Hometown Heroes, page 4
Cam’s ears perked up. Or tried to. One still folded over a bit. He clearly knew his name.
Grayson shouldn’t ask any more questions, but he couldn’t help himself. “How old is he?”
“Four months. Fixed, has all his shots, and he’s housebroken. Mostly.”
Sure he was. Grayson sighed.
After dinner, he and Daniel helped Mom with the dishes while Dad turned on the news. The puppy trotted around their feet, mostly getting in the way. Grayson heard the newscaster say, “Have you seen this man? The Laguna Vista Police Department released these images today of a man suspected of vandalizing Samashima Farms on Sunday.”
He joined Dad in the family room just as Cait’s photos flashed across the screen. He waited for the report to end. Seemed like the police didn’t have any new information. At least none that they were sharing. Had Cait known they were going to air the vandal’s photo?
“I know something about that story.” He sunk back into the deep leather couch, the cool leather seeping through his dress pants and shirt. The puppy jumped on his lap. Grayson petted him while glaring at a grinning Daniel who plopped next to him.
Mom joined them, and they listened while he told about knowing Cait from choir, giving her a ride, and then what he’d found out about the property.
“That poor girl!” Mom shook her head. “I can’t imagine how scared she must have been coming across that man. She’s lucky he didn’t try to attack her instead of just smashing up her car.”
He nodded. “I’ve thought that too. She’s a pretty amazing woman, though. You should see the farmhouse she’s rehabbing, mostly by herself.” He told them of her projects and the progress she’d made. “I plan on heading over there tomorrow to see her gardens.”
“Do you think she’s in any danger still?” Mom asked. “If that man knows she took his picture, if he figures out who she is?”
“I’ve wondered about that myself. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”
Dad looked over from his recliner. “Seems like you’ve done an awful lot for a girl you hardly know. Are you sure this isn’t another one of your lost causes?” He glanced at the dog, though Grayson didn’t know why since he hadn’t agreed to take the dog.
He pushed down the irritation. Dad always thought Grayson couldn’t finish any big project on his own and that he was a sucker for things that were beyond help. Yes, there had been a few projects when he was younger that he’d had to give up on. Or that Daniel had to help him with.
But he hadn’t appreciated Dad stepping in and finishing his Pinewood Derby race car in Boy Scouts. Grayson would have finished it on his own. Instead of the blocky, paint-dripped cars all his friends had, his was smooth, rounded, and professionally painted. Clearly not his own work.
But he’d had his own moment of victory with the classic ’69 Charger that sat in his garage. The one Dad had passed on as being beyond saving. Now it was fully restored and sat next to its modern counterpart.
At times like this, though, it seemed like Dad still thought of him as a twelve-year-old. He hoped that this development project would put that image to rest for good.
He swallowed to make sure his voice wasn’t tight. “She’s a friend from church that needs some help that I can provide. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Plus, I’ve been interested in her for a while, so this is a good opportunity to get to know her better.”
“Want some dessert?” Mom stood. “I have blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream.”
“Sounds perfect.” He sighed.
Mom patted his knee. “You have such a good heart, always wanting to help people.” She patted the dog’s head. “I think he likes you.”
Dad grimaced. “And getting taken advantage of, as well.”
“I don’t think that’s the case here, Dad.” Grayson hoped that Cait could meet his parents someday, if things continued progressing between them. But this was not the impression he wanted them to have of her. And all the blueberry pie and ice cream in the world wouldn’t make that bitter taste go away.
Chapter 5
Cait’s phone dinged, and she tugged off her gardening glove before reaching for it in her back pocket. She perched on the edge of her wheeled garden cart studying the progress she had made. The side yard was looking good. The soil was ready to be worked, and then the fun part came: adding plants and flowers. She stretched out her legs to ease the ache.
It was a text from Grayson: U available? I’d love a tour of your garden & I can bring lunch. Charo Chicken ok?
She grinned and started to reply before she realized she would need a shower. Dirt rimmed her fingernails, even through the gloves. Though the day was cool, her shirt stuck to her back.
She texted back: Sounds great! Give me an hour?
See you then!
She gathered up her tools and stashed them under the wheeled cart’s seat before tugging the whole thing back into the garage. On the back porch, she toed off her gardening clogs and headed to the kitchen sink, scrubbing her hands.
Some strawberries and cream would be a nice way to end lunch. She had just enough time to cut some up and let them sit in a little sugar to make a nice syrup. For working for a strawberry farm, she never got tired of eating them. Having an unlimited supply—particularly of the ones that weren’t pretty enough to sell—was one of the perks.
She rinsed and cut the strawberries, fingers flying over the familiar task. Her mind had been poring over the problems of the vandal, her house, and Grayson all morning. She was no closer to solving any of those issues than when she started, but at least her side yard looked good.
Grayson was really the only problem she had any control over. She enjoyed his company, and he had been nothing but kind to her. And he was interested in her and her projects. Was there a catch? She didn’t tell too many people about her interests because when she did, they considered her old fashioned. She was. So what?
