Built To Last.pdf

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Built to Last

ISBN 9781419916823

Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication May 2008

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written

permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-

3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal

punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

B UILT TO L AST

Sierra Dafoe

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following workmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Comet: The Comet Products Corporation

DeWalt: The Black & Decker Corporation

Marden’s: Marden’s Corporation

Sheetrock: United States Gypsum Company

Word: Microsoft Corporation

Built to Last

Chapter One

“Eighty-seven thousand dollars?” Ginny stared, aghast, at the grizzled old

contractor who’d spent the last hour stomping around the house in his muddy boots

and ratty flannel jacket, chomping on the stub of an unlit cigar and making obscure

little notes on his clipboard.

“Ayuh,” he grunted. “For the roof, the foundation work, replacing the plumbing

and Sheetrocking the interior. Wiring’ll be extra—I don’t do electrical work.” His canny

gray eyes watched her. Damn fool out-of-staters , those eyes said as clearly as if he’d

spoken aloud. Well, you’re stuck with it now, missy.

Indeed she was. But eighty-seven-thousand dollars she simply didn’t have, let alone

extra for the wiring. Biting back tears, she thanked the contractor for his time. As she

showed him to the door, he shrugged with an air of malicious unconcern. “You could

always do it yourself, a’course. Or hire some two-bit fly-by-night carpenter jack to do it

for you. But I’ve got forty years in this business and if you want it done right, eighty-

seven thousand is what it’s gonna cost.”

Forty years, Ginny reflected, watching him plod through the cold March rain and

climb sourly into his truck, wasn’t really all that long. Not nearly long enough to learn

how to deal with pain or loss or facing the rest of your life by yourself.

Closing the door, she walked numbly back to the run-down kitchen, slumped to a

seat at the broad old oak table, dropped her head onto her folded arms and cried.

What on earth had possessed her, moving three states north and buying a rambling

old farmhouse with a leaky roof? She knew better, damn it. She knew better.

She had a standard response, one she’d used so many times she could recite it by

heart…

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