The Wishing Season (7 page)

What was wrong with her? It felt so strange, so awful, like someone else was looking out her eyes. Fear bubbled up, vague and undefined, but strong, seeping into the deepest reaches.

Everything was going to be fine. She wasn’t going to fail. She wasn’t.

But right now it was hard to believe she was going to live through the moment.
Get it together, PJ.

“What’s wrong?”

PJ shook her head, still trying to get her breathing under control. “My heart’s racing.” She started pacing. Somehow it comforted her.

Ryan applied a strip of tape, finishing the baseboard. “I’m sure you’re fine.” He stood and checked his watch.

She
was
fine.
You’re fine, PJ. Stop stressing. You’re doing this to yourself.

“I have that meeting at the firehouse.”

PJ nodded. Blew out a breath, wishing he’d go so she could panic in private.

“Sure you’re all right?” Ryan asked as he opened the door.

She nodded and tried for a smile. That was all she could do. And then he was gone.

She paced through the room, focusing on her breathing, which couldn’t seem to keep pace with her heart.
Please, God
.

Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. She stopped by
the window overlooking the backyard. Peaceful trees. Peaceful gardens. Peaceful shade. She drew in breath after breath, blowing it out through her mouth.

What was wrong with her? This wasn’t normal. Right?

“PJ?”

She closed her eyes, not daring to look over her shoulder. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone for two seconds?

She worked to steady her breath. “Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a—”

In. Out.
Come on, PJ. Relax
.

“You okay?”

Go away. Just go away
. She nodded.

Muted footsteps fell behind her.

“Have a what?” she made herself ask.

She felt his presence closing in. Smelled the musky scent of him, now familiar. She tucked her trembling hands into her pockets and focused on an old tire swing that hung from a thick branch of a towering oak tree.

“You’re not okay.” He was beside her now. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. Blew out a breath, focused on the tire swing, swaying gently in the breeze.

He took her wrist, pulling her hand from her pocket, and set two fingers at her pulse.

Her heart did a funny flop. The swing disappeared. Her awareness dwindled down to those two fingers.

“I’m fine—I—I’ve just worked myself up, I guess. I do that sometimes. Think something’s wrong when it’s really not.”

His gaze was on her, green eyes that saw everything. Piercing.

She looked away. She didn’t want him to see her like this, vulnerable.

He released her hand. “It’s high. A hundred and twenty beats per minute.”

“I’m feeling better now.” It was true. Just the fact that she was thinking about his eyes, his touch, proved it. She rubbed her wrist. Slowed her breathing.

She still felt his eyes on her. She pushed the window sash higher. The June breeze kissed her face. “You were—what was it you wanted?”

“Channel locks. You don’t have a pair, do you?”

She blew out a breath. Definitely feeling better. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Ah. Never mind then.” He backed toward the stairs. “Sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah.” Her heart was settling into a normal rhythm, her thoughts clearer, the intense fear fading. “Hey,” she called.

He turned at the foot of the steps, one hand resting on the mahogany turnout.

She was going to thank him for his concern, but the words stuck in her throat. “We could share tools. I mean, you know, to save money. You’re welcome to my painting supplies when I’m done.”

He gave her a long, penetrating gaze. “All right,” he said finally.

After he disappeared up the stairs, she wondered if she’d have been better off just saying thanks.

Chapter Ten

His heart raced as he crawled through the wreckage. His mind screamed, but no sounds came out. The smell of fumes and burning rubber choked him.
Mom! Noelle! Dad!
his mind screamed.

It was too dark. His hands felt for life. Found the booster seat. An arm. “Noelle!” Finally his voice worked. He shook her. But she wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t answer.

He ran his hand down to her wrist. Two fingers, they’d taught him in school. Not the thumb. He couldn’t feel anything.
Come on, come on
.

Her small hand was still warm, the chubby fingers curling lifelessly. He moved his fingers, searching. Finding nothing. No pulse. No beats. No life.

