Their Forever Home
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Syndi Powell
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Chapter One
THE BALLROOM AT the Whittier Hotel in downtown Detroit glittered under the dozen chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Cassie Lowman felt a crick in her neck start to form as she stared at the opulent murals decorating the ceiling above her head. While it wasn’t her favorite aesthetic, she could appreciate the artistry. Too ornate and fussy for her—she would rather have something be beautiful in its simplicity.
A tuxedoed waiter passed by with a tray of half-filled champagne flutes. She snagged one before returning her gaze to the ceiling. She lifted her glass for a brief salute and then started to scan the room for familiar faces.
In truth, most of the faces were known to her as well as their names. These were her father’s former competitors—building contractors who had rejoiced when he’d failed and patted themselves on their backs while they swooped in and stole his clientele. She tasted the bitterness and anger at the back of her throat, so she tipped the champagne flute and drank the bubbly liquid before leaving the empty glass on a nearby table. Maybe it was better for her to look for new friends.
Speaking of friends, the Buttucci brothers, Tiny and Biggie, waved at her from the other side of the ballroom. She started to wobble in her shoes as she walked toward them. Blast her mother for insisting she wear high heels to this kickoff event. She wasn’t a heels kind of woman. Nor a fancy dress type, either, she thought, as she tugged at the neckline. It wouldn’t be so bad if she had something to flaunt, but she knew her limitations.
Biggie held a beer in his hands, and Cassie eyed it with envy. She approached the brothers, who were like family to her, especially now that she hoped to be helming the business, rather than her dad. “I’m glad you two could come. I don’t know if I could face this alone, chosen or not.”
Tiny looked behind her. “Your mother’s not here?”
“Mother decided that if she came with me that it would mean she approved of this venture.” Cassie shook her head. “And we all know where she stands on that.”
Tiny put his hand on her shoulder. “She’ll get over it in time.”
“Yesterday, her last words on the phone to me were, and I quote, ‘Forget the company already. It’s an anchor dragging you down.’ End quote.” Not that the company had many assets left after her father had taken most of them when he disappeared, and the rest had been sold to pay off debts. She’d had to tell employees who had been with her father for decades that they should seek employment elsewhere. Even her sister who had been the construction office’s receptionist had found a new job within weeks of his disappearance. The only two who had refused to leave her stood with her now. Cassie tugged again at the dress she’d borrowed from her older sister. “She doesn’t get it. I want to win the quarter of a million prize money so that I can start the business over and hire everyone back.”
Biggie grunted and sipped his beer while Tiny patted her shoulder again. “It will all work out. It always does.”
She wished she had his confidence. Her father’s building company seemed to be just another thing that stood between her and her mother. Growing up, Cassie had heard about how ladies didn’t come home covered in sawdust or with calloused hands. Ladies wore dresses, not plaid shirts and jeans. Her older sister, Andromeda, had filled the bill according to her mother’s requirements. Couldn’t her mother be happy that she had one perfect daughter?
But Lowman Construction meant something to Cassie, even if her mother had turned her back on it. Not only had it been her means of income, it was her lifeblood. She’d put years of her life into it at her father’s side, and she hoped to continue without him. She wanted to bring it back to what it had once been. She had to.
Cassie glanced again at Biggie’s beer. “Where can I get one of those?”
He pointed to a long wood-and-brass bar where several people milled, and she walked toward it. People murmured as she passed them, but she chose to hold her head high and ignore the comments. She paused a moment when she tottered again and the heel on one shoe threatened to bend and snap, but she slowed her gait and joined the line of those waiting for a drink.
She heard a scratchy voice talking ahead of her and recognized the gravelly tones of Bill Swenson, one of her father’s chief rivals. “I don’t understand why some people can’t let go of failure and get on with their lives. Did you see her name on the list? Does she have to waste her time and ours by entering this contest?”
A man next to him sneered. “Bill, you know why she entered. To redeem her father’s name.”
Cassie swallowed again at the bitter taste in her mouth. They could only be talking about her. She thought about leaving the line without getting her beer, but the temptation to eavesdrop was too great.
Bill laughed. “Redeem? She’d have to do a lot more than win some contest to do that. How about paying back the people he stole from? You ask me, she’s cut from the same cloth as her old man.” He spotted her. Giving her a sardonic grin, he winked. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”
Tears threatened to choke her, but she wasn’t going to let anyone, especially Bill, see how the words affected her. They didn’t know anything about her. Didn’t know that she had been just as shocked by the allegations of embezzlement against her father. As heads turned to look at her, she stood straighter, refusing to ignore their stares. “You can watch me all you want as I win this thing, Bill. The Belvedere Foundation won’t accept substandard materials and shoddy work. Isn’t that why you lost the Stamper contract?”
