For the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”
Amanda frowned at her friend. “You’ve said that. Repeatedly. Come on.”
Crouching low, Amanda darted from the cover of an overgrown hedge and sprinted across the open expanse of the Grigg backyard. Amazing how fast one could move without skirts. If Joseph or—God forbid—her father saw her racing about in trousers belonging to Maggie’s brother, well … a wicked smile curved her mouth as she motioned for her friend to follow. She’d just have to make sure no one saw them.
This late in the day, dusk cast a shadow from the remains of a porch roof to the door, large enough to hide in. She charged forward, wrapping herself in darkness as she might a cloak.
Maggie pulled up breathless beside her. “Remind me again … why we are doing this?”
Reaching for the doorknob, she shot her friend a sideways glance, then tried not to giggle. Though she likely looked as ridiculous herself, Miss Margaret Turner garbed in britches was a sight to behold. “I already told you, Mags. Father and Joseph are too busy. The registrar at the deeds office refuses to deal with a woman unless a man is present. I’ve spent the last week since I spoke to Joseph about it, trying to find an answer, but there’s no way for me to get a look at that deed to find out who owns this place. So here we are. There’s got to be a clue, a book left behind with an inscribed name, maybe even an old family Bible. Something. Someone I could contact.”
She shoved open the door.
Maggie’s hand pulled her back. “No, that’s not what I mean. Why are you going to such trouble to find out who owns this house in particular? There are other buildings in which to create a school, others easier to renovate. Some that Lillian might not frown upon.”
“I know. You’re right. It’s just that …”
That what?
She blew away an errant hair tickling her nose and stared up at the house. A bat swooped out a broken third-story window. The corner of the roof bled tiles, which had long since given up on clinging to the rafters. For years the place had been abandoned. Unloved. Forgotten.
A tangible picture of her life before Joseph Blake.
She pulled her gaze from the house and hiked up her trousers, riding low from the jaunt across the yard. Fitting that Mr. Charles Carston’s daughter now wore the pants of the son he’d never had.
And there it was—the truth.
She turned and faced Maggie. “I fear you know me too well, my friend. I suppose this is my last attempt to do something grand in my father’s estimation before I leave his home.”
“Is it that important to you?”
“It is.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I would have a happy ending to this chapter in my life.” Her chin rose. “Now, are we going to do this before it gets too dark?”
“Very well.” Maggie stepped forward and linked arms with her. “But I still think it’s a terrible idea.”
They crept together into a back room. Dirt coated the floors. Empty pegs poked out from a wall, save for one, where a stiff, mildewed canvas hung like a piece of meat on a hook. An upturned bucket lay in one corner. Amanda stared harder. Wait a minute. That was no bucket. The dark shape darted for the open door.
Maggie shrieked, her nails digging into Amanda’s arm. Together they sprinted blindly down a corridor and into another room.
Panting, Maggie slapped her hands to her chest. “This … is … a …”
“Terrible idea,” Amanda finished. Her own heart beat loud in her ears. That had been a scare, but a raccoon or stray dog or whatever that had been was not going to get the best of her.
She caught her breath and scanned the room, what she could see of it anyway. Hard to tell with the last of day’s light hovering near the windows. This might’ve been a grand room, once. Large. Stately. But now wallpaper blistered on the walls, blackened plaster lay in piles on the floor, where sporadic floorboards yet remained. What a ruin.
Ignoring the rubble, Amanda picked her way over to an old desk tipped sideways, nearly tipping sideways herself as her toe caught in a hole in the floor.
Maggie groaned. “This isn’t safe. I’m leaving.”
“Hold on, Mags. I feel sure we’ll find something.” Yanking out drawer after empty drawer, Amanda rummaged faster. “If it makes you feel better, go stand by the front door and wait for me there.”
Maggie’s footsteps padded off. Then stopped. “Did you hear that?” Her friend’s voice squeaked.
Amanda straightened and listened, having turned up nothing but an empty inkwell and broken pen nibs. “What?”
“The floorboards upstairs. They creaked.” Maggie’s words choked into a whisper. “We are not alone.”
“Of course we’re not.” She flicked her fingers toward the ceiling. “There are probably squirrels racing around up there. Wait outside if you like.”
Maggie scooted one way, Amanda the other. In a smaller room across the hall, a few old books lay riffled open on the floor.
She snatched one up, paper crumbling as she paged through it. No names. Just a lot of dust that tickled her nose. Fighting a sneeze, she grabbed the other book and—paused. Plaster bits rained down on her head. Was something heavier than squirrels upstairs?
Straining hard to listen, she held her breath and glanced up. Another poof of ceiling sprinkles dropped. Then another. And another. Paces apart. Traveling in a straight line.
As if a person were walking.
Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Her stomach twisted and her mouth dried to bones. She couldn’t shriek if she wanted to—nor did she need to.
