Chapter 17
seventeen
The large yellow Victorian was nothing like the shelters Maggie had seen in her foster years.
Those places screamed institutional, all fluorescent lights and linoleum floors that squeaked under your shoes.
Haven House felt different. Welcoming. Like someone had wrapped their arms around a broken building and loved it whole again.
A little zing of excitement (or maybe nerves?) chased through Maggie’s belly when she spotted the nearby garage that could very easily be turned into a woodshop.
Naomi and Nessie already stood on the porch, waiting and she fought the urge to scan the street as she slid from Boone’s truck.
“I’ll be right here,” Boone said from the driver’s seat, as if understanding she needed the reassurance.
He was a good guy.
All of them at the Ridge were.
She nodded, shut the door, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the porch. She would not look for Landry in every passing car.
“Glad you could make it,” Nessie said, giving her a hug. “I hope you weren’t too hungover this morning.”
“No, just a slight headache.”
“Well, that’s better than me. I didn’t get out of bed until it was time to come here. Thankfully, the bakery is closed today, and Jax entertained Oliver so I could sleep it off.”
“You’re a lightweight,” Naomi teased. “Invite Greta and me to more girls’ nights, and we’ll build up your tolerance.”
“Of course you’re invited to all girls’ nights.” Nessie bumped Naomi’s shoulder with her own. “You’re Ghosts’s, which means you’re a Ridge girl now.”
The front door opened before they reached it.
A woman with wavy brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail stepped onto the porch.
“Naomi! Nessie! So good to see you both!” She gave them hugs, then turned to Maggie and extended her hand.
“And you must be Magnolia. I’m Hollis Hartley.
We’re so excited to have you here. We don’t often have celebrities visit. ”
Her immediate gut response was to deny that she was a celebrity, but she bit it back. “Just Maggie is fine.” She took Hollis’s hand, noting the calluses that matched her own. Working hands. Builder’s hands. “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course! I love the idea of a work program for our ladies.” Hollis led them through a small entryway with a security keypad beside the door.
Cameras nestled discreetly in the corners, unobtrusive but present.
Maggie caught the glint of reinforced hinges on the door—quality work, not the standard contractor-grade hardware.
“Nice setup,” she murmured, nodding toward the security features.
“Thanks. We upgrade when we can.” Hollis pressed a code into the keypad. “Everyone who stays here gets the entry code. It changes monthly.”
The entryway opened into a living room with mismatched furniture arranged in cozy clusters.
Warm paint colors softened the walls. Throw pillows and blankets were scattered across couches, and a bookshelf overflowed with paperbacks.
Plants thrived on the windowsills, though the windows themselves had discreet security bars integrated into their frames.
The room smelled like coffee and cinnamon, with an undertone of fresh paint. A woman with her arm in a cast sat in the corner, reading to a toddler on her lap.
“We’re at capacity right now,” Hollis said quietly. “Twelve women, five children. Mix of emergency and transitional housing.”
“Bedrooms upstairs?” Maggie asked, automatically assessing the layout, the flow of the space.
“Most of them. We converted the old parlor into a bedroom for Lisa and her son—she’s got mobility issues from a back injury.
” Hollis gestured toward a hallway. “Kitchen’s that way, communal dining space, laundry in the basement.
Office, counseling room, and play area for the kids are through there. ”
A loud thud from upstairs interrupted her, followed by muffled cursing. Hollis rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched.
“And that would be Knox. He’s helping repair some water damage in the upstairs bathroom.”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and a tall man with paint-spattered jeans and a toolbelt appeared. He dragged a hand through dark hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles, then stopped short when he spotted them.
“Ladies.” He nodded to the group, then zeroed in on Hollis. “We’ve got a bigger problem than I thought. That leak rotted through the subfloor.”
“How bad?” Hollis crossed her arms, shoulders tensing.
“Bad enough that I need to rip it up and replace it. Gonna take a few days.” He turned toward Maggie, and his whole demeanor shifted—smile widening, eyes lighting up with interest. “Though the view just improved considerably.”
Hollis shot him a look. “Knox, this is Maggie Rowe. The carpenter I mentioned. Maggie, Knox Haven. His family’s charity funds Haven House.”
“Maggie.” Knox closed the distance and offered his hand, holding hers just a beat longer than necessary, his palm calloused and warm. “Good timing. You know anything about bathroom renovations?”
