{"id":1055,"date":"2019-02-10T21:44:39","date_gmt":"2019-02-11T02:44:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1055"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:46:52","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:46:52","slug":"built-with-love","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/built-with-love\/","title":{"rendered":"Built with Love"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Built with Love<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Melody Carlson<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a young widow, the stone mansion she once dreamed of owning, offers the promise of a new beginning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the death of her husband, Kestra returns to her hometown of Port Star. With the purchase of her childhood dream house\u2014a stone mansion along the rocky Oregon coast\u2014it appears she has found a way to rebuild her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kestra begins to transform the old house into an elegant, yet charming restaurant. But as the renovations begin, a mysterious stranger moves into her caretaker\u2019s cottage\u2014and eventually into her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly life is full of promise and new opportunities, until a contractor\u2019s jealousy threatens Kestra\u2019s new romance<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Prologue<\/a><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey, what are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A deep voice almost blended with the sea as she whipped around.\nAnd then she felt herself slipping off the wet stone. In that same instant a\nfirm hand grabbed her roughly by the arm and jerked her from the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou trying to get yourself killed?\u201d His face loomed just inches\nfrom her own. She stared in silent shock at the penetrating eyes under thick\nbrows. \u201cDon\u2019t you know this is private property?\u201d He gave her a slight shake,\nas if she were a small child caught stealing candy. She quickly studied him\nwithout answering. She could see he was a handsome man\u2014almost frighteningly so!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was trembling now. Mostly from cold. Still he gripped her arm\nas if he had no intention of letting go. What right did he have to detain her\nlike this?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet go of me!\u201d
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/a><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Kestra McKenzie barely remembered driving from Portland to the\ncoast. She pulled off the road and stared blankly at the old iron gate at the\ntop of the hill. She could faintly make out the curved lettering across the\ntop\u2014Port Star Cemetery. She stepped out of the car and was met by cold, damp\nair. Now she remembered. She had come to talk to her mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She walked through the neatly kept graveyard and over the edge of\nthe hill to where the grass was overgrown and weedy and the markers were small\nand insignificant. She knew this was crazy. What possible good could come from\ntalking to her mother\u2019s grave? Lately, even her prayers sounded empty and\npointless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She pushed the weeds aside to reveal the smooth marble marker.\nShe\u2019d never seen the actual stone. Several years ago Jack had selected it from\na design book in the monument store back in Seattle. They\u2019d had it sent down to\nreplace the small metal plate that had tarnished after a dozen years in\nOregon\u2019s coastal weather. The marker was still nice and white. She traced her finger\nover the cold engraved lily. Kestra had never cared for lilies, but she\u2019d kept\nthis to herself. Jack was usually right about these things. And then when Jack\ndied the following year, she\u2019d requested that same lily for his stone. Now she\nwondered if he might have preferred something more masculine, like an oak tree\nor an elk. She stood and sighed. She was getting nowhere on this mission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stepped away from the grave and willed her mouth to open and\npour out all the pent-up words, all the questions. But nothing came. She\ncouldn\u2019t even formulate them in her mind. For the longest time she stood there\nblankly staring, waiting for something. But nothing happened, nothing changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She drove away slowly, almost dazed. She followed the curving\ncoastal highway, focusing on the yellow lines, following one after the next. A\nhorn blasted behind her. She was going too slowly. The truck honked again, long\nand loud this time. She should speed up, but she just couldn\u2019t. Finally she\ncrept her car onto the shoulder and stopped as the trucker whooshed past and\nvanished into the fog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned off the engine and leaned back, wishing she, too, could\nvanish. She imagined herself disappearing, swallowed up by the gray until she\ncould see herself no more. Instead, she stared out into the fog and wondered\nwhen living had become so empty and pointless. Here she was, only twenty-eight\nyears old, widowed for almost three years, and yet she was still stuck in Jack\nMcKenzie\u2019s life. Day after day she went through the motions of what Jack would\nwant her to do. Even later today in Portland, helping with the grand opening of\nanother McKenzie\u2019s restaurant. And all for