll see him soon enough.”

3

T
he more familiar the surroundings became, the tighter Amy’s hands gripped the steering wheel. The passenger seat of her SUV was littered with candy bar wrappers and an empty box of chocolate donuts. In hindsight, sugar and cocoa hadn’t been the wisest stimulant for the long drive. She was wired, and every sense seemed to be firing on all cylinders.

Despite the winter month, the north Georgia mountains were plenty colorful, with soaring evergreens thriving in red clay, and banks of snow high on rock ledges. Cottony clouds hung in a sky of the clearest, deepest blue…the color of Kendall Armstrong’s eyes.

She was, she conceded, a nervous wreck about seeing him again. For a week she’d been giving herself pep talks to steel herself against the onslaught of emotions she knew would hit her, but she wasn’t sure the mental gymnastics had done any good. Tony, as she’d expected, wasn’t happy about her leaving. Of course, he wasn’t happy about many things these days, so it was hard to pinpoint if she was the cause of his discontent or just a target.

When she turned off the state road onto the more narrow one that would take her to Sweetness, a hot flush climbed her neck. When she’d left this place, she hadn’t planned on ever coming back. Now, it felt as if the years away were collapsing. The landscape had changed somewhat, had suffered from the decade of neglect after the tornado. Kudzu vine encompassed entire copses of trees and hillsides. She knew from industry journals just how concerned civil engineers in the South were over the encroaching plant. It was referred to as the “mile-a-minute vine” that could consume bridges and overpasses in a matter of weeks.

But the surroundings became more cultivated as she entered the outskirts of the small town. The road was newly paved, she noticed, and wider than before. The fluorescent center and shoulder paint lines looked freshly applied. A low guardrail might seem unnecessary to newcomers, but she knew the railing would keep weeds at bay, and serve as a hindrance for wild animals to wander onto the road.

Her first sign of civilization was a car coming in the opposite direction. Once upon a time, she would’ve recognized not just the car, but the person driving it. The fact that she didn’t know either one made her feel like an outsider.

When she rounded the last curve before the straightaway into town, she glanced to the left for a glimpse of the Evermore Bridge that had always welcomed people into town. Marcus had told her it had blown away, but she wasn’t prepared for the sinking sensation in her stomach over the yawning gape in the landscape where the bridge had once stood. In fact, if a person didn’t know better, they might not know the fine landmark had ever existed. From an engineer’s point of view, she should be glad the demolition of the existing structure would be minimal, but it was alarming that something that had been so solid, so…
steadfast
could be there one minute, and gone the next.

Like Kendall…

The site where the mercantile had once stood was equally haunting. Once a hubbub of activity where farmers bought feed and lumber and women bought fabric and books, it was now an overgrown plateau covered with scrub brush and spindly saplings.

Just when she’d started to think she would recognize nothing about this place, Amy looked up to see the water tower perched high on a ridge and her heart unfurled. The inverted white capsule-shaped tank was topped by a pointed roof that resembled a hat. It looked like a stalwart soldier, standing watch and heralding, “Welcome to Sweetness.” When Nikki Salinger had relocated to the town, she’d called Amy from the water tower because it was the only place her phone could get cell service. As Amy drove closer, she could make out graffiti on the side of the tank—giant red letters that spelled out “I
Nikki.”

Amy smiled. It looked as if Porter Armstrong had resumed the age-old tradition of proclaiming love publicly with a can of spray paint.

And apparently, it had worked. The last time she’d spoken with Nikki, her friend had sounded deliriously happy and in love. Amy felt guilty about not letting Nikki know she was coming, but honestly, she was afraid she might change her mind at the last moment. She’d sworn Marcus to secrecy.

The fact that the historically disagreeable man was being so accommodating only reinforced her belief that Marcus knew more about her life than he was letting on.

The approach into Sweetness was long and flat, giving her a few more moments to collect herself and figure out what to do when she arrived. She slowed as buildings came into view in the distance. To the right was a broken paved road that led up to Clover Ridge where the Armstrongs had lived. She’d spent many hours there with Kendall and, after he’d left to join the Air Force, visiting his mother, Emily. Her heart squeezed. Emily Armstrong was the mother she’d always wanted, kind and cheerful and loving. Amy had been loath to leave her company and go home to her aunt who was perennially bitter that Amy’s parents had died in a car accident when she was a toddler and left Amy for her to raise. Aunt Heddy always said that Kendall Armstrong only wanted one thing from a girl like her. In hindsight, she had been right.

After Amy left Sweetness, she’d wondered if Emily Armstrong had persuaded her son that Amy wasn’t the right girl for him, that she wasn’t good enough to be part of their family. Now, though, she conceded it had been a defense mechanism. If Kendall had rejected her because of her coarse upbringing, he had done it on his own.

She tapped the brake again as she approached what she presumed was the new downtown. The rise where their high school had once stood was now a windmill farm, the enormous white blades turning like a flower garden in motion. Amy kept driving, then squinted. The exterior of most of the buildings looked as if they’d been built with a patchwork of materials—a school, a General Store, a large structure with a wraparound porch that she surmised was the boardinghouse Nikki had mentioned, and other unidentifiable establishments that seemed to be bustling with activity. She stopped to allow a group of children to cross the road in front of her vehicle. From the armloads of books and sagging backpacks, it appeared that school had just let out. Amy smiled when they gawked—the town was obviously still small enough for everyone to recognize a stranger.