But back in high school, it hadn’t been so pleasant. The few friends she had shared her hobbies with thought it was cool she could make so much stuff. Except Kayla. Even now, Cait could hear Kayla’s sneering voice calling her Laura Ingalls for the rest of their school days. Lau-ra!
That memory floated to the surface anytime anyone asked about what she did with her free time or wanted to see the house. No one had been as mean as Kayla, but most people didn’t understand it either.
Tossing the strawberry hulls into the pail that would go out to the compost pile, she put the bowl of sugared strawberries back into the fridge and hurried upstairs to jump in the shower. Grayson had seemed genuinely interested in her work on the house. He restored old cars, so he understood. But could there be more than that? Fear and anticipation chased each other through her chest as she quickly got ready.
She took a final glance at the Lone Star quilt that draped over the quilt rack at the foot of her bed. Taking a deep breath, she decided that for now, hope and anticipation should win out over fear. Just as the doorbell rang.
Grayson and Cait sat at the island in her kitchen pulling apart citrus-marinated grilled chicken and wrapping it up with fresh salsa in soft tortillas. It was one of his favorite meals, and he was glad Cait enjoyed it too. Sitting here with her was relaxed and comfortable.
“I’ve tried to make this before.” Cait wiped her salsa-dripped hand with a napkin. “But I can’t seem to get the marinade right. Still, like most kitchen experiments, even the mistakes are usually good to eat.”
“Hey, I’ll be your taste tester anytime. Would beat most of my meals, I’m sure.” He piled another tortilla with chicken and salsa. “What did the Samashimas say when you talked to them?”
Cait took a sip of her iced tea. “They weren’t too surprised. People have offered them a lot of money for their land over the years, and there have been some veiled threats. And they get the occasional ecoterrorist threat. Nothing this blatant, but Alani said they had received a couple of odd emails that they had dismissed as pranks. She was going to get them to Detective Taylor.”
“Ecoterrorism? I hadn’t thought of that. That’s pretty much the opposite of someone who would want to develop the land.”
She nodded. “Makoa is going to install more security cameras and hire a couple of guards to roam the property at night.” She picked up the next-to-last bite of chicken. “It was interesting how at peace they were about it. Alani said over the years they came to believe the land was God’s and they were simply the caretakers. He would protect the land or it would become whatever he chose it to be next.” A moment of silence passed. “I want faith like that.”
He watched her thoughts tumble behind her pale gray eyes. What would it be like to have a faith strong enough to trust calmly in God’s next steps for his life? Something to ponder, anyway.
He popped the last bite of tortilla in his mouth and began cleaning up.
Cait hopped off her stool. “I have strawberries and cream for dessert, but I want to show you around first.” Opening the back door, she moved through a small, covered porch and out into the backyard.
Raised beds dotted the backyard in even rows. Soft mulch crunched under his feet. Hand-lettered tags indicated what was growing, herbs and lettuces closest to the front, and spaces marked out for warmer-weather vegetables. The perimeter fence, an old decorative wire one, was dotted with perennials.
“There’s not a lot out yet, but with California weather, there are some annuals I can grow year round. I’ll be seeding my showy annual flowers around the fence soon. At the beginning of summer, it’s in its full glory before the heat starts taking its toll.”
They walked through the beds, and she led him through a small gate to the side yard. The freshly-turned dirt made it obvious she had been working here. She showed him the small, old garage that was only big enough to hold tools. Then they moved to the front yard, where she talked about what she had already done and what she hoped to do.
He was in awe of how her mind worked, seeing what needed to be done and creating a plan. It was similar to how he approached reconstructing an old car.
Avoiding the bad step, they headed up the front porch and back inside. His mind was whirling. He didn’t want to leave, and she seemed to enjoy his company. He scanned the entryway with new eyes. The sun shone through the front door, lighting up dust motes but making the old wood glow.
A framed cross-stitch hung on the wall, cream background with red letters and a green and red vine twining around the border. Unless the LORD builds the house, the builders labor in vain. Psalm 127:1. He tapped it lightly with his finger. “This is perfect for this house. Did you do it?”
Cait stepped closer to him, filling his nose with a hint of exotic fruit. “My grandma made that. It was one of the verses we memorized together. She used to tell me that even though we use the work of our hands to make things, it’s only by the grace of God that we can accomplish anything.”
He touched her shoulder, pulling her closer. “She sounds like a wise woman. I would have liked to have met her.”
He felt her nod. “She was.” It came out softly.
They stood there for a moment, not moving. He didn’t want to do anything to break the closeness that wrapped around them.
“Grayson?” She looked up at him. “Do you think they can find me? He could have gotten the license plate off my car.”
The moment shattered like broken glass around their feet. He pulled her into his arms, setting his chin on her head. “I don’t really know. It’s been almost a week. I’m not sure what he’d gain by tracking you down.”
She pushed back a bit, her hands resting on his chest, her gaze meeting his. “That’s what the logical part of my brain says, but it’s good to hear someone else say it too.”
He held her gaze a moment longer then reached for her hand. “Show me that stained-glass window in the bathroom that I couldn’t see the other night.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
The stairs creaked as they climbed. A bathroom with black and white tile stood at the top of the stairs.