what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She leaned her head against the steering wheel. If only she had\nsomeone to talk to. Someone older and wiser\u2026 \u201cPlease, God\u2026\u201d she whispered, not\nknowing what to ask, not knowing if God would want to listen. Maybe she was\ngetting what she deserved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She lifted her head and sighed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGrow up, Kestra McKenzie,\u201d she said as she turned on the engine\nand cranked up the window defogger. As the steamed windows slowly cleared, she\nnoticed a familiar silhouette looming across the road. She\u2019d almost forgotten\nit. It was the same old house, seated high on the bluff, that she and her\nmother used to pass on their way to and from church each Sunday. She used to\npretend it was a castle, and of course, she was the beautiful princess who\nlived inside. Yet in all those years, she\u2019d never ventured any closer than this\nto see it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She put the car into drive and shot across the road, spinning gravel as she went. Today she would see it up\nclose. She followed the long driveway clear up to the house and climbed\nout. The tall, steep-roofed three-story house looked dark and abandoned, and a\nfew of its arched leaded windows were broken. The fog hung behind like an eerie\nbackdrop, adding drama to its already forlorn appearance, but it did not\nfrighten her. She had always thought this house was beautiful. At least three,\nmaybe four, chimneys reached up to the dark sky like fingers of a hand pleading\nfor help. She walked slowly around the sad old house, examining each sturdy\nstone wall. Built back before the turn of the century, it must have taken years\nto construct. Through various arched walkways she spied massive old doors\nhanging on crusty iron hinges. And in the back of the house, facing west, she\nspotted what appeared to be a beautiful, round stained-glass window up high,\nprobably on the second floor. It seemed to be in one piece; in fact, most of\nthe windows in back looked unbroken. She came around to the southwest corner to\nfind an enclosed patio area. On a sunny afternoon it would be a delight. Too\nbad this wonderful old place had fallen into such neglect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally she stopped by a low wall bordering the edge of what was\nprobably once a garden, now overgrown with blackberries and ivy. She leaned\nover the wall to see what lay below. A rocky\ncliff fell steeply to the ocean. She looked out to where the horizon of the sea\nmust lie, but only saw a thick blanket of fog. Perhaps on a clear day\u2026\nShe sat upon a smooth, wide stone atop the wall, pulling her knees up to her\nchin and gazing down at the surf below. It smacked again and again into the\nblack jagged rocks. Soon she grew mesmerized by the repetitious white foam,\nlulling her with its soothing rhythm as it pulled away, only to crash back\nagain onto those immovable rocks. An occasional plume of spray shot straight\nover her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cHey, what are you doing?\u201d\nA deep voice almost blended with the sea as she whipped around. And then she\nfelt herself slipping off the wet stone. In that same instant a firm hand\ngrabbed her roughly by the arm and jerked her from the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou trying to get yourself killed?\u201d His face loomed just inches\nfrom her own. She stared in silent shock at the penetrating eyes under thick brows.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know this is private property?\u201d He gave her a slight shake, as if\nshe were a small child caught stealing candy. She quickly studied him without\nanswering. He was well over six feet tall, and she guessed him to be about\nthirty. His dark brown hair curled around his face attractively, and even\nbehind his well-trimmed beard she could see he was a handsome man. Almost\nfrighteningly so!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was trembling now\u2014mostly from cold. He gripped her arm as if\nhe had no intention of letting go. Then instantly and unexpectedly, she grew\nhotly indignant. What right did he have to detain her like this?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet go of me!\u201d She shrieked, looking him straight in the eyes.\nShe watched closely as his face registered surprise and his hand released her.\nHe quickly stepped back, and she assessed her situation. Actually the man\ndidn\u2019t seem dangerous. And yet she still felt her adrenaline rushing and her\nheart pounding as if it had a volume button turned up too high.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry I frightened you.\u201d His voice grew calm and quiet,\nalmost soothing, as if she were a wild animal about to scratch his eyes out.\nThen she remembered what Jack used to say: \u201cWhen Kestra\u2019s mad her hair gets\nredder and her eyes get greener.\u201d This thought, combined with the perplexed\nlook on this handsome man\u2019s face, almost made her smile. Almost. She hadn\u2019t\nsmiled in ages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am truly sorry,\u201d he said again. \u201cI thought you were one of\nthose crazy high school kids. They hang around here and throw rocks through the\nwindows and\u2026\u201d He shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and\nhunched his shoulders, turning his face toward the ocean, then back to her.