She’d dressed carefully in slacks and low-heeled leather boots, a tailored blouse and jacket. She’d had her unruly red curls tamed with a relaxer and wore it pulled back at the nape of her neck. When she’d left Sweetness, she’d been a ragamuffin tomboy. She was determined to return as a successful professional. A glance down at her collar elicited a moan—a smear of chocolate marred the look she’d so carefully orchestrated. So much for sophistication. Amy tucked the collar underneath the lapel of her jacket and gave a self-deprecating laugh.

You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.

Her fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel as she pondered her next move. She was considering calling Marcus or Nikki when, up ahead, she spotted a familiar sign from the website— Sweetness Family Medical Center. Nikki would probably be there. She’d stop first to say hello to her friend…and buy more time before she had to face Kendall.

Kendall pushed back from his laptop, then walked over to a color laser printer in the corner of the new media room in the boardinghouse to pick up the aerial view printouts. The presentation for the Department of Energy representative had been tweaked and retweaked until it was damn near perfect.

But they were still waiting for the guy to arrive.

“Kendall?”

He turned to see Rachel Hutchins, the informal spokesperson for the original group of women who had arrived from Broadway, standing there in all her blondeness. She was a little flashy for his tastes, but a treat for the eyes, for sure, with her long legs and tight sweaters. It had been months since he’d place that ad—Amy obviously wasn’t coming home. Maybe he owed it to himself to start…looking.

He smiled. “Do you need something, Rachel?”

She dimpled. “A picture hung in my bedroom.”

He almost balked, then told himself he was over-reacting. “No problem. Let me shut down here.” He slid the color printouts into a folder, then stashed every thing in his laptop bag. Carrying the bag, he followed her through the hallway of the boardinghouse they’d built for the women they’d attracted with the promise of room and board for two years.

The atmosphere was slightly different now, though, since some of the women’s children had arrived. He stepped aside as two school-aged boys ran by, roughhousing and shouting. When school let out, the media room was usually packed with children playing video games and accessing social networking sites. It was a far cry from the way he and his brothers had spent their extra time.

He often wondered if he ever had children, would he even be able to relate to them. Even if they were raised here in his resurrected hometown, it was obvious their experience would be different from his own.

“Hello, Cupid,” Rachel cooed as she stopped to scratch the ears of the doe the woman had nursed back to health and domesticated, allowing it to roam free in the house. The animal was even housebroken. Scampering at its feet was Rachel’s black-faced pug. For some bizarre reason, the dog seemed enamored with the deer. Rachel crouched and made smooching noises. “Hello, Nigel, baby.” She straightened and looked at Kendall. “I think we should expand the pet section at the General Store. Our pet population is almost fifty, you know.”

He hadn’t known, but he nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Just talk to Molly.”

Rachel made a face. “Need I remind you that the Colonel doesn’t believe in having animals indoors? I don’t think she’s the best person to be in charge of ordering supplies anyway.”

It wasn’t the first time that girly girl Rachel and no-nonsense Colonel Molly had butted heads, but both women had proved their mettle by contributing countless hours and good ideas to the effort of rebuilding the town. The Armstrongs couldn’t afford to alienate either one of them.

Kendall offered a congenial smile. “But it makes sense because Molly’s ordering supplies for the dining hall anyway.”

Rachel sniffed and resumed walking. “We have to do something about that cafeteria, too. It’s depressing. When are we going to turn it into a restaurant?”

“It’s on the list,” he assured her. He indulged in watching her curvy behind sashay in front of him. Amy’s build was smaller, more athletic. And she’d had the most beautiful head of red hair.

“Here we are,” Rachel sang as she reached for the knob of a door and pushed it open.

Kendall hesitated, then guiltily glanced both ways down the hall to see if anyone was watching before stepping inside.

When she closed the door behind him, he felt trapped, which made him realize how long it had been since he’d been alone with a woman. The room was built and furnished similarly to others in the house—one window, a bed and dresser, love seat, chair, coffee table, writing desk, closet, and a bathroom.

But the otherwise tidy room was strewn with various pieces of clothing—a silky white nightgown, a tiny pink T-shirt that read “Maybe, Baby,” a denim skirt, a pair of tall black boots. Through the bathroom door, two pairs of panty hose were hanging over a towel rack. Kendall’s face warmed at the implied intimacy. He glanced at the door and considered bolting, but realized how idiotic that would look. Then he forced himself to relax. Who said Rachel was interested in anything more than a little decorating?

But she was looking at his crotch. “I see you brought your hammer.”

He blanched. “Pardon me?”

She pointed to the tool belt he wore so often, he forgot he had it on. “A hammer…for pounding in a nail?” She held up a picture-hanging hook, then pointed to a picture leaning against the wall.

He felt like an idiot. “Oh, right. Where do you want it?”

“Can you hold it up for me?”

“Sure.” He reached for the picture, then stopped when he realized it was a photograph of the old covered bridge that had once spanned Timber Creek. “Evermore Bridge,” he murmured. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get this?”

She stepped close to look over his shoulder. Her floral perfume filled his nostrils. “I was going through some photographs in the Lost and Found warehouse, and thought this one was really great.”

“It is great,” he agreed.

“So you remember the bridge?”

He nodded slowly, assailed with memories. “It was a fantastic piece of workmanship.” And it was his and Amy’s place.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t the original photo,” Rachel said. “I scanned it in—this is a color copy.” Then she bit into her cherry-pink lip. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he said, irritated with himself that everything these days reminded him of Amy. “Do you want it hung here, over the dresser?”

“Yes, please.”

Kendall held the picture against the wall. He glanced down to see a lacy red bra of considerable cup size lying on the top of the dresser. He averted his gaze to Rachel to take direction from her, but all he could visualize was her wearing that red bra…or worse—
not
wearing it.