Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ray’s bright red Honda CRV splashed through the puddles left by an early rain.
To most Washingtonians’ annoyance, summers had grown increasingly hot and dry. Shades of California, right? So this morning’s cleansing rain and lingering moist air was lovely.
Unfortunately, the heart-lifting fragrance of green vegetation and sea brine couldn’t drown out the underlying odor of city. Bainbridge sure smelled better than Seattle.
Her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she groaned. Undoubtedly, Theodore. Again. He seemed to think if he kept trying, she’d change her mind. He still couldn’t grasp why she ended things, even though she’d explained. And explained.
Apparently, if he was happy in the relationship, she must have been as well.
Okay, it was true she’d been content at first. He’d been really nice. At first. He was intelligent, hard-working, well-spoken. They had many of the same interests. His mild bossiness was sexy without being aggressive enough to remind her of…the incident.
Until he’d decided her personality needed to be fixed.
Damn him. After his text late last night, she’d been awake too long.
Her emotions had bickered like toddlers, until Hurt bashed Anger in the head with a toy truck and won.
Yeah it really did hurt to realize he hadn’t liked her the way she was.
After stewing for too long, she went downstairs for a comforting hot chocolate, and the house felt so, so empty without George. But Faj was gone, and…
I need people to be with. Not a boyfriend, just friends.
Another goal to work on—along with getting back to crafting.
And caring for a kitty. Her heart lifted. Animal control had no reports of lost pets looking like Max. WoodSong had a resident cat again.
She glanced at the map on her phone in the dash holder. Almost, almost…
Google Maps’ male narrator said in a boring tone, “You have arrived at your destination.”
“Didn’t I see a Facebook short with an oh-so-sexy GPS voice saying, ‘Hello, gorgeous’? I want him.”
In the driveway, she shut the car off.
All right. Time to meet the client.
Her heart rate sped up, as usual. Despite years of custom wood crafting, the first meeting always sent her anxiety skyrocketing. She just knew they’d take a look at her and see she’d been a foster kid, had shoplifted, had tried to break into a house.
Now remember what George said: “You were an abused child, Ray-chan, doing what you needed to do to survive. Would you blame a starving puppy for grabbing food from a table? No? You were a hungry puppy then, and now you’re a very talented woodworker.”
Right. I am talented and skilled. Her lips quirked. Not a puppy any longer and haven’t stolen anything since Faj took me in. No one knows my past, only that I’m George Matsuda’s protegee.
Pep talk finished, she slid out of the car and retrieved her roll-around case.
Here I go.
She rang the bell.
A tall man with piercing blue eyes in a strong face opened the door. Short dark brown hair. Some gray at the temples. Twenty more years and he’d be a total silver fox.
A big black dog tried to push past him to get at her.
“Butler, mind your manners.” The man’s commanding voice sent a shiver up her spine, and she gritted her teeth.
Why, oh why, did she have to find authoritative men sexy? Look out, everyone, the 1950s lost one of their housewives.
“Ms. Lanigan, you’re right on time. I’m Alex Fontaine.” He held the door open wider. “Come in, please.”
“Thank you.” When the dog blocked her, she grinned. “Butler, is it? I love your name.”
The dark eyes evaluated her as a possible threat, but his tail wagged ever so slightly at the sound of his name.
Taking a chance, she squatted down to his level and held out her hand. The worst he could do was rip off her arm and leave her with a bloody stump. No problem, right? “Hey, buddy.”
He sniffed her fingers, probably smelling Max’s feline scent.
As she’d hoped, having a pet meant she was good people, and his tail wagged in circles. When she stroked his head and ruffled the heavy fur on his neck, even his butt started waggling.
“Aren’t you a sweetie-peach.” Oh, heavens, now she sounded like her favorite gallery owner who was from Louisiana.
“She figured you out quick enough, boy,” Fontaine told the dog. He offered her a hand and pulled her up easily. Damned strong for a rich guy.
“Thanks.”
“Ray Lanigan?” The dark-eyed woman entering the foyer had a friendly smile and a mane of hair as beautiful as golden, wavy-grained ash wood. “Hi, I’m MacKensie. Welcome. Let me show you what we have in mind.”
The family room had steel-blue walls with a pale, blue-veined marble fireplace, comfortable leather chairs, and mid-tone hardwood flooring. MacKensie waved at one bare wall and pulled out her phone. “I saw this picture of a tree trunk with book shelves coming off the branches.”
“A tree sculpture. I was wondering why the shop has a six-foot, driftwood tree with a Department of Natural Resources permit.” Ray checked the picture. “The tree is a close resemblance, and the silvery wood will look gorgeous against your blue wall.”