\n\u201cActually, I thought you might fall. You probably didn\u2019t realize how these\nrocks can be slick when they\u2019re wet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded, appreciation sinking in. \u201cI\u2019m the one who should be sorry. I guess I\u2019m trespassing. I didn\u2019t\nknow anyone lived here. You see, I grew up in Port Star, and I\u2019ve always wanted\nto come up to see this house, but I never did\u2026 until now. I\u2019m really sorry to\ndisturb you like this. Are you the owner?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I lease the caretaker\u2019s cottage. At least I did until\u2014\u201d He\nstopped and she looked at him. Of course, it was none of her business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He continued. \u201cLast fall some folks from Arizona bought the entire\nestate. They gave me notice last month. They plan to turn it into an inn or\nsomething.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019ll be nice.\u201d She noticed his frown. \u201cWell, not nice for\nyou, I suppose\u2026\u201d She shivered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you want, I just put on a pot of coffee. It might warm you up\nsome.\u201d He tipped his head toward the small stone cottage. She hadn\u2019t noticed\nthe tiny house before, but now she saw the windows glowing with yellow light\nand smoke curling from the chimney. She looked at his face again. It was a face\nlike Michelangelo might have sculpted. Strong cheekbones, straight nose, smooth\nmouth. His eyes were dark brown, but now she noticed the warmth of gold flecks,\nand the tiny fine lines along the edges revealed that maybe he actually smiled\nupon occasion. Something about him made her trust him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, I\u2019d like a cup of coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She followed him up the brick path that led to the cottage, and he\nopened the door and she stepped inside. It was really quite charming in a messy\nsort of way. He shoved aside a pile of papers to clear a spot on the worn pine\ntable. She noticed some seascape pencil sketches on top of the stack and\nwondered if he might be an artist. He looked like an artist. She could imagine\nhim with an easel standing on a cliff painting the sea. She was curious, yet\nshe felt she shouldn\u2019t ask, shouldn\u2019t intrude. Jack had always told her that a\nlady never asks too many personal questions of a new acquaintance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead she talked about the weather. \u201cUsually there\u2019s a brief\nwarm spell in February,\u201d she said. \u201cSort of a false spring. I remember as a\nkid, just when I\u2019d get my hopes up that it was time to wear shorts and go play\non the beach, the old winter winds and rain would return with a vengeance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled. And it was one of those genuine smiles that made its\nobserver feel warm and good. He refilled her coffee mug and replied. \u201cWe\nhaven\u2019t had a false spring yet, but it would be a nice little change. Although\nI don\u2019t really mind the weather. I go out no matter what it\u2019s like. The wind\nand I get along real well.\u201d Again the smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you seen any whales migrating yet?\u201d She forced her eyes not\nto stare at his face, looking out the window, as if she were enjoying the view,\nonly to be met by a blanket of fog. \u201cOf course, it must be too early for\nwhales\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, not for a few more weeks at least. I guess I\u2019ll miss that\nwhen I leave. I sure will miss this place.\u201d He set down his mug and leaned\nforward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too bad,\u201d she said looking around self-consciously. \u201cThis\nmust be a wonderful spot to live.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt has been.\u201d He sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s been just what I\u2019ve needed. But\nthen it must be time to move on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She wondered if that was a subtle clue for her. She looked at her\ncold, empty coffee cup. Her clothes were almost dry. She had no excuse to stay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rising, she said, \u201cI\u2019d better go.\u201d He stood and looked at her as\nif to say something, but no words came out. Then she glanced at her watch and\nremembered she had promised that she\u2019d be back at the grand opening by seven\ntonight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, my gosh! I\u2019ve got to go. I didn\u2019t realize it was so late. I\nhave to make it back to Portland in an hour!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it looks like you\u2019ve got just enough time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her hand flew to her hair, and she knew by touch that her curls\nhad gone wild in the damp sea air. \u201cI guess I\u2019ll make it, but I\u2019ll sure look\nlike a mess!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t look like a mess to me,\u201d he said quietly, and his eyes\ncrinkled a little at the corners\u2014just the way she knew they would. She thanked\nhim for the coffee, then reached for the doorknob, suppressing the desire to\nexplain everything. If only she had more time. She felt like Cinderella, or\nmaybe it was the White Rabbit. Mostly she felt silly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 She dashed through the fog\ntoward her car, wishing for a reason to stay. Halfway to Portland, she realized\nshe didn\u2019t even know his name.<\/p>\n\n\n