K-I-S-S-I-N-G

By Dana Pratola

A SECOND-CHANCE ROMANCE ~ Finding love can be tricky, but with some meddling from a dead woman, it is possible. 

Even in death, quirky Aunt Ruth is getting her way, not only leaving Caleb Sage her worldly possessions, but also an obligation to care for Winsome Woodbead, a helpless victim of domestic abuse. And to build her a treehouse on his property. He's not happy about it, but final wishes are sacred, right?

Winsome would love to refuse Ruth's last wish to see her start her own candle-making shop, but with nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, she is stuck with Ruth's gruff, unwelcoming nephew, Cal.

Each discovers more than they bargained for when a past they'd both like to forget becomes the foundation that binds them together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dana Pratola
• Release date: Apr 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201041823

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Stubborn, hair-brained , irrational . Words considered insults by some, but to Cal, they were some of his great aunt’s most endearing qualities. She was also wise, caring and determined, though that didn’t change the fact that she was a pain. Yes, Ruth Ridge Sage had determined to have her way, even in death. 

Cal tried to focus on the words being spoken over the small, hushed group. Mostly the attorney’s own lament of how he’d lost a treasured and respected friend, and how there would never be another like her. All spoken in sincerity and truth.

Finn McCafferty had been Ruth’s dearest friend since college, too many years back for either to remember clearly, but so firmly established in their minds that every time they were together, they spoke of the parts they did remember. At least lately. Reminding each other, it seemed to Cal.

Finn, do you remember the time we went to the lake up in Somerset, and it was absolutely freezing, and you nearly cut your finger off on that fishing line?

Ruth, remember the day...?

What no one had realized at the time was that Aunt Ruth had been fact checking. Sifting through the fading and loose files fluttering around in her damaged brain to determine what was real and what was fantasy. When those around her began noting the times she no longer remembered how to boil an egg, or cried when she put her shoes on the wrong feet and couldn’t reason a solution, her endearing quirks sparked into warning flares, and soon, amusement turned to apprehensive resignation, knowing she wouldn’t be with them much longer.

Ruth knew it, too, accepted it, and prayed to be spared the drawn-out life of confusion that came with Alzheimer’s. That request was granted when her doctor discovered an inoperable brain tumor. Two months later, she was dead.

Cal sucked in a stifled breath, willing his lungs to expand. The cramped room—made more uncomfortable by the heat of ten people—was practically airless, with its one window closed, behind heavy, drawn drapes.

I have a statement that Ruth wanted read here today, Finn said, in his breathy, tremulous voice. It’s brief and to the point. He cleared his throat, but his voice came out in the same thready half-whisper. 

To my beloved family and friends. Thank you for coming on what you may consider a sad occasion. For me, I’m glad to have shed this rickety body and be free to dance the nights away with Saint Peter.

A quiet ripple of laughter moved through the room.

I want no fights or feuds or bad feelings over what I’ve done, Finn continued, speaking for Ruth. It’s my stuff, after all, to do with as I please. Just know I’ve done as I pleased with no coercion or trickery, and at this point, I’m still of sound mind and have thought this through long and hard. I love you all, or believe you me, you wouldn’t be getting anything. Now let Finn get through this. Signed, Ruth Ridge Sage.

More laughter, a little less subdued.

Finn sniffed. And now onto the bequeathment, he said.

Cal almost sniggered. As long as he’d known him, Finn had never once called a will a will, always a bequeathment. 

Final obligations and endowments to charities held little interest, but once Finn started naming personal property, those gathered scooted almost imperceptibly closer to the edges of their seats. He ticked off item after item, from the moose head given to her by a former president, to the cherry breakfront her niece, Sharon, had always coveted. In typical Aunt Ruth fashion, she didn’t give the entire breakfront to Sharon, only the drawers, doors, and hardware. She gave the shell itself to her husband, Donald. There had probably been a reason to Ruth’s mind, but Cal had no desire to rack his brain trying to find it, and the couple accepted it with amusement.

He sat as patiently as the lack of oxygen would allow while Finn legally dispersed most of Ruth’s belongings. He didn’t care what happened to them, he knew he was getting the house and property. They’d discussed it many times over the years. Still, given her propensity for the absurd, he had a few anxious moments when Finn glanced at him, snapped the document in his gnarled fingers, and read. 

The house and property, and all attachments, are to be left to Caleb Sage. 

Inwardly, Cal released a relieved breath. Outwardly, he flinched not a muscle. No one seemed surprised or sour.

There are further instructions, Finn continued. But they are for you, personally, Cal, and your great aunt requested we read them in private. He dropped the papers on the desk. The rest of you may go.

