Man of the House: Knit & Brews, #1

By Mariposa Cruz

As a single mom with a demanding job as a hospital buyer, Meg Campbell's life is her son, Keagan and her work. After her mom's unexpected death, she discovers close friends through her knitting circle, Knit & Brews, but she yearns for more. When Keagan moves into his own place, Meg dreams of a new chapter in her life. Those dreams screech to halt when her rascal father arrives at her door with a suitcase.

 

Jake Weston met Meg during a dark day in her life. He anticipates a bright future with her if he could only get his own house in order. His teenage daughter barely speaks to him and his ne'er do well younger brother hints about moving in with their mom.

 

Can Meg and Jake untangle complicated family ties to build a life together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mariposa Cruz
• Release date: Aug 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201204068

Mariposa Cruz

Mariposa Cruz balances writing with working as a full-time corporate paralegal. She currently writes, works and dances Salsa in Reno, Nevada.

Book preview

Also by Mariposa Cruz

Howl

Hot Flash

Rhythm & Romance Series

Package Deal

Ladies Man

Wedding Tango

Lovestruck Two Step

Chapter 1

D o you have everything ? Meg Campbell asked her son for the third time as he squeezed one more bag into his hatchback. A snarling Godzilla figurine stared at her from a bag of T-shirts. How in his twenty-one years had he accumulated so much stuff? Meg peered at the back seat. Had he left enough room to see out the back?

Keagan slowly straightened his tall, lanky frame and placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders and smiled at her.

Mom, yes, I have everything. A lot’s happened in the last month. Are you going to be alright? he asked his dark green eyes serious.

Alarm system, new locks, and I have Bogie, the wonder cat. I’ll be fine, Meg assured her son.

And I’m only fifteen minutes away, he reminded her when she hugged him one more time.

I’ll take care of him, Mrs. C, his best friend, Stryker added, his glasses glinting in the bright winter sunshine. Shorter in stature, with a head full of blond curls and energy as boundless as his appetite, Stryker had been a fixture at their house since they met on the middle school basketball team. Since Keagan had inherited Meg’s innate sense of responsibility along with her straight brown hair, she suspected it would be the other way around.

Meg nodded. When she was Keagan’s age, she had been married with a baby. Renting a house with a couple buddies during the last year of college shouldn’t be a big deal for her son. She leaned against the doorway, waving as Keagan and Stryker drove past. After checking to make sure none of her neighbors were watching, she raised her hands in triumph and shimmied her hips in a short celebratory dance before going inside.

She breathed in the savory scent of butternut squash chili simmering in the slow cooker; a recipe disdained by her steak-and-potatoes son, but would be enjoyed by her knitting group later that night. Meg half-expected sadness to hit while she studied her living room now devoid of video games, energy drink cans, and size-thirteen sneakers. Her coworker, Jen Rollins, had completely withdrawn when her daughter left for college; her husband had to book a long weekend at a Napa spa to bring her back around. Instead, Meg sighed with contentment as she walked toward Keagan’s old room.

Meg leaned against the doorway of her son’s almost-empty room. She had a futon delivered earlier shortly after Keagan loaded his bed on the truck. Squinting at Keagan’s battered walnut-stained desk and dresser, she considered refinishing them to match the pine finish of the futon frame. The chips weren’t too noticeable from the doorway; maybe that project could wait. Re-painting the room was a must, but then what?

Meg had purchased the house shortly after her mother died two years before. For a long time, she intended to invest more effort in renovating the small house, but raising a son alone and working a demanding job left little room for home improvement projects. Though she faithfully took notes while watching home improvement shows, she had yet to put any of her ideas into practice. She imagined Gershon and Gary, the handsome identical twins from the Reno Brothers show, surveying the room alongside her. Meg loved the show, even though her son called it Property Porn. Gershon, the realtor, sophisticated with his Italian gray suit, perfectly styled dark hair and goatee, agreed with her that with fresh paint and updated lighting, the room would make an ideal study.

A study is completely wrong for this woman. She should have a space that fits her needs, Gary, the contractor, argued as his broad hand stroked his square chin covered with a five o’clock shadow. If she removed the wall between the bedrooms, she could expand her bedroom and bathroom into a master suite, including a spa tub. Meg listened attentively as Gary explained the details, imagining relaxing in the tub with a cold lager at the end of the day. Gershon shook his head.