Fontaine frowned slightly. “We were hoping for live edge shelves to match the tree.”
“Of course. I can do that for you.” Ray pulled her portfolio from her case and opened it on the coffee table. “Let me show you examples of live edge shelving I’ve done.”
They were delighted.
Hey, they should be. I am an awesome woodcrafter.
As she started measuring and taking notes on her phone, she heard Fontaine murmur to his wife, “George did say his girl was as talented.”
Her throat clogged with all the emotions, and it took a bit before she could speak. “All right. Here’s a picture of the tree in the shop. For the actual shelves, you’ll want wood that makes interesting edges and matches the color.” She pulled wood samples from her roll-around case.
Sitting around the coffee table, they compared live edge examples, wood samples, and the tree photo, eventually reaching a consensus. Ray wrote up a new contract.
And couldn’t stop smiling. This was one of her favorite things to do, a custom job that would honor the spirit of the wood, be artistic, and blend with the rest of the room. A challenge and a delight.
Lying by the doorway, Butler lifted his head and woofed, even as, from somewhere, a woman called, “Mac, I’m here.”
“In the family room,” MacKensie yelled, making Fontaine laugh, even as he stood up.
MacKensie grinned. “I know, your mother would be appalled.”
A squeal came from the doorway. “I know you!” The woman’s voice was deeper than years before but still recognizable.
“Hope?” In shock, Ray rose from the chair.
“Oh my God, it is you. Ray!” Dancing across the room, Hope grabbed her for a whirlwind hug.
“Look at you.” Ray held her away to see her better. Still short and round. A fluffy pixie with a few freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks.
So many memories. Giggly lunches in the school cafeteria, sneaking looks at texts in the classrooms, gossiping about boys… She had to swallow hard.
“I take it you two know each other?” Fontaine asked in a dry voice.
“We were like sisters in high school.” Hope’s grip tightened. “She was always stepping in to save me from jerks who thought it was funny to pick on a short, pudgy girl. Even when she ended up with bruises and black eyes, she never stopped.”
“Worth it,” Ray muttered. She couldn’t stand by when someone got bullied. And, although scrawny, she’d been pretty tough from working as Pa’s handyman apprentice.
Stepping back, Hope set her hands on her hips. “You disappeared from school, and we heard your dad died, and you went to foster care somewhere, but you never called or anything.”
So much for hoping no one would ever know I was in foster care. But it was impossible to get mad. Not at Hope.
All of four inches taller, Ray smiled down at her. “The evil foster mother didn’t let us use the phone. And it didn’t work out anyway.” She suppressed a shiver at the memory of getting beaten, of curling into a ball, trying to breathe and sob at the same time.
MacKensie’s expression held a wealth of understanding. “You ran?”
“Escaped on the ferry to Seattle. But no one hires teens, especially dirty, homeless ones.”
Worry furrowed Hope’s brow. “Seattle isn’t exactly safe…”
“No city is safe for young girls.” The bitterness in MacKensie’s voice told Ray all she needed to know.
“It wasn’t safe, but I got lucky. A cop caught me breaking into an empty house and arranged for George to foster me. And George taught me wood crafting.” He’d opened the world to her. Dammit, don’t start crying.
Sympathy filled MacKensie’s gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Fontaine’s hard face softened. “George often boasted about you. He thought of you as a daughter, you know.”
Warmth spread through her chest. Her voice came out choked. “It was mutual.” Gods, she missed him. But even as she’d sat at his bedside, George had kept telling her, “Life goes on. So will you.”
I will, Faj.
She managed to smile at Hope. “I did try to call you once I was with George.”
“Oh, spit, we moved away a couple months or so after you disappeared. Dad got stationed down south.”
Right, military family. “So…you live here in Seattle now?”
“I do. I’m married to a wonderful man, even if he is a lawyer”—she rolled her eyes—“and I teach fifth grade.”
Once upon a time, they’d sat under a tree in the schoolyard, eating their bagged lunches, planning their futures. So long ago. “You always wanted to be a teacher.”
Hope nodded, her gaze soft. “You were scared you’d end up stuck as a handyman forever.”
Only too true. Pa had expected her to work for him until the end of time and endure the same fix-it jobs over and over. She’d never have gotten to create. To make something beautiful. “I guess dreams do sometimes come true.”
Bad Ray, this is totally unprofessional behavior in front of a client.
She turned to Fontaine. “I believe I have everything I need now. Why don’t—”