Forget Me Not

Dear Trish, someday I want to marry you...

Craig Cadman has proposed to Trish Lowery at least a dozen times. Of course, he started when he was nine and kept at it until her parents moved away when they were both teens. Clearly, she didn’t take him seriously. Because now, after ten years, she’s back...and engaged to someone else. He has to remember that. Just do the job, help her renovate her gram’s Victorian house and keep a professional distance. But Craig can’t forget those old feelings. Is working together just stirring up nostalgia...or is this something more?

“Don’t you go up there again.”

Trish turned so they faced each other only inches apart. “Listen. This is my house, and I plan to check out any and all repairs. How else can I know everything is done correctly?”

Craig held up his iPhone. “Pictures.” They were close enough that he felt her warm breath against his face, caught the scent of perfume. That was something new. She never wore perfume back when they were kids. “I guarantee my work.” He paused, diminishing the space between them so they were nearly nose to nose. “Don’t go up on the roof unless someone’s here. Namely me. You understand?”

“All right, already.” She stepped onto the ground. “When did you get so bossy?”

Trish’s cheeks were bright pink in the cold. Why hadn’t he kissed her when he’d had the chance? Every part of his being had wanted to. Still did. But...

They weren’t kids anymore. She was spoken for, committed to someone else. So was he. There would never be any Trish and Craig together.

Dear Reader,

It’s a sad time for Trish when she returns to Riverbend, New Jersey, after a ten-year absence. She just lost a grandmother who was so special, and now she’s back to collect the house her grandmother left her. She loved this place while growing up, as well as all her childhood friends. And of course Craig, the friend who’d wanted to marry her from the time he was nine.

I raised my family in northern New Jersey in a town similar to Riverbend and spent countless hours completing projects on our hundred-year-old farmhouse. Many of the windows had been painted shut decades before we bought it. Although our home wasn’t as spacious or as attractive as Trish’s inheritance, it did provide me with numerous projects, some of which I could include in her story. I became skilled at plastering, painting and repairing, and I can appreciate why someone wouldn’t want an old house.

I love hearing from readers and can be reached through my website, marionekholm.com, or heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com.

Marion

Forget Me Not

Marion Ekholm

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARION EKHOLM was writing stories and reading them to her friends back in fifth grade, in Plainville, Connecticut. She always wanted to be either a writer or an artist. Neither one seemed like a possibility in her day, when most women became either teachers or secretaries. But she had determination on her side and a mother willing to help with her dreams. She earned her BFA at Rhode Island School of Design and became a lace designer in New York City, met her husband and moved to New Jersey. Years later, she took stock of her life. She had a career, two children, a beautiful home and opportunities to travel extensively—but she’d never written anything other than letters. She began writing for real and eventually became an editor of a newspaper and sold numerous short stories and magazine articles. Thanks to Harlequin Heartwarming, she’s now a novelist. Her third novel, Forget Me Not, follows Just Like Em and An Act of Love. She’s found signing her books and talking to people who’ve read them an absolute delight.

This book is dedicated to Shelley Mosley, my critique partner, mentor and friend. Her encouragement over the years has been a driving force in my career. Thank you.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to the many people who helped me gather all the information for this book.

To my friend Fran Deming, who interviewed volunteer firemen at the Company No. 1 Fire Department in Mahwah, New Jersey. Although both of our husbands had belonged to that organization, I couldn’t remember all of the details. She managed to get answers to all my questions. Even so, my book is fiction, and a few artistic liberties may have been taken.

To my nephew Matt Suess, a fabulous photographer who told me what kind of camera Craig would use.

To Glenda Chagolla for her technical knowledge. I’ve enjoyed working with her at Glendale Community College, where she teaches CAD (computer-aided design) programs.

I learned about scissor lifts and knuckle booms from my son, David, a skilled electrician and handyman who answered any questions relating to DIY work.

Additional thanks go to Harlequin’s Dana Grimaldi, my personal editor, who provided directions for the story.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“ARE YOU GOING to marry me now that I’m all grown up?”

Trish placed her hand on the door frame and leaned closer to the storm window for a better view of the man on the front porch. Marry him? What on earth was he talking about?

“Do I know you?” There was something familiar about the grin that spread so quickly across his face. His deep blue eyes held an unmistakable twinkle.

“How’ve you been, Trish?” He chuckled. When she still couldn’t make a connection, he added, “You were the best babysitter I ever had.”

Trish sucked in her breath. “Butch?” she yelled. “Butchy Cadman? Look at you! Last time I saw you...”

“I was a good foot shorter.”