Converting her home from a three-bedroom to two would drastically reduce the resale value of the house, he protested.

It’s not like she’s going anywhere. With a single-story house, she could live here until she’s ready for assisted living. I mean the chances of her meeting someone after forty... Gary shrugged. His rugged face wore the same resigned expression he had when he explained to homeowners that their latest upgrade exceeded their budget.

Given current statistical data, the master suite might be the more viable option, and at least she’d have the comfort of the spa tub for her later years. Gershon nodded in agreement.

Hey, I could still meet someone! Meg exclaimed.

Okay, her latest few dates had been admittedly less than promising.

Her cell rang.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Why did even her fantasies turn depressing? Meg smiled hearing the rich baritone of Jake Weston, the claims adjuster handling her theft claim. From her early years in customer service, she developed a taste for certain voices. Jake’s voice was smooth with a warmth that lingered like fine whiskey.

Hey Jake, I’m surprised they have you working on a Saturday. Was there something else you needed? Meg asked, hurrying toward her desk where she kept her file with her notes.

"No, I happened to be handling a fire claim near your neighborhood and I thought I’d check to see if you needed anything."

That’s so thoughtful of you. Speedy Glass came out and fixed the front window right away like you said they would. It’s better than new. My son replaced his X Box and most of his games, so all is right with his world.

But what about you. You all right? Jake asked.

Meg’s throat tightened at the concern in his voice. Every time she felt like she had a grip on life again, some reminder of the break-in would surface shattering her control. The thieves broke in by smashing a side window, partially blocked from the street view by a large lilac bush. Gathering anything of value they could carry—which had been surprisingly a lot—they left by the same window, leaving the front door securely locked.

Preoccupied with work drama, Meg didn’t notice the shattered glass scattered on the lawn. She would never forget the horror of walking into her house to find furniture turned over, books and framed pictures thrown on the floor. Seeing the gap where her mother’s art deco jewelry box had been, it sickened her to think of thieves riffling through their possessions, taking whatever pleased them.

I’ve checked with the pawn shops. They haven’t seen any of Mom’s jewelry, but they said they’d let me know, Meg replied, her voice faltering. Many of her mother’s vintage bracelets and pins were lovingly collected during their thrift shop excursions together. Two years ago, a sudden heart attack stole her mother. Now her jewelry was gone too.

In handling her claim Jake had been compassionate, his gaze attentive while he calmly asked her questions. He made detailed notes of her responses, his large hands moving swiftly over his tablet. Jake had recommended checking with the local pawn shops, but added it was unlikely that her mother’s jewelry would be recovered. Though the truth was hard to hear, Meg was grateful Jake didn’t attempt to placate her with false hope. He didn’t need a weepy woman ruining his Saturday. She paused to steady herself, then replied, Things are back to normal and I’m doing okay.

Maybe if she kept saying it, it would someday be true.

She heard a knock at the door. Something else she hadn’t gotten around to fixing, the doorbell.

Even being okay has its rough moments. You don’t have to always have a handle on everything, Jake told her.

The knocking became insistent.

I appreciate that. There’s someone at the door, I’d better go.

You call me if you need anything.

I will. Thanks, Jake.

GOOD GOING, WESTON, Jake said aloud after he switched off the call. All he managed with that call was to stir up bad memories for Meg. She probably couldn’t wait to get off the phone. His boss, Osborne Stein, constantly reminded him to be proactive when dealing with the clients, though Jake doubted dating clients fell under Stein’s definition of going the extra mile. With her claim settled, technically she was no longer a client, but she might think he was stalking her if he followed through with his original impulse and asked her out.

After spending the better part of the morning with a distraught couple surveying the charred shell of their former dream home, who could blame him for wanting to talk to a friendly voice? Especially if that voice belonged to a lovely lady with soulful green eyes and long legs. Though her professional demeanor waivered slightly while they had discussed her claim, Jake imagined that her face lit up when she smiled. Staring at the packed intersection ahead, his fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently while the truck in from of him inched forward a few feet and stopped.

His phone rang. At the sight of his younger brother’s number, Jake was tempted to ignore it. Chase only called for two reasons. Either he was in some sort of financial dire straits or he’d devised some new scheme to turn his life around.

Might as well get it over with.

Jake answered the call.

