Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  “It doesn’t look like that’s a tradition that’s been held up,” I comment.

  “It was for a while. It went down like that, from father to son, until about fifty years ago, when the grandchildren of the original builder inherited it. The oldest son inherited the house and continued visiting during the summers, bringing his family. His younger brother never married, so he would come along with his brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew. They weren’t as social as the first generation, and a lot of people in Shadow Creek weren’t fond of them. Especially the father. The mother seemed nice enough, but rarely came out, and was only seen when her husband was in town with her. A little more than twenty years ago, they stopped coming. The mother would show up occasionally, but never for long. The father has only come once or twice. Eventually, the company they hired to manage upkeep during the six months they weren’t here started caring for it year-round.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “No one knows. It’s the big mystery of Shadow Creek. The house is fully paid for, and taxes are taken care of every year. This house is my dream,” she says with a sigh.

  I tilt my head at her. “You want to live here?”

  Still trudging up the hill, she sends a smile back over her shoulder at me.

  “Not live here. Sell it. Real estate agents from other towns have come here just to salivate over it and try to finagle a way to get it on their listings. It’s incredible on the outside, but rumor has it the inside is even better. The McVey family spared no expense when it came to design and outfitting it with all the most modern luxuries. Then when the generations changed, the next McVey had it updated,” she explains.

  “You’ve never been inside?” I ask.

  Scarlett shakes her head.

  “Nobody has. No one outside the family, anyway. Except for the small maintenance staff that comes through every few weeks, it is closed up tight. No visitors. But I would love to. Just for a quick look around. Some of the features that are supposedly in there sound so amazing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Several bedrooms and bathrooms, of course. Two kitchens. A gourmet one upstairs and a smaller one in the main basement that would have been original to the house. A formal parlor and living room, a library, a den. A ballroom. At the back is an observatory and a greenhouse. But those aren’t the exciting part.”

  We reach the top of the hill, and in the moonlight reflecting off the snow, I see the true magnificence of the house. It’s beautiful in a way only old houses are, with details and flourishes in places left plain by most houses today. This is a home that exudes elegance and very old money. But Scarlett isn’t staring at the large verandah or the elaborate scrolling beneath the roof. She’s making her way around to the back of the house.

  “What’s the exciting part?” I ask as I follow her.

  “Come with me,” she calls back.

  “You realize there are no lights, and you’re tromping through the snow on someone else’s property,” I say.

  “Nope. I didn’t notice any of that,” Scarlett says, continuing until she disappears around the side of the house.

  I follow. There’s not much of a choice. Something about Scarlett is irresistible. Like she draws me into her and keeps hold for as long as she wants. I haven’t interacted with her for long, but it’s enough to know I’ve never encountered anyone like her. Where most people are impressed by me and eager to do as I say, she isn’t. She teased me about how easily Dave complied with my request, but in the same breath is ready to push back against me. As much as I would think that would aggravate me, it doesn’t. It intrigues me.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To show you the exciting part,” she tells me.

  We make it into the shin-deep snow in the backyard, and she points to the bottom of the house. “There.”

  “What is there?”

  I’m looking at the dark windows of the old sunroom, and the strange contrast of lively green plants kept thriving inside the abandoned building.

  “Look at the foundation,” she tells me. “Does something look strange to you?”

  “Not particularly. What is it?”

  “The windows. Look at their position.”

  “Aren’t those in the basement?” I ask, looking at the narrow rectangular windows positioned at regular intervals along the back of the house.

  “Yes. But the position is wrong. The proportions don’t make sense. It doesn’t look like they were positioned to go along with the way the house is built,” she explains.

  “I don’t think I’m following you. What does that mean?” I ask.

  “I don’t know exactly. Like I said, I’ve never been in the house. But there are rumors that the basement isn’t really the basement at all. People say there’s another floor beneath that, an entire underground system.” Her voice is excited even as she keeps it at a conspiratorial whisper. There’s no one else around us, but the atmosphere makes the whispering seem appropriate.

  “Some people say it was used by some secret society when it was first built, but I don’t know how much stock I put in that. There are other rumors it was used as a speakeasy, and there are tunnels leading from it to some of the other old buildings in Shadow Creek.”

  “That’s really interesting…” Before I can say anything else, Scarlett rushes up toward the house. “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t you want to take a peek?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She grins at me and walks up to the sunroom. Cupping her hands around her face, she leans against the glass to peer inside. I step up beside her and do the same.

  “It’s too dark to see much,” she says. “But this room has a seating area off to one side and a chaise lounge in this corner. I can imagine the women sitting here in the afternoons sipping tea and reading.”

  She smiles at me and moves through the snow as fast as she can toward another set of windows. These are huge, reaching up two stories. “This is the ballroom. I hate that the curtains are drawn over it. I wish I could see what it looks like inside. Do you think there’s a chandelier?”

