Inked Memories (Montgomery Ink Book 8) by Carrie Ann Ryan

Author:Carrie Ann Ryan [Ryan, Carrie Ann]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Carrie Ann Ryan
Published: 2017-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jillian growled and threw her wet towel on the ground, knowing it wasn’t going to sop up any of the water that had already spilled on the cement in front of her. “What the hell, you goddamn thing? Why won’t you bend to my will and do what I damn well need you to do?”

It had been two weeks since she’d laid her father to rest, and since then, she’d apparently lost all her drive and skill when it came to plumbing. The prime example for the day was the fact that she couldn’t fix her own water heater.

She didn’t need to replace the sucker, she knew that much, but it was unwilling to cooperate and let her fix it.

The bastard.

Knowing if she didn’t back away from her traitorous appliance, she’d throw something or break it even more, she picked up her tools, made sure the main water was off, and went back upstairs. It wasn’t as if she could call a plumber to help her—not even one of the guys Wes and Storm had hired to work under her.

She hadn’t taken time off and didn’t want to, so she’d been able to help train them the way she wanted the guys to work with her. So far, they hadn’t acted as if they cared that it was a woman telling them what to do, so she counted that as a plus.

That was about the only win in her column these days.

Every morning, she got out of bed, showered, and did her normal routine in a world that felt anything but normal. Then she’d go to work, do what she thought she did best, and only talk to those who needed direction. She did her paperwork on time and nodded along when others asked how she was doing.

She was alive, but she wasn’t living. Wasn’t feeling.

How was she supposed to feel when she couldn’t hear her father’s booming laugh? How was she supposed to know that everything would be okay one day when she knew it couldn’t be without her dad hiding gelato or wanting her to finish knitting him a scarf?

She hadn’t looked at her knitting bag since the funeral.

She didn’t know if she ever would again.

What was the point?

There were still the legal matters of her father’s home and estate to deal with, but when he’d been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, they’d gone to a lawyer together and had set up as much as they could ahead of time. She’d thought they’d still have years before she had to deal with any of that stuff. As it turned out, she only had a few meager months.

She’d never gotten her road trip.

Never got to walk through the foothills with her father as he told her stories from when she was younger.

She hadn’t finished going through old boxes that her father had set out for her so they could remember happier times.

And she hadn’t heard from her mother once since she left a message on the woman’s voicemail.

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