Healing Hope Read online

  Tripp would give a homeless guy the shirt off his back in the dead of winter if he was asked. Like I said, heroic.

  He was the man that gave me the confidence to move forward with starting my own business, and he was also the first one to tell me he was proud of my success.

  I owe Tripp everything. He molded me, and he showed me what unconditional love and pride is.

  “Boss man is back,” Edwin, another one of my guys, hollered out as I lowered the box that contained the recess lighting for two of the twelve units we had left to install.

  “You mean you slackers don't have this place lit up yet?” I do my best to hide my smile. “I guess if I want this shit finished, I gotta do it myself.”

  Tripp chuckled and held out his power drill toward me. “By all means, he who rules the jobs site.” He shook the drill, indicating I should take it. “Please, almighty one, show us mere mortals how it is done. Show us the ways of the King.”

  The rest of the guys joined in, and it was no longer possible to hide my smile. The men loved when Tripp gave me shit, and they loved it more when I fired back at him. They understood it was all in good humor.

  “Now, big brother,” I cross my arms over my chest, squaring my shoulders. “You know what happens when I take control and do the job myself.”

  “Oh yeah, and what might that be?” he cocks his eyebrow in curiosity.

  “You see how a real man works, and I send your ass home crying to Misssyyyy about never being as great as the all powerful Travis. Your ego can't take my skills. I would truly hate for your boys to once again see that Uncle Travis schooled their dad.”

  Tripp, too, tried to hide his smirk, but it was hard to miss. He shook his head as he turned back toward the job he’d been working on when I arrived. I could hear him mumbling incoherently, but I knew well enough that it was his way of feeling as if he’s gotten the last word.

  I let him have it, just as I always had before. Like I said, he was my hero.

  Chapter 2

  Hope

  “I got another call today saying they showed up at the house and there was no one there to let them inside.” I hang my head feeling like an ass as I listen to my father’s mini rant. “I’ve already paid for this to be done, Hope, but they can’t run the damn wiring if you don’t let them in.”

  “I forgot,” I gave as an excuse, and it was true, I did forget. As in, they show up at the crack of dawn and I am not a morning person. It was one of the greatest things about working from home, my days don’t start until ten. Anything earlier than that was a bother. I’m not always the most polite person I know, but in my defense, eight a.m. is too early.

  Yeah, I know I could try harder. Being forced to be pleasant to a plumber, electrician, and whatever else it takes for upkeep on my father’s rental house was the last thing I wanted to be responsible for. I shouldn’t be such an ass. After all, I live here for practically nothing, but he’s the one that won’t let me pay more.

  “Maybe you should just meet them,” I started to suggest, but was cut short when he let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “No.” His tone was one of exhaustion, and again I feel the guilt hit me. “I need you to climb out of the bubble you live in and meet the electrician. I need you to set aside a few minutes to open up the damn door and allow them to do their job. Can you just do that, Hope?”

  I immediately feel like a dick. After all my father’s done for me, I only add more to his plate. I also feel like a scorned child at the age of twenty-five. How can it be that my father still manages to inflict the eight year old girl hidden inside me?

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down in the chair at my small table I had tucked into a corner in my tiny kitchen. The least I can do for my father is pull my head out of my ass and stop being a flake for a few hours.

  “Okay, meaning, yes, Dad, I will make this happen and stop giving you a damn ulcer. Or yeah, Dad, okay, you can stop the bitching now and let me climb back into my rabbit hole.” He follows this up with a chuckle and a small amount of the tension I feel fades.

  My parents have been two of the most supportive people anyone could ever ask for. They have stood over the last year, holding me up when I’ve felt like falling. I know without them, the loss of Walker would have only been harder.

  “No, old fella.” I smirk when I hear him chuckle. “Take a breather and reschedule the electrician. I’ll make sure I let them in this time, I promise. I’ll even offer them coffee and donuts for their trouble.”

  There would be no coffee, or donuts. But I meant what I said, I’ll let them in so they can do their job and my dad’s mind will be at ease.

  “Tomorrow at nine,” his voice laced with humor, “and you can save the coffee and donuts for me.” I instantly felt relieved that his mood seemed to lighten. “Oh, and Hope,” he adds quickly, “be nice to the poor guy. He’s only there to do a job I hired him to do. He’s not there to make your life miserable.”

  “Can we make it after ten?”

  “No.” He doesn’t even allow a pause.

  I roll my eyes, because anyone in my space besides those I loved tended to make me miserable. It wasn’t like I was an unpleasant person, I just liked my privacy and my seclusion. But for my father I would keep my mouth shut and stay out of their way tomorrow.”

  “You got it.”

  “Love ya, kid.”

  He hangs up the phone before allowing me to say it in return. My father has always done that, with both me and my mom. He offered us love and reassurance, yet never asked for anything in return. The man knows how much we love him, but I still wish he’d let us shower him with the same love he gives every once in a while.

