at the trash dump and stared at the leaning back porch of Cari’s place, wondering what had brought her back. Surely not just this old Victorian diamond in the rough.
He was about to turn and head back inside when the door of the house creaked open and he heard a feminine voice shouting, “Shoo, get out of here.”
Out swooped a pigeon, flapping its wings as it lifted into the air.
The woman stood on the porch with her hands on her hips, smiling up at the terrified bird. “And don’t come back. I’m the only squatter allowed on these premises now.”
Rick let out a hoot of laughter. “Poor little pigeon.”
Cari whirled, mortified that Rick had heard her fussing at the innocent pigeon. “Oh, hi. Sorry but it was either him or me. He’s made a mess of what used to be a storage room, I think. And I’m pretty sure he’s had a few feathered friends over for some wild parties, too. First thing on my list—fix that broken window-pane.”
Rick strolled over toward the porch then looked up at her. “Cari,” he said, his smile sharp enough to burn away all the cobwebs she had yet to clear out of the first floor. “You’ve changed.”
Cari pushed at her shaggy, damp hair. This pleasant morning was fast turning into a hot afternoon. “Same old me,” she said, wondering if he was even taller now. “I figured you didn’t recognize me, though.” And he’d aged to perfection, curly brown hair, crinkling, laughing eyes.
“No, sorry I didn’t. But it’s sure nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”
She leaned on the rickety old railing, the sound of the river gurgling over the nearby rocks soothing her frazzled mind. “Yep. Last time I saw you, you were off to Georgia Tech with a cheerleader on your arm. How’d that go for you?”
He shook his head, looked down at his work boots. “Not too well at first. I partied more than I studied and the cheerleader found her one true love—it wasn’t me. Just about flunked out. My old man didn’t appreciate my lack of commitment, let me tell you. But I finally got things together and pulled through.”
Cari nodded, noting the darkening in his eyes when he mentioned his father. “I did the same thing—didn’t party too much, just didn’t much care. I did flunk out at the University of Georgia. But I eventually went back and studied design and got a major in business. Little good that did me, however.” She didn’t want to elaborate and she hoped he wouldn’t ask her to.
He didn’t. Instead he looked off into the ridge of mountains to the west. “But here you are, about to open a business right here in Knotwood Mountain.” He moved a little closer, one booted foot on the battered steps. “What’s the plan, anyway?”
Cari eyed the old porch and the broken steps. “The plan is to get this house back the way I remember it.” Except it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same. “Why is it when a house is shut down it seems to wither and die?”
Rick lifted his gaze to the dormer windows and the gabled roof. “I guess because houses are a lot like people. They need to be needed.”
Surprised that he’d turned all mushy about things, she decided to stick to a safer conversation. “I’ve got my things stored in Atlanta but I’m bringing them here in a few days. All the inventory left over from the shop I had there. And I want to order lots of other things. It’ll take a while to get it going, but I think with the tourist traffic I might be able to make it work. I checked around and Knotwood Mountain doesn’t have a shabby-chic boutique.”
He squinted up at her. “That’s a mighty big plan.”
“Yes, it is. And I have a mighty tiny budget.”
“You been to the bank for a loan?”
“Working on it.” She wondered if the local banker would even talk to her. Doreen carried a lot of weight in town. But the Duncan name still stood for something. At least Cari had that. That and about two nickels to rub together.
Rick looked up and down the alley then back up at her. “Well, maybe it’ll work out for you. What about your business? What kind of establishment will this be? And what exactly is shabby-chic?”
That was a subject she could talk about for hours. “I design jewelry. I take old estate jewelry and rework it then resell it. I also carry unique women’s clothing and I fix up picture frames and jewelry boxes, trinkets—I like to take old things and make them pretty again. Sometimes I redesign tote bags and purses.”
“Purses?” He grinned up at her again. “Maybe you can make one to go with those red shoes in my window.”
“I told you, I can’t afford those shoes.”
He pushed off the steps. “Nobody can. My mother ordered them at market on an impulse and now they’re just sitting there waiting for the right feet—and the right amount of money. Maybe those pumps have been waiting for you. And something tells me you’ll work hard until you can afford them.”
Cari’s heart soared. It had been a while since anyone had expressed belief in her. A very long time. “You think so?”
He tipped a finger to his temple in salute. “If you can take on this old house then I’d say you can do anything.” Then he smiled and walked back toward the open double doors of the general store’s stockroom. But he turned and gave her a long, studied look. “Good to have you back. And if you need anything, anything at all, you call me, okay, Princess?”
“Thanks.” Cari watched him go back inside then looked up at the mountain vista just beyond town. The Blue Ridge Mountains had always brought her peace. Even while she’d lived in Athens and later in Atlanta, she’d often come up here to the mountains just to get away. Of course, she’d never come back here to Knotwood Mountain, but there were other spots nearby she loved, where the rhododendrons bloomed in bright whites and pinks and grew six feet tall. She stood listening and silent, the sound of the river gurgling through the middle of town continuing to bring her a sense of peace and comfort.
“Can I do this, Lord?” she asked. Had she made the right decision, leaving Atlanta to come home? What choice did she have? she wondered.
After all, this old house was all she had now.
She’d pretty much wasted away her bank account and she’d maxed out her charge cards. All in the name of looking good, looking up-to-date and in style while trying to keep up with a man who never intended to settle down and marry her. All in the name of a facade that could never quite fill the void inside her heart.
Turning to head back inside, she thought about the red shoes and all they represented. Once, she would have marched inside the store and bought them without giving it a second thought. Just to make herself feel better.
Looking over at the general store, she whispered, “Sorry, Rick, but I’m not a princess anymore.”
Once, when she’d been frivolous and impulsive and careless, she would have spent money she didn’t have. But that Cari was gone, just like the passive, shy Cari from high school. This new, more assertive Cari was going to have to reinvent herself, one step at a time and on her own two feet.
Only this time, she wouldn’t be wearing fabulous shoes or be hiding behind a carefully controlled facade when she did it.