  “Doesn’t there have to be in a ballroom?” I ask.

  It’s a ridiculous question, but it makes her smile, and that makes it worth it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Scarlett

  I take a step to move to the next window and hit a spot of ground with deeper snow. The dip grabs hold of my boot and sucks me down, making me stumble. I squeal in surprise, but Gavin reaches out and catches me, wrapping his arms around me, so he holds me against his chest. My breath catches in my throat as I look up at him. His eyes are so dark they look like coals, but there's light in them, revealing more behind them than his stiff, gruff exterior.

  "Thank you," I breathe. "It seems you had to rescue me again."

  "It's my pleasure," he says.

  We stare at each other for a few seconds before I find my mind again and maneuver my feet back under me. When I'm back in control of my own body, I pull out of his hands.

  "Come on; I want to show you something else."

  We make our way further down the building and peek through the darkened glass of a small room. The window is very small and positioned high on the wall, so I have to step up on a stone someone pulled under it and stand up on my toes to see into even the tiny bottom panes.

  "What's this?" Gavin asks.

  "Servant's quarters. Most of them are in the other wing, downstairs on the same level as the original basement. But this room is here, close to the main living area and the family's private spaces."

  My eyes slide over to him to get his reaction.

  "Why would they do that?" he asks.

  I shrug. "Again, no one knows. This room would have been used for something else in the original design of the building. Possibly for storage. At some point it was re-appointed to be used as a bedroom. But the door doesn't lead to the main hallway. It's essentially hidden from people walking through the house if they
don't know it's there. The window is so small because it wouldn't have been meant as a real window, but for enough light to see in it before there was electricity in all the rooms."

  "It's an unusual layout," Gavin comments.

  "The first McVey designed it personally. He customized it to his own specifications so it wouldn't be like anyone else's house. There are rooms and passages that don't fit any of the architectural standards of the time, or any other time for that matter. But that's why it's so fascinating. It's why I want to be the one to bring it back to life and find another family to live in it and solve all its mysteries."

  "Are you sure you don't want to be the one to solve the mysteries?"

  "I wouldn't turn down a candlelight expedition through the hidden passages, but I'm in it for the glory," I tell him.

  Gavin makes a sound that might be a laugh.

  "The glory?" he asks.

  "Being the one who sells it. This place has been sitting here barely used for more than twenty years. It deserves to be lived in. And I'm the one who would find the perfect family to live in it."

  "I've never heard anyone put so much seriousness into selling houses," he says.

  I straighten and glare at him.

  "It's more involved than people think. It's not just about picking a house and showing it to someone who wants to move. It's like being a matchmaker. These people are making a major commitment, and I'm the one who has to find the one that's compatible. Imagine trying to find someone their partner, knowing they would get one date to win them over and no conversations, sharing things in common, or anything that might win someone over," I say.

  He continues to stare at me, and I realize none of what I said means anything to him. I probably sound insane. It wouldn't be the first time someone thought so.

  "I can honestly say that's not something I have ever considered." He nods. I start to move further along the house, and he takes my hand to pull me back to him. “This is fun. Definitely not what I was expecting. If you’re ready to go, I thought we could go to dinner.”

  The touch of his skin against mine makes me tingle, but I take my hand away.

  “We haven’t done what we came here for, yet,” I tell him.

  “You didn’t bring me here to show me the house?” he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head.

  I shake my head.

  “That was just a bonus.”

  “Then why did we come here?”

  “I told you, February snow is special, and we need to celebrate it,” I say, walking across the snow to a spot beside a hedge. The snow is still smooth and pristine, which means we’re the first to arrive.

  “And how are we going to do that?”

  “Sledding.”

  Gavin’s expression drops, along with his jaw.

  “Sledding?” he asks incredulously. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. Why not?” I ask.

  “Because we’re adults,” he says.

  “I recognize that,” I grin, “but what does that have to do with sledding? I said we were going to do something special with the snow. Did you think that was just climbing up a hill?”

  I laugh and duck down to rummage in the hedge.

  “We didn’t bring a sled with us,” he points out.

  “Of course, we didn’t,” I say, standing up to look his way. “We’re adults.” I wink. “But if I know the people of Shadow Creek…”

  I dig into the hedge again and back out, dragging a sled. He looks at me with surprise.

  “Why are we sledding in the dark?” he asks.

  I shrug and nestle the blue plastic sled into the snow at just the right angle.

  “It’s a little bit illegal.” Gavin is still staring at me like he can’t fully wrap his head around what I’m doing as I settle into place on the sled. “One of the good things that came of the McVey family not being around during the winter months is their hill is perfect for sledding. Getting chased off it by the maintenance crew is somewhat of a rite of passage for Shadow Creek teenagers. But we’re the lucky ones. We got the fresh snow.”

  “Yipee.”

  It’s a flat, emotionless reaction, and I roll my eyes at him.

