| |
WILL GAVE UP ON KNOCKING, and walked through the front door, following the sound of loud music to the back of the house. With Zeke padding along beside him, he passed tarps lying on the floor in one room, a stepladder in another, and an assortment of paint cans and brushes in still another. Glancing into the parlor on the right, he noticed the wood of the shiplap walls had been scraped. Some of it had even been primed.
He shook his head. Apparently Miss Katie McCain was serious about working on this house herself. He wondered why. She was obviously wealthy. Everybody in town knew she hadn’t quibbled over the asking price, which everyone agreed was too much for a house in such disrepair.
Will didn’t like gossip, but it was impossible not to hear the chatter in a place like New Hope. The new owner of Lacewood was the biggest news of the year—even trumping the newspaper editor from the next town over who stole the wife of a prominent New Hope resident.
But if she wanted to live here, why didn’t she simply hire a contractor? Most of the inside work could be completed in a matter of weeks instead of the months it would take her. Will contemplated the work that still needed to be done—make that the years—it would take her.
“Anybody home?”
“I’m in here.” The voice was dwarfed by the music of Journey, but he could tell both emanated from the same room.
“Wow,” he said, when he found her sitting cross-legged in the corner with a small can of paint in one hand and a brush in the other.
“What do you think?” She didn’t bother to turn around, but seemed engrossed in scrutinizing every inch of the work she’d completed.
Will eyed the glossy white molding around the room, well chosen because it stood out in contrast to the walls. “Nice job.”
“Why thank you.”
Catching a hint of sarcasm in her tone, Will glanced down at her. He understood her frostiness. He couldn’t deny he’d been giving her a hard time. “Seriously, good job.” He reached out a hand to help her up. “The question that comes to mind is, why are you doing it?”
“The room needed it, obviously.” She was already halfway across the room, concentrating on wiping the brush over the top of the can. “Hi, Zeke!”
Will turned and noticed that—as opposed to when she had seen him—her face now glowed with delight at the sight of his dog. She bent down and patted Zeke’s head, and was rewarded with a tongue across her cheek. “Such a good boy.”
“No. I mean why are you doing it, as opposed to a contractor?” Will continued the conversation, trying to ignore how his dog seemed overly enamored with the blond-haired city girl. Usually one to ignore, if not outright rebuff, women, Zeke wagged his tail briskly as she stroked his head.
Katie’s brow creased with confusion. “Because it’s my house.”
“So you painted your own walls in New York—or wherever it is you came from?” His gaze drifted to the white blotches on her hands, and then to the splotches all over the high-priced designer jeans she would never be able to wear in public again. Even her hair hadn’t escaped the droplets of paint.
Annoyance, frustration, and irritation flashed from her deep brown eyes. “None of your business.” She looked down at her ruined clothes. “I’ll admit it was a little rough going at first, but I’m getting the hang of it now.”
Will studied her body language as much as her words. The latter was full of determination. The former stamped with strength and resolve. He nodded toward the ceiling of the room across the hall. “Did you ever consider getting one room done before moving onto the next one?”
“No.” The set of her chin suggested a stubborn—or at least an independent—streak as she bent down to tap the lid onto the paint can. “I get bored easily. I like to move around.”
“I see that.” Will shook his head. If nothing else, her energy and enthusiasm were a bit contagious. He would never have considered tackling this job himself, but now that she had demonstrated what could be accomplished, he was almost as excited as she was about the potential end result.
Yet her method of making headway was a little unconventional, to say the least. Wallpaper lay scraped off in one room; wood trim was stained in the next. The only space where no real work had been done was the room she’d claimed as her temporary bedroom. He’d only caught a glimpse of it on his first visit, but he knew it used to be the library in the old days.
The fact that she seemed to have no intention of changing, remodeling, or modernizing the original architecture impressed him.
“Did you stop by to harass me, or do you need something?” She bent down and rubbed Zeke between the ears. The dog closed his eyes like he was getting a massage from someone he adored.
“I stopped by to tell you I found a brush hog in one of the smaller sheds.”
Katie straightened up but didn’t say anything. Her blank expression indicated she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Once I get Rosie going, I’d like to mow some of the high stuff down in the fields. I want to make sure it’s okay with you.”
“Rosie who?”
“The tractor. In the shed. Remember?”
“Oh, that Rosie.” She shook her head as if completely bewildered and started walking down the hallway. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Will turned the corner to go with her, but paused. “What’s this?”
Katie followed his gesture to the weapon leaning against the wall. “It’s a shotgun.”
Will shook his head in exasperation. “I know what it is—but what’s it doing here?” He picked it up and cocked it open. “Good grief! It’s loaded.”
“I know. It was my grandmother’s.” Katie reached out for it. “This is one of the only things I have of hers. It’s for protection.”
Will did not relinquish his hold. “But do you know how to use it?” He ran his hand down the smooth wooden stock. It was old. It was big. And it was powerful enough to blow a large hole through a solid wall.
“Kind of. You just pull this thingy right here.” She pointed to the trigger. “Right?” She regarded him from beneath a sweep of long lashes with big, innocent eyes. Will wondered how many men she’d destroyed with that look.
