Noah (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 6)(39)

"You remember Ruthie, right?"

For a minute, Ford racked his brain to try to remember who she was. "You  mean the woman who helps Grams with cleaning the house?"

Ben nodded. "That's right. Her daughter is having a birthday in a few weeks and I thought this would make a great gift."

"Can't you buy one in a store?"

Ben laughed again. "Sure. I could also buy furniture and picture frames  and even a storage shed, but sometimes things are better and mean more  when they're made by hand."

Feigning interest, he asked, "So how old is her daughter?"

"She's going to be ten."

"Um … Gramps?"

"Yeah?"

"She's a little old for a dollhouse, don't you think?"

His grandfather stopped moving for a moment as he seemed to consider his  comment. Ford held his breath and hoped he'd agree, and then they could  make something that wasn't so … girly. A dollhouse, he scoffed inwardly.  It was ridiculous.         

     



 

"You know what, Ford?"

Here it was. He was going to agree and they could move on. "What?"

"Normally I'd say you were right, but Ruthie mentioned how much Callie  wants a dollhouse-something about how she's always wanted one-and I want  to be the one to do it for her. That poor girl has grown up without a  father and her mother works two jobs to support them. I get the  impression there isn't a lot of money left over for frivolous things  like a dollhouse."

"You could just give her money. It sounds like they can use that more than a dollhouse."

As usual, his grandfather gave him a patient smile and then patted him  on the shoulder. "Why are you so against this? It's not like I'm asking  you to use the darn thing. And you know how I feel about making things  from scratch and how important it is to give from the heart. What's the  big deal suddenly?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just expected us to make something … you  know … cool today. We've been talking about building new bookshelves for  Grams. You know she needs them, and she's been dropping hints about them  for months now."

Another quiet laugh. "And she'll get them for her birthday. Or maybe for  Christmas." He paused and pulled out a box of nails and placed it on  the bench beside the small wood pile. "If there's one thing I know about  your grandmother, it's how she has the patience of a saint. She's not  in a rush for them. And besides, once I build those shelves, she'd going  to fill them up right away with all kinds of books and knickknacks and  then she'll be looking for more. The way I see it, I'm pacing myself."

While Ford could agree with most of that, he still felt like he needed  to step in-on his grandmother's behalf, of course. "Didn't you hear  Grams as we were walking out here? She gave you measurements for the  shelves. She's expecting us to make them for her."

"And she's also expecting me to make a dollhouse for Callie."

"But … but … "

"Face it, Ford, we're building a dollhouse today," his grandfather said  firmly. "And the sooner we get started, the sooner we can be done  so … let's get to work."

"If we finish it today, can we start on the shelves for Grams? Or  maybe … you know … one of us can work on the dollhouse and the other can  work on the shelves. Think of the time we'd save and how much more we  could get done."

Ben crossed his arms over his massive chest and his expression was neutral-giving Ford no clue as to what he was thinking.

For the second time since they'd come to the workshop, Ford held his breath and waited for what was coming next.

"You know what? I think that's a great idea."

"You do?"

Ben nodded and reached for the sketch pad he always had handy. He  immediately began drawing, and Ford almost sagged to the ground with  relief. He could build shelves while his grandfather worked on some  silly dollhouse for a girl they barely knew. They'd each have a project  and they'd spend the day surrounded by sawdust while they talked about  life.

It didn't get much better than this.

"Here you go," Ben said with a smile, handing Ford the drawing.

"But … wait," he said, looking at the sketch. "I don't understand."

Ben looked at him and then the paper in his hand. "It's all right  there," he explained, motioning to the paper. "All the dimensions are  clearly specified and everything's here on the bench. If there's  something you don't like, you can use the ranch as a model on some of  the details." With another pat on the shoulder, he began to walk away.

"Gramps, wait!" he cried out almost desperately.

Ben turned and looked at him, a serene smile on his face.

"I just … I thought … I was expecting you to give me the specs for the shelves."

And then his grandfather grinned widely. "That's today's lesson, Ford. Expect the unexpected."



Chapter One





Expect the unexpected.

That perfectly fit what Ford Garrison was dealing with right now. It was  after midnight, there was snow on the ground, the power was out and  there was a massive tree lying across the front porch of his  grandparents' ranch house.

Okay, he had been expecting to see that … it was the reason he'd flown all  the way back to Eagle's Ridge, Washington, from Virginia Beach on such  short notice. Well, that and the fact that his grandmother had been  injured as a result of this massive tree's destruction.         

     



 

Margaret Garrison was as tough as they came and never shied away from a  challenge. Even at the age of eighty-eight, she didn't know the meaning  of limitations. It was probably one of the main reasons she was  currently in the hospital with a broken hip. Rather than going out the  back door of the house when the tree hit, Grams had opted to go out the  front door to assess the damage and climb over the massive maple.

That one still had him shaking his head.

Either way, Grams was in the hospital and Ford was back in the town he'd been doing his best to avoid for a dozen years.

Sure, ten years in the Navy as part of their construction battalion had  been extremely beneficial in helping him keep his distance, but in the  two years since he'd been out, he'd managed to only come back to Eagle's  Ridge when it was on his terms.

This was not one of those times.

Not only was he here to check on his grandmother's well-being, but also  to oversee the repairs on the house. And since Garrison Construction-the  company his grandfather had started more than fifty years ago-was at  his disposal, Ford had no doubt he could get the work done.

He just wished his grandfather was still here to work beside him.

From his spot in the truck, he leaned forward and looked not only at the  house but at the property around it. How many times had he jumped off  of the massive porch or sat on the swing and listened to stories of how  Eagle's Ridge had been formed? He'd climbed just about every tree on the  property and had snowball fights with his cousins right here in this  front yard. Around the back was the three-car garage that housed his  grandfather's workshop-a place where Ford had spent more time than he  could remember learning how to put things together and build them from  scratch.

Those times with his grandfather had meant the world to him. There was a  familiar twinge of pain in his heart at the memories. It didn't seem  possible that Ben Garrison had been gone from this world for five years  already.

And it certainly wasn't fair that Ford hadn't been there to say goodbye.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered gruffly.

It was late, he was exhausted, and all he wanted right now was to sleep.  It had been a long day and a long flight and he was slowly losing the  fight to keep his eyes open. Staying in the ranch wasn't going to be  possible. The structure had been compromised and until he could assess  the damage in the light of day, it was best to crash elsewhere.

And on top of it all, he still couldn't believe he'd gone to such great  lengths to avoid coming home for Thanksgiving, yet he'd ended up here  anyway.

Just a day late.

Looking over to the far right corner of the property, Ford spotted the  guest cottage and sighed. That was going to have to be his temporary  home. No doubt it was a cold, dusty mess, but it was either that or  driving back into town and waking up his parents or his cousin Ryder.

"Suck it up for the night," he murmured, and put the truck in gear and  slowly made his way across the property. Even though the ground was  covered in a light dusting of snow, Ford knew this place like the back  of his hand. In the few times he'd come home after getting out of the  service, he'd marveled at how it never changed. Other than the trees  getting bigger, everything looked exactly the same as he remembered it  from his childhood.

It was comforting.

Parking next to the guest cottage-which always reminded him of some sort  of dollhouse-Ford shut off the truck and yawned. If he didn't move  soon, he was certain he'd fall asleep right there in the driver's seat.  Another yawn later, and he forced himself to reach for his duffle bag  and exit the vehicle. The cold air hit him so hard, he hissed with it.  There was cold weather in Virginia, but it didn't even begin to compare  to the cold in Washington.