Page 7 of Call It Home

Some day. But not today.

Not while Trey slept on a thin mattress behind bars.

Chapter3

Cam

I drewa tired hand across my forehead, realizing a moment too late that I still held a wet paintbrush.

I chuckled tiredly as I saw the streak of light gray across my cheek in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t care. I’d finally finished the guest bedroom and bathroom, the final rooms in my house to be redone.

I’d spent months working on my house, a beautiful, classic Colonial Revival built in the early 1900s. The last owners hadn’t updated it since the eighties. While trying to keep the integrity of the old home, I still opened up spaces and lengthened windows to add more light. I pulled up crusty tiles and smelly carpets and replaced them with new flooring, and I also had the old plumbing and wiring replaced. Then I’d spent hours in each room, wallpapering or painting it with the perfect color, then chose new materials to recover vintage pieces that had come with the house so they mixed well with modern furniture.

I’d had a hand in each stage, doing much of the work myself, only hiring the guys from the construction company for the jobs too big for one person. My twin brother, Chase, spent a lot of his free time helping me lay the wood or tile flooring, but every decision had been mine, a showcase to my talent and first love—decorating.

After a shower, I decided it was still early enough for a light dinner. While leftovers were reheating, I felt an incredible sense of satisfaction as I looked around at all the changes I’d made.

I loved my gourmet kitchen, even if I rarely had time to cook in it. It was a showpiece with its gold-flecked, white quartz countertop and custom-built cabinetry. My stove was the mack daddy of all stoves: six burners and a double oven—and still as clean as the day it arrived since I rarely cooked.

Every inch of my house was a showcase of my skills. I’d created a living advertisement for how I could flip a dying house into a masterpiece. I knew I should host more events to share my talent with more people, but that would require more hours in a day and more energy than I currently had. I was too busy trying to run a business, which largely meant continuously proving I was capable to the guys who thought I was just a pretty face who knew nothing about both construction and business.

While nobody said anything directly to me, I heard the snickers and saw the smirks whenever I asked questions about the progress of the builds. They clearly believed I was clueless about the challenges of construction from the ground up.

They were wrong. I knew more than they gave me credit for.

But I was determined to prove my worth, to show them I was someone they could believe in, someone who could continue to grow the business.

It would have been easy if my grandfather were still at my side. But he died, tragically and unexpectedly, alongside his wife and brother-in-law, before I’d been able to come fully on board after spending extra time at school earning my dual degrees in interior architecture and interior design.

Chase, our younger sister, Bristol, and I suddenly found ourselves the inheritors of family homes and businesses. Bristol took a while to move back to Sterling Mill and into the Victorian house she’d inherited. No one was surprised; she loved her career as our father’s racing engineer, but other tragic circumstances ended that. Now, she and her new fiancé, Reid, and his daughter, Lexi, lived there.

Chase found himself the owner of our great-uncle James’s tree and shrub farm, including the huge farmhouse where Chase now lived.

And I, the family princess and fashion lover, found myself owning a construction company.

I took up the helm, learning the ins and outs of running the business through a lot of trial, a few errors, and, privately, several tears.

Topping off my glass, I headed into my living room with dinner to unwind before I spent another couple of hours studying the housing market in Colorado. And, hopefully, I’d come up with some new ideas to talk Mac into partnering with me.

I turned on a random sitcom and lit a couple of candles that promised to smell like apple pie. I flipped a switch to turn on the gas fireplace, then plopped on my couch to learn as much as I could about Randolph, Colorado, the location of the nextRenovation Station.Mostly, all I could find was that it was the home of Grandview Lodge and Resort, a premier ski retreat. Maybe they were building some new homes there.

I got so engrossed in researching the history and the lodge itself that it took a minute for the ringing of my doorbell to penetrate my brain.

I glanced over at the old mantle clock Bristol had given me from our grandparents’ house. I was surprised to see it was nearly nine-thirty, meaning almost two hours had passed while I was caught up in my ideas.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a knock.

“Okay, okay,” I mumbled before calling out, “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

I peeked through the peephole before snatching the door open.

“Chase. What are you doing here so late?”

My twin’s hand swept around from behind his back, thrusting a bouquet of fresh wildflowers into my face. “Sorry, I’m not holding any horses. Hope these will do instead.”

I beamed at my brother and stepped aside for him to come in, snatching the bouquet from his hand.

Chase had added to his business by building several greenhouses in which he grew several varieties of flowers. He supplied them to local florists, as well as keeping The Dogtrot, Emalee’s bed-and-breakfast, filled year-round with stunning arrangements. It wasn’t unusual for him to bring smaller bouquets to me and Bristol, as well, something I was more than happy to receive. Chase didn’t just have a green thumb, he had magical green fingers that could make almost anything grow and prosper, and his flowers were legendary up and down the mountain and in the larger towns in the valley.

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