Trish pushed open the door, came onto the porch and stood next to him. She looked up and laughed. “Not quite that, but you sure have grown.” He had to be four or five inches taller than her five foot eight. She took a few steps back to get the full view of him while he watched her with equal interest.

“I always told you I’d catch up with you one day,” he said. “Don’t I get a hug for old times?” She held out her arms, and he enfolded her in a bear hug.

She reached up and ruffled his dark wavy hair. “I didn’t recognize you. Little Butchy Cadman.” With a sigh, she stepped out of his embrace, then caught his smirk.

“You blushing?” he asked.

Trish pushed away and tried to look undisturbed, but warmth radiated from her cheeks. “Still planning on marrying me, huh?” She grinned. “You should be over that by now. What’s it been? Ten years?”

“Me? Forget my first love? Never.” He sobered. “I’m really sorry you had to come back under these circumstances. I know how close you were to your grandmother.”

She swallowed and nodded thanks for his sympathy. Gram had left her this house in her will with the hope Trish would move back, keep it in the family and reestablish her roots. That wasn’t likely.

Trish rubbed her arms to fight off the November chill. With only two and a half weeks before Thanksgiving, they couldn’t expect the Indian summer to last much longer. “Okay if we go inside?”

“Sure.”

Trish and her parents used to live here in Riverbend, New Jersey, near Gram. Moving away had been difficult—Trish left a grandmother she adored as well as all her friends while starting her junior year in high school. Her father’s promotion had taken them to Virginia, where he could commute to his new job in Washington, DC. When her grandmother became ill a year ago, Trish moved to New York City so she could be close by. If only she’d relocated earlier. Their time together had been so short.

“So, Butch,” she said once they were in the large vestibule, “are you here on your father’s behalf, or will he stop by later to give me an estimate?”

“Dad died nearly two years ago.”

“Oh.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He nodded. “I took over the business, so I do all the estimating and most of the renovation work. And there’s another thing. I don’t go by Butch anymore. It’s Craig. Now that my dad’s gone, there’s no more confusion.”

“Okay. Craig it is.” She hesitated. The senior Cadman had had a sterling reputation not only for his integrity but also for his superior craftsmanship. Her grandmother had trusted him to do all the repairs on the house, from the plumbing to the electricity. But Craig, being so young...

“Do you need references?”

Trish shook her head. “Of course not. I just remember you tagging along with your dad...”

Craig took in a deep breath. “My father taught me everything he could, and before he died, I earned my contractor’s license. Besides that, I work with an experienced crew who also worked with my father. My mother can supply you with names of people I’ve worked for.” He chucked her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “Always ask, Trish. There are too many people out there who will do a rotten job and take you to the cleaners.”

Her faith restored, Trish waved toward the arched entrance to the living room. “Shall we look at the house?” They stopped at the large staircase. “No one’s lived here since Gram went to a nursing home. Neighbors kept an eye on it, and I’ve been up a few times to check. But I’m afraid there’s damage from the roof leaking when the last hurricane came barreling through.”

“Right. We’ve taken care of a lot of damage from storms this past summer.” Craig removed his heavy blue windbreaker and placed it over the staircase’s carved newel cap.

“I’ll need the roof repaired or replaced. I’d like an estimate on both. While I’m here, I’ll start on the central staircase, sanding it down and refinishing it. I’m hoping to get it back to its beautiful oak finish once that carpet’s removed.”

They walked into the living room, which was still loaded with heavy, outdated furniture. “No damages here. Just some ratty-looking wallpaper I’ll need to remove.”

Craig made notes on his iPad, scrutinizing the fieldstone fireplace as well as taking a quick picture. “When was the last time this was used?”

Trish shrugged. “I remember one Christmas...” She sighed. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I’ll check it out. Don’t want any unwanted fires messing up the repairs.”

When he looked in the direction of the old-fashioned furniture, Trish asked, “Do you know where I can donate all of this?” She swung her hand around, indicating several items in overstuffed maroon velvet. “I have no use for it, and I’d really prefer having the room cleared before I remove the wallpaper and paint.”

“Sure. Several churches in the area have banded together to help people affected by the hurricane. I’ll contact them and have it moved out.”

Trish clasped her hands together in delight. “That will be wonderful.”

“Except...” Craig walked over to the tall mahogany secretary before turning back to her. “Remember this?” His face lit up again with that grin. “We searched all those hidden compartments in here, expecting to find treasures.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “Right before you moved.” Craig’s expression sobered.

