Calamity Jena (Invertary 4)

Hell, what an image. Matt’s brain overloaded. It took all of his self-control not to rush out and buy Jena ice cream then beg to watch. His mother threw back her head and laughed.

“I’ve never heard of Chunky Monkey ice cream, and I think I’d freak the family out if I started dancing naked.”

Jena shrugged. “That leaves plan B.” She grinned wickedly. “We gorge on the chocolate cake we didn’t get for pudding and watch Katherine Hepburn movies until our eyes bleed. Before you say you don’t have any, you don’t have to worry, I have everything she ever made. Trust me, no one can feel maudlin when they’re watching Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby.”

She linked her arm with his mother’s and led her through the nursing home. All the while she chatted about her favourite screwball comedies and held his mother’s hand tightly.

As they reached the car, she looked over her shoulder at Matt and winked. And that was when it happened. Matt Donaldson decided he wanted Jena Morgan. Possibly more than he’d wanted anything in a very, very long time.

Stunned by that knowledge, he drove his mother home, stopping on the way to pick up Jena’s movie collection. And then he sat with them into the early morning laughing at Katherine Hepburn movies and watching Jena worm her way into his family’s heart.

Into his heart.

18

Jena spent Monday in the hardware store learning the ropes. She’d stayed up too late watching movies, then crashed in Heather’s guest room. Now she was feeling a bit worse for wear. Although she also felt content. She’d never spent time hanging out with her own mom, so it had been a novel experience hanging out with Matt’s. Novel and good. Being around the Donaldsons had shown her what it was like to have a real family. It was as wonderful as she’d imagined—even with the fight in the dining room and the achingly sad visit with his father.

“You really want to know this stuff, don’t you?” Gordon’s question snatched her from her thoughts. He scratched his thick grey beard as though she perplexed him.

“Of course I do. I have a whole house to fix. I need to know this stuff.”

“Aye, there is that, though I’m thinking you enjoy it too. You act like you’ve caught the DIY bug, lass.”

She grinned at him. “I don’t just like DIY. I love it.” She practically danced on the spot as she cleaned the shelf in front of her. A shelf that had been filled with assorted nails, all of which she now knew had a specific purpose. “You take something old and you make it new. Something unattractive becomes attractive. It becomes useful. I’m not sure I’d like to build something from scratch, but I like the thought that my house will be a home when I’m through renovating it. How cool is that?”

“Very cool indeed.” Gordon chuckled. “Didn’t you do work around the house with your dad when you were little?”

“Don’t have a dad.” Jena put the nails back on the shelf. “Not one I ever met, anyway. Far as I can tell, I’m the product of a one-night stand between my mom and a talent scout from a New York agency. Mom really wanted to be signed. Instead she got me.”

A dark cloud gathered in his eyes. “Hell, lassie, that’s some story.”

“You don’t miss something when you’ve never had it.” She winced at the lie. She might never have had a father, or really a mother who gave a damn, but she’d sure spent a lot of time as a kid wishing for them.

“Not sure about your thinking there, Jena,” Gordon said. “Brenda and I couldn’t have any kids, and we still miss the gap they left. Otherwise it would be ‘Stewart and Son’ above the door.” He looked wistful. “I imagined a wee boy with a tool belt and a penchant for hammering everything in sight.”

Jena’s throat closed. She blinked hard. “Guess you’ll have to make do with teaching an American woman who owns a pink tool set and still struggles to hit things with a hammer.”

His face paled. “Tell me you’re lying. You don’t really work with pink tools, do you?”

She shrugged. “Got them cheap through an Avon catalogue.”

Gordon muttered a string of words in horror. Jena wondered if he was cursing in Gaelic.

“You finish the shelves. I’ll sort out some proper tools for you.” He pointed at her. “You’re throwing out that pink crap.”

Jena bit back a laugh. “How about I make Matt use them instead?”

“That works for me too.” He considered her for a moment with a strange look in his eye that Jena feared may be pity. “Do you want me to show you how to tile a backsplash when you’re done there?”

“Awesome!” She bounced on the spot before giving him a quick hug that left his face red.

“I’m thinking that’s a yes.”

Jena wasn’t listening; she was already trying to figure out what colour of tiles she’d use in the kitchen. Since she’d been bullied into renovating the room, she may as well do it exactly the way she wanted.

“Do we sell tiles?” she asked. Her face flushed when she

realised that she’d said we instead of you. “I mean—”