Maggie’s scream ripped the silence.
Autumn evenings generally fell hard and fast. So did the lad who’d sprinted down the Grigg front driveway and sprawled in the gravel. Another boy disappeared through a hole in the side gate. Joseph narrowed his eyes. What mischief was this?
He jerked his gaze to the third-floor window. The drapery was wide open—and the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Anger ignited a slow burn in his gut. If those boys had discovered what he’d so carefully kept hidden this past year, the whole operation could grind to a halt. Well, then … he’d just have to put the fear of God and man into the remaining lad.
He took off at a dead run and hauled the hoodlum up by his collar. “What are you doing—?”
His words, his rebuke, his very thoughts vanished with the last light of day. Wide blue eyes stared into his. Blond curls escaped a tweed flat cap, framing a cherub face. A fresh scrape bloomed on one cheek, set below a tiny, crescent scar. Recognition punched him hard.
“Amanda?” He’d experienced many a surprise in twisted legal cases, but this? His hand fell away, and he retreated a step, shaking his head to clear it. “What are you doing here? And dressed like a boy, no less?”
Tears sprouted at the corners of her eyes, rolling out one after another. “Joseph … I—I can explain.”
“You’d better.” His voice came out harsher than intended. But sweet mercy! She had no idea what she might’ve seen. The hard work she might’ve undone. The women’s lives she might’ve ended—
The danger she’d been in.
He clenched his jaw so hard it crackled in his ears. “You could’ve fallen down a loose stair and broken your neck! What were you thinking?”
She cringed. “I didn’t … think.”
Choppy little breaths strangled whatever explanation she attempted. He’d get nowhere trying to bully an answer out of her.
Sighing, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her to a boulder, away from the drive and far from the street. It wouldn’t do for the city attorney to be seen embracing a boy.
“Just breathe.” He pressed her down onto the rock and dug into his pocket, retrieving a handkerchief. Dropping to one knee, he dabbed the blood on her cheek and dried her tears. As much as he’d love to throttle this woman, his anger slowly seeped away with each quiver of her lip.
When her chest finally rose and fell with regularity, he started over. “Now then, let’s try this again. What are you doing here, dressed like this?”
She sucked in a last, shaky breath. “Trying to find a name.”
“A name.” Even repeating it, the reason made no sense. “I don’t understand.”
She blinked as if she were the one perplexed. “I told you I wanted to acquire the deed to this place. I need the name of the owner.”
He frowned. “You also told me you’d wait until after the election.”
“I never said that.”
“What?” Crickets chirped a singsong beat as he revisited their last conversation in his mind. “You stood there, in my office, and agreed to give up this project of yours until later.”
She wrinkled her pert little nose. “I agreed I wouldn’t burden you, not that I’d give up my quest.”
“Of all the absurd, irrational …” Stuffing the handkerchief away, he pressed the heel of his palm to the bridge of his nose and the ache spreading there. Would married life be this confusing?
“Joseph, you don’t understand. If I fail at my first project, Lillian will never let me live it down. And Father …” She heaved a great sigh, as mournful as the breeze whistling through the barren branches. “All my life I’ve tried to be the son he never had. I thought that this time, as a chairwoman, he’d see me as a success.”
The hurt in her voice sobered him, and he turned to her. “But the only good opinion you need is God’s, my love. And that you have. His and mine.”
She blinked, eyes once again filling with tears—and the vulnerability he saw there broke his heart.
He skimmed his fingers over her cheeks. “You are loved. Trust in that. Believe in that.”
Pulling her into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers. A kiss wouldn’t solve everything, not a hurt so deep, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying anyway. Slowly, she leaned into him, hopefully surrendering some of the pain she harbored.
By the time he released her, she gazed up with luminous eyes—but this time not from weeping.
“I love you, Joseph Blake.”
“I love you, too, soon-to-be Mrs. Blake.” He tapped her on the nose.
She smiled. Slowly, her brows drew together beneath the rakish boy’s cap. “Wait a minute … what are you doing here?”
He glanced up at the darkened house. As much as he yearned to be completely honest with her, he yet owed it to his aunt for the promise she’d wrenched from him years ago. Of course he’d reveal the truth eventually, but now? Breathing in the scent of Amanda’s sweet lilac cologne, feeling the warmth of her next to him in the cool of the eve? The thought of her possible rejection punched him in the gut.
No, not yet. Soon, but not yet.
Donning his attorney mask, he gazed back at her. “I decided to walk home from the office tonight and heard a scream. And a good thing I came upon you instead of someone else. Now, shall I walk you home and sneak you in before your father sees your attire? Hey … where did you get those clothes anyway?”
“My secret.” She grinned.
Leaning close, he kissed her forehead and whispered against her soft skin, “Fine, hold onto your secrets. For now.”
He stood and offered his hand—for he would hold onto his, for now, as well.