Trish glanced at the polished wood and remembered all too well. It was a memory she’d prefer to forget. Her parents had informed her that day they’d be moving, taking her away from all her friends and Butch. Checking Gram’s secretary for its secrets had been the last time they were together.

“Have you gone through any of the secret drawers since you came back?”

“I never did,” she said.

As Trish came to his side, he caressed the dark wood. She grasped the large panel that served as a writing surface, pulled it down and exposed all the various compartments. “You suppose there are any treasures we could have missed?” When she reached for one of the carved containers that fit seamlessly into the background, Craig placed his hand over hers.

“Your grandmother had some wonderful antiques, things you should keep.”

The warmth of his hand brought back more memories, ones she’d thought were long gone. She pulled her hand free and traced the carved surface with an index finger. “Is this valuable? Do you think I could get a good price for it?”

He looked at her as though she’d spit on his shoe. “Sure. Henry’s Antiques is always in the market for family treasures.”

She grabbed his forearm and felt his muscles tense. “Keeping family treasures isn’t a luxury I can afford. As it is, I’ll be using what Gram left me plus everything I have just to get this place ready for sale.”

Craig shook off her hand and turned toward the vestibule. “Let’s see the rest of the place.” He carried a yardstick that he swatted against his hand and occasionally used it to point to different areas.

They took the stairs to the second floor. Several rooms had ugly water stains on the ceilings. Trish opened one of the doors and scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think the bathrooms on this floor need a major renovation.” She had avoided the bathrooms yesterday when she’d arrived, using the smaller powder room on the first floor instead.

Craig stepped onto the linoleum and made a cursory examination. “If you want to get a good price, you’ll need some major modernization here. Bathrooms and kitchens can sell a house.”

“With some major expense,” Trish added as they backed into the hall.

Finally Trish stopped at the door to the attic staircase. “This was my favorite place to play. Remember all the times we stayed here on rainy days and dressed up in old clothes?” Her grandmother had made hot chocolate and provided cookies for Trish and all her friends in the neighborhood. She’d felt wanted and cared for, none of the indifference she found with her own parents. Trish had often wondered why her parents even bothered to have her. Whenever those thoughts invaded her mind, she’d run to her grandmother for all the love and hugs anyone could provide.

“Right. Your grandfather’s top hat and fedora. You still have them?”

“I’m not sure. Most of the things stored here were moved to drier areas, and I haven’t had a chance to check. Oh,” she said once they reached the top stair, “you can see the roof damage.” She pointed to the cracks in the roof where light came in.

Craig walked around, examining different beams, poking with a yardstick in places that looked particularly bad and snapping pictures. “This problem could get worse, especially if we get more rain. We should cover it with a tarp until it can be repaired.”

After checking the two attic windows for any leaks or damage, they went downstairs to the basement. “You’re lucky there’s no water damage down there,” Craig said after a quick tour. “That hurricane ruined more than roofs. Lots of homes were flooded. Fortunately, this place sits on a little rise.”

When they came back upstairs, Craig grabbed his jacket before they headed for the kitchen.

“You mentioned kitchens can sell a house, and most of these appliances are dated.” The country-style kitchen featured a pastel fridge, windowed cabinets, wallpaper with sunflower borders and colorful flower pictures. Canisters in a sunflower motif sat on the counter. She’d bought them for her grandmother. How many times had they taken flour and sugar from them to make cookies? She lifted the coffeepot, an old electric percolator. “Would you like some?”

Craig nodded and settled with his things at the kitchen table.

Trish poured coffee into large mugs and brought them to the table, where Craig continued to make notes. After putting some of her cleaning supplies back under the sink, she joined him. Once he stopped writing, she took a deep breath. “What do you think? Is this going to cost me a fortune?”

“Probably.” He glanced around a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. “This kitchen is pre–World War II. It definitely needs modernization, and you’ll find it well worth any expense. You’ll have a lovely old house to leave your own grandchildren one day.”

“I thought I made myself clear. I want to sell the place.” The words came out softly, forced past the lump in her throat. “I plan to spend my vacation fixing it up so I can get a better price. Should I bother or just let it go as a handyman’s special?”

A disapproving scowl crept across his face. Then his expression went blank, and he looked away.

Trish bit back a sigh. Hadn’t she already suffered enough guilt over her decision to sell? She stood and leaned against the sink, waiting for his verdict.

“It’s a sound structure. If you don’t mind my helping on some of the interior areas, I can have my crew do all the tough stuff.” He sat back and watched her with an intensity she found disturbing. “I was hoping you’d decided to come back and stay.”

