A Mistletoe Vow. Kate Hardy

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       Chapter Eight

      This was a mistake.

      Flynn sat at the big scarred kitchen table at the Star N wondering what on earth he had been thinking to agree to this.

      Since the moment he sat down he had been aware of an itch between his shoulders, a feeling that he didn’t belong here.

      He couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

      The food was delicious, he had to admit. The lasagna was perfectly cooked, cheesy and flavorful with a red sauce his late mother’s Italian chef would definitely have endorsed. The bread sticks were crispy and flavorful, and even the tossed salad seemed fresh and festive.

      He couldn’t fault the company. It was more than pleasant. He enjoyed listening to Celeste’s family—her aunt Mary, who turned out to be a jolly woman with warm eyes and an ample girth, her two sisters as well as Hope’s husband, Rafe Santiago, and Chase Brannon, a neighboring rancher who seemed more like part of the family.

      More important, Olivia seemed to be more relaxed and comfortable than he had seen her in a long time. She sat at one end of the table with Celeste’s niece, Louisa, her nephew, Barrett, and the other boy he had seen them with at the rehearsal. It turned out the boy was Rafe’s nephew. From what Flynn could tell, the boy lived with Rafe and Hope, though Flynn didn’t completely understand why.

      The children were deep in conversation, and every once in a while he heard laughter coming from that end of the table. Olivia even joined in a few times—a total shocker.

      So why did he feel so uneasy? He didn’t want to admit that it might have been because he was enjoying himself too much. He didn’t need to find more things that drew him to Celeste, when he already couldn’t seem to get the woman out of his head.

      “So what do you do in California?” Chase asked.

      The man treated all the Nichols sisters as if he were an older brother. He seemed especially protective of Faith, though she hardly seemed to notice.

      “Construction. I’ve got a fairly good-size operation, with offices in San Diego, Los Angeles and Sacramento.”

      “Delaney Construction. Is that you?” Rafe piped up.

      He nodded, intensely proud of what he had built out of nothing. The company had become a powerhouse over the past decade, even in the midst of a rough economy.

      “You do good work,” Rafe said. “A buddy of mine is one of your carpentry subs. Kevin O’Brian. I flew out for a few weeks last spring to help him on a job, a new hospital in Fullerton.”

      “Right. He’s a good man.”

      “That’s what he said about you.”

      “Wow. Small world,” Hope said.

      He and the men spent a few moments talking about some of the unique challenges of working in the construction industry in Southern California.

      “Have you ever thought about moving your operations out to this neck of the woods?” Chase asked. “We don’t have a lot of hospitals and the like going up, but there are always construction projects around here, especially in the Jackson area.”

      The question took him by surprise. Three months ago he would have given an emphatic no to that question. He had a business in Southern California, contacts and subcontractors and jobs he had fought hard to win.

      He glanced at Olivia. He had other things to concern himself with now, like what might be best for his daughter.

      Small-town life seemed to agree with her, he had to admit. Maybe she would be able to heal better if she were away for longer than just a few weeks from the life they had both known in California.

      A change of scenery appeared to have helped the Nichols sisters move beyond the trauma in their past.

      “I haven’t,” he answered truthfully. “It’s definitely something to think about.”

      He glanced across the table to see Celeste listening in, though she was pretending not to.

      What would she think if he stuck around town a little longer than a few weeks?

      Probably nothing, he told himself. They meant nothing to each other.

      “What are you doing with that property of your grandmother’s?” Mary asked.

      “I’m hoping to put it up for sale in the next few weeks.”

      “You’re not planning to subdivide it, are you?” she asked, her gaze narrowed.

      He could probably make more money if he did that, but somehow he didn’t think his grandparents would approve.

      “That’s a nice piece of land there by the Cold Creek,” Brannon said. “Somebody could build a beautiful house on it if they were so inclined.”

      If he were going to stay here—which he most definitely wasn’t, based on a simple dinner conversation—he probably would take the bones of the house and add on to it, opening up a wall here or there and rebuilding the kitchen and bathrooms.

      It was a nice, comfortable house, perfectly situated with a gorgeous view of the mountains, but it was too small and cramped for comfort, with tiny rooms and an odd flow.

      All this was theoretical. He planned to sell the property as-is, not take on another project. He had enough to do right now while he was helping his daughter recover the shattered bits of her life and learn to go on without the mother she had adored.