“A thing or two.” Maggie smiled despite herself, extracting her hand. “Done a few dozen on my show.”
“Show?” His eyebrows lifted, curiosity genuine now alongside the flirtation.
“Magnolia Builds on HDN,” Hollis said somewhat stiffly. “You know, the home improvement channel?”
“No shit?” Knox’s grin widened. “My sister Shea loves that show. Hol, why didn’t you tell me we were getting a genuine TV star? I would’ve worn my good jeans.”
Hollis rolled her eyes. “Because I knew you’d act exactly like this.”
“Like what?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m being perfectly professional.”
“You haven’t been professional a day in your life,” Hollis muttered.
Knox winked at Maggie, clearly enjoying Hollis’s exasperation. “She loves me really. Just won’t admit it.”
Naomi snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, Haven.”
“Oh, I will,” Knox said, unperturbed. He turned his attention back to Maggie and leaned against the doorframe, completely at ease, studying her with open appreciation.
“So, bathroom renovations. Any brilliant ideas for fixing a rotted subfloor on a shoestring budget? Buy you coffee, pick your brain?”
“Knox,” Hollis snapped. “Stop flirting. Didn’t you say you were in a hurry to get to the hardware store before they close?”
He glanced at his watch and swore, but the disappointment in his expression seemed genuine. “Right. Gotta run.” He pushed off the doorframe, flashing Maggie one last devastating grin. “Rain check on that coffee?”
Then he was gone, door swinging shut behind him.
“Sorry about him,” Hollis said with a long-suffering sigh. “He’ll flirt with anything with a pulse. He’s shameless.”
“It’s okay,” Nessie assured. “We’re used to it. We have guys like that at the ranch.”
“X,” Naomi agreed. “And River.”
“I’ve met X. At least he’s actually charming. Knox just thinks he is.” She held out an arm, indicating they should head into the living room. “Let me show you the house. I was so excited when I got Naomi’s call about these classes you want to do.”
They followed Hollis through the house. The Victorian’s bones were solid, though Maggie spotted water damage on the ceiling of the dining room and a staircase that definitely needed reinforcing. She catalogued each issue, mentally calculating materials and labor. Old habits.
“Most women stay between two weeks and three months in emergency housing,” Hollis explained as they entered a sunroom off the back of the house.
Large windows overlooked a fenced backyard where playground equipment sat alongside raised garden beds.
“Transitional housing can be up to a year, depending on circumstances.”
“What happens after they leave?” Maggie asked.
“We help them find jobs, housing, childcare. We actually have a daycare on site, so they can bring their kids back to somewhere familiar during that transitional period. Whatever they need to stand on their own.” Hollis’s voice softened.
“But the goal isn’t to keep them here. It’s to make sure they never need to come back. ”
Two young women sat at a table in the sunroom, one braiding the other’s long dark hair. They looked up as the group entered.
“Naomi!” The one having her hair braided jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the chair. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, with a wary intelligence in her dark eyes that made her seem both younger and older. “You came back!”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” Naomi opened her arms, and the girl flew into them, clinging tight. Over the girl’s shoulder, Naomi’s eyes softened. “Angel, this is Maggie. She’s going to teach a carpentry workshop here.”
Angel pulled back, studying Maggie with undisguised curiosity. “Like building stuff? For real?”
“For real.” Maggie smiled. “Tables, shelves, birdhouses. Whatever you want to learn.”
“Cool.” Angel glanced back at her companion, who hadn’t moved from the table. “Tariah, did you hear that? We get to use power tools.”
Tariah looked up, her expression guarded. She was older than Angel by a year or two, but something in her eyes looked ancient. She nodded once in acknowledgment, then returned to staring at her hands.
“Tariah’s still adjusting,” Hollis murmured, quiet enough that only Maggie could hear. “She doesn’t talk much yet.”
Angel bounded back to the table, tugging at Tariah’s arm. “Come on, we should tell Claire. She’s always helping Knox fix stuff around here.”
As if summoned by her name, a woman in her late thirties appeared in the doorway. Her dark hair was streaked with gray near her hairline, but her face was unlined except for the creases at the corners of her eyes. Those eyes locked onto Maggie immediately.
“You’re the carpenter?”
“Maggie.” She stepped forward, offering her hand. “Yes, I’m planning to teach some basic woodworking skills.”