There were hugs and handshakes before the room cleared. Finally, Cal could say what he’d been holding back the whole time.

Can we please open the window?

Finn gave a curt nod and Cal slid the window up, but only halfway, in deference to the old man’s susceptibility to drafts.

These are your aunt’s final wishes on the matter, Finn said, taking a sheet of paper from the folder before him. He waited until Cal had taken a seat in front of the desk to speak. She had them drafted weeks before she died and never meant to change them or have them disregarded.

Finn seemed mildly annoyed. Cal’s brows drew together. 

Okay....

And each time we spoke after, she’d bring it up, and how sure she was that you would do the right thing, Finn said, accentuating do the right thing with an arthritic index finger.

Was he irritated because of the open window? Cal reached over and shut it.

What are you doing? It’s stuffy in here, Finn said.

I thought.... Cal waved his hand. Forget it. He slid the window back up.

Finn slid him a look over the top of his glasses and began reading.

Caleb, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you like I have been most of your life. I’m sorry there will be no more sweet potato pies coming from my kitchen. It’s your kitchen now. But, have no fear, I’ve given the recipe to Sandra Bellamy, who promised to make them for you at least once a year.

Finn smirked. Cal frowned. Did his aunt really think he cared that much about her sweet potato pie? Though it was amazing.

I’m also sorry I don’t have a truckload of money to leave you, but with the insurance being what it is, and some other plans I have, there wasn’t much left over. Maybe I should have died sooner so you could start that business of yours.

Finn tapped a nail against the page, then turned it to face Cal. "She adds a note, saying, Finn, tell him I’m kidding."

Cal acknowledged the poor joke with a quirk of lips.

I’ve given you the house to do with as you see fit, Finn continued for his departed friend. I’d love for you to live there and one day raise your children on the land that’s been in our family for generations, but no pressure.

Finn chuckled. She sure could layer the guilt.

I know you have your heart set on starting your own company with the money a sale would bring, and I know right now it may seem unfair, but I have a favor to ask, and since I’m on my way out, what better time? In fact, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone, so you can’t argue with me. Now, I understand it’s a big favor, believe me I do, but I’m asking you just the same, if you decide to sell the house, wait a year before you put it on the market.

Cal wasn’t sure he’d heard that right, but Finn kept reading.

Wear it a while, see how it fits. If, after a solid year, you still feel the same, sell it, knock it down, burn it to ash, rent it out to hippies, I won’t care, you’ll have my blessing.

Finn paused, probably to see how the news was being digested. Cal wasn’t really sure. There wasn’t much he could say. It was her house, and if that was what she wanted, that’s what he’d do.

He’d waited this long to set up shop, so he’d wait it out another year. He was making more than a decent living, and Josh would keep him on as long as he wanted. No rush. Though his fingers tensed around the leather of the chair. It was irrational, but he felt like a hawk, blindfolded and tethered to his master’s arm. An old, wrinkled arm. 

There’s more, Finn said, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose.

Cal couldn’t bring himself to ask what.

Finn continued reading. The same goes for the property, but with a minor exception.

The pause set Cal’s teeth on edge, sensing the hammer was about to fall.

The stand of trees near the pond, and a one-hundred-foot perimeter surrounding, are excluded from your immediate possession. I have loaned that parcel of land to Winsome Woodbead for one year.

What? Who is Winsome Woodbead? Cal asked.

Finn ignored him. Like you, she is free to accept or refuse, and if she stays on, after one year, you can toss her out on her butt, or work something out between you. She is also to be permitted access to her parcel via the driveway, but since that goes directly to the house, you’ll have to pave a small road from the driveway to her parcel.

I’ll have to what? Cal surged to his feet. 

Rather than answer that question, Finn waved Cal back into his seat.

Now, don’t think I’ve gone off half-cocked. I assure you, Winsome is a special girl. We’ve become fast friends these last seven months and I know you’ll show her the warmth and hospitality you would any friend of mine.

He wondered if Aunt Ruth could hear his teeth grinding from heaven. 

Is this legal? he asked Finn.

Yes, the agreement is legal. Although, you could probably argue that your aunt was the one who loaned her the land, and now that she is deceased, the land is yours, no matter what the letter says. But I know you don’t want to dishonor her memory or last wishes like that.

No, he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine what had put this loony, inexplicable notion into his aunt’s head, but he didn’t want to argue the point.

Do you know this Woodbead? Cal asked. ‘And what’s she going to do with trees, anyway? That’s all there is there. Trees. Is she going to set up a hammock and meditate?"