Bill bristled and took a step toward her, but someone pulled him back and ordered him a drink. Most of the others who had listened to the conversation turned away from her and joined him. Cassie put a hand on her chest and felt her heart beating with speed. She wouldn’t run now. She had to prove to them all that she was as good as them, if not better. She could rebuild beautiful houses as well as her own life.
WITH A GLASS of whiskey in his hand, John Robison leaned on the bar and looked at the woman whose cheeks had colored at the blustering contractor’s words. He could admire someone who wouldn’t back down from a confrontation with a bully. Took a lot of guts to keep your head high when others were trying to tear you down. The woman made her way up to the front of the bar and ordered a beer. Her dark brown eyes reminded him of the color of bourbon. “You have something to say, too?”
He shook his head and looked her over. She was petite, but he sensed that there was a lot of power in that compact frame. “No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” She rolled her eyes. “So polite.”
“The way my mama raised me.”
She eyed him with a gleam of speculation. “I know most of the people here, but I don’t think we’ve met before.” She held out her hand. “Cassie Lowman.”
“John Robison.” He took her hand into his and felt the calluses on them. “You’re a contractor?”
She gave a short nod and accepted the tall glass of beer the bartender handed her. “Rough hands tend to give away my profession. Your smooth hands tell me you’re a designer.”
“Guilty. I usually hold pencils instead of hammers and saws. This will be my first time designing a house, though.”
“First time? And you entered a contest like this without any experience?”
“I have plenty of design experience, and I’ve won contests like this in the past. They just happened to be designs for cars.” Five awards to be exact, but who was counting? He didn’t need to have experience with houses to win this thing. His art training could be translated into many different avenues, but seeing the contest announced in the newspaper had seemed to be a sign of which one to follow.
“Designing a house that has both function and beauty is a completely different animal than a vehicle designed for speed. I’m afraid you’re in over your head here, Mr. Robison.”
“Well, the contest committee disagrees with you, or I wouldn’t have made it this far.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “No offense, Mr. Robison, but I hope that we’re not paired together. I need an experienced designer. That is, if you make it into the top five.”
If? He had every intention to not only make it into the top five teams, but to win the entire contest. And he’d be more than happy to make her eat her words. “With that attitude, Ms. Lowman, the feeling is mutual. I need a contractor who has an open mind rather than one who has already decided what is right.”
She took her beer and turned away, her legs teetering on heels that added a couple of inches to her height, but she had only met him at chest level. If he wasn’t so concerned about this contest, he might follow her and strike up another conversation. See if he could find more to admire about her. But he wasn’t here to make friends. He needed to prove that he had the ideas and skills to win this thing.
A gentleman in a bow tie and suit tapped on a microphone situated on a platform at one end of the ballroom. Finally. Let’s get this party going.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, my name is Christopher Belvedere, and I’m pleased to announce the kickoff for the Belvedere Foundation’s premier Take Back the Neighborhood contest.”
The din of conversation dropped to a lull as people started to gather closer to the platform. John joined them and looked around at his competitors.
“Since 1923 when the first Thomas Belvedere opened a construction company in Detroit, the family has been devoted to improving the city that built us. We built neighborhoods–homes, schools and the St. Anne hospital. When the third Thomas Belvedere created special software, not only did it revolutionize the design of architecture, its multi-million dollar success provided the funds to create the Belvedere Foundation. Since 1971 through additional fundraising, the foundation has financed several thousand low-interest mortgages to families who might not have otherwise had the opportunity to purchase their own home.
“As you know, the foundation recently bought five abandoned houses from the city of Detroit that were set for demolition. Our goal has always been to bring back the city of Detroit, one house at a time. It is our hope that the selected contractors and designers will bring their expertise into turning these spaces into incredible homes. The winning team will win a quarter of a million dollars, a national and regional magazine spread for their winning design, and be featured in a television special on the Home Design Network. The other teams will win a smaller monetary prize and regional recognition in magazine and newspaper articles.” The gentleman stopped and glanced around the ballroom. “We had more than a hundred applicants for the ten slots. Through interviews and portfolio presentations, we winnowed the pool to the top ten contractors and top ten designers, all of whom are present this evening. After much deliberation to finalize the five teams, it is my pleasure to announce who will be competing over the next three months. Remember all work is to be completed twelve weeks from today!”
