One More Day (StrikeForce Book 2) by Vanderlinden Colleen

Author:Vanderlinden, Colleen [Vanderlinden, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Peitho Press
Published: 2016-01-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

After making it through a tense and entirely silent patrol shift with Ryan, I walked up the front walk of the house I’d bought for Mama, taking a good look as I did. I could see why she liked it so much. Cute Craftsman bungalow with a front porch that spanned the whole front of the house. It was painted a happy yellow, which was my mom’s favorite color. The front yard had an enormous maple tree, and I could imagine how pretty it would look in spring and summer, when everything was green. Or in fall, with red and orange leaves. I smiled to myself. I could absolutely see Mama living here, in this nice little neighborhood with the grocery store in walking distance, a bakery just a few blocks away. She’d be pissed at me for buying it, but she’d fall in love with it. I knew that much about Mama. She’d chide me every chance she got, but she’d be grateful.

I stomped up the wood front steps and unlocked the front door. I turned on lights in some of the first floor rooms, since it was so dreary outside. I walked through the rooms, looking around, noting things I wanted fixed.

Honestly, I didn’t have very high hopes for this contractor, carpenter, whatever. The last one hadn’t shown up at all, which pissed me off doubly since I’d had to take David’s early morning patrol shift to work it in. And the one before that had wanted to rip everything out and start over with new drywall, new floors, new everything. What’s the point of buying an old house and putting all new shit in it? My mother would hate that.

I could picture Mama having her coffee in the little breakfast nook in the kitchen. Maybe setting up her old sewing machine in one of the first floor bedrooms. She loved to sew, but she always had to dig her sewing machine and other stuff out of our storage unit and then set up on the dining room table in our trailer when she wanted to work on a project, which meant that she didn’t bother very often anymore. When I was a kid, before we lost our first house, she used to sew all the time.

I smiled to myself. I could not wait to walk her into this house. I could picture it all fixed up, just waiting for Mama. Hopefully the repairs wouldn’t take too long.

I heard a knock on the front door and I walked through the dining and living rooms. A man was standing on the front porch. Much younger than the first contractor I’d talked to, probably in his mid thirties or so. He had dark hair, a little wavy and probably overdue for a trim. Dark eyebrows and a bit of dark scruff on his jawline. He wore jeans and a navy blue button-down shirt.

“Hi. Justin Rhys,” he said when I came to the door. I opened it and waved him in.

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