I’m worried about Mom, Chase said.

Jake’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he imagined all the possible worst-case scenarios that could befall their mother. Had she confided something to Chase and not told him?

What happened to Mom? he asked sharply.

Nothing’s happened to her... it’s just I think she sounded really lonely the last time I spoke to her, Chase replied.

Why do you say that? Jake’s fingers relaxed on the wheel. His right index finger tapped the wheel while he tried to figure out Chase’s motive.

Well, it was nothing she said directly... but...

Of course. Here’s the wind-up.

But what? Jake prompted.

Since she’s retired, she’s in that three-bedroom house all by herself. I’m afraid of her being isolated at her age, Chase explained.

I’m ten minutes from Mom, she’s hardly isolated.

But you have to travel for work...

Not all the time. And Lorraine and Sam would help if she needed something while I was gone, Jake said, as much as it pained him to admit his ex-wife and her husband capable of thoughtfulness.

I’m just saying she sounded lonely when I talked to her.

What are you suggesting, exactly? Jake had a strong suspicion, but he had to hear Chase say it.

Well, seeing as things have been in transition for me in Sacramento, I thought I’d move in and help her out. She shouldn’t be alone.

And there’s the pitch. Has there been a time in Chase’s life when he wasn’t in transition?

Actually, Mom has stayed pretty busy during her retirement. She goes to all of Krista’s volleyball games, even some of the away games. Every time I talk to her, she’s involved in some church thing or meeting friends for lunch.

Jeez, Mom has a busier social life than I do.

Still, we should keep an eye on her. People at her age can decline in a heartbeat.

Jake assured Chase he’d keep him posted, and then ended the call. His brother’s description of their mother as frail and lonely couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time he took Mom to lunch, they ran into someone she knew, either church friends or one of her former students. He suspected that Chase’s concerns were self-motivated. That’s all he needed, Chase moving in with Mom to take care of her.

Chase came into her life as first grader with an impish grin and rumpled clothes. Abandoned by his mother, cared for by a distracted charming single father, Chase with his big baby blues won over his widowed teacher’s heart long before his father scheduled his first conference.

In the off chance that his self-absorbed brother might be right, Jake called his mom and got her voicemail. No doubt she was off shopping or out with friends. He’d call her again later, just in case.

THE KNOCKING HAD BECOME pounding. It had to be Keagan; it was two hours too early for any of her knitting group. Coming, Meg called out, hurrying toward the door.

Opening the door, Meg said, You couldn’t pack it all in your car.

No, I’ll have to go back for the rest of it, her father replied to the question meant for Keagan. He rubbed his beard-stubble and glanced down at the two oversized suitcases at his feet. He wore a torn faded green sweatshirt and paint-stained khakis, his silver wavy hair disheveled. Speechless, Meg stared at the man she called Dapper Dad, who wore a collared shirt to buy nails at the hardware store. The client-ready man-with-a-plan, Roger P. Harper, would never leave the house appearing unkempt. Had he suffered a mental break?

What happened? she asked, reaching for one of his suitcases. Her dad didn’t reply and waved her off and carried them inside himself. They stood in her entryway in awkward silence for a few minutes until Meg suggested he take his suitcases to Keagan’s old room. When she closed the front door, Meg noticed her father’s sedan parked in her driveway, recently laundered shirts hanging on a rod along the backseat. His car was as packed as full as Keagan’s.

Her father returned to her side. He lingered in the hallway, unsure what to do next.

I probably should go to the car and get the rest of it, he said.

That can wait. Why don’t I fix us something to drink? Meg suggested as she headed toward the kitchen.

I don’t want anything. Roger replied, but he followed her and sat at the kitchen table.

Well, I want something, Meg told him. She was relieved to be doing a mundane task while her mind tried to get a grip on what happened. Bogie was already doing his part to provide comfort. The large silver cat had settled himself on her father’s lap and began purring. Why did Dad come here and not to Steffi’s house? Her half-sister was her father’s favorite, plus she had an enormous house in South Reno. He raised an eyebrow when she set a glass of iced tea in front of him.

I said I didn’t want anything, he said.

I hate drinking alone. What happened? Meg sat across from him at the table.

Stroking Bogie’s soft ears, her father stared at his glass for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then finally said, "We spent the day cleaning out the garage. When I returned from the dump,