  I push up off the couch and move toward my tiny kitchen that was tucked back in the corner. This right here was one of the many reasons I truly loved this little house--it was cozy. I had no need for a large space, it was only me. I rarely had friends over, and when I got together with my parents, it was at their house. I could safely say this house had three rooms, one big one that had only a small nook I guess you could call a kitchen, the dining room, and living room. It was only separated by a small island with two barstools. One larger room tucked back in the far left corner of the home was the only bedroom. Just to the opposite side was a bathroom, joined by one large closet for storage.

  I didn't need big and extravagant, I just needed my space.

  After grabbing a glass from the cabinet next to the sink, I open the refrigerator in search of the Moscato I’d purchased earlier in the day. The stuff was a godsend, just me and my wine and I was happy.

  After filling the glass to the top, I lift it to my lips and take a sip, instantly feeling contentment wash over me. Like I said, the stuff performed wonders on a girl like me. A girl that needed just a small relaxer to get by. I remain in the same place, leaning my hip against the countertop as I stare out the window overlooking the backyard. At times I think I should plant some flowers or maybe even a tree, give the yard some character, then the urge passes by as quickly as it came. There truly was some great potential at making this house a home, I just lack the drive to do it.

  I lack the drive for anything really.

  I woke with a jolt, looking around the room in a haze. I was in the living room, a bottle of wine on the coffee table before me nearly empty. I blink a few times, attempted to clear the fog when a loud knock fills the tiny space.

  I groan in frustration as I lean back against the cushions behind me, throwing imaginary flame throwers at whoever is beating on the door from the opposite side.

  The knocking grows louder and more intense, and a rush of irritation runs through me when I realize whomever it is has no intention of leaving.

  “My god,” I practically growl out. “I’m coming already.”

  I push off the couch feeling a pounding in my head from too much wine and close my eyes tightly for a moment. The problem was the aching wasn't going to go away as long as the jackass outside kept beating on my damn door.


  With determination I stomp toward the door, twist the lock, and give it a big jerk as it goes flying open. “I said I was coming.” My eyes were still sleep-filled, my head now pounding more from my quick movements. “You can stop beating on the damn door already.”

  “I’ve been knocking for all of ten minutes, ma’am.”

  I look up, slightly shaking my head, both irritated and a bit embarrassed when I lock eyes with the man standing across the threshold. Tall, dark haired, the bluest of blue eyes, and tattoos that peeked out from beneath his fitted orange t-shirt. My eyes scanned over his body from head to toe, and I notice myself feeling slightly overheated from what I find. Suddenly I felt guilty for even allowing myself to appreciate this man in any sense. It always happened this way whenever I allowed myself to feel anything more than sadness, like in some way I was allowing myself to forget Walker.

  There was no denying though that this man definitely wasn’t a bad sight first thing in the morning. Even when one’s head felt like it was about to explode. Then suddenly I’m reminded of my irritation and what caused it.

  “Do I look like a ma’am to you?” My appraising look shifted to one of an offensive nature.

  “I’m not sure how to answer that,” he replies, and I can hear the humor in his voice. “Right now you look like someone who has had one hell of a night, and your hair sorta resembles a tumbleweed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He lifts his hand, and with an outstretched finger he motions toward my hair. On instinct I look up as if I can see what he is referring to. “I’m not sure what took place, but I’d say if that’s simply from sleeping, you must be one hell of a tosser.”

  “A what?”

  Oh my god, I sounded like a parrot, speaking in two word responses to each and everything he said.

  “A tosser, ya know.” No, I don’t know, jackass, that is why I asked. I never said it, but I wanted to. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to explain. “Toss and turn in your sleep. Shifting around like crazy.”

  Still I didn't reply.

  “It’s the only explanation for what’s going on up there.” Again he waved his hand toward my head, and again, as if they have a mind of their own, my eyes shifted upward. “It’s a mess.”

  “And you’re an ass,” I say without a second thought. Hell, I don’t even feel guilty about it. Slowly a smirk covers his lips, and as if that in itself wasn’t enough to agitate me, he chuckles, too.

  “What do you want anyway?”

  I wait for him to collect his thoughts, ignoring the fact that this man was laughing at me. I honestly wanted to step forward and lift my knee making a direct connect to his groin but I refrained. I didn’t remember anyone ever getting under my skin the way this man was.

  “I’m here to run wiring for a dryer,” he finally says.

  Then it dawns on me--the appointment.

  I hang my head, knowing I’d done this to myself. What was I thinking getting smashed the night before an early appointment anyway? An appointment I’d already missed twice.

  “It’s through there,” I say, avoiding his eyes.

  As he moves past me I can’t stop myself from following him with my eager eyes, getting a full view of his backside. Warmth rushes over me when I realize what I’m doing, and what makes it worse is when I look up to find him staring at me over his shoulder.

  Yep, busted.

  Chapter 3

  Travis

  I shouldn’t find it so satisfying that she’s embarrassed, but I do. She was openly gawking at my ass, and the best part was I caught her redhanded.

