Zach swore aloud. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought this house. Hell, returning to Clear Creek at all had probably been a mistake. Investigating his little sister’s murder was one thing, but he sure as hell didn’t need to be hammered by memories.
His long strides took him around to the front of the house again.
Different house, he reminded himself. Different time.
“That man said ‘shit,’” a high, childish voice declared. “You heard, too, didn’t you, Dylan?”
“I heard,” a boy replied.
Zach turned to see two kids standing just on their side of the property line, apparently having popped out of their own fenced backyard to get a look at the man who’d said a bad word.
The little girl looked maybe five or six. Blond hair straggled out of lopsided braids that wouldn’t last much longer. Her brother, who appeared more curious than shocked, had to be nine or ten. Much the same ages Sheila and Zach had been when—
He blocked that thought, forcing himself to nod. “Hi.”
“Somebody already bought that house,” the boy said, jaw jutting.
Zach smiled. “I know. I’m the one who bought it.”
“Really?” He eyed the structure dubiously. “Mom says probably someone will tear it down.”
“Nope. I plan to fix it up.” He, too, eyed the house. “New roof first.”
“Jessie ’n me kind of like that one. Dad says it looks like one of the greens at Pebble Beach.” He sounded uncertain what that meant. “It’s better than our lawn.”
“It is pretty, in a way,” Zach conceded. “Unfortunately moss isn’t very good for the wood it’s growing on. The roof is rotting.”
“Jessie?” an alarmed woman called from the children’s backyard. “Dylan? Where are you? Who are you talking to?”
The woman rushed through the open gate, not stopping until she had one hand on each of her kids. “You know you aren’t supposed to talk to strangers,” she scolded them before saying to Zach, “May I ask what you’re doing on this property?”
“I’m your new neighbor,” he said, smiling. “I’m afraid your kids heard me, uh—”
“He said a bad word,” her daughter announced.
He grimaced. “I did.”
The mother relaxed enough to chuckle. “Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time. When the lawn mower won’t start, their father gets a little vocal.”
He laughed. “I’m Zach Carter. I’m a deputy with the sheriff’s department. I just closed on the house today.”
She stepped past her children and held out a hand. “I’m Karen Thompson, this is Jessie and Dylan, and my husband is Dean. He’s a heating contractor.” Her gaze stole past him to the roof. “Are you actually going to live here?”
“I am. As I was telling Jessie and Dylan, replacing the roof is my first job. I’m hoping I might get it done before the end of the month, which would mean I could move in.” He grinned at the kids. “It wouldn’t be so good if I’m living here when it doesn’t have a roof at all.”
The girl stared at him in apparent fascination. “What if it rained?”
“And it rains around here a lot.”
“Dean knows all kinds of contractors and subcontractors,” Karen said. “If you want recommendations, I’m sure he’d be glad to help.”
Zach nodded. “I may do that, although, to tell you the truth, I plan to do most of the work myself.”
“Really?” She looked politely incredulous. “Even the roof?”
“I’m afraid I will need help with the roof,” he admitted ruefully.
A minute later, having exchanged phone numbers, he let himself in the front door of his new home. Standing in the middle of the bare living room with its scarred floors, dirty walls with holes in them and a fireplace with mortar crumbling between the bricks, Zach had a thought. He knew one other person here in Clear Creek who could probably recommend contractors and construction workers with various skills.
What better excuse to stop to talk to Tess Granath?
He’d vowed to stay away from her.
It worried him to know he was going to be reckless enough to do it anyway.