Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) (18 page)

Julie is a forty-something, dangerously close to becoming a fifty-something, graduate from San Diego State University with a BA in Political Science. In addition, she has a Masters in Social Work from the University of Alabama, which has only made her better able to recognize the unhealthy, codependent relationship she has with writing. Professionally, she has worked in teaching and as a marriage and family counselor. She is the author of four women’s fiction novels, including
Count Down to Love,
a 2011 Whitney Award finalist. When she’s not writing, she entertains delusions of being a master gardener, that is, when she’s not killing the unsuspecting plants in her yard with her good intentions. She lives outside of Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband, two daughters, a Betta named Bob, and a Scottish fold kitten, Ardweal.

Coming next in the Ripple Effect Romance Series

(Available March 21, 2014)

Drew Westfall wants nothing more than to forget what he had to do in the name of "smart" business. Cutting off all ties with his parents—including handing over the entire contents of his trust fund to a charity—he takes off for Bridger, Colorado where his best friend has an extra room for him. It doesn't take long for him to realize that his business degree won’t do him much good in a town as small as Bridger, but he's broke and has nowhere else to go.

Eden Torresi has every reason to wallow. Not only did she have to sell her house to pay for her mother’s medical expenses, but she had to drop out of school and is in a relationship with a guy unwilling to commit. But Eden isn't the wallowing type. Instead, she spends most of her time taking care of the seniors at Silver Linings Assisted Living. When she learns that her boyfriend's new roommate is down on his luck, she reaches out to offer what help she can. But the more time they spend together, the more complicated things get, especially when the seniors of Silver Linings decide to play matchmaker.

Drew Westfall balanced the gas receipt against his steering wheel and tried to make sense of his own scrawl on the back of it.

Left at the picnic table in the cluster of pine trees. Another left when the chain link fence ends.

He glanced up and squinted into the dark expanse of the February night. Even with his low beams on, all he could see were his lights reflected off the snowflakes and the shadows of towering trees sliding past his window. Pines clustered as far as his lights could shine. Apparently, they didn’t believe in street signs or straight roads in Bridger, Colorado.

He let out a frustrated breath, all signs of chain link fences completely gone, and reached for his cell phone in the middle console of his new-to-him car. It had been an hour since he had exited the highway, and in that time he’d managed to get hopelessly lost. Unfortunately, reception had been spotty at best, nonexistent in reality, and he hadn’t been able to find a strong enough signal to call Jace and get better directions.

Drew swiped his finger across his screen and glanced away from the road for a second. Still no bars. Before he could set his phone down again, the steering wheel jerked under his hands. Black ice. He’d grown up in Colorado, knew how to drive in ice, but all the knowing in the world couldn’t make up for this piece of junk with threadbare tires he’d picked up a few weeks before. His stomach twisted with the realization that he had no control of the car, and he braced himself for impact.

The car slid from the road to the embankment before crashing into one of the many pine trees. Drew’s head hit the side window seconds before the air bags slammed into him. He blinked his watery eyes a few times to clear his head, but a sharp pain in his nose remained.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Drew dropped his head against the back of his seat and let himself imagine, just for a minute, how nice it would be to go back to Denver, find one of his Dad’s luxury hotels, and glide back into the life he’d always lived.
And sell your soul while you’re at it.

The thought of Ariela Matthews—pale as her hospital sheets while her dad struggled to pay her medical bills after Drew had fired him—hardened his resolve to break away from his old life. So, Drew was uncomfortable. Ariela had died, and nothing Drew did could change that. But he could at least have enough integrity to walk away from a company that cared less for people than money. If he stayed, it would all be his, but at what cost? By the time he could take over, he’d be so ensnared in his family’s greedy strings he’d never escape. Better to walk away before he became like them.

Cold seeped through the door, replacing the little bit of heat that had lingered in the car. Pity party over. He wiped at the wetness on his aching nose and pulled his hand away to reveal blood on his fingers. Probably broken again.

His breath came out in white puffs in front of him while he thought through his options. With his raging headache, he wanted nothing more than to sit in the car and wait until someone stopped, but he hadn’t passed another car in at least ten minutes, and it was too cold to not keep moving. He’d have to walk to the larger street he remembered from about a mile back and see if he could get cell service there or find a place with a phone and call Jace.

Drew pushed at the taut airbags until he found the door handle and yanked it open. He squeezed between the seat and the bag, attempting to keep his still-dripping nose from hitting anything.