Finn nodded. Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of her company several times, he said, ignoring the rest of Cal’s sentence. She’s a very bright, very attractive girl.

Attractive girl. Cal threw his head back and groaned. There it was. Aunt Ruth’s last-ditch effort to mate him. But this was too much, even for her. To give a stranger property, even on loan? And not in a far corner of the estate where he could overlook or ignore her entirely, but practically dead center, less than five hundred feet from the house.

Why haven’t I heard of her before now? Cal demanded.

Perhaps if you’d been around mo....

Finn dropped the sentence when Cal leveled his eyes at him. He’d been around plenty in the last seven months. Not at the house every day, granted, but often enough for his aunt to mention this friend of hers. As a patron of the arts, she picked up several friends, some looking to take advantage. No doubt this Woodbead was one of that crowd. 

Cal almost laughed. The arts, was a loose term, and the ones Aunt Ruth supported were ... unusual. Two summers ago, she’d sponsored a Bongo on Bikes tour, where twenty middle-aged women rode bicycles down the coast of Maine while playing bongos. Where had she even found twenty women who played bongos?

Finn directed his attention back to the paper with a wag of his finger.

I know this seems odd to you, Caleb, but please don’t blame her. She was very reluctant to agree, but I finally talked her into it. She’s a lovely person, as Finn will tell you, and it just so happens that she is also an entrepreneur. She doesn’t have any family who will be of use or support, and will need your help in starting her candle making shop. 

Seriously? he asked, incredulous. She expects me to help her?

Finn looked over the top of his glasses and down the slope of his long, thin nose. Yes. 

How? Where?

If you’ll allow me.... Finn arched his patchy eyebrows and read. You make treehouses.

Oh no. Cal already saw where this was heading, was already shaking his head.

I want you to build her one using the trees on her parcel. A nice place where she can live and make her candles. You’ve already told me those trees would be perfect for a treehouse, and had offered to put one up for me, so no backing out using that excuse.

Crap.

I have some money set aside just for this project. It’s not as much as I’d like, but I’m sure you can make it nice. If you prefer to bow out, hire someone else to do the work. I know you’re very busy. Her one-year loan will begin when she can take up residence, so, if I were you, I’d get on that right away.

Unreal. Totally unreal.

I know this is a lot to take in, especially with your missing me, and I understand if you resist the idea. Just know that I’m thinking of your best interest and also trying to help a friend. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’d like to think I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Caleb, but I doubt God wants us seeing what’s going on down there, so I’m just going to trust that you are the man I think you are and will do the right thing, even if that’s not what I want. You have a good heart and a good head on your shoulders, and that balance is part of what’s always made you so special. Love you always, Aunt Ruth.

Finn was silent as he set the paper down on the desk, and Cal was glad. It gave him time to wipe the moisture from his eyes and clear his throat. Crazy old broad. A minor exception. That’s what she called a stranger squatting on his land? And using her plot of ground to run a business? Not to mention whatever money he might have had to help start his own business was going to this woman.

He sat back in the chair, releasing his hands into his lap. He ought to be grateful he had the land at all. And there was nothing he could deny Aunt Ruth in life or now, in death. She was closer to him than his own mother, the only person he knew for sure believed in him, trusted him, and truly thought of his welfare. His source of strength and help during the worst times of his life. He wished she could be here now.

Finn watched him covertly as he gathered papers, tapped them on the cherry desk top and placed them back in their light blue folder.

Here are your copies of the documents and ... wishes, Finn said, handing the folder to Cal before struggling out of the smooth buff leather chair.

Cal stood as well, hesitating before walking to the door. A couple of things nagged at him. 

Can I ask you something?

Certainly, Finn said, coming to face him.

You believe Aunt Ruth was in her right mind when she wrote this? he asked, raising the folder between them. Like ... all there?

Yes, Cal, I know she was. In fact, your aunt was more clear-headed in recent weeks than I’ve seen her in years. She was happy. Hopeful even.

Hopeful of what? Cal asked.

Of seeing you happy. You meant the world to her, you know that. She worried about you.

A lump of emotion lodged in Cal’s chest and he nodded and reached for the door knob, but paused again.

Another thing. Why didn’t I see this Winsome Woodhead—

Woodbead, Finn corrected.

Cal shook his head. He really didn’t care how it was pronounced. Was she there? At the funeral? 

His aunt had a lot of friends. People had flown in from other continents just to say goodbye. It was possible he had missed her.

No, she wasn’t.

Why? Someone so close that my aunt leaves her property, and she wasn’t there?

Finn reached past Cal and opened the door for him. "There were ...