The knot in John’s belly tightened. He knew that his portfolio had been strong enough to get him into the top ten designers. He hadn’t graduated at the top of his class in art school for nothing. Unfortunately, he didn’t interview very well, and he feared that would keep him from being chosen. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He’d put everything he had into this contest. He needed this affirmation of his abilities. Being laid off due to budget cuts and downsizing had shaken his confidence.
Shaking off his doubts, he listened as the first two teams were announced. The blustery bully made snide comments after each name, and John walked away from his group to distance himself. He didn’t need that kind of negativity to feed into his own fears. He glanced around the room and saw Cassie standing between two beefy men who looked like they could be her bodyguards. She bit her lip as the third team was announced.
He sipped his whiskey and almost choked when he heard his name. Someone boomed out, “Who in the world is that?”
John set his glass down and started to walk toward the platform, where the other teams waited. Mr. Belvedere continued, “And paired with Mr. Robison is Cassandra Lowman of Lowman Construction.”
He caught Cassie’s wide-eyed stare. So they were going to be thrown together after all. Well, it could be worse. He might have been paired with the bully.
STILL IN SHOCK at hearing her name, Cassie felt Biggie pat her on the shoulder and Tiny nudge her toward the platform. She’d done it. She’d made it into the top five contractors. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how uncertain she’d been of succeeding in this.
She closed her mouth and took careful steps toward the stage. The applause that followed after her name had been read out was softer than that for her competitors, and she knew it was because of her father, but it had stung all the same. Would there be a day when it wouldn’t hurt?
John stood on the stage and watched her as she approached the three steps. She took the first step, teetered because of the heels and then felt his hands on her elbow and waist as he helped her. She whispered her thanks and joined the other teams as the last two names were announced.
“Let’s hear it for our top five teams!” Mr. Belvedere turned with a flourish of his hands, and she heard the applause.
She tried to smile as photographers took their pictures and reporters yelled out questions. She hoped that she at least appeared composed and confident, because she felt anything but those things on the inside. What had she done? Did she really think she could pull this off? Maybe her mother was right? Maybe she should have agreed to let go, sell the company and start over in a different career. But something deep down had told her that she could do this. She clung to that hopeful ember and straightened her spine.
“Ms. Lowman, have you heard from your father? Does he know you entered the contest?”
“Do you know where your father is hiding?”
“Have you given any evidence to the police?”
The smile on her face threatened to fade, but she hung on to it. She wouldn’t let their questions take away from her moment. Because this was about her, not her father. This was about her talents and abilities. Her time to shine, not to hide in shame.
John leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Just keep smiling.”
She gave a short nod and hoped that this would be over soon. She could see the brothers clapping, Tiny beaming while Biggie wiped at his tears with a faded red bandanna.
Finally, the announcer gathered the five teams in a lopsided circle and handed them all manila envelopes. “Inside the packet, you’ll find the address of the house you’ll be working on along with the keys. Your budget is included along with a list of preapproved subcontractors.” He turned to Cassie. “I’ve already approved the Buttucci brothers’ application to work on your team.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased to know that,” she replied.
“We will have an in-depth meeting Monday morning at nine at the foundation’s office to go over everything that is required of you. In the meantime, go out and mingle. Talk to the press. Congratulations to all of you.”
Cassie glanced around, unsure of what to do now. She wasn’t interested in talking to the press since they wanted to focus on her father instead of her. She spotted Beckett looking as shocked as she felt. She took a step toward the contractor and he flinched. She’d heard the vet had returned from Afghanistan with PTSD, but she hadn’t seen evidence of it until now. He waved to her, so she approached him. “Congratulations, Beckett, on making the top five.”
He stared at her for a moment and said, “Thanks. You, too.”
“They paired you with Lauren Sterling, so you’re in good hands.”
He took a step away. “I guess.” He glanced around at the group of people waiting to talk to them. “I gotta go.” And he disappeared into the crowd.
The stage started to clear as Cassie turned to John. It probably wouldn’t hurt to address one of the elephants in the room that stood between them. “What I said earlier about not wanting to work with you...”
He held up his hand. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
“But I did. Still do.” She winced and tried to use better words. This wasn’t the way to start a working relationship. “I hope that we can find a way to work with each other, because it’s going to be a long, fruitless endeavor if we can’t.”