She had shown it to him Wednesday night when he had gotten the full house tour. The look was updated classic. Hexagonal white tiles covered the floor while white subway tile with a black tile border acted as a wainscoting half way up the walls which were painted sunny yellow. An old dresser served as the vanity. A claw-foot tub and a shower in its own tiled enclosure kept the room functional while maintaining its vintage roots.
But sunlight streamed through a piece of framed stained glass hung in front of the window, spilling red and yellow light over the floor tiles. Magical.
“Genius.” He leaned against the door frame. “It creates privacy, but with it being in a south-facing window, you get this beautiful effect nearly all day long.”
She grinned. “One of those lucky breaks you hope you get a lot of when you’re remodeling.”
They headed down the hallway. “I know what you mean. Once we were restoring a ’57 Chevy. I pulled this gross plastic off the seats and found pristine, original upholstery.”
To the right were two bedrooms that hadn’t been touched. One had some significant water damage. The plaster had fallen off and exposed the lath behind it. The other had been painted a garish orange.
Cait grimaced. “I can’t tell you how tempted I am to paint over that. I know there’s no point, but it’s hideous!”
He laughed. “So you keep the door shut. But the woodwork is still in beautiful condition. It escaped getting painted. Think of all the stripping that saves you.”
“Oh I know.”
On the opposite end of the hall were two more rooms. One in the same condition as the others. The final room was clearly Cait’s. Pale blue walls with an antique bedroom set.
“I have something else to show you that doesn’t show up at night. This is the best part.” She led him through her room to the opposite side and opened a door. “A sun porch! It looks out over the backyard and sits over the back porch.”
A narrow, window-lined room ran the length of her bedroom. It hadn’t been finished yet, but it was clean and she had a reading chair and ottoman out there. “I bet you get a great breeze.”
“Natural air-conditioning. It’s my favorite spot in this house. I can’t wait to get it finished so I can really enjoy it.”
They moved back through her bedroom. At the foot of her bed was a quilt rack with a Lone Star quilt hung over it. He had noticed it the other night. “My mom has one of these in this same pattern. She bought it from an Amish store when she and her friends did a sight-seeing tour back East.” He ran his hand over the stitching. “Pretty colors.”
Cait took a step toward him and looked up. “Thanks. I made it. My grandma helped me, but I was so proud of myself when I had finished it.”
“When did you make it?” When would she have had time with everything else she had going on?
“In high school.” She touched the fabric. “Grandma and I spent hours on it. I treasure that time.”
“I can’t imagine how you found the time. I’m sure you were busy with school activities and your friends. I know I had less time to work on cars with all of that.”
She sat on the bed and let out a sigh. “I was home alone a lot. My folks had divorced. My dad moved to Colorado, and my mom was busy working on her career and finding her next husband. So I spent a lot of time at Grandma’s. She’s really the one who raised me.”
He frowned. “What about your friends? Football games? Clubs and activities?”
“I didn’t do too much of that.” She picked at the floral comforter on the bed. “I brought some friends home to show them this quilt. At the time, I didn’t know it would be the last quilt Grandma and I would make together. I was so proud of how I had pieced all of this intricate geometry.”
She touched the center of the quilt. “See how the star in the center seems to pulse because of the different diamond-shaped fabric pieces? I loved how the fabric seemed to come to life. A few of my friends thought it was cool that I could make bread, so I said I’d show them how and show them the quilt. But one girl kept goofing around and started calling me Laura Ingalls. So that was pretty much the end of my social life. I had a few friends, and that was fine.”
He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “The quilt is amazing and so are you.”
She stood and smiled. “Thanks for not thinking I’m weird.”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? Hey, didn’t you promise me strawberries and cream?” He kept her hand in his as he tugged her out into the hallway and they headed downstairs to the kitchen.
After stuffing himself with the berries—he was full but they tasted so good, he couldn’t stop eating them—he reluctantly got up to leave. He pulled Cait into a hug at the front door. “What do you think about lunch and a walk along the beach tomorrow after church?”
“I think it’s a great idea. The water will be chilly, but the sun is out and it’ll be gorgeous.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up for church. I have a surprise for you.”
Chapter 6
A light tap on the front door caused Cait to jump out of the living room chair she’d been sitting in, sipping coffee. She hadn’t heard Grayson’s car. She looked out the window. A white construction truck was parked across the street. She frowned. Who would be having work done on a Sunday? Then she saw it. A black, classic 1969 Dodge Charger parked next to the curb. That must be the surprise he was talking about.
She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. “I didn’t realize that was you.”
Grayson stepped inside, dark-wash jeans and an untucked, light cotton shirt fitting his athletic form nicely. He pulled her into a loose hug and kissed her forehead. “Come see my baby.” He slid his hand down to grasp hers.
She grabbed her purse and Bible and followed him out, locking the door behind them.
He showed her all around his car and told her what he’d done to it. “My dad thought it was a total loss, not worth fixing at all. And it probably wasn’t, for all the time and money I’ve put into it. But I’m glad I did.”
