The House that Love Built

Twenty-Two




Owen had told his uncle that a bow tie wasn’t necessary for the party, but Uncle Denny was donning the black bow tie with a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt he’d bought in town just for the occasion, along with the black slacks. Black tennis shoes completed his ensemble, and he’d slicked back his long gray hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Owen had chosen a pair of linen slacks, a yellow short-sleeved shirt, and his usual tan loafers.

By the time they arrived at Tallie’s, Owen was really missing Brooke. He’d left her two messages that afternoon, and she hadn’t called him back or texted or anything. He wasn’t sure which emotion was leading the pack—hurt or anger. He would have returned her calls.

Tallie greeted Owen with a hug and kiss on the cheek, which seemed a bit much, but he smiled and introduced his uncle. Owen had already told Uncle Denny about Tallie—and about Brooke.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Uncle Denny gave a slight bow, then reached for Tallie’s hand and planted a kiss on top of it. Owen stifled a grin. Maybe Uncle Denny was going to make play for Tallie himself. She was quite tantalizing in a clingy blue blouse, black slacks, and high-heeled sandals like Virginia used to wear, the kind with a lot of skinny little straps.

Tallie looped her arm through Owen’s and guided him through the room, making introductions, as Denny followed behind. Everyone seemed to be coupled up except for Tallie, Owen, and Uncle Denny. Maybe Brooke was right.

Tallie stayed close to Owen, ushering him to the bar, then frowning when he asked for a glass of water. She was toting a glass of white wine, but Owen had never been a drinker, and he didn’t see any reason to start now. Uncle Denny, however, ordered a double scotch on the rocks, belted it down, and ordered another. Owen raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t say anything. He’d been around Denny enough to know that the man spoke his mind. He worried a few drinks might intensify that natural instinct.

“So, Denny . . .” Tallie was speaking to Uncle Denny, but she still had her arm looped around Owen’s, and he was busy trying to figure out how to escape. “Owen tells me you will be staying with him for a while. Business or pleasure?” She flashed those perfectly straight white teeth and batted her eye-lashes as she took a sip from her glass.

Uncle Denny leaned in close. “I foresee a bit of both in my future.” Owen smiled at his uncle’s unabashed flirting, but he had to admit Denny wasn’t a bad-looking man for someone pushing seventy. He hoped he was planning to stay awhile. He enjoyed his uncle’s witty sense of humor and his willingness to pitch in with the repairs on the house. With Denny and Hunter helping, Owen was starting to think they’d finish by fall.

Then what will I do?

When Tallie and Denny settled into a conversation, Owen took the opportunity to ease away from Tallie, excusing himself to make a phone call. He was a little angry at Brooke but also starting to worry.

He closed the patio door behind him and walked away from the few people who were standing around outside. He let the phone ring until it went to voice mail. Glancing around, he was pretty sure he was out of earshot.

“Brooke, where are you? I’ve left you a couple of messages, and now I’m getting worried. Call me back, okay?”

Owen closed his phone and slowly started back inside, hoping his uncle wouldn’t want to stay any longer than was necessary to be polite.



Once Brooke and the children were in the car, she checked her voice mail. Another message from Owen. With a sigh of resolve, she deleted it.

It was all a mistake—the snuggling, the kisses, the time together. She and Owen were a mistake. They weren’t a family, and they shouldn’t be playing like they were. How far would she have let things get with him, she wondered. She’d only been with one person before. Would she have compromised her values because she was lonely? Temptation had been swimming around her, and she hadn’t even seen the dangerous whirlpools. Plus, she’d opened her heart to another man. A man who had told her plainly they had no future.

In her heart, she knew that Travis would want a good man raising his children, someone who loved the kids and Brooke. And Owen qualified in that regard. But she should have never gotten close to a man—or allowed her children to—without a stronger sense that it had somewhere to go. By Owen’s own admission, he wasn’t over his divorce, and he was still incredibly bitter. Am I just his rebound person?

It was almost ten o’clock when Brooke pulled into her driveway with two sleeping children buckled in the backseat. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Owen’s car parked at the curb. He met her when she stepped out of the minivan.

“Thank goodness,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you and the kids.”

“We’re fine.” She opened the back door, roused Meghan and Spencer, and waited while they both climbed out of the backseat. When Meghan stumbled and rubbed her eyes, Owen picked her up and headed toward the house. Like he owned the place.

Brooke got her children tucked in upstairs, but her stomach was churning. She needed to be firm when she talked to Owen.

“Are you upset with me about something?” he asked when she walked into the living room.

Brooke bit her bottom lip. What she really wanted to do was go upstairs, bury her face in her pillow, and cry her eyes out. “I’m not mad. I—I just . . .” She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the hardwood floor. “I just think we need to take a few steps back, that’s all.”

Owen stared at her, rubbing his chin. Brooke wondered how it had gone at Tallie’s party, but she didn’t want to lead him on by asking.

Owen walked closer to her. Too close. “Take a few steps back. What does that mean?” Owen’s forehead creased as he narrowed his eyes.

Brooke knew she needed to be direct. “Owen, I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, but I just don’t see us being in a relationship.”

Owen was still rubbing his chin. “Really?”

Brooke nodded. “I told you that, remember? I’m still grieving. And you have issues as well. You told me how you don’t trust easily and how you are still in love with your ex-wife.” She winced as she heard the words come out of her mouth, but if saying that would put some distance between them, so be it.