“Why?” She laughed and propped her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. When she shook her head, her hair swished along the top of her shoulders. “You may have gotten taller, but you’re still three years my junior, and I have no intention of marrying you. You’ll just have to find another girl.”

“I have.”

All her playfulness vanished, and she stared at him, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You didn’t give me much hope,” Craig added.

“Anyone I know?” Trish asked, regaining her composure.

He sat up and folded his hands on the table, looking at her with way too much satisfaction. “Cyndi Parker.”

“Cyndi Parker! From down the street?”

“Always liked older women.”

“And shorter ones? Unless she’s grown, she has to be...” Trish held her hand out to where she pictured Cyndi might come to.

Craig swatted himself at a halfway point on his chest. “She comes up to about here in her heels.” That grin again. “What about you? You have any romance in your life?”

An image of Harrison came to mind. He was six years older than her twenty-six years, nine years older than Craig. “As a matter of fact, I’m engaged.” Trish pulled out the ring she’d slipped into her pocket for safekeeping while she cleaned and placed it on her left hand. Harrison had given her the diamond only a few days after her grandmother’s funeral, a little after the reading of Gram’s will. Both the inheritance and engagement had come as happy surprises. “My fiancé, Harrison Morris, and I are going to use the money from the sale of the house for a down payment on a new condo.”

Craig acknowledged her remark with a raised eyebrow but didn’t offer a comment. She looked away, remembering her disagreements with Harrison over the house. Even though he’d never seen it, he’d already said he wouldn’t consider moving into an old house in suburban New Jersey. If only Harrison liked traditional architecture instead of the stark lines of steel and glass that he’d shown her in and around New York.

“I’ll get started on this,” Craig said, standing and grasping the iPad, “and get back to you in a day or two.” He pulled on his jacket, bringing their meeting to a close.

With a nod, Trish followed him to the back door that led onto the porch. She grabbed her grandmother’s old camel-colored coat off the hook by the door and slipped into it. “When will you contact someone about the furniture?” They walked the large deck that made a half circle around the house until they reached the front.

“I’ll wait till you call Henry’s about the antiques. He’ll come by and give you an appraisal. That way you won’t give away anything of value.”

“You don’t approve, do you?” Trish asked as they walked to his large white van. Handyman Specialist, LLC, was emblazoned in red on the side along with his phone number and website address. Another website address in blue and a different font, cadsbycadman.com, sat under his name.

“We all have to do what we have to do.” Craig turned to survey the Victorian-style home. “I’ve always liked this house.” His hand on his chin, Craig stood there for several seconds before hitting the side of his van with an open palm. “I’ll get back to you with the estimate. Great seeing you again, Trish.”

Trish walked back to the house, remembering when she’d babysat for the Cadmans. Craig was nine and she was twelve. She loved children and always wished she had brothers and sisters. Starting as a mother’s helper, Trish took over the full duties of a babysitter eventually when both parents had to work. When he no longer needed a sitter, they spent a great deal of time together as friends. Extremely precocious, Craig had skipped a grade. He adored her and insisted she wait till he grew up so they could marry.

He skipped another grade. By the time she was a junior, Craig entered his sophomore year and seemed determined to catch up with her. Although he was shorter than his entire class, he stayed ahead of everyone scholastically. When she had trouble in algebra, he offered to help and their roles switched.

The memory made her smile. Craig turned out to be far beyond his years in more than academics. The day tutoring led to a kiss, her mother walked in and put a stop to any further education. Her father was transferred soon after, and they had to move.

The three-year age difference seemed less important now than it did then. Thinking back to some of the men she’d dated, Trish couldn’t recall their kisses. But Craig stood out.

CHAPTER TWO

CRAIG TRIED TO concentrate on his driving, but thoughts of his meeting with Trish continued to play havoc with his mind. He was over her, wasn’t he? Of course he was. Hadn’t he been dating Cyndi for months? Then why did seeing Trish drag up all those memories and send his hormones into overdrive?

She hadn’t checked those secret drawers in the secretary. If she had... He had to find some way to get back there and remove his note. He’d been so upset when he learned she was moving. No way would he want that note surfacing now.

Craig drove to the back of Moody’s Lumber Company and stopped at the small office. His father had first rented the place from Moody when Craig was an infant, and it had served them well over the years. The Cadmans’ business had grown thanks to his father’s well-known integrity, and Craig was determined to fill his father’s shoes. Not much chance of that with everyone still referring to him as Butchy, Craig Cadman’s kid. Bringing Trish’s house back to its original splendor might be exactly what he had to do to prove he was as good as his father.