  “Come on. It’s fun. Don’t you remember sledding when you were younger?” I ask.

  “No. I wasn’t allowed to sled.”

  “At all?”

  “No. The closest thing we did was ski,” he tells me.

  “Skiing is not sledding. Hop on.”

  He doesn’t move.

  I grab onto the rope attached to the front of the sled like reigns. “Suit yourself.”

  Rocking my hips back and forth, I lurch forward and tip the sled at just the right angle for gravity to take hold and send me sailing down the hill. Cold air whips at my cheeks, and snowflakes fall on my lips. Closing my eyes, I tilt my face up to the sky.

  I remember being a little girl and scrambling to fly down this hill as many times as I could before rushing away before getting in trouble. That was many years ago, when we all still wondered if the mysterious McVey family would come back. The sled glides smoothly over the snow, but that won’t last long. Halfway down, I hold on tighter, prepared for the bump that comes when the hill gets rockier. Anyone who has gone sledding on this hill learns to tuck and roll at that point to avoid tumbling down onto the rocks.

  There is no amount of snow that makes skidding down rocks comfortable.

  Laughing, I grab the sled and drag it back up the hill. Gavin hasn’t moved. His expression hasn’t changed. I gesture at the sled, inviting him to take a turn. A flicker of intrigue briefly lightens them, but he shakes his head.

  “You just go on. I’ll wait here until you’ve had enough,” he says.

  I scoff.

  “Seriously? You need more adventure in your life,” I tell him.

  “I have plenty of adventure in my life,” he argues. “I own a multi-billion-dollar company with operations all over the world. I travel several times a month…”

  “For work?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not adventure,” I tell him. “That’s stress.”

  “And this is your idea of adventure?” he asks.

  I reach down and gather a handful of snow. I don’t bother to ball it up or pack it before slinging it at him. It splatters the center of his chest and sprays across the front of his coat. Gavin looks down at it and then back at me, nodding.

  “Very funny,” he says. I gather more snow and do it again. “Okay, Scarlett, that’s enough.”

  My third handful has a little more oomph to it, and he brushes it away, his protest getting a little more insistent. My fourth and fifth handfuls inspire arguments right up there with an old man shaking his broom at a couple holding hands as they walk down the street. It’s that sixth one that does it.

  “Really?” he asks. “Is that how you’re going to be?”

  In a movement so fast, I barely have time to process what he's doing, Gavin dips down and grabs a handful of snow. He tosses it at me, and I squeal, turning away from it, so it hits me in the shoulder. Mouth open, I stare back at him.

  "You threw snow at me," I say.

  He grins and reaches for more. This time he's not fast enough. I peg him right on the top of his black stocking cap. Gavin lunges at me, and I let go of the ropes for the sled, taking off running across the yard. We continue to throw snow at each other, laughing like there's no one else in all of Shadow Creek.

  Looping back to the sled, I lure him to me by hesitating with my next throw. He runs closer, and I drop down onto the sled, grabbing him by the front of his coat and pulling him down with me at the same time. The momentum of our bodies hitting the sled sends it speeding down the side of the hill, and he shouts as he feels his first rush of winter air racing past his face.

  I yank the ropes and force us to tumble to the side. The movement makes us roll, and we land in a heap, my face only inches away from his. It takes us a few seconds of laughter and gasping to catch our breath.r />
  "That," I tell him, "is an adventure."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gavin

  Scarlett's curvy body presses me down into the snow, and I can't resist putting my hands on the swells of her hips. Her face is so close to mine; I feel her breath on my lips. Her nose brushes the tip of mine. My mouth waters for her. I want to taste her, to bring her close and melt the snow with our kiss. I start to lift my head toward her, but she tumbles off me and climbs to her feet. Brushing the snow out of her hair, she grins down at me.

  "We have sledded," she announces. "And now I'm cold and done."

  I laugh as she grabs the sled and tugs it back over the hedge to hide it again. I wonder who will find it next and take a few illicit slides down the hill.

  "Now that you've gotten your February snow celebration out of the way, can I bring you to dinner?" I ask.

  She plants her hands on her hips and gives me a playfully offended smirk.

  "In honor of the snow, I'm going to give you a pass on that little 'out of the way' remark. And yes, I will go to dinner with you," she says.

  "Great. I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

  "I am, too, but I have to warn you, there probably isn't anything around Shadow Creek that is as fancy as you're used to, especially with this snow. If you want to eat, we're just going to have to do it my way."

  She starts back through the snow around the side of the mansion the way we came. I don't know what that means, but I'm willing to find out. We get back to Scarlett's car, and I try to brush as much of the snow off my clothes as I can, but she hops right inside.

  “I don’t want to get your seats wet,” I explain when she rolls down the window to find out what I’m doing.

  “It’s water, Gavin. It’ll dry. I know you’ve probably never sat on anything but leather, but I promise this old broad can evaporate with the best of them.”