“How about I unload it until you learn how to use it?” Will dumped the cartridge onto his palm.
“You’ll teach me?” She sounded interested. “You know how it works?”
“Yes. I know how it works. But don’t touch it until we’ve had time to go over it. This thing will knock you off your feet if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Katie didn’t argue with his logic, but neither did she appear to agree. She simply gave him a you’re-entitled-to-your-opinion type of shrug and went back to cleaning up her supplies.
Will studied the woman who was trying so hard to fit in with small town life. When he was a teen, all he ever wanted to do was leave this place—but now he appreciated how special New Hope was. Down-to-earth. Simple. Unhurried.
Funny, but all the reasons he wanted to leave this sleepy little town were exactly the same reasons he came back. He despised solitude and seclusion when he was a teen. Now, he appreciated the laid-back lifestyle and isolation. The people here were friendly. Hardworking. Protective. They knew what they had, and they wanted to keep it.
A spatter of raindrops hit the metal roof then, sounding like someone had dropped a handful of marbles overhead. A few moments later, a general deluge drowned out the sound of the radio. “Rain started,” Will said, stating the obvious. “I was hoping it would hold off a little bit.” When he returned his gaze to Katie, she stood frozen in the middle of the floor, listening.
“You okay?”
“Oh. Yes.” She came out of her trance and shook her head as she listened. “I love that sound. It’s so relaxing.”
Will laughed. “How did a city girl ever hear the sound of rain pounding on an old metal roof?”
Her reflective expression faded, and was replaced by one of grief, making Will sorry he’d asked.
“Not in the city, that’s for sure.” She turned toward the kitchen and spoke in an obviously forced cheery voice. “How about some coffee?”
“Sure. If you’re having some.”
As he walked into the expansive kitchen he noticed she’d been busy here, too. The cupboard doors were still hanging haphazardly, but everything was spotless. A chipped vase sat in the middle of the table, spilling over with lilacs, filling the room with their fragrance. The scent of lemon was mixed in, apparently something she used to scrub and shine the floor. Sitting on the countertop, conspicuously out of place in the vintage room, was a shiny new coffee machine, spewing steam into the air.
“I pretty much keep a pot on all the time.” She moved easily around the kitchen, as if she’d lived in this house for years, not mere weeks. As usual, her long blond hair was braided in a single ponytail—but there was no ball cap today. She seemed somehow elegant and refined despite the blue jeans and tank top.
She turned and held a mug out toward him. “Here you go.”
Without thinking, Will reached out and touched a tendril of hair that had come loose and lay spiraled near her cheek. “You have paint in your hair.”
She stood perfectly still, her deep brown—almost black—eyes gazing into his with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Slowly, she reached up and ran her fingers through the strands, in an effort to remove the hardened glob. “I probably look a mess.”
Will knew he should make a comment, but he didn’t know what it should be. Yes, she looked a mess—but he had a feeling her interpretation of the word wouldn’t be the same as his. Even though her expensive jeans were marred with paint, and her white tank top was streaked with what might be walnut wood stain, she exuded the type of beauty that could both astound and haunt.
“Do you take sugar or cream?”
It took Will a moment to realize she was speaking to him. She nodded toward the mug that had somehow been transferred into his hand.
“For your coffee,” she added. A hesitant smile appeared on her face as she watched him with big, childlike eyes that reminded him of a young doe. They were quiet, serious, reflective, yet something in them spoke of somberness and sorrow.
“No.” He cleared his throat to remove the sudden blockage. “Black’s fine.”
“Thought so.” She turned and swiped a flannel shirt off the back of a chair and thrust her arms into it. “The rain has sure cooled things off. It was beautiful this morning when I picked the lilacs.”
Will took a sip of the hot brew, his mind wandering as he tried to analyze what was happening. He felt a sudden uneasiness he didn’t know how to explain, and an attraction he wasn’t sure how to deal with.
On second thought, it wasn’t really an attraction he felt, but more like an instinctive need to protect. Katie McCain did a good job of projecting strength and composure, but he suspected underneath her proud exterior was a troubled young woman who was insecure and uncertain. Sure, she smiled a lot, but it seemed to be her way of putting others at ease. He didn’t believe it was a sign of contentment or serenity on her part.
The rain pounded the windows, strong and steady now, and the light bulbs Katie replaced were barely able to keep up with the increasing gloom. Still, the kitchen exuded a feeling of comfort and hominess Will would have thought impossible a few weeks earlier. He inhaled the steam from his coffee and smiled as their eyes met over his mug.
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” she asked directly, as if reading his mind.
He shrugged and answered noncommittally. “It’s none of my business.”
“But you have to admit, I’m not doing too bad, am I?” She lifted her chin, her liquid brown eyes alight with intense satisfaction.
Will rubbed his chin a moment as he pretended to give the question serious thought. “Better than I thought you would,” he said at last, taking a sip of his coffee. “But it’s still early.”
“Very funny.”