“Noelle!”

Cole’s eyes flew open. The room was dark. The floor beneath him hard. His ragged breaths punctuated the silence.

He closed his eyes again, one part wishing for the oblivion of sleep, the other knowing it wasn’t safe tonight. It had been years since he’d had the dream. He threw off the blanket. It was going to be a long night.

The dream lingered in his mind, the details haunting him. Details absent from tonight’s nightmare—everything that had led up to that accident.

The familiar ache started in his gut, twisting into a hard knot, and he welcomed it.

The bell jingled, and PJ looked up to see Jade entering Fiona’s Fudge Shoppe. “You’re early. I thought we were meeting at the house.”

“Daniel’s taking the girls to his grandma’s, so he dropped me on the way.”

PJ was glad the Saturday crowd had dwindled. “I’ll be right back.” Fiona was in the back cooling fudge on the marble slab. She was sure her boss wouldn’t mind her taking off a bit early.

A few minutes later she and her sister headed to the house, catching up on the way.

“I can’t wait to see what you think,” PJ said as she pulled up to the curb. “I got the first coat of paint on the dining rooms yesterday.”

“Wow, I’d forgotten how huge it is,” Jade said as they approached the porch.

“Won’t it make a great B & B?” PJ had to keep her dream in sight. “I can’t wait to have the whole thing.”

“You have to win it first.”

They pushed through the screen door. Pounding noises from upstairs echoed through the house.

“Your friend’s working today?”

“He’s not my friend. He’s my competition.” She thought
of Cole’s kindness yesterday when she’d spaced out and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Who’re you kidding? Everyone’s your friend.”

PJ flipped the switch for the grand chandelier, but nothing happened. “He must have the electric off. It’s going to be a little dark.”

She showed Jade around the main level, detailing her plans.

“So this is the wall that’s coming down. The commercial ovens will go here. I’ve got my eye on some equipment from a restaurant that’s going out of business in Columbus—cross your fingers. The wood floor’s got to go. Ceramic tile. Dad’s going to lay it.”

“Hmmm.”

Pounding sounded from directly above them, almost deafening.

“What’s he doing up there?” Jade asked.

“Who knows.” She led Jade down the short hall. “And this will be my room once everything’s done.”

“Kind of small.”

“Well, sure, but I won’t be in here much. And once I win, I can move wherever I want.”

“Upstairs with the guests?”

“Or the attic. It’s huge and has this gable that overlooks the backyard. It would make a great master suite.”

“Sounds nice.”

The pounding stopped.

“Want to see the upstairs?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t intrude.”

“You don’t want to meet him? It’ll only take a minute.”

As they entered the foyer, the floor creaked at the top of the
staircase. “PJ . . . you seen my new hammer? The one with the long handle?” He sounded annoyed.

She’d used it last night to hammer the paint lid on tight. “Oh, sorry.” She ran into the dining room and retrieved it, then climbed the steps, motioning Jade to follow.

At the top of the steps Cole reached for the hammer, frowning.

“Sorry,” she said again.

He moved aside as they reached the second floor. The light from a bedroom window hit the side of his face. Dust coated his dark hair, sweat glistened on his forehead, and a mask hung around his neck. His eyes looked tired.

“Jade, this is Cole, my, well, the guy I told you about. Cole, Jade, my sister.”

They shook hands.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“Jade’s the one married to the mayor. Daniel? My honorary-brother-turned-brother-in-law? She teaches guitar and has adorable daughters named Ava and Mia. They’re twins.” She didn’t know why she added that. Or why she kept talking. “Cole’s from Fort Wayne. He’s opening the transition house for foster care kids. Obviously.”
Shut it, PJ.

“Right,” Jade said.

“So . . .” PJ pocketed her hands. “How long’s the electric going to be off? I need to put another coat on, and those rooms are pretty dark.”

“I told you I was tearing down the wall today.”