  The woman was a mess and looked as if she hadn’t brushed her hair in a week. She’d had a long night that was obvious, and the empty bottle of wine on the table assured that. I was thrilled to know that she’d most likely drank alone due to the single wine glass that sat next to the bottle. The woman was cute, even beneath her rugged exterior. I liked the fire inside of her, it meant she was passionate. I could use a little passion in my life, it kept things interesting.

  I worked to run the new wiring for the washer and dryer per the owner’s request. I won’t lie though, I stretched the job out as long as I could. I could see my presence here was unwanted, and call me an ass, but I liked getting a rise out of her.

  She was a fiery little thing.

  She couldn’t have been more than five foot two, one hundred and ten pounds maybe, but that was even pushing it. Long blond hair, perfect tits. The woman definitely made this job a little more enjoyable, even if she was currently staring holes through my back. Or maybe it was my ass.

  I look over my shoulder, and again I find her eyes focused on my backside.

  Yep, most definitely staring holes in my ass.

  “You almost finished?”

  I try to hide my smile when I turn around to face her, but when I see her cheeks flush again, I can’t stop myself.

  “What’s so funny?” She narrows her eyes, doing her best to appear unimpressed. I know poking at her only infuriates her more, but again, it was an impulse I couldn’t control.

  “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab your phone.” My smile grew wider when she arched her brow. She looked confused and again it found it fueled me more. “You know, to snap a picture of my ass.” Her eyes narrowed and she stands in a hurry and takes a step toward me. “Now don’t go getting all mad at me, princess, you’re the one openly checking out my backside. I should feel violated.”

  “I was not.”

  Even if I wanted to believe her words, her eyes gave it all away. She couldn’t even look at me.

  “This job was supposed to be done thirty minutes ago.” She chooses to move right over the earlier topic. “Are you sure you’re qualified for this job? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

  I nod, loving once again that this woman thought she could outsmart me.

  “Does your boss know about your work ethic?” Again she tries for stern and offended, and again she fails. She was an open book, and I was enjoying every fucking chapter. “I think he needs to know just how rude and obnoxious you are.”

  “Maybe he does.” I shrug as I reach into my back pocket and pull out a card. Holding out my hand to her I watch as her gaze shifted. “Give him a call, princess, and tell him all about how you’re sexually harassing his employee.”

  She jerked the card from me and instantly placed her other hand on her hip.

  “I am,” she pauses. “I never.” I could see the battle in eyes. “I did no such thing.”

  Shrugging again, I turn back toward the job and finished up with the last few things. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

  I hear her practically growl in frustration, just before her feet beat against the floor to the other side of the room. Without turning around I imagine her seeking out her phone. My smile growing so wide it makes my cheeks ache as my phone begins to vibrate and ring on my hip.

  Instead of answering it, I hang my head and do my very best to hide my chuckle.

  With each ring, it grows harder to refrain and suddenly I’m hit in the back of the head with something soft.

  Turning around, I look to the floor at my feet and see a light blue throw pillow. Ever so slowly, I lift my gaze and find a certain blonde with fire in her eyes staring back at me.

  “Did you just throw a pillow at me?”

  “Yes, I did.” She didn't even hesitate, “You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t go for the empty bottle instead.”

  A moment of silence passes before she walks toward me once more and places a hand on each hip. The action alone pushes out her breasts, and it takes everything inside me not to lower my eyes.

  “You are an ass.” The way she states this slowly enhances the humor once again. “For a business owner, I must say I’m surprised you are as credible as you are. You must spend most days in the office, otherwise I’m sure it’d be hard to land a job.”

  I stand before her, a screwdriver in one hand and a switch cover in the oth
er, observing her every move. The way her nose wrinkles up as if she is confused by my lack of reaction to her words.

  “And will you stop smiling?” Her words come out in more of a whine. I can almost visualize her stomping her foot.

  “Why does my smile affect you?” I was rolling into dangerous territory here. Keeping things professional had never been a problem for me, until now. Messing with clients, or even renters of clients was something I never did. At this point though, it was addictive. This battle of wills between two stubborn people intrigued me. I liked the way she challenged me with just one simple look. “Does my smile make that fire inside you ignite? Does it make you feel something you don’t want to admit?” He taunted me a little more, and for a moment I slipped allowing him to see a trace of a smile tug at the corner of my lips.

  That was my mistake, it was like throwing meat out for a hungry lion, it only gave him an invite to play a little more. “Tell me what part you like most?”

  “You truly are an ass!” I hated how he affected me, but I also felt a spark of interest that I hadn’t felt in so long. His arrogance irritated me more than I should be allowing it to, but it reminded me so much of the person I had lost. The person I spend everyday missing. They were alike in the way they held themselves, that confidence that gave them such a powerful impact on those around them. The mischievous glimmer in their eyes, it was all so much the same.

  She didn’t answer my question before storming off toward her bedroom I presume, and loudly slamming the door. She also didn't look at me fifteen minutes later when I knocked on her door for a signature. She simply printed then signed on the lines provided before once again slamming her bedroom door in my face this time.