“I don’t doubt that we can work together, Ms. Lowman. But I believe we both need to make a commitment to each other and this contest right now.” He held out his hand. “I’m going to give my very best, and I hope you will, as well.”
She shook his hand. “I never give anything less than all that I have.”
With their hands clasped, she had the feeling that this was the beginning of something...different.
JOHN HELPED CASSIE off the platform, and the members of the press surrounded them, yelling questions and pushing in from all sides. When John had met Cassie earlier, he hadn’t put her name together with the contractor who had been accused of embezzling from his own company though never proven. However, he couldn’t hold her father’s alleged crimes against her. If anything, it would bring more attention to them during the contest. Maybe they could come up with a strategy to use that to their advantage.
“Miss Lowman has no comment about her father at this time,” John said into the microphone closest to him. “But we’d be happy to discuss making the top five teams tonight.”
After a few moments of Cassie fielding inquiries about her experiences in rehabbing houses and him explaining his design credentials, the members of the press started to recede into the crowd. Clearly they weren’t going to get the story they’d hoped for. Cassie turned to him. “Thank you for that. I still don’t know what to say about my father.”
He gave a shrug, as if it didn’t matter. “This is about us, not him. And the sooner we established that with the press, the better.”
But she still looked up at him as if he was a hero. Her two big friends approached them, and the slightly smaller one picked her up by the waist and swung her around. “I knew you could do this, kid.”
She squealed and demanded that he put her down. Once on her feet, she waved her hand at them. “John, these are the Buttucci brothers Luigi and Mario. Better known as Biggie and Tiny. They are the best in the construction business I’ve ever known, and we’re lucky that they’re going to be working with us. They do everything: demolition, electrical, plumbing. But where they really shine is in painting. They don’t need tape or edges. Steady hands, that’s what they have.”
John shook their hands in turn, wincing slightly at the pressure of each clasp. They seemed to be sending him a warning about not only themselves, but Cassie, too. He could see the protective stances they had with her, sandwiching her safely between them. He gave each of them a nod, hoping they could understand that he wanted only the best for their team. “It’s great to meet you both.”
They grunted, then looked back at Cassie. Tiny wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Someone said you got the keys to the house. Wanna go see it now?”
It would be nice to get a sneak peek at the house that was going to consume all their attention for the next few months. John nodded. “I’m in.”
They each drove their respective cars to the run-down neighborhood and parked on the curb under a tall oak tree that mirrored others that lined each side of the street. John stared up at the house, which seemed to have a small porch that listed to one side. Cassie took a few moments to change out of her heels and into work boots that she had apparently kept in her truck.
John was the first to walk up the cracked pathway to the small, rickety porch. He put a hand on a wrought iron column and winced as it shifted with very little pressure. He didn’t need to have construction experience to realize what that probably meant. He turned to the trio behind him. “The porch’s foundation is possibly an issue.”
Cassie walked up the few steps and put the key in the lock, taking a deep breath before opening the door. She brought out her phone and turned on the flashlight feature. John mirrored her actions and shone his cell phone’s light on the roof above the porch. Abandoned birds’ nests, as well as cobwebs that spread their silky strands between joists, decorated the corners of the porch.
John hoped that the rest of the house would prove to be a diamond in the rough. They continued their tour. The carpet squished beneath their feet. Cassie bent down and touched the dampness. “Looks like we’ll have plumbing issues, too. A burst pipe, maybe. Or looters stole the copper pipes.” They walked into the kitchen. “And they stole the kitchen cabinets.”
He stared at the exposed pipes and noted the sink was missing, too. What had he gotten himself into? He gave a shrug. “Well, on the bright side, that’s less demolition we have to do.”
“And the more we have to replace with an already limited budget.” She brushed past him.
John stared out the window at the moonlit backyard full of weeds and overgrown grass. Another thing on their to-do list.
Cassie returned. “Four bedrooms that are in decent condition, but we’re going to have to gut the bathroom.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”
“You’re not giving up already, are you?”
She lifted her eyes to meet his, and her spine straightened. “Something you need to know about me. I don’t ever give up. Got it?”
“Me, either.”
At a loud noise from the living room, they rushed there to find Biggie standing knee-deep in a hole, having apparently crashed through the floor. John walked over and held out his hand to help him out.
Cassie squatted and peered at the floor, where a large gaping crater now yawned. “Definitely have to replace these floors.”
John suddenly felt as if he was in way over his head.