Owen stepped closer, and this time Brooke didn’t back up. He tucked her hair behind her ears, glanced down at her outfit, and said, “You look beautiful tonight.” Then he kissed her on the forehead, and Brooke blinked back tears. “If that’s really want you want, Brooke, I’ll respect your wishes.” He kissed her on the cheek and kissed the tear that trailed down her cheek. “But something else is going on with you.”

She gently pushed him away, dabbing at her eyes. “I just can’t be with you, Owen. I just can’t. And the way we’ve been lately . . . well, it just isn’t right.”

Owen hung his head, hands on his hips again. When he looked up at her, his jaw was tense but his eyes were soft. She couldn’t tell how mad he was. Or how sad. He pointed a finger at her. “Brooke . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know a lot of things for sure. My life’s been kind of a mess lately. But I am sure of one thing, something I don’t think I knew until this moment.”

She waited, forcing herself not to cry.

He leaned close to her but didn’t touch her, even though she wanted nothing more than for him to break all the rules she’d just established and throw his arms around her. He spoke softly as he gazed into her eyes.

“I am not in love with my ex-wife. I’m in love with someone else.”



It was a lie—what Owen had said to Brooke. Or half a lie, at least. Because he was sure of two things, not one.

First, he wasn’t in love with Virginia anymore. That part had been true.

But the second thing he was certain of—even more so than the first—was that he shouldn’t have opened his heart and trusted Brooke Holloway with his feelings. If she could so easily walk away from him now, then her feelings hadn’t been true for him in the first place.

A few minutes later, he was home and walked to the kitchen, surprised to see his uncle sipping on a cup of coffee. Owen had moved the kitchen table back into the kitchen awhile back and had even purchased matching chairs.

“Well, how did it go with your friend Brooke?” Uncle Denny gestured to his cup. “Want some? It’s decaf.”

Owen didn’t need any coffee, and he was wishing now that he had some of that wine or scotch from the party. He knew that drinking away his sorrows wasn’t the answer. He just didn’t want to think about any of it anymore.

“Apparently that’s all we’re going to be.” He grabbed a water from the refrigerator. “Friends.”

“Hmm.” Uncle Denny sipped from his cup as Owen pulled out another chair and sat down. “Women. A confusing lot.”

Owen nodded, although he was exasperated with himself for feeling this much for her. He knew better than to trust like this. “I guess neither one of us was ready to move forward.” Although I’m pretty sure I was.

“Maybe just give her some time. Didn’t you say she’s a widow?”

“Yeah. Her husband died a couple of years ago.” Owen jumped when Scooter ran past them in the kitchen.

“That’s the jumpiest critter I’ve ever seen.” Uncle Denny laughed.

Owen shook his head. “I think he’s crazy. Only person he lets near him is Hunter.”

“Good kid, that Hunter. Seems like a fine boy.”

Owen nodded. “He’s had a rough time.” He filled Denny in on Hunter’s past.

“Sounds like a blessing that you came along,” Denny said after another sip. “And speaking of blessings, what church are we going to in the morning? I don’t much care what denomination, and I don’t think the Lord does either.” He chuckled.

“I think Brooke and her family attend a nondenominational church in town, but, uh, I haven’t been going to church since I moved here.”

“Well, I reckon tomorrow is as good a time as any to start, don’t you?” Uncle Denny spoke with authority, but Owen wasn’t going to be swayed.

“Not for me these days, Uncle Denny.” Especially not now. The Lord had allowed him to get over Virginia just in time to set him up for more heartache. Clearly God wasn’t on his side.

Uncle Denny raised his chin, eyeing Owen. After a moment or two he said, “All right. Can I borrow your car in the morning?”

“Sure.” He gave him directions to Brooke’s church. And then, because it seemed that a change of subject was in order, he spent the next half hour telling his uncle about the hidden bunker that might or might not exist.

“Fascinating stuff. Sure you looked everywhere?” Denny got up and put his cup in the sink—which was on the floor, so Owen wasn’t sure about the point of that. Hopefully they would finish the cabinets tomorrow and get the new sink installed on Monday.

“Yep. We’ve checked everywhere in this old place. I don’t think it exists.” Owen grinned. “Brooke’s son, Spencer, was all about finding it. I was hoping we would find it just for his sake. The kid was so excited.”

“Oh, I see.” Denny smiled, and his eyebrow twitched. “So you fell in love with her kids too?”

Owen frowned. “I never said I’d fallen in love with Brooke. We’ve only known each other about six weeks.” But I feel like I’ve known her forever. “She does have great kids, though.”

“I fell in love with your aunt in two weeks and married her the third week.” He gave a nod and pointed a finger at Owen. “Fifty-two years we were married.”

“That’s great.” Owen grunted. “Although somewhat rare these days.”

They sat there quietly for a minute or two. Then Uncle Denny clapped his hands together and stood. “Well, off to bed for me. Know what time the service is tomorrow morning?”

Owen thought for a few moments. “I think I’ve heard Brooke say it starts at ten o’clock.” He looked at the clock and wondered if she was still awake. Didn’t matter, he supposed.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night, Owen.”

Owen followed his uncle out of the kitchen, then made his way to his bedroom. If he’d had any intentions of praying tonight, he probably would have said, Thanks, God . . . for kicking me down again. Why’d You let me fall in love with Brooke?

The last thing he wanted, as he crawled into bed, was to think about her. But she was the only thing on his mind. And the possibility of not being with her, kissing her, holding her . . . loving her . . . was a sadness he never saw coming.