“I know, but . . . I didn’t realize . . .”

Cole drilled her with those green eyes until she shifted, the floor creaking under her feet.

His jaw clenched. “Fine. I’ll turn it back on.” He brushed past her.

“Thank you,” she called down the stairs.

“Hot, but kind of grouchy,” Jade whispered when he was out of earshot.

“Must be having a bad day,” she said, then wondered why she was making excuses for him.

“Where’s your sister?” Cole asked.

PJ turned on the ladder, her eyes temporarily blinded by the aluminum lamp she’d borrowed from her parents.

“One of her girls came down with a fever. I didn’t get squat done today.” She regretted turning down her mother’s offer of help this afternoon. But Mom had her own business to run, and ever since her heart attack last year, they’d all been careful of her workload.

When her vision returned, she saw Cole standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. The sleeves had been ripped from his shirt, and her eyes fell to his sculpted arms. Speaking of ripped.

“I ran into a few snags myself.”

She pulled her eyes to his face. He was looking the dark walls over with a scowl. She wondered if he was calculating the time it would take to repaint after he owned the house. Well, she’d save him the effort by winning.

She rested the roller on the ladder and gathered her hair off the back of her neck. “Did you turn down the air or something? It’s sweltering in here.”

“I turned it off.”

“What?” She stepped down the ladder and headed toward
the thermostat behind him, stepping carefully over the drop cloths. “No wonder I’m dying.”

“You have the windows open,” he said as she brushed past.

“Look at this. It’s eighty degrees in here.” She turned it on, and blessed cool air filtered in.

“If you’re going to turn it on, at least shut the windows.”

“I’m not finished yet.”

“Look, Sunshine, maybe you can afford to blow money out the window, but I can’t.”

“I’m not going to breathe paint fumes. Why are you so grumpy today?”

“I’m not—” He ran his knuckles over his jaw. Blew out a breath. Bits of plaster still clung to his hair.

They stared each other down. For heaven’s sake, she just wanted to cool the place down. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ten-dollar bill she’d stuffed there after lunch and tossed it at him.

He caught it against his chest.

“That should cover it.” She passed him, shooting him a final look just as her foot caught on the drop cloth.

She pitched forward. Her other foot shot out, snagging on the material.

Cole’s arm caught her around the stomach. She grabbed on as he snatched her back. Her body hit his with a dull thud, stealing a breath.

She stilled, fully aware of the length of his body pressed against hers. Of his solid arm around her middle. Of her fingers, curled around his thick forearms. She breathed in his musky scent, felt his warmth at her back. His breath stirred the hairs near her temple. Her heart pounded at the near fall.

Yeah, that was it—the near fall.

She turned. Made eye contact with his lips, inches away. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She watched his lips form the words, then wondered if he could feel her heart thumping rapidly against his chest. It was all the motivation she needed.

She uncurled her fingers, easing away.

He released her, taking a step back, then another. He gestured toward the stairs. “I’m going to go . . .”

“Yeah. I’m about done here too.”

He turned up the staircase and was gone.

As she waited for her heart to settle, her eyes fell to the floor. The bill lay forgotten between the folds of material.

Chapter Eleven

PJ
WAS HOPING TO FIND THE CONTRACTOR STILL AT THE
house, but his truck wasn’t out front. Neither was Cole’s. She walked through the front room and into the kitchen area. Brad had made good progress today. The wall was finally down, the room gutted. She surveyed the open spot, her eyes seeing what wasn’t there: stainless commercial stoves, lines of prep tables, her new Bourgeat copper cookware hanging from a pot rack in the center of it all.

Thick copper, stainless steel lining, cast iron handles—the pots were so gorgeous she couldn’t resist peeking at them every day. She’d taken home a fry pan last week and put it to the test with savory crepes made with a creamy chicken, ham, and mushroom filling. She couldn’t wait to cook with them in her new kitchen.