It was her tone more than the words that gave him pause. Her stubborn, I’m-not-budging, see-ya-later-if-you-don’t-agree attitude told him she possessed endless amounts of determination and drive beneath her delicate, sophisticated exterior. She was strong in many ways, and definitely smart. But there remained a certain childlike naiveté about the ways of country life that endeared her to him.
Even after she exited the room behind him, he noticed a trace of her scent, a soft mixture reminding him of morning dew on honeysuckle. Whether it was a high-priced perfume he knew nothing about or simply how she smelled after spending time picking flowers in the early morning sunshine, he had no way of knowing.
Will followed the gentle slap of Katie’s flip-flops to the front parlor and came up behind her. With her shoulder relaxed on the doorframe, she took a sip of her coffee and inhaled a deep breath of contentment.
“Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Admit it,” she said, nodding and glancing at him over her shoulder. “You’re impressed.”
Will walked into the parlor and ran his hand across the smooth mantle she so painstakingly stripped and re-stained. It was smooth and rich, restored to its original luster. His attention moved to the trim, now painted, and then to the walls, which she had started to prime.
“One almost done. Twelve more to go.” He turned to her. “You’re not tired of this yet?”
“After seeing what a little elbow grease will do? No.”
“You must be sore.” Will knew from experience all the stooping she must have done, not to mention climbing up and down ladders. It would take a lot out of anyone, let alone someone who wasn’t accustomed to hard labor.
“Nothing a little aspirin won’t fix,” she said without hesitation.
Will eyed her doubtfully, but then shrugged. “Okay. Well then, I propose a toast.”
Katie snorted. “A toast? With what? I have milk and bottled water.”
“Coffee.” He lifted his mug and tapped it against hers. “To Lacewood... One room at a time.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Katie smiled and lifted the coffee to her lips, but her eyes remained on Will over the top of her mug. “You never answered me.”
“About what?”
“Whether you’re impressed.”
Will sensed a flirtatious undertone in her manner—or was it his imagination that her brown eyes turned a shade darker when she said it? He met and held her gaze for one long, silent moment. “Oh, you mean with the room. Definitely, I’m impressed.”
Yes, something unquestionably flickered in her eyes now. And the way she quickly turned away to hide any reaction made her response even more obvious.
“There’s one more thing I need to fix in here,” she said from the far side of the room.
“What’s that?” Will followed her over to the fireplace, where she knelt down.
“This loose brick here.” Katie’s head was almost entirely in the opening now. “It’s way in the back. I noticed it when I was cleaning.”
Will put his coffee down and crawled in beside her. “Let me take a look.” He wiggled the brick, intending to find out how loose it was, but it ended up coming out into his hand. “Woops. Can’t have that if you’re ever going to start a fire in here.”
“What’s that?” Katie moved forward and pulled a slip of blackened paper from where it had lain hidden behind the brick.
“Be careful,” Will said as they both inched out of the tight space.
As Katie unfolded a piece of paper flat on the floor, Will used his phone to illuminate the text. He leaned in close, his head grazing hers, while she read aloud:
Dear Miss Logan,
Forgive me for the hastiness in which I write, but there is little time and even less light as I pen this without the aid of sun or fire. We are quartered in Riverview tonight, and are sure to meet the enemy within the week somewhat north of here. I know we have only just met, but if I fail to return, I hope you will find it in your heart to keep my...
“I can’t make out the rest of the sentence, can you?” Katie pointed to an especially sooty area of the page.
Will shook his head, so she skipped it and continued reading.
“Is that too much to ask of one who has already given immeasurably by agreeing to care for my daughter? I think perhaps it is, and yet still I ask it. I continue to believe Fate had a hand in your timely arrival—and that perhaps we are destined to connect in ways in which we cannot yet see.”
The rest of the paper was singed black, and unreadable.
“Wow. Too bad the rest of it isn’t there,” Will said.
Katie’s reaction was a little more expressive. Her hand flew to her heart, and Will thought he even saw a tear. He had to admit the paper was quite a find...most likely written in the hand of the man who once owned the house she now called home.
They both continued examining the letter, re-reading certain parts because it was so incredible. When Will glanced at Katie again, she had a look of great distance in her eyes, as if trying to peer into the past.
Will worked his way back over to the fireplace and felt around. “No more loose bricks, and I don’t see anything else. Maybe whoever put it there planned to retrieve it but forgot.”
Katie remained bent over the short missive. “I wonder who wrote it?”
“Well, it’s to a Miss Logan,” he said, as he backed out of the fireplace. “So at least we know that much.”
“Logan,” Annie repeated. “I’ve never heard the name mentioned in connection with this house.”
“Me neither.”
Their hands hovered dangerously close to each other, but Katie’s voice convinced him she was more affected by the wisp of paper than their close proximity. She sat back on the floor, cross-legged, her elbows on her knees as her brow creased with concentration. “You grew up around here, right?”
Will nodded just as his phone vibrated on the floor between them. He grabbed it, but not before the name and picture of the person sending the text message appeared on the screen. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he stood, and headed to the door.
“Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll ask around and see if anyone has heard of any Logans.”