The cold bit his cheeks and fingers when he stepped from the car. He pulled his beanie down low over his ears and wished he had his ski parka with him, but it was stored at his parent’s house in Denver, a place he wasn’t willing to go. He’d left Savannah only a week ago and already he missed the mild winter he’d grown used to in the time he’d lived there.

If he walked fast, his leather coat would be good enough until he found somewhere to stop. He slammed the door shut, and snow fell from the roof of his car onto his loafers, shoes that made a lot of sense in a hotel, but absolutely none when planning on walking close to a mile in several inches of snow.

He started at a brisk pace toward where he thought he remembered the turn off for the main road. Wind whipped around him, stealing his breath, but he pressed forward. His shoes slipped on a patch of ice, and he waved his arms to catch his balance. The last thing he needed was to fall and get wet. Or worse, break something else.

Snowflakes blew around him and got caught in the beard he’d grown since walking away from his life at Westfall hotels. No reason to look clean-cut anymore. He’d also let his hair grow longer than it had ever been. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jace didn’t recognize him.

If he ever made it to Jace’s house.

Drew saw the headlights cutting through the snow before he heard the car come up behind him.
Thank you
, he thought, then turned and waved. The car slowed, and the window rolled down, but instead of stopping, a full cup of soda flew out the window, drenching him.

Adolescent laughter and cursing spewed from the kids as the car sped up and left him cold and sticky.

“Get back here!” he yelled, but knew it was too late. The taillights were red dots in the distance, and when it turned, nothing.

He shivered. He could stand here and stew all night, but the fact was, he needed to get somewhere warm, so he’d need to stew while he walked. Drew’s limbs stiffened, and his feet slid more often than they found traction, but he pressed forward. That road had to be close.

Already, he hated Bridger. Jace had talked about it so much when they were roommates in college that Drew had thought he’d love it right away. But so far, all Bridger had given him was a broken car, delinquent teenagers, and pre-hypothermia. If he’d had any other option… But when he’d burned bridges with his dad, most of the people he’d considered friends had stood on the opposite side of the chasm from him. They’d made their choice, and he’d made his.

After several minutes, he finally reached the road. He turned onto it, and to his relief a light shone in the distance. He picked up his pace as much as he could and headed toward the sign. As he got closer, he could see that it looked like an old, redbrick school, but there was a rectangular sign on a post in front of it that read: SILVER LININGS.

Yeah, I could use one of those right now.

He kept his eyes glued to the sign and managed to put one numb foot in front of the other for another quarter mile. He took a wheelchair ramp up to the industrial metal door. After a few attempts, he managed to get his frozen thumbs to press down on the door handle. Warmth enveloped him the minute he stepped inside, stinging his cheeks and fingertips.

An empty reception desk sat against the wall with a few racks of brochures and a knitted scarf sitting on the wooden surface. He rubbed his hands together as he shuffled toward the desk to see if they had a phone. An old-fashioned dial phone was pushed up against the back, but there was no computer, and he didn’t feel right about searching through the drawers for a phonebook.

He grabbed a handful of tissues, though, and dabbed at his nose. Most of the blood seemed to have frozen in his beard. Gingerly, he touched the bridge of his nose. Not crooked. At least one thing was going his way.

A wheelchair and a walker sat in the middle of the room, as if waiting for their owners to come and get them. He spotted a couch in the corner and started to hobble there when a movement caught his eye. He stopped and peered through the window of the double door that led farther into the building.

Elderly people sat at falling-apart tables, chatting and playing games. The steady hum of voices came through the thin door. A young woman flitted around the room, stopping to talk, laugh, and hug several women at one of the tables. Her long blonde hair swirled around her shoulders, and he caught her profile just as her cheeks turned pink at something one of the older women said.

Drew’s breath caught in his chest. The cold was affecting him more than he thought. He took a step to the side, to follow her movements. A smile touched the corner of her mouth, and without warning, she moved toward the door. Drew stepped back before she could open it, but his heel caught on the edge of a footplate. He let out a grunt as he crashed backwards, landing in a tumble of wheelchair and walker, too stiff to move. Warm blood once again dripped from his nose. He dropped his head against the hard metal of the wheelchair as he realized that he didn’t just hate Bridger, Colorado.

It looked like Bridger hated him, too.

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Silver Linings
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