Chapter 10
ten
“Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.” - Gustav Mahler
Cole’s pencil scratched out an uneven rhythm as he scrawled measurements along the two-by-four he was about to cut.
He stuck the pencil behind his ear, hefted the board to the table saw, and lined it up.
The saw sat in the stale shade of the old house his granddad had grown up in—a Depression-era craftsman so small it made more sense as a shed than a home.
Sometimes Cole wondered how a family of seven had managed to cram inside it without killing each other.
Once his own house was finished, he figured he’d turn this place into a workshop. Sure, it could serve as a guesthouse, but who the hell would he ever host? He barely knew anyone outside Cedar Hollow, and the truth was, he didn’t much care to.
The saw roared to life, drowning out the sound of a car crunching across gravel, but when Cole shut it off, the footsteps that followed rang out clear enough through the open windows.
His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his back, proof of how useless his attempt at airflow had been.
He ripped off his goggles, swiped a forearm across his brow, and waited.
A tall, lean figure filled the doorway, and Cole saw where Jocelyn got her height from.
His mood soured at once, his expression following quick behind. He’d already been trying—and failing—to shake Jocelyn Murphy from his head, but this unwelcome visitor did nothing to aid his efforts.
Daniel Abbott.
The older man smiled politely, pretending not to notice Cole’s scowl. Abbott wasn’t a fool. He was just annoying enough to make a man wish he was.
“Don’t have the energy for you today,” Cole grumbled, snatching up his water bottle. He nearly chucked it at the man but settled for an angry gulp instead.
Daniel’s hands skimmed the stack of two-by-fours Cole had in the corner before stepping inside to lean against the wall, casual as a house cat. “You’ve been busy. Making good progress.” He nodded toward the framed out first floor several yards out.
He looked too much like a proud father as he ignored Cole’s dismissal completely.
Cole snapped the lid back onto his water. “Answer hasn’t changed, so don’t bother.”
Abbott shrugged, unfazed. “Foundation’s in the wrong place. You’d have a better view up on the hill.”
Cole’s jaw tightened. He set the bottle down too hard; the thunk was loud in the quiet. “Would’ve had to clear out trees and carve a new drive.”
Daniel only nodded as he scanned the room, taking in every board, fixture, and antique Cole had piled up from auctions and shops. His gaze never landed on Cole, but that wasn’t because of nerves. He was just being nosy as hell.
“I’ll pay all the materials on top of the offer,” Abbott said smoothly. “Got clearance to offer you more than anyone else can.”
It was the same tired dance. Abbott had chased after the land for years before Cole inherited it, and now he was back at it again. Fifty acres that developers wanted to parcel into a subdivision. Cedar Hollow’s “future.”
Not if Cole had anything to say about it. The town did just fine without chain stores and traffic jams. Tourists came for the nostalgia, the waterfalls, the changing leaves. Growth was overrated.
“Stop wastin’ my time.” Cole’s voice dropped to a growl.
Daniel’s grin went from affable to shrewd. “You and Joe Murphy,” he muttered. Then, pointing like they were sharing a private joke, he said, “I’ll get you both somehow.”
Cole had heard enough. He shoved his goggles back on and fired up the saw as answer. The machine screamed to life, drowning Abbott out until the other man sighed and slunk away.
Cole cut through two more boards, slow and deliberate, rounding edges that didn’t need it. Anything to keep Abbott—and the name he’d dragged into Cole’s head—from lingering.
Damn Abbott for planting her in his thoughts when she’d already taken root deeper than Cole cared to admit. He hadn’t shaken the charge of her presence since she’d walked back into town, and it’d only gotten worse the more he’d interacted with her. Playing with fire.
When the saw finally went quiet again, another car crunched across the gravel. Cole’s tension eased this time as he recognized the white sedan.
Just as his mama got out of her car, he stepped onto the sagging porch.
He leaned a shoulder against the old post, ready to dump the rest of his water bottle over his head to cool off.
The temptation to wait until his mama had walked up the stairs and was in the splash zone tugged strong.
He’d been a respectable citizen for far too long, and it was high time she was reminded of the scoundrel she’d raised.
But her dress was mighty pretty, and the temptation passed quickly enough.
“Well, aren’t you a picture,” he said as she grinned up at him, her lips painted red.
“Oh.” She tutted and waved him off, stopping a few feet from the steps.
“What, no hug for your boy?” he teased.
She gave him a shrewd look. “I saw that glint of mischief in your eye, Cole Hauser.”
He laughed, the sound shaking loose the last of the bad mood Abbott had left on him.
“What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked, taking another swallow from his bottle.
“Checking in,” she said lightly, but her eyes betrayed her. Watching him, weighing him.
Cole grunted his skepticism.
She winced, caught. “Still mad at your daddy?”
He shrugged, the move painfully dismissive. “Why would I be mad?”
“Cole.” She started up the broken steps.
“I’m not mad, Ma.”
She froze at the snap in his tone.
He vented a heavy sigh and worked some calm into his voice. “I’m not.”
“Then why haven’t you been by?”
“Busy.”
“Your dad—”
“Oh, did Pop say somethin’?” Cole cut in, voice dry.
“No. It’s like nothing’s happened.”
Cole snorted. “I’m sure.”
“Cole.” Her tone snapped this time, poking at that old rebellious streak in him.
He wrestled the feeling back.
“I’m not mad,” he repeated, softer now that it wasn’t a lie.
Bothered, sure. But bothered and mad weren’t the same thing.
Not anymore. “Just got a lot going on. Abbott’s been breathing down my neck, and with Jocelyn back in town, folks are panicking like she’s fixing to ruin Harvest Festival or some shit. ”
“Watch your mouth,” Ellen said automatically, though without heat. “Who’s worried about Jocelyn ruinin’ anything?”
“Everybody. Been stopped ten times easy by folks asking about her. Can’t blame ‘em—she’s ruffling feathers.”
His mama raised a brow. “Most notably yours.”
Cole swiped a hand through the air. “I’ve been nice, like you asked.” It came out a growl, childish at the edges.
She smirked. “Then what’s really bothering you, baby?”
He dropped onto the one section of porch rail that wouldn’t collapse under him, scowling at the tree line. “That Pop lied. That people keep actin’ like I can influence Jocelyn. Like she’s mine to handle.” He stopped short of admitting the rest—that Jocelyn was under his skin, dug in deep.
Didn’t matter. His mama’s knowing look said she’d read it anyway.
“Come by for supper tonight,” she said, brushing her hand down his arm. “Bring Jocelyn.”
He groaned. “Ma…”
“I’ll bake your favorite pie.”
“What about Pop’s diet?”
“Special occasion,” she crooned, patting his cheek in triumph. She seemed awful sure when he hadn’t agreed to any damn thing.
“I’ve got the restaurant. Sing-o night.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
Cole sighed, knowing he’d already lost. He’d never been able to say no to her. For all his grumbling, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his mama.